Christian called into the crack of the door. “Anna.” He rapped lightly. After several seconds when that didn’t rouse a response, he pressed his lips against the wood of the door and the door jamb. “Anna,” he whispered, a little more forcefully this time. How could she not hear him? Pretty soon someone else would and then there’d be trouble. He tried singing her name. “Aaannaaa.” It was easy with the vowels on each end to extend her name into a singsong that could go on for quite a while. He was preparing a falsetto when the door swung open, and he teetered into her room. “What? Is the house on fire? Is that mad mistress of yours back?” Anna stood in the open doorway clutching the neck of her white nightgown. She sounded genuinely alarmed which Christian thought might have been his fault. “Anna, Anna, Anna,” he crooned. He thought it might soothe her. It didn’t.“Oh my word. Are you drunk?” Annoyance replaced fear in her voice. “You’re drunk.”“I’m not drunk,”
What do You think about The Duke Of Morewether’s Secret?
