Desa reclined in the copper bathtub, submerged to her shoulders in hot soapy water, her head hung back over the edge. Her eyes were shut as she reveled in the blessed joy of tired muscles unwinding.
Mrs. Collins, the matronly woman who had inherited this small inn from her dead husband, had been more than eager to draw the bath herself. “The least I could do,” she said, “for a woman who travels with the likes of him.” She had favoured Marcus with a scowl that intensified with every syllable.
Desa almost laugh.
If the woman only knew...
Marcus was the very least of Desa"s worries. Between Tommy"s gentle but insistent attempts to ferret out why she was avoiding him and Adele"s penchant for making herself a nuisance, it was likely that she would go mad before they found Bendarian. That mi
