Chapter Thirty
Primrose threw aside the swatches, caught up her skirts, and ran from the drawing room, along the corridor, across the vestibule—her shoes slapping on the marble flagstones—and flung open the door to the library with such force that it slammed into the wall with a sharp crack.
The library was a large room, but at night it seemed as vast as a cathedral, filled with shadows, the ceiling lost in darkness. The only light was by the fireplace, where two armchairs formed a cozy nook, lit by candles and firelight.
Rhodes and Oliver were seated in those armchairs, a chessboard laid out on a table between them. Neither of them reacted to the crack, or to her abrupt entrance.
Rhodes had slumped forward over the table, his head resting on his arms, looking for all the world like a
