Sean pressed his phone to his ear and paced his study.

"They did what?" he asked, anger pulsing through his body.

​​

"Just Lawson, sir," Geoffrey said. "He attacked Mrs. Blair's younger brother. Gotta give it to the kid, he's pretty fast. Anyway, he put his fist through the Kandinsky."

"I don't give a damn about the bloody Kandinsky," Sean said, his blood going cold. "Is Catherine safe?"

"Yes, sir," Geoffrey said. "She's on her way back to the house."

"And why aren't you with her?" he roared.

Geoffrey sighed, "She asked me to stay here and keep an eye on the Stewart's. Besides, she's with another guard—I didn't just let her drive off on her own."

"I thought I made myself clear," he said. "She's not going anywhere without you."

"Yes, sir," Geoffrey said, sounding pained. "I'll go after her, sir."

"Don't bother now," he said. "Just stay there and finish up."

"Okay," she said. "By the way, I'm afraid the Stewart's have managed to destroy some property. Just some china and silver, though."

He hung up the phone and continued pacing his study, listening intently for the familiar crunch of gravel outside. When he finally heard the low hum of the engine, he rushed toward the front door.

Catherine got out of the car, looking exhausted. Her dark hair was pulled on top of her head in a messy bun, with a streak of dust across the bridge of her nose. Without thinking, he reached out and wiped the dust from her nose with his thumb.

"Is there news?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Geoffrey said they broke some things in the kitchen."

"I figured they would," she said. "It doesn't matter."

"No," he said. "I'm more concerned about the fact that you left Geoffrey behind. You know you're not supposed to go anywhere without her."

She let out a long sigh and closed her eyes for a moment, "I needed someone I trust to be there."

Sean bit the inside of his cheek. It was good that she trusted Geoffrey, but he couldn't shake the anger that she'd put herself at risk.

"Don't do it again," he said, turning on his heel and walking back into the house.

"Wait," she called, and her voice sounded small and nervous.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just didn't want them to steal anything else from me."

He turned and saw her staring at him. Her large green eyes searched his, and he felt some of the anger melt away.

"You know them very well," he observed. "I'm sure they would have taken everything they could."

Something like humor flashed in her eyes. "Oh, no one knows them better than me," she muttered darkly.

He frowned, remembering everything they had put her through. She tested his patience, but it wasn't her fault. She had spirit and a fierce sense of justice—but if she weren't careful, both of those traits would put her in danger.

Her phone began to ring, and she reached into her purse. Upon seeing the name, she smiled and pressed the phone to her ear. Irrationally, he found himself jealous of whoever she was talking to. He turned around and went back to his study, where Levi was waiting for him.

"What?" he snapped.

"It's about Marco, sir," Levi said. "The plans are in place, and we'll put him on a flight tomorrow night."

"Good," Sean said. "Oh, and get Andy Jones over to Feather Textile Corporation. Tell him he'll be managing it for now."

"Yes, sir," Levi said.

***

Catherine hung up with Sophia and immediately called Maria. Maria explained that the Lawson's had left, but she made no mention of the broken china and silver.

"Listen, Maria," Catherine said. "I was just talking to Sophia—why don't you invite her and Dora to stay with you for a while."

"I'd like to," Maria said with a sigh. "But it's not so simple. I don't think Dora's husband will agree."

Catherine sighed, "I'm sure he won't, but they need to get away from him. I just talked to Sophia—he beat Dora again."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and then Maria muttered a curse under her breath. "That bastard," she said, her voice shaking.

"I know," Catherine said.

She remembered her conversation with Sophia, and her stomach twisted. She'd been having similar conversations with Sophia all their life, but that didn't make them any less painful. Sophia's mother, Dora, had married a gambler. When they'd met, he was charming and fun and exciting, but then he began to spend more time with his bookie and racetracks. When he lost money, he drank and beat Dora. Catherine was sure he beat Sophia too, though her friend had never admitted it.

"I'm going to try to pay Sophia's university fees," Catherine said. "But her dad won't be happy—he wants her to work. I don't think she should live with him anymore."

"Of course not," Maria said. "I'll have the staff get some rooms ready for them."

"Thanks," Catherine said, hanging up the phone.

She looked at her watch, and in the golden afternoon sun, she sighed. She'd spent the whole day arranging affairs for other people, but there was one thing she had left to do. She entered the dim hallway and went towards the back of the house. She stepped into the kitchen and froze. Pots clattered and clanged, and the steady thunk of knives filled the air. Steam rose from various pots, and a team of cooks rushed back and forth. Finally, a young man with a freckled face spotted her. He stopped and stared, and the others looked up.

The head cook rushed over, "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Blair, I didn't get any orders from you. What can I get you?"

"I want to cook," Catherine said.

"You what?" the cook asked.

"I want to cook Sean's dinner tonight," she said.

The cook's eyes widened with panic, looking around the chaotic, steam-filled kitchen.

"Just tell me what you want, and we'll make it," the cook said.

Catherine sighed, "It has to be me."

The cook sighed through his teeth and gestured for everyone to stop working. The other cooks lowered their knives, turned off the stoves, and filed out of the kitchen, casting confused glances at Catherine.

"Don't hurt yourself," the cook muttered.

"Umm, wait," Catherine called. "What kind of food does Mr. Blair like?"

The cook openly rolled his eyes, "He likes meat more than seafood or fish, and he's very particular about his vegetables."

"Okay," she said, starting to feel nervous. "Does he like spicy food?"

"No," the cook said. "And he doesn't have much of a sweet tooth either."

"I see," she said.

"Just call me if you need me," the cook said. "Please don't burn my kitchen down."

With that final warning, he passed through the swinging door, leaving her alone in the enormous kitchen. The industrial steel table and stoves gleamed in the bright lights, while the air shimmered with heat. She wiped her hand across her forehead and walked toward the enormous pair of fridges on the far side of the room.

She smiled as the crisp, cold air blasted across her face. The fridge was filled with shiny vegetables, thick, juicy slabs of meat, and entire blocks of cheese. She scanned through the items and decided on a meal. It was the fanciest thing she knew how to make—something she'd learned to cook when Marco wanted to have coworkers over for dinner.

She chewed the inside of her lip. Compared to what Sean was used to, it was very plain. She pulled the ingredients from the fridge—selecting plump red tomatoes, deep purple aubergines, two juicy lamb shanks, fresh green herbs, small brown mushrooms, chicken breasts, and a bottle of wine.