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“He’s a Duke,” she pointed out. “He outranks you.”
Thomas laughed, shooting her a withering look. “Please, Selina.”
“Don’t you patronize me,” she snapped. “You’re—you’re such a snob.”
“Oh, Selina. You’ve wounded me,” he replied flatly. His eyes flashed. Selina was shocked. They’d never disagreed on something so big before. It had always been little things, and they’d always been able to solve it between themselves. He was being nasty.
“I cannot believe my ears,” she said, feeling deeply wounded and betrayed. She got up, and then left the library.
“Selina! Come back here!” he ordered. She ignored him, letting the door swing shut behind her. From the hallway, she could hear him mutter something to himself.
She stared at the picture, which was across the hall from the library door, of a lady with dark-brunette hair, piled in lush curls on top of her head. The lady in the painting smiled mysteriously like she had a secret.
Everyone was hiding something, even Selina, herself. She turned away walking as quickly as she dared, back to her room in the East Wing.
