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“He did try to use me to get out of it when I showed up,” Laria said.

Torr must be living in some alternate reality. Kenton Morley, the great Earl of Rockford, was . . . cooking? With help from Laria, no less, who had once called him “the spawn of Satan.” Or maybe it had been Kenton’s brother Rowan who had said that about Torr. Either way, there was no love lost between any of them.

“I’m not sure what surprises me most,” he mumbled, causing his sister to swat his arm.

“Everyone have a drink?” Alessandra surveyed the group. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

Drinks in hand, they left the red room, and Alessandra led them down the hall to a dining room, which would have been filled with light two hours earlier. One wall was completely covered in windows. The other boasted black and white pictures of Stone Haven in gold frames. It appeared as if they’d kept the furniture and décor, and the dining room was certainly big enough to accommodate guests.

The Henry Hutton Mansion, named after the man who’d built it, the founder of Stone Haven University, had been a bed-and-breakfast for years before Kenton purchased it. The Addy Hutton Mansion next door, which now belonged to Lawrence, had been commissioned by Henry for his daughter.

“You’re doing great,” Toni whispered to him as they moved toward the table.

Laria chuckled. “He knows how to behave like a gentleman,” she whispered, as if he weren’t present. “Torr just typically chooses not to.”

“I’ll thank you not to talk as if I’m not standing right here,” he said, noticing the dining room was empty. Still no sign of Charlotte.

“Sit anywhere you like,” Alessandra said, pointing to the impeccably set table, the white china contrasting starkly with the black and gold accents.

“But leave room for me—oh!”

It had only been one night, but he already knew that voice. His failure to sense her approach told him how much she threw him off his game.

As the others began to sit, Torr turned toward the entrance.

Yesterday, he’d have seen only her crisp white button-down and perfectly straight blonde hair, not a strand out of place.

Today? Torr noticed the look she tried to hide when their eyes locked. She was happy he was here but didn’t want to show it. And he couldn’t deny he also noticed her dark blue leg-hugging jeans, perfect for the occasion but more casual than was typical of Charlotte.

At least, what he had assumed was typical of the Southern belle turned Pennsylvania school teacher.

When no one sat next to him on his right, Torr tempted fate and pulled out the ornate, high-backed dining room chair. She hesitated only briefly before she accepted his invitation and sat in it.

“Thank you.”

Certainly not the voice of a woman whose ass had been pressed against him, her arm slung over his neck as he struggled to maintain some semblance of sanity.

“You’re welcome.”

It was only when he sat down beside her that he noticed everyone was watching them. Which was the exact moment Kenton chose to enter the room.

“Mary is all set—” He cut himself off, no doubt surprised to see Torr preparing to sit between Charlotte and Laria, but he recovered quickly. Rather than comment on his unexpected—and unwanted—guest, Kenton cleared his throat and said, “And it looks like everyone is here, so I’ll tell her to get started.”

“I’ll help you guys,” Alessandra said, hurrying after him.

When Kenton Morley came back into the room carrying salad plates, of all things, Torr almost laughed. When had his life become an absurd comedy of itself? But instead, he merely lifted his cup to his lips and sipped his whiskey.

“Ma’am, a drink?”

The bartender had rolled his drinks cart into the dining room, having apparently been instructed to follow them from room to room.

Leave it to Kenton to insist upon such a luxury.

He could hardly blame him, if he were being fair. Unlike his brother, Torr did also enjoy the benefits of unlimited wealth. If he were to stay in one place, actually buy a home, he’d likely hire an even larger staff than Kenton kept here.

But Torr despised the thought of being confined in such a small town. Or, really, any confinement at all.

“White wine, please,” his dinner companion said.