If instinct had made her look into that room just at the wrong moment, then instinct was a curse and a crime. Had she not been crossing the hall precisely then, she would not have heard the Conqueror’s voice and been led by her traitorous feet into disaster. Melinda could not have been more wrong. Had Tiffany not known it deep inside? A sorry state she was in to allow the idle gossip of that feather-headed creature to twist her from the truth. Reaching the corridor where her room was situated, Tiffany sped down it, trying to remember which of several doors was hers. She realised with despair that she had forgotten to count when she came downstairs with Ariadne. And where was Ariadne? She had vanished as suddenly as had Will—or rather, William Westerham. Let her never be tempted to call him by that intimate name again. Had Ariadne betrayed her to him? But she was not there with him—in the library, was it? No, she was there. The Queen of Society, and queen of the Conqueror’s heart—always supposing he had one.
