Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. The air was thick with feelings. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No.
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