Grace never wailed, never even gasped as the whip flayed her soft, delicate skin.
James was shackled to Leticia’s bed. He hadn’t marked Grace as he’d wished, but he was somehow attuned to her in a way he challenged he had ever been attuned to another. He should not have been able to concentrate on her, particularly since he’d been battling a burning desire for her—her body, her blood, her everything, and all other thoughts had become dazed and trivial in comparison.
Now, he felt the wrath. He was furious. There was so much resentment, and every bit of it was leveled at the wardens.
They had hauled Grace along the elegant hallway filled with paintings of the master sorcerer and the mistress and their daughters, down the winding stairs with dim velvet carpeting, and to the outrageous banq
