Adele stepped into her room, set her hat and pouch down on the mahogany table, and slipped off her coat to hang it over a chair.
A sudden prickle of gooseflesh ran over her without warning, and she glanced around the room.
"……!"
Her gaze landed on the bed, and the color drained from her face.
"Hello there, Miss Adele. Did you have a nice outing?"
Stone was sitting on her canopied bed, the lavish drapery framing him. He'd shed his jacket, sitting there in a white linen shirt with his legs crossed, as at ease as if the room were his own bedroom.
"How did you even get in here……?"
Adele fought to stay calm, stealing a glance at the pouch on the table.
The pistol was inside it. But a man as sharp-eyed as Stone would never sit quietly and watch while she opened the pouch and drew…
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