She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. “Please stop fighting me. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. Having no more patience, I drew you aside to give you a compliment on your radiant beauty. Go out there and head him off, will you? Tell him anything you like, but don’t let him in, and don’t tell him Melusine is here. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply.
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