Vickers. Good heavens, those shoulders. They were even more impressive up close. Such a broad expanse of fabric reached all the way across his chair and intruded into the space allotted to his neighbors. If she had sat next to him instead of behind, would she even now feel the press of them against her? The idea set her heart to thumping, but she refused to let it show. All about them people surreptitiously stretched and murmured low as they shook out benumbed limbs, but Vickers—and those shoulders—remained still and quiet. Had he fallen asleep? He would likely not have been alone. Holding her breath, she leaned in close, listening for the sound of deep, even breaths. “You owe me, Miss Stockton,” he said suddenly, quite loud and clear. She gasped and jumped and nearly fell from her chair. “The balance of our agreement was mightily skewed when I was forced to listen to Miss Vale rhyme life giving waters with druidic squatters.”
