He smiled with satisfaction at the memory of what he’d enjoyed last night with the young Andrea Tate. The girl rubbed at her eyes in groggy confusion, then blinked as she looked at Alan. “What happened?” she asked. “I feel terrible, and I hurt.” “You’re fine, dear. You should be happy that you’re a woman now.” The girl looked down at herself and gasped at the sight of blood on the sheets, then yanked the blankets up to her neck. “What did you do?” She looked around the bedroom. “How did I get here? All I remember is you telling my father you’d see that I’d get home safely after the cotillion last night.” “And you are safe. And thanks to you, your father has paid me for a gambling debt.” Andrea blinked against tears that started trickling down her cheeks. “What do you mean?” Alan’s countenance darkened as he walked closer and grasped a bedpost, leaning close to the girl’s face.
