“You…!” Upon spotting him, Sylvia’s face instantly flushed crimson. Owen glanced up the stairs the men had taken before his gaze returned to her. “You have a remarkable tolerance for humiliation,” he said sardonically. “To stand there and listen to all of that so placidly.” “You—how long have you been standing there?” “Does it matter?” Owen asked, looking aloof as he folded his arms. An instinctive revulsion at having her magic seen through washed over her, but his insolent tone snapped Sylvia back to her senses. He was right. That was not what was important. What mattered was the obscene curse this man had placed upon her. Suppressing the urge to seize him by the collar, Sylvia raised a trembling