The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. ’ Gerald grinned. ’ At that, a flush drenched her cheeks and she snatched her hand away. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been.
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