Taking her place on the satin upholstered chair Devorlane Hawley had pulled out from the small supper table for her, Cass hoped her expression was both neutral as a basin of tepid water and completely befitting someone who had spent the afternoon quietly cloistered in the library as opposed to someone who had been forcibly restrained from leaping from a moving coach and nearly fracturing her skull.
Dining with the devil required a certain length of spoon, after all. She wouldn't want it looking as if such behavior was anything less than normal.
Opening her napkin, she set it on her lap. Why was she so afraid to step back into Chessington with him? In a few words? She wasn't. She'd just been a little fraught.
"Thank you so much, Lord Hawley, I am perfectly comfortable."
Well, she was. A
