Enough. Royston didn’t have to explain himself to these people.
He turned and strode towards the set of double doors only to bump into a maid carrying a tray loaded with champagnes flutes. Tottering on her feet, she cried out as the flutes smashed on the floor in a splash of champagne and bubbles.
He went to steady her, but his foot slipped on the wet floor, and he ended up shoving her quite hard. The maid fell over backwards with a thud and a groan of pain.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” He didn’t have time to help her up before a footman intervened, shooting a reproachful glare at him.
“I didn’t shove her on purpose,” Royston said.
The footman arched his brow but didn’t say anything.
The room had gone suddenly quiet. Even the music had stopped.
Sod it. Crunching the pieces of glasses under his shoes, he marched out among whispers, mutters, and laughter.
“Royston, wait,” Angeline said behind him, but he didn’t stop.
