She was certainly different, he told himself, different from the withdrawn, icily cold woman he had married, who he knew had been tense with fear or hatred every time he came near her.
Tonight Quenella had talked to him in a relaxed manner and he had the feeling, although he could not be sure, that, when they had spoken of love, her thoughts had not immediately turned to the Prince.
Perhaps she was forgetting and perhaps the horror the brute had aroused in her was receding.
If anything could effect the miracle of forgetfulness, Rex was certain that it was India.
It was strange, he told himself, that Quenella should feel that she ‘belonged’.
If any other woman had said such a thing he would have suspected that she did so intentionally to focus his attention on herself or, more insidiou
