Netta arranged the velvet hood over her head and sucked in a deep breath. Time to start the show.
She took John’s hand and stepped from his carriage. The gas lights of the Drury dazzled her eyes and she inched closer to John. As a child, she had longed to come here, to see a show so badly she could have burst from the wanting. Now, the theatre held a different sort of appeal. What would it be like to tread upon the boards of such an acclaimed stage? To hear the applause from thousands of spectators?
The crowds had thinned, the first act already begun. John had agreed with her assessment that a late arrival would only increase her allure. With the subtle shading of face paint, a slight powder to her hair, and a cloak hiding her features, she strode through the front doors with the nariest of qualms.
“Have you ever seen The Barber of Seville?” John nodded to a couple in the lobby but kept his stride even as they made for his box.
“No.” She’d never seen any opera. Her wages didn’t allow for such extravagance.
John drew back the curtain to his personal box and ushered her inside. “Good. We haven’t missed overmuch,” he whispered. “If you have any questions, let me know.”
She nodded, her gaze transfixed. No warped and discolored wooden boards made up the stage here. The thick, red velvet curtains were held back by ornate brass hooks, and what they revealed….
“Oh!” She sank to her seat and leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the box ledge. “Look at those costumes.”
John settled next to her and pressed a pair of opera glasses into her hand. “Not as charming as wax noses and warts to my mind.”
She shot him an exasperated look before turning her full attention back to the stage. The lead female, Rosina, was beautiful and tragic. The Count desperate in his longing for her. Netta sighed in delight and blocked out the rest of the world.
The curtains fell on the first act, and she blinked as the house lights came on.
“I take it you find the evening’s entertainment agreeable.” John’s voice held laughter, and when she turned to look at him, it was matched by the crinkles around his eyes.
“Very much so.” She leaned back in her seat. “It’s more than I ever imagined.”
“Do you sing?”
“Not well. Watching a musical production is as close as I will ever get to such a performance.” She shook her head. “I can never thank…” She trailed off as John’s entire body went stiff. His gaze was fixed over her left shoulder, his nostrils flaring.
“What is it?” she asked, craning her neck but seeing nothing of account. Realizing her hood had slipped down her shoulders during the performance, she hastily pulled it back over her head.
“No one of account.” John sat back. He took the opera glasses from her hand and slapped them against his palm. “Only my grandmother.”
“Your grandmother?” She searched the boxes opposite in earnest, looking for a distinctive pair of cobalt eyes or set of high cheekbones. It was no use. Not from such a distance. She turned to reclaim the glasses, but John had already put them to use, peering through their lenses, his jaw clenched.
“Do you want to pay your compliments?” Netta followed the direction of the glasses. A woman with a fringe of snowy white hair beneath a red turban stared intently back in their direction. “I’m happy to wait here while you do.”
“That won’t be necessary,” John said, his words clipped. “We no longer speak.”
“But she’s your grandmother.” Unless the woman had tried to sell her grandson in marriage to a monster, Netta couldn’t understand how such a close family member could be ignored.
“Your point?” He tucked the opera glasses into his coat pocket.
She pursed her lips. “My point is that she’s your grandmother.” This shouldn’t be hard to comprehend. “You are a product of her loins. Doesn’t that deserve a greeting upon meeting in public?”
“Perhaps you should refrain from speaking on matters of which you have no knowledge.”
Her spine snapped straight. “And perhaps you could give me such knowledge so I can speak with more authority.”
They glared at each other.
“Is this a bad time?”
Netta started. A man with a startingly bushy beard held back the curtains to John’s box. The woman next to him had thick auburn hair and curious eyes. The top of her head just reached the man’s shoulder.
John stood. “No, I welcome any interruption.”
Netta huffed but rolled to her feet, as well.
“Netta, may I introduce you to Maximillian Atwood, Baron of Sutton, and his charming wife, Colleen, the baroness.” John waved his hand at Netta. “Max, Colleen, this is Miss Antoinette LeBlanc. Netta to those she delights in bedeviling.”
Netta dropped a curtsy and smiled tightly. “I can assure you that only the earl finds me such. I am a positive delight to those who are worthy of my good graces.”
John looked heavenward.
The baroness laughed. “I can readily disbelieve his description of you as he has so misconstrued my own character. No one has ever called me charming before.”
