Lucilla broke across Melusine’s thoughts. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. “You need a reason. Blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before I'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and he hadn't incurred my displeasure. Do you hear me? Do you hear what I am saying?. " He ignored the command. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit.
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