I found Elara in the drawing room, already pouring herself a generous glass from one of Alaric's decanters. I glanced at the container—definitely not the blue one he'd mentioned.
"You didn't waste any time," I observed, closing the door behind me.
Elara took a sizable gulp before answering. "After that encounter with your husband, I think I've earned this." She gestured toward the decanter. "Care to join me? This whiskey is exquisite."
"That's Alaric's special reserve," I warned, but moved to sit beside her.
She shrugged. "All the more reason to enjoy it."
The door opened again, and Damian Ashworth strode in, looking particularly disheveled. His cravat hung loose around his neck, and his usually impeccable hair fell across his forehead.
"Isabella," he bowed slightly, "I hope I'm not intruding. Alistair mentioned you were entertaining guests."
"How is Alistair?" I asked, concerned. The butler had been recovering slowly since the attack.
