He frowned slightly. "I hope you're not just playing around with her."
'As the heir to a top-tier family, could he possibly have the freedom to choose his own marriage?'
River Walsh had an answer in his heart—one that burned in his chest with a hot, searing ache.
For the girl he'd watched grow up, and for himself, for having returned too late.
Preston Keaton lowered his gaze coolly, his thoughts inscrutable. His long lashes concealed the emotion in his eyes, and his jawline was sharp and imposing. He carried himself with the aloof, noble air of a man in power.
After a long silence, he suddenly looked up, the corner of his lips curling into an unruffled smile.
"Mr. Walsh, are you asking me this as a friend of Evelyn's brother, or are you meddling as her admirer?"
He placed the teacup lightly on the table. The dull thud made River Walsh's heart jump.
His expression darkened slightly.
A dead silence fell between them.
