The midnight air in London was rarely quiet, but within the high brick walls of the Hamilton estate, the city noise faded into a dull, distant hum.
Delaney could not sleep.
The Blue Suite, with its soft lavender-scented sheets and heavy curtains, felt too small. The walls seemed to press inward. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lord Hawksley's scarred face in the hallway. And when she managed to push that nightmare away, it was replaced by a different kind of torment: the memory of her chest against Rowan's back in the woods, her breath on his neck, and the raw, undeniable heat between them.
She had slipped out of bed, wrapped a thick, dark woolen cloak over her white cotton chemise, and quietly navigated the back stairs.
Now, she sat in the deep shadows of the backyard.
