"I am Mr. Everard, child, and Duke of Andover."
Then she turned her head and looked at him with glittering eyes.
"I have heard of you, sir," she said, evenly.
"You are like to hear more, my dear."
"That is as may be, your Grace."
Now she understood the elaborate hilt of the mysterious sword with the coronet on it, wrought in jewels. She wondered whether Jack had it still, wherever he was. If only some wonderful providence would bring him to her now in her dire need! There was no one to strike a blow for her; she was entirely at the mercy of a ruthless libertine, whose reputation she knew well, and whose presence filled her with dread and a speechless loathing. She felt very doubtful that her father would succeed in finding her. If only Jack were in England! He would come to her, she knew.
His Grace leaned towards her, laying a thin, white hand on her knee.
"My dear, be reasonable. I am not such a bad bargain after all."
The tenderness in his voice filled her with horror. He felt her shrink away.
"Take your hand away!" she commanded throbbingly. "Do not touch me!" He laughed softly and at the sound of it she controlled her terrors and dropped again to the mocking tone she had adopted. "What? Ungallant still, your Grace? Pray keep your distance!"