“I think you’re charming,” her husband protested.
She patted his arm. “As you are legally obligated to do since we wed.”
Sutton grumbled. “I always thought it.”
John pressed his fists into his lower back and stretched. “How are you enjoying the show? I believe Miss Luciano is having a particularly superior performance tonight.”
Sutton tugged on his beard. “I didn’t come here to talk nonsense about performances. Step out with me. I’d like a moment of your time.” The words seemed more demand than request. Having delivered them, Sutton lumbered outside, letting the curtains fall shut.
John pressed his lips together. “If you ladies will excuse us. I’ll return with refreshments, after knocking some civility into my friend.” He picked up Colleen’s hand and kissed the back. “Never doubt it, my dear. Compared to your husband, you embody all the charm in the world.”
Colleen watched the curtain drop closed and crossed her arms. “That man knows how to give a double-edged compliment like nobody else.” She turned. “But I’m certain you are already aware of that.”
Netta gestured to the chairs and both women took a seat. “Have you known him long?”
“Summerset?” Colleen shook out her russet skirts. Her gown was simple, but of a fine chiffon and expertly made. “Not nearly long enough to understand him. I met him shortly after I met my husband. He helped us out of a difficult situation.” Her face softened. “He is a good friend, to the both of us.”
Netta leaned on her armrest. “Yes, of course.” John would be someone his friends could depend upon. He certainly took his role as his brother’s protector seriously. “But do you know him? What happened to his brother? Why did he stop studying chemistry? And what is the dispute between him and his grandmother?”
Colleen blinked. “Well.” She blinked some more. “Now I feel that I don’t know him at all. He has always been a bit of an enigma beneath his mask of indifference. I didn’t know he studied chemistry, much less that he had a grandmother.” She tilted her head. “Well, I’d assume he had a grandmother. Everyone does somewhere. But not one with whom he had a fraught relationship.”
Netta slumped back into her chair. This had seemed a golden opportunity to do some of her own poking about. Perhaps she should try to corner Lord Sutton. He would be better informed.
“I do know that he has taken his separation from his service to the Crown most ill,” Colleen said. “All of the men in their group worry about him.”
“His service to the Crown?”
Colleen slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes as wide as a doe’s before a hunter.
“It’s no use covering your mouth now.” Netta leaned towards her. “I will know what you mean.”
Colleen dropped her hand and blew out her cheeks. “It is not a story I can tell. If you are close to Summerset, and wish to become closer, you must ask him.” She winced. “Just, perhaps don’t tell him who let the information slip.”
Netta tapped her foot. What could it have been? He was still a member of the House of Lords. How many services did an earl perform for the government? And one that would be enveloped in secrecy?
“But what about you?’ Colleen cleared her throat. “How did you and Summerset meet?”
“I foisted his billfold.” Could he have taken a cabinet position he was embarrassed about? Become an aide to the prince regent?
“What?” Colleen’s jaw dropped.
Hell and damnation. Her mouth was a constant source of aggravation. She gave the woman her most winning smile and pushed the brim of her cloak further back her head to reveal more of her eyes. Her honest and sincere eyes. “I’m an actress. Summerset befriended me and is now my sponsor. It’s our little joke, my taking him for his money.”
“Ah.” Colleen crossed one leg over the other, letting her foot swing. “Sponsor. Is that what it’s called nowadays?”
The woman’s voice held amusement instead of censure, but Netta’s face heated just the same.
“The services I provide for sponsorship are all respectable.” If seducing a man into gambling for her favors could be called respectable. “Not all actresses also work as Paphions.”
Netta pressed her lips together. It infuriated her that such an implication lingered, but it was the reason why John hadn’t wanted her to let her profession be widely known. This man she was to bring to the table preferred innocent misses and an actress just didn’t qualify.
Colleen squeezed her arm. “I apologize if I offended you, but Summerset must not have told you about me and Sutton if you think I would judge any honest choice a woman makes. And I do believe prostitution is an honest transaction.”
Now Netta was the one to gape like a fish.
Colleen shrugged. “My husband owns a Venus club that caters to unusual tastes. I am the manager of The Black Rose. If you are interested, you should ask Summerset to bring you one night.”
