The ride from Ripples Creek to Mr Beauchamp's mansion was very long and incredibly quiet, which Brand somewhat appreciated. One hand over the other, he continuously rubbed on an old scar.
What had he been thinking, accepting to attend a social gathering when nothing was at stake? What did it matter that Madelyn had been crying, and why had he wished to elevate her mood? Now he was bound for a bloody dinner with businessmen, traders and accountants he would wish no talks with other than those of business. He was a blasted moron!
Beside him, Madelyn would not stop fidgeting, annoying him. Her hands repeatedly squeezed her dress at the knees, rumpling the material, while her eyes darted between him and the window.
Why was she worried? She was elegant in that dress.
