the curtains. Dylan had not slept another win

Her grip loosened, and with a soft sigh she rolled a

as f

udding. He watched her for another moment-her back rising and falling in deep sleep-befo

red the suite with a soft knoc

orientation. She sat up, stretching,

the bed to draw the curtains and straighten the l

hite sheet. There, stark against the fine linen, was a

relieved smile. "Oh, my la

is was proof. The marriage had been consumma

ers. It was crushed poppy petal, concealed in a tiny vial and applied i

ns, knowing glances in the corridors. The cold Lord Dylan, it seemed, was not so col

tern head housekeeper, to the true matriarch:

She listened to Mrs. Gable's report, her gnarled fingers snipping a withered leaf from a prized rose bush.

nd walls of duty and grief. He would not, could not, have succumbed to

d up a delicate porcelain cup of tea. "T

my l

She didn't care about the truth. She cared about the result. She needed a mistress who could manage her brooding grandson, tame his w

hens that the new Lady Lucas requires nourishin

icial, undeniable en

fectly. "At once, my lady

ilt on a drop of flower

ella stood before the doors to the family dining room. She knew dealing with the se

d her features into a serene sm