Damon was in the room. But he was not sitting in his chair or standing by the window or even sleeping on the bed.
Damon was kneeling on the floor.
He was kneeling beside a small table. His posture was rigid and perfect, exactly like a disciplined soldier awaiting a strict command. His hands were behind his back and his shoulders were pulled back. His head was bowed slightly, looking down at the floor.
And he was shirtless.
He had taken off his military coat and his linen shirt. His muscled chest and his broad back were completely bare in the cool night air. The dim yellow light from the oil lamp highlighted the small, faded white scars scattered across his skin.
Camilla stared at his kneeling figure. Then, her eyes moved to the top of the small table.
Resting on the smooth wood was a long, thick, leather whip.
It was a military whip, used strictly for punishing disobedient soldiers in the camp.
