Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. When she awoke from a pleasant dream an hour later, she was shocked to find herself restrained in a bed that was not hers and not the inn’s. That’s probably true. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. The fates are never so kind to me. “I murder people, John. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. . Paris is not the place for two young girls. There must be something we can do.
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