"That's the terms of our agreement," he said. "One Duke more or less
doesn't matter to me. I'll go to Winslow's court and try to find out
what happened to your father. Somehow I'll give Winslow what's due him.
Then I'll return here and claim you as Miguel's agreed, and we'll go
looking for your father together. If you're willing, give me a kiss."
She hesitated for just a moment, then lifted his face from her ear.
Their eyes met. She was pale, he saw, and frightened; the aloof
haughtiness of the court lady had been almost completely replaced by an
appealing little-girl terror.
He looked past her to the brooding eyes of Don Miguel glowering down at
him from the row of paintings on the wall. _After Winslow--Miguel_, he
thought with sudden savagery. The unprovoked thought surprised him.
"Very well," she murmured. She touched her lips lightly to his,
and then gave herself to him with a sort of desperate abandon that
astonished Kesley.
After a moment or two, he slipped from her grasp and looked around the
room, wondering if he'd find a concealed television camera or something
similar. There was nothing. The battery of screens and lights on the
far wall seemed dead, as they had been since Miguel had shut them off.