“I saw Mal at the ball tonight.” She blinks at me. “Mal…?” “Irish Mal.” Her eyes widen, and she slaps the back of her hand over her forehead dramatically. Summer can be scandalized more easily than a seventeenth century duchess in a brothel. “Say it ain’t so.” I nod. “It’s so, and it’s worse than anything you might imagine.” “I don’t know how it possibly could be, unless he’s Callum’s lover and is after his ass, not yours. You finally have your shit together, Rory. You’ve been hung up on him for years.”
