Where had he gone? How could he leave? He’d admitted he loved me.
It took me two minutes to find and drag on a pair of jeans and a striped jumper.
I started to become angry. If that wasn’t just like the spoiled, pain in the arse viscount’s son. When I got my hands on him, I intended to finally follow my brother’s advice, yank down my boy’s trousers, and wallop his bare bum.
I didn’t take the time to bother with shoes and socks, just pelted down the stair as a sudden thought hit me: if I didn’t find him, and soon, St John could be out the door. The bleeding wanker. Did he really think that after last night I would let him walk out of my life?
The odour of frying sausages was coming from the back of the house. Mrs Harris never came in this early. Papa and Pere refused to go near the cook
