19
The weight of three feminine stares made Ashton’s stomach clench. His mother and sister knew nothing of what had transpired all those years ago. Aside from academics, they knew he’d formed deep bonds with his friends and that was all. And he hadn’t planned on telling Rosalind more unless he had to. She pulled away from his hold to stare up at him, those gray eyes soft as dove feathers.
When he’d first gone to Cambridge, he’d had no friends. His father’s death and his subsequent debts had destroyed their societal connections. A year later he’d made true friends, whom he had brought home to meet his family. But he had never shared how he had met the rest of the League.
“Ashton, I never knew that,” his mother said, eyes as wide as saucers from the Lennox family china.
“It is a bad memo
