Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner. I’m a hard young woman. ‘Aha,’ grunted Gerald with satisfaction, squinting up at the two open shutters on the second floor. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. She turned there and beckoned. Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly.
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