’ Leonardo had taught her that. ’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. My wife—killed me. “Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. In an instant, she turned on him. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. ’ Authority had won again, Gerald thought with satisfaction. .
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