Dorian stood in the archway of his castle and watched the woman flee as if for her life. “Let her go, Walters,” he ordered, stopping his cook from going after her and hauling her back. “Name’s Frank,” Walters insisted, though he obediently returned to Dorian’s side. It took a moment for the words to penetrate Dorian’s concentration, so focused as it was on the retreating form running with desperate abandon toward the pavilion, her skirts the color of sea foam billowing out behind her. Finally, he glanced over at his biggest and most pliable employee. “Frank?” Walters inclined his head toward
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