Netta moved her lips but no words emerged. If the baroness had said she liked to dance naked in the moonlight, Netta couldn’t have been more shocked.
“Where should I take her?” John shouldered through the curtain, a glass of wine in each hand.
“To one of the new burletta shows.” Colleen winked at her. “If your friend enjoys opera, I believe she will also like the musical theatre productions.”
“If she wishes it.” John handed her a glass then was jostled aside by Sutton, who handed his wife a steaming cup of coffee.
Colleen pressed a hand to her abdomen and pushed the cup away. “No, thank you.”
“But you love coffee.”
“Not tonight.”
“Before this devolves into unpleasant marital bickering, I do believe the second act is about to begin.” John gave his friend a pointed look. “Don’t you have your own box to haunt?”
Colleen rose and gave Netta her hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss LeBlanc.”
“Netta, please.”
“And you must call me Colleen.”
John guided Colleen around the chair to her husband’s side. “Yes, yes. We’re all great friends. Now leave us be.”
Sutton rested his hand on his wife’s lower back. “We will finish this conversation,” he said as he held the curtain open.
John fluttered his fingers in dismissal. He sank into his seat with a sigh. “Alone again at last.”
“Alone? We are surrounded by hundreds of other patrons.” She rested her elbow on her chairback and turned towards him. A faint line creased his forehead, and she longed to rub away his worry. After his conversation with his friend, his shoulders seemed to sit a little lower, as though weighted. She wished they were alone, where she could do something to improve his state of mind.
She wished she knew a way to make him happy outside of bed sport. For as compelling as he was in bed, she was finding him even more so out of it.
The house lights dimmed and the orchestra played the opening notes.
He shifted onto one hip and rested his palm on her knee. “The lights are down. Everyone’s attention is on the stage. We might as well be alone.”
She saw his hand on her knee, and raised him her palm on his thigh. High on his thigh. “Have I ever told you, Lord Summerset, how much I appreciate the manner in which your mind works? You are never dull.” He was thrilling, provocative, and provoking, in the best way possible. With so little time given to them, she needed to enjoy as much of him as she could before she set sail.
He leaned closer, his breath hot on her cheek. “And you, my dear, are…blast!” He rocked back into his chair.
“What is the matter? Is there a mouse you’d like me to take care of?”
He did not look amused. “We are not alone. I had forgotten my grandmother is here, even now peering at us through her opera glasses.”
Netta turned to look. Sure enough, the older woman held a pair of onyx glasses to her eyes. She raised a gloved hand in a greeting John ignored.
John tugged on the hem of his jacket. “Even I am not so perverse as to perform lewd acts in front of my grandmother.”
“What is the disagreement between you and her?” Netta raised her own hand, but the woman had turned her attention back to the stage.
“None of your concern.”
A small muscle pulsed in his jaw and the dim light shadowed his eyes.
Her throat went thick. She rested her hand over his and squeezed. “No. And my visits to The Burns Theatre at night weren’t yours. Yet you wanted to know, and so do I.”
He sniffed. “You are living under my roof. I do have some responsibility for your safety.”
“And my safety was your only reason for following me?” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Curiosity had nothing to do with it?”
His shoulders unbunched. “Perhaps a very little. But,” he said when she opened her mouth, “I still do not want to discuss my grandmother.”
“Not even if we make it a game?” She slid her hand under his cravat to feel the beat of his heart against her palm. “For every detail you tell me about the problem between you and her, I will give you something to help you forget it.”
He clasped her hand, keeping it pressed to his chest and running his thumb along her skin. “Really,” he drawled, “that sounds more like a quid pro quo than a game, but I am intrigued nonetheless. All right, poppet. You win. A little background.”
Her heart leapt at the word win. She so did love to win. She settled into her seat and tuned out the music and drama happening below.
“You know that the House of Summerset hasn’t always been as wealthy as it is now.” He stared at the curtains hanging above the stage. “My father’s gambling had ruined us.”
“And your grandmother disowned her irresponsible son.” Netta could see the story play out in her head. The fights. The recriminations. The door slowing closing in the previous earl’s face.
Yes, she might be overly dramatic in her imaginings. But it was her job to tell stories. It was what she did.
John dipped his chin. “Good guess, but wrong. My grandmother is my mother’s mother. She is the Dowager Marchioness of Mallen. From an honorable family. One much too good to include a wastrel and gambler, even if he was an earl.”
