They moved fast. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall.
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