“How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. Only I just want him. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. ’ ‘Precisely,’ Gerald repeated. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too.
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