They fell into step again. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. “I think that you were inquiring for Mr. Plote was sleeping or deaf. ‘That is true,’ Melusine conceded.
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