CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The corridor outside Rowland’s private wing was silent to give the impression that he wasn't there. She moved like a shadow, hood drawn low, heart hammering with a hunger she hadn’t felt in what felt like lifetimes

She slipped through the outer door without knocking.

Her fingers found the hidden seam behind the heavy tapestry above the bed. One firm push and the panel gave way with a soft click. It was the inner room Rowland built for her. Where they pleasured ...