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moment passed.
    Jonathan took a step back before folding into a deep bow. “I look forward to our week together,
ma chérie
. But for now, I must make arrangements with my people.” He turned and disappeared into the tearoom.
    Feeling like she struggled for air under a warm tropical sea, Rogue took a shaky breath, hungry for oxygen. Her fingers tingled as she released her clenched fists, letting the blood rush through.
The bloody man’s a hypnotist; his tone lulls a woman out of her senses.
A bloody gorgeous man.
    Part of her wanted to shake her head clear like her Scottish wolfhound, Diva, after coming in from a drenching rain. Those piercing eyes still glowed in front of her, and she savored the vision.
    “Where have you been?” Aunt Baillie walked up next to Rogue.
    “I, uh,” she hesitated, startled at her aunt’s abrupt appearance.
    “Come on, you need to introduce yourself.” Baillie fluffed her hands in front of her as she ushered Rogue into the room full of people.
    Scrambling for mental balance, Rogue couldn’t resist as her aunt shoved her to the front of the room. Conversations stopped, and she made a brief speech of welcome and being at their service, but Rogue had no control of her senses. Jonathan stood in a back corner, his outfit of dramatic black pulling at her, a magnet to hot metal. She heard her words come out choppy and more by rote than gratitude or conscious thought. She quickly ended with a deep curtsy and excused herself. Avoiding her aunt, she ducked out the other doorway. Had she actually heard a deep, resonate chuckle in her haste to flee?
    The sanctuary of the kitchen enveloped Rogue in warmth and familiarity. She rushed to the sink and ran cool water over her shaking hands. Why did she feel exhausted? Grabbing a nearby hand towel, she wet a corner of it and wrung out the moisture. Dabbing the wet coolness to her forehead and neck slowed her breathing.
    “Is there something ya be needing, Rogue?” Putney stood solid with her hands on her hips. Her worn cap sat on her head with damp curls poking out of the ruffle.
    “No, uh, not really, I just ...” Her answer was interrupted as Aunt Baillie came into the room.
    “Are you all right?” She stopped in front of her, grasping her shoulders. “You looked in pain out there in front of the guests.”
    There was no possible way of explaining herself to Putney and her aunt when she barely understood any of these feelings herself. The man’s very presence sucked reality out of her and replaced it with a tingling sensation, a vibration starting within her soul, making her body weak. Had he mentioned Hollywood and her in the same sentence? She stood silent, blinking, and shrugged.
    “Will you be able to help me get the guests to their rooms?” Like someone snapped out of a trance, Rogue nodded, and together, they headed back into the parlor.
    With the last guest settled for the moment, Baillie caught up with Rogue and slipped her arm in hers. “Dinner’s in a couple hours.” Baillie leaned in close. “Anything you want to talk about?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “That Mr. Olson is rather striking, don’t you think, in a melancholy sort of manner.”
    “I, uh, hadn’t really noticed, Auntie.” A moment passed. “Please excuse me.” Her voice strained, breathy. “I need to check on Dougal.” Rogue extracted her arm before lifting her skirt and dashing down the hallway.

Chapter Five
    The typical silence in this part of the castle late in the day broke with bits of chatter and conversations from the writers dressed for dinner. Rogue fidgeted in the tight corset underneath the more formal, deep purple gown, her hair styled on top of her head, tendrils of curls tickling her neck. She’d spent more time than usual applying different makeup, trying some of the tips Rafael constantly pushed at her during visits. Her dresser top looked like an explosion of colorful shadows, paints, and various brushes from the girls.
    What