11The Duke carried Beatrice across the room to a sofa near the fire, but when he would have set her down she clung to him, crying,
“Hold me! Keep me safe! I beg of you.”
As if he had not heard, he laid her down and extricated himself skilfully from the white arms seeking to encircle his neck.
“I will fetch you a glass of wine, ma’am,” he said firmly, and turned to where decanters and glasses stood on a small table. Beatrice peeped at him from under her lashes, then as he carried the wine to her side, she lay still, her eyes closed.
The Duke waited.
Beatrice’s negligée, caught under her as she lay, was drawn taut against the lovely curves of her body and her hair cascaded over her half-naked shoulders to fall in a glorious golden disarray on the satin cushions of the sofa. After a mome
