Lusinda hurried up the stairs so as to avoid awkward moments with Locke. She had left some of her clothes in the house with the intent to send for them later, but as she had returned, she could avail herself of her remaining wardrobe. Perhaps she knew in her heart that she would return, she thought as she stepped out of the boy’s trousers. Perhaps she never really wanted to leave. She slipped a comfortable nightgown over her head and unpinned her hair. Still, even after the tedious task of brushing her long tresses, she felt a restless energy that prohibited sleep. She slipped Locke’s munisak over her nightgown and set out to see if she could find a suitable read in the library. The gas jets were lit. Locke sat behind the desk, nursing a snifter of brandy. “You couldn’t sleep either?” she asked. “You left me with a lot to think about,” he said. “The ambassador’s ball?” “Ramsden.” He took a swallow of his drink and turned a somber face toward her. “I still can’t accept that after all we’d been through together, Marcus could be a Russian agent, but there are questions .
What do You think about The Trouble With Moonlight?
