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. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail. “When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. And this damning evidence―’ with a brusque gesture at the portrait ‘―must also be destroyed. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning. You are more in my power than I am in yours. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. “I don’t know.
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