Chapter Twenty-Two
Proserpina“We can’t go out there again,” Auden says as he paces in front of the fireplace, one hand stabbed into his hair and the other balled at his side.
Rain lashes against the tall library windows, as if the very sky is mirroring Auden’s mood, and even though it’s almost July, the space is filled with a dim, stormy gloom. Every so often, thunder cracks and rolls over the moors and down to the house, rattling the panes in the windows and sending Sir James Frazer to his feet to bark indignantly at the air.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Rebecca says. She’s sitting on a sofa with Delphine’s head in her lap, and she strokes her submissive’s hair while she talks. “But I do think we need to qualify what we mean when we say go.”
Murmurs of agreement come from aro
