Page 44

“I was cold, and I couldn’t get a fire started, and there were no candles....”

He released her, striding to the window and pushing open the curtains.

The bright moonlight flooded the room, and he could see the frost on the edge of the glass.

He turned back to her. “It’s a wonder you don’t catch pneumonia in this freezing house.

What in the world were your parents thinking?

That I’d take care of you? Where’s Martina? ”

“Martina went with them—Norah insisted. I told you, they thought Betsy and Janie would look after me, but I never saw them, and they probably didn’t even know I was here.

” Her teeth weren’t chattering, but he could tell it was taking her a great effort to keep up the pretense of warmth. “Can you start a fire?”

He looked down at her, not bothering to hide his frustration. Were her parents complete idiots, to leave her in the dubious care of a man? But then, to them he wasn’t a man, he was only a servant, and therefore no threat to their younger daughter.

They had no idea. “We’re getting out of here,” he said abruptly.

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because it’s not safe. Anyone can see the house is empty, and it’s ripe for thieves and burglars.” And Billy Stiles , he added silently.

“Don’t you want to stop them?” she asked.

“I would if you weren’t here. It’s too dangerous to wait around here hoping no one comes to investigate. Where’s your heavy cloak? It’s cold outside.”

“Er...I don’t really have one,” she confessed. “Won’t this blanket do?”

He growled, low in his throat, and stripped off his heavy winter cloak, pulling it around her unresisting body. “That’ll do until we get where we’re going,” he said grimly, ignoring the chill that ran over him. She must have been freezing, huddled up in that blanket.

“Where is that?”

He didn’t bother to enlighten her. This night was turning into a disaster, and all it would take would be for Billy Stiles to show up with half a dozen of his men.

Which he’d swore he wouldn’t do, which meant he’d be there any time now.

If Georgie had been where she belonged, he could have stayed there and made sure Billy and his mates didn’t do too much damage.

As it was, the best he could do was get Georgie the hell away from there and hope for the best.

“Come along,” he said. “We can’t afford to waste time.” He took her arm, thanking God it was encased in his heavy wool coat, and steered her from the room.

The coat was warm with his body heat, and it smelled like him, masculine and delicious, and she had to behave herself and not snuggle down in it the way she wanted to.

He was angry—well, she’d expected no less.

He’d been doing his best to avoid her, and now he was stuck with her.

She knew she ought to feel guilty about it, and a small part of her did.

But most of her was simply reveling in the warmth of his coat around her and the strength of his arm as he led her through the inky blackness of her deserted home.

He seemed to have cat’s eyes, seeing in the dark with no trouble where she would have stumbled and fallen. To her surprise, he didn’t take her to the front door, but instead headed toward the side door and the tangled garden, guiding her through it with barely disguised impatience.

And then they were out in the chilly night air.

A wind had blown up, tossing her loose hair about her, and the bright moonlight had disappeared behind a bank of clouds, plunging the street into darkness.

Still, he led her on, sure-footed and silent, and she could feel the disapproval coming off him in waves.

Guilt assailed her. “I’m sorry,” she offered in a small voice, but he said nothing, moving determinedly forward.

“Do you really think the man with the teeth will come to our house?” she tried again.

“His name is Stiles, and yes, I think so. You’re just damned lucky I decided to check the house before I went home.”

“Home? What do you mean? Isn’t Corinth Place your home?”

“Not by a mile. Now keep your head down and keep quiet. We don’t want to draw any unwanted attention.”

“You’re mad at me,” she said, ignoring his warning.

He stopped, so quickly she barreled into him, but he caught her before she could fall against his big, warm, safe body. “If you were anyone else, I would have left you in the deserted house. Now stop talking and keep up.”

She stopped talking.

They were in a better part of town. The street was well-lit, the buildings looked more prosperous, and there were carriages and well-dressed couples all around.

He paid no attention to any of it, and she could do nothing more than try to keep up with him, his hand strong on her arm.

She barely had time to observe the building they stopped at—it was tall, white granite, and fairly new if she had to guess.

He dragged her to the front door, pulled it open, and ushered her inside.

They were greeted by a long, sweeping staircase and several closed doors, and he went to the first one, using another key, and opened it onto darked rooms. Yanking her inside, he closed the door behind them, locking it, sealing them in.

“Where are we?” she whispered as he moved her into through the foyer.

“What does it look like? Rooms for let.” A light flared, and he lit a candle, one small argument against the darkness.

She looked around her. It was in better shape than the house on Corinth Place, with good furniture, paintings, and expensive curtains that blotted out the moonlight. “Whose rooms are they?”

“None of your business.” He moved through the room, lighting candles. There was a fire banked in the hearth, and the room was pleasantly warm.

“Won’t we get caught being here?” she persisted.

“No.” He reached behind her and pulled his heavy coat off her shoulders, then stared at the woolen dress she was wearing. “Why are you wearing that rag—I thought I burned all your old dresses?”

“This was the warmest I had. I couldn’t start the fire and I was freezing.” She was suddenly aware that her hair was loose down her back, and she put a quick hand to it.

“Listen to me very carefully. I have to go out. You’re to stay here and go to bed.”

“No!” she protested, suddenly panicked. “I don’t want to be here all alone; what if the owner comes back?”

“He won’t. There’s a bedroom beyond the dining room—go there and get some sleep. I’ll be back by morning.” His voice was implacable.

“But...”

“No arguments. I’m angry enough to beat you right now, and it won’t take much more to put me over the edge.”

She was silenced only for a moment. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said confidently.

“Just don’t push me. If you aren’t here when I get back...”

“I will be,” she said. “I promise.” The very thought of going out alone into the night air was terrifying. She hesitated. She wasn’t used to him being angry with her. “Do you have to go out?”

“If you don’t want your house destroyed, I do,” he snapped. “Why in the world didn’t they take you with them?”

“I told them I was sick,” she confessed.

“For God’s sake, why?”

“Because I wanted to be with you.”

There was no missing the frustration in his eyes. “Well, you bollixed things completely. Get in bed and stay there! I’ll deal with you when I get back.”

He locked the door when he left, effectively locking her in, and she stuck out her tongue at his receding back. She was tired, she was hungry, and she was guilty, and she wanted Rafferty to take care of her, not to yell at her. She picked up a candle and wandered through the rooms.

They weren’t sumptuous by any means, but there was a casual elegance about them that reminded her of something, and she explored the dining room, library, and small salon before she finally found the bedroom. She stopped in the doorway.

The bed was large, welcoming, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Curling up beneath those heavy covers seemed an absolutely delightful thing to do, and she walked over to it, sitting down and bouncing slightly.

It was going to be very comfortable. Leaning down, she removed her beautiful walking shoes, then stood, reaching behind her to loosen her skirt.

She could dress and undress herself—she’d learned to when they’d lost their lady’s maid, and it took only mild contortion to strip down to her chemise, then she folded her dress and petticoats in a neat pile.

The dress was ugly, but it was warm, and there was a slight chill in the bedroom, although it had a similarly banked fire.

Without hesitation, she pulled down the covers and climbed into the bed, snuggling in.

If the owner came back, he’d be very surprised to have a stranger in his bed.

But she knew the owner wouldn’t be back till morning.

Somehow, some way, this place belonged to Rafferty.

She could smell him in the sheets, warm skin and masculinity.

She could sense him in the air. She had no idea how he managed to acquire such a place, but she didn’t doubt her guess was right.

The only man who was going to find her in his bed was Rafferty.