"Elizabeth Stoker," Marguerite lied. Her eyes flickered to the younger vampiress. Quickly, she winked, then bowed her head, a picture of modesty.The priest made her more nervous than she was willing to admit, and there was no way on this earth she was going to risk him knowing her true identity. "I just want to go home, you know, but I will do what I must."
She clutched at her skirt. Truly this was irritating. And she was getting hungry, too. In some ways, she conjectured, this was worse than facing the Duc again. She decided to try to melt into the background, like any good Englishwoman.