“It is – not just – The Château,” Yursa said in a low, hesitating little voice, “or even – Madame de Salône – it is that I – do not – love you.”
“You do not love me?” the Duc questioned.
Once again he was surprised.
Women had always loved him and he had taken their feelings for granted.
Although it seemed absurdly conceited, he had never envisaged that any woman he favoured would ever say quite bluntly that she did not love him.
Yursa rose to her feet.
“Please – don’t be angry,” she pleaded. “I am very – honoured that you should ask me to be your wife – it is just that I don’t – want you to be – my husband.”
There was an irrepressible little tremor in her voice as she spoke.
Then, as the Duc sat still, just gazing at her in consternation, she turned and ran from the room before he
