After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble. She still kicked herself for it. No one spoke to her. But he has never been near her—never. A lovely, fetching girl. Sir John felt and looked several years younger. That’s why I chucked Manning. Proof that the scoundrel had risen from the dead—for he was dead to his father! He glared at the female whose appearance in England had revived those painful memories—churning unbearably since Brewis Charvill had brought him the news and put him in the worst of tempers—and the fury spilled out.
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