Rowan was too stunned to speak. He was utterly baffled. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the drawing room seemed to echo like thunder in the silent space. A man of his power and standing was rarely caught off guard, but the sheer brutality and scope of the young woman's words had completely knocked the breath from his lungs.
He swallowed hard, feeling the dry, tight lump in his throat. He slowly lowered himself back into his armchair, gripping the padded armrests tightly to control his emotions and his composure. His knuckles turned white against the fabric.
"Please explain, Miss Flora," Rowan said. His voice was low, careful, and entirely stripped of its usual commanding edge. He leaned forward, his eyes locked onto her tired face.
The young woman nodded. Her hands were still trembling in her lap, but she took a deep, steadying breath.
