Malmesbury? Christ. Well, at least she had her book lying there in the drawer to deal with that slimy poke. Hell. And hadn't she just made it plain she didn't want him? So every single word she'd said was a skewer, sitting there just far enough, so if he moved they'd prick him. Well, it still wasn't going to kill him to walk out that door without a backwards glance. He'd go to Massa, wherever it safe.

He raised his gaze, catching sight of himself in the glass. And even worse, ...