Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. Never sent for the shirt. “How did you find me?” She asked. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. “What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. That Frenchie, that’s who she is. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. You got to take the world as it is, and the only possible trade for a girl that isn’t sweated is to get hold of a man and make him do it for her.
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