The bitterness in his voice stunned her. All the fanciful stories in her head disappeared. This was real life. John’s life. And it hadn’t always been easy. “I’m sorry.”
He bit out a laugh. “Little Netta LeBlanc is sorry for me? A sad day for the House of Summerset indeed.”
The back of her throat burned. She made to lower her hand, but he held it tight.
“After my mother died and my father had spent not only the Summerset fortunes but his wife’s dowry, he decided to humble himself to her parents.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I don’t think he would have suffered that humiliation if he hadn’t had three sons to care for.” He huffed. “And it was all for naught. We presented ourselves before the marquess and marchioness, dressed as neatly as we were able in our used clothes, and received nothing but derision.”
She couldn’t stand the stark look on his face a moment longer. It was as though he were facing a firing squad, with no hope of preventing the inevitable outcome. She lowered her head to his shoulder.
“I will never forget,” he said softly, “standing on her marble floors, looking up at the marchioness in her silks and laces, and thinking she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Until she looked at my brothers and me with contempt. I felt our shabbiness to our very bones.”
“You weren’t the one who was shabby in that situation.”
He patted her hand. “Thank you, poppet.” He inhaled deeply. “Anyhow, that is the story of the breach between myself and my grandmother. We haven’t spoken since.”
She jerked upright. “But that’s been…”
“Almost thirty years.”
Good Lord. When the man set his mind to holding a grudge, he did it with everything he had. She glared across the theatre to the Mallen box. What a despicable woman. Regardless of the sins of the son-in-law, she should have cared for her daughter’s children.
John chuckled. “You look angry enough on my behalf to confront her and cause a scene.”
“I have half a mind to do so!”
“Entertaining as that would be,” he said, “I do believe you owe me several favors for my dramatic soliloquy. I intend to collect.”
She gave one last pointed glare at the marchioness then erased her from her thoughts. John was at her side and in need of some diversion.
“And I intend to deliver. Has your mysterious companion put on enough of a show for the night?”
Taking her hands, he stood, pulling her up behind him. “More than enough. For the rest of the evening, I only want you to put on a show for me.”
***
“This wasn’t what I had in mind for my reward.” John tugged at the curtain cords binding his wrists to the headboard of his bed. The blindfold around his eyes itched like the dickens and the fire beside his bed wasn’t enough to keep his naked body warm.
That was where Netta was supposed to come in, but she was doing a damned fine job of rousing his interest then leaving him wanting. She’d undressed him, trussed him to the bed, then disappeared for a solid ten minutes for “supplies” before returning in a breathless rush.
And still cool air pressed upon him instead of her lush body.
He twisted his wrist. “I do think I should have been the one to choose the form of my reward after baring my soul to you.” Something he might yet regret. He’d never told anyone that story. Marcus knew some of it, and Wil probably suspected. But the rest of his friends he’d met after he’d restocked the Summerset coffers.
Which probably explained why Sutton expressed such concern over his plan. He wanted John to consult Liverpool since the security of the state might be at risk. And he damn sure didn’t want John stealing from the Dutch embassy without preauthorization from the government.
Sutton couldn’t understand how important the ore mines were to John, how the thought of losing them, losing everything he’d worked for, twisted his gut and stole his breath. Once the problem was in Liverpool’s hands, recovering the deed to Robert’s property would become of secondary importance.
“Stop your whining.” The mattress shifted beside him. “And stop turning your hand about. You’ll chafe the skin right off your wrist.”
He snorted. All sweetness and concern his Netta was not. When she had children and one of them fell, she would be the mother telling her child to get back on his feet rather than coo and kiss the sting away.
Something pinched behind his breastbone. Did she want to be a mother? After she left him, would she find some poor sot to marry and start a family? Or would she focus on her career? He wanted her to be happy, of course, but the idea of some other man on the receiving end of her rebukes, saucy remarks, and eyerolls made him want to punch right through his wall.
A trickle of oil drizzled onto his chest, followed by her hands smoothing the substance down his abdomen.
He relaxed into the bed. This was more like it. “If you could go a bit lower, I’d be most grateful.”
“Patience.” She changed directions, gliding her hands up his arms and earning her an exasperated sigh.
