The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. “I am not in need of any. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. But he did not follow on with the thought. ” It was certain that he was not there. ’ Mrs Sindlesham sighed deeply. ’ ‘No, miss,’ cut in Kimble.
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