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“This is a travesty, Elen, and you know it.”
“I can hardly–”
“Out of your hands, now, ladies,” the male continued. “I’ll deal with this. The duke should have known better than to employ a Frenchwoman.”
The key turned and Isabelle reared as a tall, gangly, fellow with overlong sideburns and bushy eyebrows peered into the room.
“Miss Beaujeu?”
“I am.”
“Come with me. You’ll be passing the night in Cogran Prison.”
