It was the bitterest moment of her life. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. He seemed to be. The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. It was a habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the colour which must draw attention. “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. He was a fool. Did you know you’re very maternal? Damn, you’re more maternal than my Mom. But, perhaps Mr. . .
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