“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Never mind. ” “How would you know I’m not ready? I’m older than you, remember? Sometimes you act so worldly, as if you’d seen it all. I wish they would just get it over with. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. “He dissembles,” he said.
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