The image of her in a soaked dress, dripping on the floor with her hair clinging to the skin of her face stayed with him.
Where had she come from?
It should usually not have been any concern of his, but it had been his responsibility to return with her…
And because…
It was all his fault.
Just a few minutes earlier, a maid had served him a note from Lady Whitmore on a tray. The note had said that he was to receive a guest alongside Everetta in an hour. And that she and Lord Whitmore are indisposed…
His eyes had narrowed on reading that, but what choice did he really have.
In any normal household, a guest would hardly be expected to receive a guest, but they had managed to blur the line between guest and family member so efficiently that even he was fooled.
A movement on the table caught his attention. Fickle had finished devouring its meal and had slipped into its favourite drawer.
