. “Pellissier,” she repeated thoughtfully. It is difficult to express these things. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. It had ever been her policy, much to Melusine’s relief, for she was apt to complain that it only made her mad and there was nothing she could do about it. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. “I’ve heard some even more entertaining news from the Orchestra grapevine too.
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