“Good Lord, not Lord Westcliff.” Annabelle rubbed her weary eyes. “He couldn’t have cared less what I smelled like. It was my husband who went completely mad. After he caught the scent of that stuff, he dragged me up to our room and . . . well, suffice it to say, Mr. Hunt kept me awake all night. All night,” she repeated in sullen emphasis, and drank deeply of the tea.
I KNOW THATS RIGHT
