Page 24 of The Rogue and His Flower

“Polite?”

“No,quiet. Aren’t they allowed to talk?”

“They’re paid to do a job, not to pass the time with idle chatter.”

Daisy raises her brows. “I see.”

Eventually we reach her suite, and I prop open the door with her suitcase. “Dinner will be at eight. I’ll let you settle in.”

She doesn’t reply right away. Instead, she steps into the room, her mouth gaping as she casts her gaze around. “This is…beautiful.”

“What were you expecting, a box room with a dirty mattress on the floor?”

“What did you just say?” she asks, her voice tight as she whips her head around to look at me.

“I was joking, Daisy,” I reply, holding my hands up in surrender.

Something flickers behind her eyes, and despite her shoulders relaxing, I can’t help but wonder why my words seemed to have triggered such a reaction. I bench that thought for later.

“Of course you were,” she mumbles, stepping further into the suite as she takes in her new surroundings.

The suite itself offers luxury and refinement, with no expense spared. The walls are adorned with intricate floral patterned wallpaper, hand-painted with gold accents that catch the naturallight streaming through the huge arched windows that overlook the gardens. To the left of the four poster bed, which is draped in cream silk curtains, sits a plush, dusky pink, chaise lounge. Opposite the bed is an ornate reading nook filled with leather-bound books and a mahogany writing desk, its surface polished and shiny, as well as a sitting area graced with a huge sofa that is comfortable enough to sleep on. A marble fireplace frames an open fire that’s crackling in the grate, filling the room with a comforting warmth.

“There’s an ensuite bathroom through there,” I say, pointing towards a door on the far side of the suite. “It has a bathtub, but if you prefer to shower, then just along the hall is another bathroom.”

“This is…” Daisy stammers.

“Your home now,” I finish for her.

She nods. “My clothes?”

“Already hung up in your dressing room,” I explain, pointing to another door situated to the left of the reading nook. “I had our staff prepare everything for you so you could just relax.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Dinner will be held in the parlour in the east wing.”

“Okay,” she replies with a nod.

“Would you like me to put your suitcase in the dressing room?” I ask. “I can send someone to unpack for you.”

She shakes her head, pulling off her coat. “No, I can manage.”

“Okay. See you later.” I twist on my heel, about to leave.

“Sure… Oh, and Dalton?”

“Yes?” I question, turning to face her once again.

“Where is your room?”

“A little further down the corridor,” I reply. “Why do you ask?”

She flicks her gaze away. “No reason.”

As I make my way to my own suite, I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt from our earlier conversation about her and Drix’s fixation with collecting toys. It only serves to remind me of my own privileged childhood, where I was given everything I wanted but lacked any emotional connection with my parents. I guess in that respect we are more alike than I’d care to admit.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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