Oddly, his father actually chuckled. “While I admire your athleticism, you might find my office window easier to climb into.” There was no way around this. He was trembling so hard it was a miracle he hadn’t slipped again. Slowly, he lowered himself to the open window, swung his legs inside, and landed softly on a large rug. His pulse was a roar in his ears. There he was, standing in his father’s office, with Mr. Bennet himself, dressed from head to toe in menswear. He might just pass out from anxiety. Or vomit. Behind him, Mr. Bennet closed the window with a squeak-scrape. Oliver stood
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