The drawing room was filled with candlelight, firelight and two people who should not have been in the same room. Horatia, not willing to concede defeat, had curled up in her window seat again, her silver gown tucked up around her slippers, knees nestled under her chin. She clutched her novel, Lady Eustace and the Merry Marquess, trying to focus on its pages and not the real life marquess sitting by the fire. In the short span of time between Jonathan's battle of wills with Audrey, ...