His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention. ‘Again?’ Another simple parry. It must have been impossible to see me through that much rain. He looked at her, hurt. ’ Colour suffused the man’s face. Books; an inexplicable hunger to be satisfied. Wild, and his uncle, Sir Rowland Trenchard. Plus he’s a genius.
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