The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood book 1)
“He was still lying on an uncomfortable bed in a white, sterile room with only a single painting on the wall—a rocky landscape with a forlorn-looking tree growing out of a crack and bending almost in half from the wind. Why would someone choose such a painting to adorn a wall? It only added to his discomfort, reminding him of his own pathetic state.
He furrowed his brow in an effort to recall something of his former life, but his head felt so cloudy and irregular. How much laudanum had the woman... given him? What had she called herself again? Lucy? Yes, that was it. Lucy . . . Beresford. At least he could remember that. He furrowed his brows and blinked a few times, attempting to find additional clarity.
Collins. Collins. Collins.
The name echoed in his mind. That is what she had called him. It had been laughable at first, thinking of himself as a servant, but he couldn’t deny the familiarity of the name. It sounded right and felt as though it fit. And there was no denying the conviction in those hazel eyes when she’d proclaimed, “I do not tell tales.”MoreLess
He furrowed his brow in an effort to recall something of his former life, but his head felt so cloudy and irregular. How much laudanum had the woman... given him? What had she called herself again? Lucy? Yes, that was it. Lucy . . . Beresford. At least he could remember that. He furrowed his brows and blinked a few times, attempting to find additional clarity.
Collins. Collins. Collins.
The name echoed in his mind. That is what she had called him. It had been laughable at first, thinking of himself as a servant, but he couldn’t deny the familiarity of the name. It sounded right and felt as though it fit. And there was no denying the conviction in those hazel eyes when she’d proclaimed, “I do not tell tales.”MoreLess
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