“Did I hear right? He is in reality—a she?” a shrill voice, laced with unmitigated delight, asked. It belonged to Lady Carrington, the woman from the secret room. “And she is his ward?”
“By George, I was bested by a girl?” That was the astonished voice of Blackstone.
“Not once, Blackstone, but twice! If one counts the duel, heheh.” Forsyth’s delight knew no bounds.
“Badly done, Rochford, badly done,” Alworth gnashed through his teeth.
Marcus ignored him. “Princess? Shall we go?” He quirked up an eyebrow.
This was when Pen’s nerves finally snapped. Where the deuce had he been the entire time? And now he pretended nothing was wrong? Years of hurt, longing and unrequited love bundled themselves up into a ball of rage as she curled her hand into a tight fist and smashed it into his face with a satisfying crack.
The crowd gasped.
Lucy shrieked.
And Pen finally felt something loosen inside her chest.
