Cecilia

My new bodyguard escorted me from the upstairs suite down the grand staircase to the sitting room on the main level. The holster of his gun was barely visible, but it was visible. Not only was I being held against my will but by gun-carrying men who had probably been told to shoot me if necessary.

No. I couldn’t be shot.

I had an heir to produce.

As we approached the bottom of the staircase, my attention went to the front doors. At least fourteen feet ...