“Who?” She realized then that he spoke with a deep Scottish brogue. “Oh, him. He was kind enough to give me his place.”
“But . . . did he leave? Voluntarily, that is?”
“I’ve no idea. Does it matter?”
Obviously it didn’t matter to this interloper. Poor, polite Camden must have been too intimidated to object. After all, what kind of person pushed ahead of guests he didn’t even know at a party? Who did he think he was?
Perhaps she didn’t want to know.
She realized then that there were seven deadly sins, and that the man who stared back at her with false guile looked prepared to commit at least one of them before the night came to an end.