Then he remembered no more.
*
Now it came back to him in a rush and with what was almost a superhuman effort with his head swimming, the Marquis forced himself to sit up on the bed.
‘Dammit, I was drugged,’ he muttered to himself.
He could not believe that such a thing could happen to him like any greenhorn who came to London from the country and had his money taken from him by the first prostitute who accosted him in the street.
But now he, the Marquis of Sarne, the man who had boasted often enough that no one had got the better of him because he knew every trick in the trade, had been drugged with his own claret by a ballet dancer from Covent Garden!
How could she? Why should she?
Surely Nicole knew what would be the repercussions of such an action on her part?
Any Theatre Manage
