"You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. ‘Bring her to me and we shall see. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. Melusine’s eyes shifted. ‘So it would appear. Then a surge of rage welled up.
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