In exchange for power, Belcaro passed her from rogue to rogue. Until the night he found he could not resist the ravishing courtesan he had created.
But by that time, Bianca knew him for the monster he was. And she was ready and waiting - with all the weapons of her amorous career!
Ms. Marshall is also the author of Rogue Cavalier and The General's Wench.
"Life's tough in this town", Marley thought, wincing as he labored to
extract the bullet fragment from his thigh. He was still somewhere hours ago, his head wrapped in a smoke and bourbon haze like a wet towel that a cat had used for a john. The barbecue tongs danced in his numbed fingers like a watusi girl auditioning for the last spot in the late show of the city's cheapest dive. Marley knew he was staring down the barrel of a hideous morning, and that with bleary, half-focused eyes still swimming in the last round. O'Leary had kicked him out around 3:00, long after the other lowlifes had crawled, slinked, or been dragged home to their four walls and a hotplate. "The difference is," Marley thought, with a twist of irony to match the movement of the tongs against his thigh, "I don't belong there. I'm watching them, hunting danger, looking for clues to the big mystery." Marley thought back to the last clue he'd found. It took him a while. Oh, yeah. The tequila. And then this slug in his leg. He couldn't walk so good, but there were a couple of clues worth selling your grandmother to Vinnie and his candystripers down on the wharf for. Marley dropped the tongs in disgust and wished he had a cigarette, or at least some self-respect. There was no choice left. He reached for the intercom button.
The author comments, "I love this stuff!"
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the dog-pound,
My cage door swings open, Spot growls "Now git!
This is no time for you dogs to play dead or sit.
I've sniffed out your records - there's been a big frame.
You committed no crime, so why take the blame?
I may be known as a sleuth, but I'm a dog at heart,
So I'm giving you mutts a fresh chance for a start."
We dash away, dash away, dash away all!
This way to freedom - we're over the wall!
We rush down the streets through the new-fallen snow;
We don't know where we're headed, but we do know to go.
We howl out of joy, we howl as a pack,
But still we keep running and never look back.
We run to the town square where there's a brightly lit tree-
Where, savoring our freedom, we all stop to pee.
Hey, we're dogs - we must leave our mark -
Before we leave, we'd like as a group to bark
"Merry Christmas!" to you from each canine fellow,
And - oh, yeah - don't eat snow that is yellow!