Shoving between them, she confronted the captain herself. I want him as my friend. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you. She could feel her face turning beet red. You are my wife, and I am determined to claim you. You have taken even my knife.
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