Brock woke late, the sun pouring through the sash windows of his bedchamber. He rather liked the multipaned glass of the windows. They were commonplace in England, but not back home. He blinked, bleary-eyed, as he remembered he was not in Scotland. He was in England for Rosalind's wedding. He winced as he remembered last night at the ball. Joanna. She'd slapped him, and then he'd tossed her into a coach and almost brought her here to this residence.

If Rosalind ever found out ...