‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. And, if I can render you any service, you may command me. Eight per cent. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether.
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