“You know I’ll make you feel good.” She brushed her lips over his.
He raised his head to increase the pressure and she pulled back. The teasing minx.
“Besides. We have all night.” She traced a circle around each of his nipples and followed the caress with her tongue.
John’s cock went full hard. A pulse throbbed in it, and he shifted his hips, needing it to touch any part of her.
She took pity and cupped him, squeezing lightly. “I do quite enjoy having you at my mercy. Defenseless.” She swiped her tongue over his crown, and he groaned. “In fact— eep!” Her hand disappeared and the bed bounced.
John pulled at his wrists, but she’d done too good a job with the knots. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Netta.” He injected as much iron into his voice as he was able. Blindfolded and tied to a bed didn’t put him in a position of authority.
“Truly, it is nothing dangerous. Merely…something you would find distasteful.” The bed shifted, raised as she clambered off of it. “I’ll just go get a broom to get rid of it. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
“Don’t move?” Was she a humorist now?
His bedroom door swished across his carpet as it opened then closed.
Leaving him alone.
With something distasteful.
Perfect.
“Netta!” he bellowed.
No response.
He strung together a row of curses, their inventiveness rather impressing even himself.
And then he heard it.
The soft skittering of tiny feet.
“Bloody hell.” He pulled at his restraints with all his might. Not in his home. His housekeeper and butler would be fired if they allowed vermin to roam freely. He levered himself up the bed and set his teeth to the knot at his right wrist. The whole bloody staff would be looking for new positions on the morrow.
Something soft brushed his foot.
John froze, blood thundering in his ears. Probably just the sheet twisting about him.
The sensation crawled past his ankle.
Not a sheet. He thrashed his foot about. Not a bloody sheet!
Netta’s peals of laughter cut through his panic.
“Get it off!” He pulled his legs up. “Kill it with the broom!”
She laughed harder. And his brain finally started to work.
He banged his head against the headboard, a metal rosette in the lattice framework digging into his skull. “You, my dear poppet, are going to pay.”
Netta tugged down his blindfold. She twirled the feather she held in the air, flourishing it like a sword. “When it comes to toying with a person’s mind, I’d say I won that round spectacularly. I owed you one.”
His heart slowed from its fright, but then picked up its pace for an entirely different reason.
Netta wore nothing but the delight of her victory and a proud smile. The thrusting and parrying she was doing with the feather made her full breasts bounce and her arse wiggle.
His mouth went dry.
He’d never known anyone so full of life. After all the horrors he’d seen as a spy, in the wars, borne witness to all the atrocities people could inflict, Netta was the closest thing to pure he’d ever known.
“Are you going to release me?” His voice was rough. Predatory. The need to touch her unalloyed brilliance was overwhelming.
When he was with her, he felt unsullied as well.
She ran the tip of the feather down between her breasts. “That depends. Are you going to use your freedom to carry out a revenge?”
He showed her all his teeth. “Only in the best way possible.”
“In that case….” She tossed the feather on the bed and bent over him to work on his knots.
Her breasts swung above his face. He couldn’t not lift his head and suck one of her pebbled nipples into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the hard bud, inhaling her scent, enjoying her breathy sigh.
As soon as his hands were free, he gripped her about the waist and rolled her to her back, following her over. He reached for the drawer to his bedside table and pulled out a condom. He tied it around his aching cock, swiped some oil from his chest, and rubbed it over the lambskin. Resting on his elbows, he gripped her head between his hands and pushed into heaven.
He burrowed into her in one slow glide. When he bottomed out, the connection he felt with her was absolute.
And unsettling. Netta was a lovely woman, but he wasn’t a man subject to soft feelings and foolish sentimentality.
So he reared back onto his knees and did what he did best. Fucked. Hard.
Netta closed her eyes, her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ as he pounded into her tight cunny. A rosy flush pinkened her skin all over, and she raised her arms to lace her fingers through the headboard, pushing into each of his thrusts.
“I’ve never felt anything so good,” she said, chest heaving.
Neither had he. She was the sweetest fuck he’d ever had. He could screw her for—
No. He slammed the door on that thought. Hooking his arm under her leg, he lifted her calf to his shoulder and pounded into her harder. Faster.
Sweat beaded on his brow. He had one thing to offer women, and he was going to give Netta his best. She might be a brazen, devious, adorable wench, but not even that could entice him into something more lasting.
