emptiness—broken up only by the occasional flock of sheep—will drive me over the edge. I mean I will literally descend into madness.”
He’d supposed he would have no one to blame but himself if that were true. But then, he had ample practice in that regard, didn’t he?
“The manor house has extensive attics,” he’d said instead, looking at her over the edge of his paper. “Ample room for all manner of psychotic breaks and raving madwomen, I should think. No need to worry.”
She’d been quiet for a very long time. When she’d spoken again, her voice was smooth. He’d wondered what that had cost her.
“How delightful,” she’d said, her voice arid. “You’ve truly thought of everything.”
Heaven help him, he thought now, staring up at her window like some moon-faced adolescent in one of those unbearable melodramas, but he wanted her.
He supposed he would pay for that too.
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