Court of Flowers (Sutherland Book 1)

XXVII | Little Secrets

"Lady Sasha?" she heard Iyana ask with concern when Sasha staggered backward. "My lady, is everything all right?"

Sasha immediately jumped to the window and pulled the curtains close, her heart hammering against her chest.

"Iyana, did you lock all the doors?"

"Of course—"

"Are you certain?" Sasha asked, whirling around, eyes shaking with fear.

"Yes, Briana and Gail did—"

"Check, Iyana. Now."

Iyana frowned. "But what is wrong—"

"Just do it!"

Iyana nodded and rushed out the door. Sasha walked back to the window and peered through the curtains.

The garden below was empty. He was gone.

Sasha moistened her lips, turning to face her room, her eyes gliding to all corners. Her first instinct was to call for West, but she could not do that.

He was not responsible for her.

Iyana returned later after checking the doors, face filled with concern. "Did you see something—or someone—outside the window, my lady? Please, tell me."

"It was nothing, Iyana. No one. I must just be too tired I was seeing things. Forgive me if I have caused you alarm."

Iyana held her hand to her chest. "You did more than that. After what happened to you—did you think you saw him outside?"

"Who, Iyana?"

"Willoghby, of course."

Sasha blinked a few times. "No—I don't know."

Iyana nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "I will leave my door open tonight, my lady. If that will make you feel at ease."

"It is fine, Iyana. I will be fine." She smiled, playfully pushing the woman out the door. "Truly, I will be fine. Do you think we can have muffins on the morrow?"

Iyana smiled hesitantly. "Of course. I will tell Gail."

Sasha softly closed the door. She turned the lock and rested her forehead on the hard surface, letting out a long, shaky breath.

The bloody bastard.

What did he want with her?

*****

By morning, Sasha did have her wish of muffins.

And a visitor.

West went straight to the breakfast room after Iyana opened the door for him and found Sasha finishing her meal.

Left alone, he dragged his eyes from her head to her hands, then back to her face. "Did you have a fantastic luncheon yesterday?" he asked.

Sasha shrugged. "I did."

His eyes narrowed.

"Gail, my cook, hastily prepared sandwiches after I left Mrs. Compton's villa."

Two thick brows arched in surprise. "Interesting," he said, taking the seat to her left. "Why?"

Sasha swallowed and wiped her mouth. "I found that—"

He did not let her finish. His hand grabbed her hand and glared at her wrist. "What is this?" he asked, turning her hand over to inspect the bruise.

"The reason why Gail had to make sandwiches," she said, pulling at her hand. He did not let go. Sasha sighed. "West, you are being dramatic."

"And what do you think this is? A natural occurrence?" he asked, lifting her hand. "Sasha, Owen Compton has a reputation to be—"