But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did.
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