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In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. ’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know. Yes, of course.

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