Watch and do nothing – that hurt. Barnaby’s eyes narrowed. She had not been cowed by the rapier, not by wit alone: he would simply have to commit to the bit.

“Hast thou heard me sing?” He mused innocently, a smile threatening now – and his singing was often a gift more than a nuisance, and she hardly deserved it, but it was something he could vow to do, immortalise her as the annoying wretch she was. “Hark! There goes a vagrant I do spy...” he began to trill thoughtfully, making up a tune.

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