Rosamund
I woke on the floor with my cheek pressed against the cold ground and my body aching all over.
For a moment, I didn't move. I just lay there, staring at the leg of the bed three inches from my face, trying to remember how I'd ended up on the ground. Then last night came flooding back.
I'd failed to win back Nevan's grace. My apology — or as he'd called it, my "little stunt" — had only angered him more. I couldn't stop thinking about the look in his eyes when he'd called me disgusting.
I'd been so shaken by his reaction that I'd fallen asleep on the floor without bothering to climb into bed. Stifling a yawn against the back of my hand, I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the stone, stretching like a cat.
Almost immediately, a soft knock came, followed by Mrs Harlow's voice.
"Your Grace, good morning. May we enter?"
