Chapter 12
The slamming door reverberated through Celeste’s head like a death knell. Her shock was so great she could barely formulate anything that made sense. Not that, in fact, anything did make sense. For one thing, what was she doing in this strange bed? Her breathing ratcheted up with each fresh realisation of her increasingly perilous situation. For perilous it was, indeed.
Who, for a start, was this strange man? Then she remembered that it was Harry Carstairs. He’d apologised before she passed into oblivion once again.
She’d woken to find Lord Peregrine standing at the foot of the bed, his face black with thunder, his scorn like a scalding lance.
What could she do except offer the truth?
‘Please my lord, I don’t understand any of this,’ she’d managed, after pleading for the sa
