When she had finished, she felt like she could face the world again. First things first. She checked her phone, and it was completely dead. Of course it was. The fucking fucker.

She needed to buy a new phone. She should also call Paul to give him an update on what had happened to the property. She needed to find out what might happen to the entailment if the house collapsed. Maybe she should just swing by his office to talk to him in person.

Digging out his card, she used the suite phone to call the office. When Paul’s secretary Trevor answered, she said, “Hi, this is Sophie Ross. Is Paul available?”

“Sophie!” Trevor exclaimed. “Paul has been trying to ring you. Where are you?”

“I’m in Shrewsbury,” she told him. “I… actually, I’m not entirely sure where I am. I was pretty out of it when I checked in yesterday. I’m in a hotel near one of the bridges.”

“As there’s nine bridges here, that narrows it down to many,” Trevor said, humor evident in his voice. “Hold on, I’m transferring you now.”

She waited for the heartbeat it took to transfer, then Paul answered, exclaiming with every bit as much fervency as Trevor had, “Sophie! I’m so glad you rang. I’ve emailed and tried to ring you. Are you all right?”

“Sure, of course,” she said, bemused. “Listen, I need to talk to you.”

“I need to talk to you too. Between last night and this morning, I’ve taken about a dozen phone calls from the Dark Court. One of them is an absolute madman. And—are you sitting down?” he asked. “Because if you’re not, you might want to.”

An absolute madman. Oh dear. She felt behind her for the edge of the chair and lowered herself into it. “I am now.”

“The King’s cousin Annwyn—who, I guess, is now the regent since he’s fallen ill—has made quite an offer to buy the property. Sophie, she offered ten million pounds.”

“I—She what?” The world wobbled around her, and she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

“You’re probably wondering if you heard me right,” Paul told her, laughing. “Forgive me for cackling like a lunatic, because I am, in fact, quite serious. The Dark Court wants to pay you ten million pounds for the Shaw family albatross, lock, stock, and barrel.”

“But Paul, the house is unlivable. It has cracks in its foundation, and it’s barely standing upright.”

“Prices for country estates in the UK are astronomical. Just the land alone is worth a great deal of money. To be honest, if you wanted to bargain with them, I think you could probably get them up to fifteen million.”

Fifteen. Million. Her mind refused to take that number in.

“Lock, stock, and barrel means the contents of the library too, right?” she replied faintly. “I had wanted to go through that.”

“Yes, they want the library too. At this point, it’s sight unseen, of course, but they feel there is some possibility they might find some useful information there. Apparently, the Shaws had worked in opposition to them in the past. Annwyn said they feel it’s worth the gamble financially. Between that, acquiring the annuity that goes with the house, and gaining control over a viable crossover passageway, she believes they’re offering fair market value.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” she muttered.

On the one hand, she felt an inexplicable reluctance, but on the other, the property was now so damaged it bore none of the charms she had first enjoyed about it. Instead of having a viable living space, if she didn’t sell, she would be facing renovation bills she didn’t have the liquid resources to pay. And besides, the Dark Court had a legitimate claim and a very real need.

“You don’t have to say a thing,” Paul told her. “Just take a few hours to absorb the news and come on into the office. We can go over the details. I’ll take you to lunch and buy you champagne.”

“Well… Okay, thank you. Of course I’ll listen to the details,” she told him. “For ten million pounds, how can I not?”

“Exactly. See you soon.”

In a daze, she set the receiver on the cradle.

What did the madman have to say? Did he want to yell at her, now that she’d had some coffee? Was he trying to close the deal?

After dressing in jeans, the Doc Martens, a black, long-sleeved sweater, and a denim jacket, she braided her hair, checked her Glock and tucked it into her purse. Then she opened the door.

Nikolas stood outside, dressed in black, carrying so much Power he felt like a bolt of lightning barely sheathed in the form of a man. The planes and angles of his face, so sharp they appeared cut from an immortal blade, were clenched, and his dark eyes glittered.

The impact of his forceful presence hit her so hard she fell back a step.

He advanced. She retreated more. She only realized they had stepped fully back into the suite when he shot out a hand to slam the door shut.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He said between his teeth, “Chasing after you.”

She stared at him, breathing hard. After a moment, she said, “I’m not going to fight with you.”

“I’m not here to fight.” He turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. Then with quick, vicious movements, he shrugged out of his sword harness and threw it across the room. In a quiet, raw voice, he said, “You left. You just left.”

“Yes, I did,” she said softly.