Chapter 5
Sinclair stepped out of Henry Angelo’s, still breathing hard from his training session. The pleasant mood from exercising was quickly fading, as his body reminded him of all his aches. Soaked with perspiration, his clothes clung to him, suffocating him. Sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes, mixing with the big drops of cold rain that blew sideways in the stiff spring breeze.
Precipitation was welcome at the moment — he imagined steam rising from his shirt collar as the droplets fell — though he’d be shivering by the time he reached home. Broderick would use it as an excuse to make him drink one of those foul-tasting tisanes his valet swore by. Sinclair grimaced, adjusted his grip on his walking stick, and started down the steps to the street.
“Sorry ‘bout that la
