He turned me so that he could have a companion in his loneliness. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. She did not have the power of men. She had to exert tremendous energy not to sniff the air for his blood. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. Enough to let her find out a piece of information most urgent. He flipped the television on. ‘And nor do I. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. Call her Miss Pellissier, eh? I tell you she’s my wife, and I’ve got the certificate in my pocket.
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