She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. “I doubted my luck, at least. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. I was born of one Suzanne Valade and an Englishman, Nicholas Charvill. ’ ‘Very well, Melusine, you win,’ Gerald said unguardedly, and dug his hand into his pocket.
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