No one spoke for a moment. Not Rowan, not Clark, and especially not Ophelia as she sat on the floor where Clark had thrown her upon entering the room.
An Oakwood desk towered in front of her eyes with two emerald-cushioned chairs in front of it and she assumed that the chair behind Rowan’s side was the same, only more elaborate. Just as she had seen in the city library, the table held gilded edges and the chairs had embossed hand rests. The room had white walls and there was a set of three windows in the wall just behind Rowan, all covered with white gossamer curtains, except for the one behind him.
The setting sun cast a shadow on his face, highlighting his strong jaw and angular cheekbones while his hair looked to be a shade lighter than onyx, making his forest green eyes look deeper
