The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. \" He perked up, ready to make conversation. ’ Shock ripped through Charvill’s chest. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. I didn’t know. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms.
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