My lord, I'm a witch, Hazel said as she approached the old man. Oliver
sent her a warning glance that she promptly ignored.
The marquess grunted. "And she has a sense of humor to go with her death wish,
I see.
Let the man think she was joking. He didn't particularly care.
"It's a pleasure ta meet you, sir," she finally said, though her face told the truth. It
wasn't a pleasure at all. Her dainty nose was scrunched up, probably
from the smell. And no smile graced her beautiful face.
"A Netherlands, lass?" The marquess blinked his silver eyes.
"Aye." Hazel inclined her head, and then she surprised him when she said, "A
Nethers lass who is not afraid to tell you that you smell terrible." She turned
and motioned for the maid to open the window.
"He doesn't want it open, milady," th
