f*****g Frenchman. f*****g dandy, more like. As Jay laughed at yet another of the young man’s jokes, Dean had to ease his grip for fear of cracking the glass in his hand. He’d escaped back to the garden room. From here, he hid behind the curtains to observe Jay’s face and eyes alight with attention. Having opened a couple of windows, Dean also listened in. Not easy to shut out the murmuring backdrop—voices, laughter, the c***k of glasses—to focus on the stranger. Unable to catch more than the occasional sentence, he struggled to form a genuine opinion as to whether the man was amusing or not. Not that he cared.
Dean narrowed his gaze. Something familiar about him. Had he attended some family function before? Dean couldn’t remember and the thought blotted out as the stranger leant in, encr
