It was immediately opened by a man with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. “Excellent!” he exclaimed. Then his tiny bow mouth opened into an adoring smile. “Very sincerely yours, “ANN VERONICA STANLEY.
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