Dawson advanced to the sideboard, studying the selection before grabbing a decanter. “Care for a dram? To celebrate, of course.” Gideon offered his thanks as the door creaked open, Whitfield appearing like a wraith in the entry. He raised his brows in question. Or perhaps in greeting. One never knew with the duke. “If we do not invite you in, does that mean you cannot cross the threshold?” Gideon drawled, accepting a tumbler from Dawson. “You really are an arse, Fox.” Whitfield kicked the door closed behind him. Sinking into a leather armchair, he propped his chin on his hand, a portrait of
...more
