Edward suppressed a shrug. Chérie’s Confessions weren’t something he’d wish a lady to read, but they were harmless enough entertainment for gentlemen.
Breath whistled in Strickland’s throat. His face was alarmingly flushed.
“I’ll ring for a servant, sir. You should rest in bed.”
“No,” the old man said stubbornly, wheezing. “I must find her.”
Edward resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He stood and glanced around the study. A decanter of sherry sat on a narrow sideboard. He strode across, poured a healthy slug into a glass, and brought it back to Strickland.
The man took the glass. “I won’t have such filth in my village,” he muttered. “I shall find her!”
“If you find her, sir, what do you hope to achieve?” Chérie had every right to live in Soddy Morton if she wished. Although God only
