She had very few clear memories before a particular day in the library, when they had finished one of her first reading lessons. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. And the bedchamber, for which Melusine instantly headed, was almost bright. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it.
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