But her words were not addressed to Melusine. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. ‘I know that, miss. E below. You don’t understand. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. ’ ‘Uh-oh,’ came from her infuriating suitor and his eyes dropped to the weapon she was dragging from the holster under her petticoat. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs.
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