“Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. She had no idea what she should do. “Nothing so base. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. As she came close, he took a pace forward and seized her from behind, one strong arm clamping her tight against his chest, the free hand seizing her about the mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat. Please sit with me. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. “We shall try again later.
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