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‘Infant, sit up! Come I object to having my coat ruined. You have not heard all yet.’

‘I won’t, I won’t!’ came the muffled voice. ‘Let me be

Léon! Please let me be Léon!’

His Grace lifted her.

‘Instead of my page you shall be my ward. My daughter. Is it so terrible?’

‘I do not want to be a girl! Oh please, Monseigneur, please.’ Léonie slipped from the settle to the floor, and knelt at his feet, gripping his hand. ‘Say yes, Monseigneur! Say yes!’

‘No, my babe. Dry your tears and listen to me. Don’t tell me you have lost your handkerchief.’

Léonie drew it from her pocket, and mopped her eyes.

‘I don’t w-want to be – a girl!’

‘Nonsense, my dear. It will be far more pleasant to be my ward than my page.’

‘No!’

‘You forget yourself,’ said his Grace sternly. ‘I will not be contradicted.’

Léonie gulped down another sob.

‘I – I am sorry, Monseigneur.’

‘It’s very well. As soon as we have come to London I am going to take you to my sister – no, do not speak – my sister, Lady Fanny Marling. You see, infant, you cannot live with me until I have found some lady to act as – ah – duenna.’

‘I will not! I will not!’

‘You will do as I say, my good child. My sister with clothe you as befits your new position, and teach you to be – a girl. You will learn these things –’

‘I will not! Never, never!’

‘– because I command it. Then, when you are ready, you shall come back to me, and I will present you to Society.’

Léonie tugged at his hand.

‘I won’t go to your sister! I will be just Léon! You cannot make me do as you say, Monseigneur; I will not !’

His Grace looked down at her in some exasperation.

‘If you were still my page I should know how to deal with you,’ he said.

‘Yes, yes! Beat me, if you like, and let me still be your page! Ah, please, Monseigneur!’

‘Unhappily it is impossible. Recollect, my infant, that you are mine, and must do as I say.’

Léonie promptly collapsed into a crumpled heap beside the settle, and sobbed into the hand she held. Avon allowed her to weep unrestrainedly for perhaps three minutes. Then he drew his hand away.

‘You want me to send you away altogether?’

‘Oh!’ Léonie started up. ‘Monseigneur, you would not! You – oh no, no!’

‘Then you will obey me. It is understood?’

There was a long pause. Léonie stared hopelessly into the cold hazel eyes. Her lip trembled, and a large tear rolled down her cheek.


Tags: Georgette Heyer Alastair-Audley Tetralogy Romance