The Last Rogue. Deborah Simmons

his throat.

      “I’m sorry, but I don’t allow those in my home,” she said.

      “Eh? What’s that?” Pimperington asked.

      “The glass,” Jane said, louder, pointing. “It will have to go.” And then, ignoring Raleigh’s appreciative chuckle and his guest’s gasp of surprise, she swept past them both in the general direction of the dining hall. Behind her she heard Pimperington’s loud grumble. “What’s wrong with my glass?”