Chapter Twenty-Four
Oliver hadn’t been particularly aware of his bruises when he went to bed—he’d been too preoccupied by everything else that had happened—but he definitely felt them when he woke.
Someone knocked softly on the door.
“Who is it?”
“Monsieur Benoît.”
Oliver sat up stiffly, repressing a groan. He had to repress a second groan while climbing out of bed, and a third as he staggered to the door and unlocked it.
Rhodes’s valet stood there, with a steaming ewer of water. “Good morning, sir.”
“Morning, Benoît.”
Oliver limped across to the window and looked out, while the valet set up the washstand. Wisps of cloud trailed across a sky the color of starlings’ eggs. He cautiously stretched his arms overhead. His muscles protested, so he abandoned the movement and turned away f
