Storming the Castle (2011)
““That will do, Quirbles.”
Philippa put down her fork as their butler closed the door quietly behind him. “What is it, Papa?”
“You’re not the same,” he said abruptly.
She blinked at him.
“There’s something different about you.”
“I hope not.” She didn’t know whether to hope that Wick’s French letter had worked just as it ought or not: there was nothing to the outward eye that admitted she’d been ravished—and loved.
“What happened in that castle, Philippa?” her father asked. His voice was kind, but firm.
She picked up her fork again and studiously pushed her eggs to the side of the plate. “I took care of the little prince. I told you that already, Papa.”
“That’s not what I mean . . . His father didn’t do anything untoward, did he?”
Philippa’s mouth fell open.
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