Chapter Twenty Nine
He’d stayed away a week. A week was long enough. After all, he’d made a promise to Stroud. He’d made a promise.
He smiled to himself as he turned the corner and started up the short path through the back garden. Security conscious little mouse. All the blinds were shut tight, but he could see the downstairs lights were on. It was past one o’clock and Brooke knew it was rude to turn up so late but it didn’t stop him from knocking on Ever’s door. She was up and came to the door within moments.
“It’s you,” she said without surprise and, in two words, Brooke knew this was not the rigidly composed, apprehensive slave who fought so hard for self control. Nor was it the smooth mannered, soft spoken wine hostess in her crisp tuxedo shirt. Least of all did it resemble the war
