Chapter 22
It was almost seven o’clock, and long shadows were creeping up the drive. My lover—I finally dared to think of him that way—had seemed determined to brand me as his, and when we came down to join his mother for drinks in the rose salon shortly before dinner, my collar just covered the livid love bite he had placed on me.
“What shall we have, Thomas?” his mother asked.
“I thought a Champagne Cocktail?”
“Isn’t that a trifle mundane?”
“Not this one.” He poured a glass of champagne, soaked a sugar cube in absinthe, and dropped it into the champagne, then handed it to Lady Genie. He did the same for me, and finally for himself.
I took a sip and grimaced, although my companions both seemed to enjoy the taste. I’d decided to give it another try, when I suddenly felt as if my bow
