‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. But pathologically, he is still on the edge. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. ‘She’s gone.
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