CHAPTER TWO“Damn him, may his soul rot in hell! Curse him! Blast him!”
The Marquis flung himself back against the soft cushions of the coach, the oaths pouring from his lips and growing more profane, more violent and more obscene.
It was only after a few minutes of losing control of himself that he realised the small figure beside him was sitting completely still and upright.
It flashed through his mind that another woman would have screamed out at his profanity or closed her ears against his violence.
The words died away on his lips and in the light of the lantern he had another look at the silent figure beside him.
‘Good Lord,’ he thought to himself, ‘She looks like some upper servant.’
The thought made him swear again.
“God Almighty!” he shouted out aloud. “I shall be the laughin
