If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. ‘And what the devil do you mean by demanding that I wait on you here? D’you think I haven’t enough to do handling that caper-witted female’s affairs, without dancing attendance on you?’ ‘Don’t be cross,’ begged Lucilla, much to Melusine’s disgust. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. He heard Melusine cry out, but his attention was all for the nick he had made in her neck.
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