Page 5

“Which is?” he growled.

Oh dear. “Do not do it.”

With another scowl he dismissed her, turning back to the rose bush. But as he lifted the ax once more, she hurried to forestall him. “I’m looking for the entrance to the kitchens.” A door nestled among the overgrown bushes. “Is that it?”

“Nay,” he grunted, his ax slicing through another of the thick shoots, not looking at her. “That’s the hall to the bloody useless conservatory.” Another grunt, another chop.

Since he was paying her no attention, Georgia moved toward the door. Her interest piqued by the idea of a conservatory—obviously unused—she wondered if she could find her way to Baron Endymion’s study from here, before returning to examine the specimens within. She did her best to dismiss the well-built, completely inept woodsman from her mind as she reached for the latch.

“Thank you, sir. This will do.”

But he moved faster—and quieter—than she thought possible, as evidenced by the large hand that slammed, fingers splayed, on the door in front of her nose. With a strangled yelp, Georgia stumbled backwards, putting space between herself and the large, ax-wielding, half naked, obviously livid brute.

“Why?” he growled.

One hand pressed to her chest, where she could feel her heart pounding even through layers of warm wool, Georgia tried to make her voice work. “W-Why what?”

He leaned toward her, his dark hair swinging forward, partially blocking the scars on his face. For the first time, she realized his eyes were a pale green, the color of new shoots, glittering dangerously among the ruin of his expression.

“Why do ye want to find the kitchens?”

She swallowed, willing her knees not to give out from his proximity. Good Heavens, she could smell his sweat, which should be disgusting, but somehow wasn’t.

“I do not need to find the kitchens, exactly. I-I just need to get into the castle.”

“The house is closed.” He was eyeing her guardedly, like he wasn’t sure what to make of her. “Always is.”

That’s what Mrs. Kettel at the front door said, and yet… “I need to speak with your master.”

For the first time, something like surprise flickered across the man’s face. “Who?”

“I have a meeting with Baron Endymion.”

And then he snorted. Actually snorted, and turned away, ax dangling forgotten in one hand. “No’ with a woman who kens about pruning climbing roses,” he said, throwing her words back at her while he stalked willy-nilly across the once-manicured garden paths. “Go home.”

Georgia hurried after him. “No, I must see the Baron. I can pay you.”

He crossed through a gate into what was obviously the kitchen gardens, judging from the overgrown herbs and empty vegetable patches. “The Baron doesnae see anyone,” he called, not looking back as he headed toward a door.

Panting now, she gathered up her skirts, desperate not to lose sight of him. “I’m here to pay a debt.”

“He willnae accept it.”

“He must.”

When the brute rounded on her, Georgia was going fast enough she almost barreled into him. But again, his reflexes surprised her. In a heartbeat, he’d tossed the ax to one side and raised his arms to catch her, his hands closing around her upper arms to steady her.

And there she stood, her head tilted back to stare, open-mouthed and suddenly breathless, up at a devil with the body of an angel.

“Who are ye?” His rasp was harsh, his expression blazing with his irritation.

“Georgia,” she whispered.

His fingers tightened on her arms and she swore, even through her coat, she could feel his warmth.

She should be scared. A man his size could do more than leave bruises; he could break bones, he could kill her and no one would hear her scream. But this wasn’t fear coursing through her veins, oh no.

It was desire.