Chapter 6: Half a Promise

I woke up on a leather couch in his office with his jacket over me and the sun coming through the glass.

He sat at the far end of the room, fully dressed, with his elbows on his knees and his hands locked together.

He looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"Good morning," I said.

"Good morning."

It was the stiffest two words I had ever heard.

I sat up, and the jacket slid down, and his eyes went to my bare shoulder and came back up to the ceiling.

Last night I'd been wild.

This morning I was just a girl in her underwear, looking at a man who had already put his collar back on.

"Don't," I said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't go back to the ruler. Not after that desk."

He rubbed his face with both hands.

"Mara. I should tell you about the promise."

I got very still.

"Your father asked me for one thing," he said. "He asked me for it near the end, in a room I won't describe."

"The hospice."

"He was clear and awake, and he made me say it twice.

"He made me swear I would keep you out of this club, and out of my life."

The room tilted a little.

"He didn't want me here?"

"He didn't want you near me."

I pulled my knees up under his jacket.

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that. Not yet."

"Because you'd have to tell me what happened eighteen years ago."

His jaw worked.

"Yes."

"My father is dead, Ramsay."

"I know."

"Dead men don't get a vote on who I sleep with."

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