It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square. She tried not to blush. When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily.
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