Fleurette demanded. They’d returned in utter silence to Lucille’s spacious home, and though Fleur’s growling anger had lost a bit of its biting edge, it continued to gnaw at her guts. Damn the barbarian to utter darkness! “Thinking?” Lucy asked, and, handing her newest chapeau to a maid, sauntered into the parlor. “You know exactly what I mean,” Fleur hissed, following testily in the other’s perfumed wake. “Why in heaven’s name would you invite him to your house?” “Who?” Fleurette gritted her teeth and counted to ten. This was exactly why she was so fond of hounds and horses. They weren’t so convincing when they acted dumb. “The barbarian,” she hissed. “The damned…” She tried to continue but ran out of words and found herself waving wildly as she searched. “The Scotsman?” “Yes the Scotsman!
