“But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. 150 “Homely. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well. I am aware that you ran away from there, but—’ ‘Certainly I ran away,’ she said, meeting his gaze with defiance in her own. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. He initiated sex with her, lightly fingering her clitoris as an invitation. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface.
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