She has no proof—yet. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. Wood. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. The boy would naturally attract the women, if the women were at all romantic.
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