“I always carry food in my pockets. One never knows when one will be hungry.”
“You should be a great deal sturdier around your middle by now.” Dev looked disgusted.
“I have an excellent constitution.”
“And yet we digress,” Max said. “Were there any problems with staff?”
“No. They were very accommodating, and Penny liked them all too.”
The anger in the room had eased now.
Samantha was here and safe, and she would stay that way. Warwick saw it in the faces around him. He wondered if she realized that from this day forth she would be watched over.
“You will not leave this house without a footman or family member,” James said.
“What? Why?” Samantha looked surprised by her brother's words.
“I’m not answering that foolish question. You were kidnapped. It will not be happening again.”
And with that, her fate was sealed. She would not be able to set foot in a direction without anyone knowing. Warwick wanted to smile with relief but refrained.
He then sipped his drink as Samantha and her brothers debated.
“So, you saved Samantha,” Cam said. “Well done, little brother. I’m pleased you were there when she needed you, just as I’m glad you both returned home in one piece.”
“I didn’t really save her,” Warwick said, feeling as if his necktie was suddenly choking him. Everyone who carried Sinclair blood knew that you only married your future mate, someone of Raven blood, after you’d saved them. “She did that herself.”
“And what about on the boat? When you found her and her maid and got them off? If that is not saving, I don’t know what is.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Like that?”
“She’s like a sister to me. I was looking out for her.”
“That must be it then. Not a Sinclair saving a Raven.”
His brother crunched loudly into a nut, and Warwick manfully allowed it, instead of demanding he chew quietly because his nerves were suddenly stretched tighter than piano wire.
They had spent their life together like siblings.
She was not his bloody Raven!
CHAPTERELEVEN
She had been back a week, and still no note had arrived to tell her what she needed to do to keep whoever wrote the first letter quiet.
Could she relax?
“Someone does not take the time to send you a letter in Ireland and then not follow up, you fool,” Samantha muttered.
She’d woken early today and was now sitting in the window looking at dawn slowly creeping over London.
Since returning, Samantha had spent time with her family catching up on what she’d missed and loved every minute. But waiting for that next letter was hanging over her. That and the fact something had changed inside her over the past year. She’d found independence and chafed over her brothers watching her every move.
But until they were satisfied she was safe, she had to put up with the restrictions.
She’d not seen a great deal of Warwick, for which she was grateful. Distance and time would put them back on the same footing they’d been on before that kiss. She hoped.
