Chapter Three
Oliver tumbled down the sharp, pale marble steps to the street. If he hadn’t had so much practice falling off horses, he might have broken his neck. But he’d spent eight years in the cavalry and he’d come off horses more times than he could remember, so he managed not to break any bones. It did hurt, though.
He lay sprawled on the paving stones for a moment, his own cry of alarm ringing in his ears, while the night spun jerkily around him—shadows and torchlight—and then he caught his breath and cautiously pushed up to sitting. Ouch.
“Sir?” someone called out. “Are you all right, sir?”
Footsteps pattered down the marble stairs. Someone crouched alongside him. One of the footmen from the vestibule, his expression turning to horrified dismay when he recognized Oliver. “Your
