“Over what appears to be an assault.”
A few guests exchanged glances.
The word made the situation difficult to dismiss as an embarrassing disagreement.
Vivienne’s expression hardened.
“You’re humiliating me.”
“No,” he replied. “I’m stopping you.”
Then he turned toward Ivy.
“Ms. Lancaster, can you walk?”
Ivy had worked in the Blackwood household for seven years.
Ronan had always called her by her surname, although he had never shown much interest in her life beyond the house.
Now he looked at her with an expression she’d never seen before.
Concern.
And something that might have been shame.
“I can walk, sir.”
“Would you like someone to take you somewhere private?”
Ivy pressed her hand against her injured shoulder.
The fabric felt sticky beneath her fingers.
Behind her, the young server began crying.
Ivy looked at the girl.
“She’s not in trouble.”
Ronan frowned.
“What?”
“The girl behind me. She shouldn’t lose her job.”
He glanced at the catering assistant.
“What’s your name?”
“Maya,” she whispered. “Maya Torres.”
“Are you hurt, Maya?”
She shook her head.
Ronan turned toward the event coordinator.
“Please make sure Maya is taken somewhere safe and isn’t questioned by guests. Nobody is to dismiss her over this incident.”
