Lady Catalina stormed through the palace halls, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
Her hair was brushed and styled, her gown fresh and elegant, but none of it mattered. She was still furious.
"Where is that man?" she seethed, fists clenched.
Her maid, Zaya, hurried behind her. "My lady, perhaps we should let this go. You've already bathed, and..."
"And?" Lady Catalina spun on her heel, eyes blazing. "That scoundrel threw me into a public servant's bathhouse! Me! The daughter of Duke Wigan! How dare he?"
Zaya sighed but wisely stayed silent as Lady Catalina resumed her furious march.
Just as she turned a corner, she collided into something, someone solid. A firm grip caught her by the waist before she could stumble, and she gasped.
"Well, well," a smooth voice drawled. "If it isn't my favorite lady of the hour."
Catalina's head snapped up, and she met a pair of deep green eyes filled with amusement, Prince Ambrose.
