“You say that he is alive. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. Only I just want him. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart.
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