Giles Bowl I. Meet me. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. But she must stop him getting away. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. "I'm armed; you are not.
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