“Who took care of them last night?” He could tell her. He could name them. He’d seen them all working together, like they’d trained for just such an evening as the one they’d had last night. The Duchess of Trevescan, with money and power to spare. Adelaide Frampton, whom the entire world seemed to think was a simpering wallflower but was able to wield a blade without trouble. Imogen Loveless, who’d knocked a bruiser out with a concoction Caleb never wanted to be on the receiving end of. Maggie, who had eyes everywhere. The others. And Sesily, like a fucking goddess, up on the bar, red skirts
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