The nerve endings along his cock screamed for relief. A tickle bloomed low on his spine and his whole body tensed.
“Are you close, poppet?” He scored her calf with his teeth. “Tell me that you’re close.”
“Mmm.” She bit her lower lip. “Almost.” Much too slowly for John’s liking, she trailed her finger tips over her abdomen and into her nest of curls. With one finger, she circled her clit, her body shuddering.
He joined her finger with his own. There was a time for leisure, but this wasn’t it. He rubbed her pouting nub, holding back his own pleasure with all of his might. He almost wept when her inner walls pulsed around him.
“John!” She threw her head back, her face a mask of agonized pleasure.
He fell forwards, planting his hands on either side of her head and hammered into her as his balls drew up tight and ecstasy exploded out of him.
He groaned, the sound torn from deep within. His hips kept rocking into her on their own volition, eking out every ounce of pleasure they could.
The heat of her body was an invitation. He wanted to sink into her, wrap his arms around her, and not let go until sleep took them both.
Instead, he pulled out and flopped to his back, trying to catch his breath.
She patted his chest. “That was fun,” she said. Her breath was as short as his at the exertion. “I should bring out the feather more often.”
He swiveled his head to look at her. “I’m burning that feather.”
She laughed, turning on her side. She rested her head on her hands and rubbed her toe against his calf. “You play with me; I play with you.” She yawned. “Why do you add games to your bed sport?”
“Don’t you enjoy them?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Obviously I do. Especially tonight’s. But it is a little unusual. When you made me believe we were about to be caught, I found it…” She chewed her lip.
“Thrilling? Arousing?”
“I was going to say panic-inducing, but I’ll accept your characterization.”
He bent his arm, bringing his hand beneath his head. “It’s called predicament play. I enjoy putting women in situations that confuse the mind. That push her boundaries, or where she feels like there is no way to win.”
“Why?”
“I find the thrill can act on a woman as a drug.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t your crisis more fulfilling when you felt close to being caught in the gazebo?”
“All my climaxes are fulfilling.” She tangled her foot in his own. “But why do you do it? It can’t purely be for the woman’s benefit.”
“Does everything need a reason?” he asked. “It’s fun. I enjoy controlling a woman’s responses.” When he directed a woman’s emotions, her passions, it was easier to keep their relationship casual. To keep her from becoming too attached.
To keep her from looking too deeply at the man in her bed.
“Well, I thank you for introducing me to it.” She nudged his leg. “You’ve certainly put the sport in bed sport.”
He hated himself for saying it, but it was best to put her on notice. “Perhaps you can train your future husband. Make sure he keeps you entertained in the same manner.”
She huffed out a laugh. “You needn’t worry, John. I am harboring no illusions about our affair developing into something more.”
His chest burned. Damn, but she saw right through him.
“Besides, I have no intention of marrying.” She rolled onto her back and stretched. “I enjoy my liberty too much to ever subjugate myself to a husband. England’s laws are not in a woman’s favor when it comes to the institution. Once I have my four thousand pounds, I’d be an absolute fool to hand it over to a husband.”
He stared at the delicate gold tester of his bed. “Indeed.” He didn’t have to worry about Netta trying to entrap him. He should be happy. She was only here for her fee, enjoying a bit of sport on the side. She was his ideal bed mate.
He turned on his side, away from Netta. Her breathing evened out, easing into slumber, while his shoulders remained hard blocks. Sleep was a long time coming. And when it did, it was disturbed by a dream he hadn’t suffered in years.
His grandmother sat on a throne above him. Saying nothing. Barely looking at him. And when she did, all the loathing and shame in the world was encompassed in her expression.
John fell to his hands and knees, her disgusted gaze landing like a blow. And when he managed to lift his head, the woman sitting in judgment above him was no longer his grandmother.
Netta appeared as regal as a queen, her face hard as ice. When she opened her mouth to condemn him, he jerked awake, his body covered in sweat.
He rolled up to sitting, his head falling forwards.
Netta puffed out small breaths behind him, enjoying the sleep of the innocent.
And why shouldn’t she? Netta wasn’t the one who allowed a shrew to define her self-worth.
He climbed out of bed, gathered his clothes, and quietly left the room.