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He was incredibly careful about those kinds of things. He might have thought it was the wind since his house was ancient. It could simply be the building shifting on its foundations, but he knew the sound of a creaking floorboard well enough when it was caused by a human foot.

Yes, he knew the sound of intrigue, for he had spent a great deal of time in the dark, finding soldiers and making certain that they never rose again to kill English boys.

“What the devil do you want?” he rumbled through the darkness.

There was a gasp.

“Yes, I know you are there,” he said easily. “You better come out. It’s what you want, isn’t it? To speak to me? Or are you here to steal my cravat pins? If you are, they’re over there on the dresser in a box.”

“I do not want your cravat pins,” a strained voice said from the shadows.

He stilled. It was the voice of a woman. Not soft. No, it was quite hard, quite determined, like a rock out on the moors. Those tones were slightly rough, and yet there was also a delicious hum to them.

He liked her ferocity.

“So,” he said, “if you have not come to steal my goods, you are here to petition me then. Is that it? Or are you here to kill me? Have I done something to you and yours?”

He tried his best not to do things to people that would cause them to wish him dead, but he had not always been perfect. A man of his power couldn’t be. And there were things that sometimes happened in this world, and people focused on him as the point of their pain.

He understood it. He wished he could change it.

“I do not wish to kill you,” she declared, stepping out of the shadows and into the firelight. “I have a proposition.”

Somehow, she had managed to get through the door of his bed chamber, which had been left open by his man. He was going to have to give Everson some comments about that.

She slipped into the dancing yellow glow by his bath.

She did not recoil from the sight of him naked.

He was surprised, which made him wonder exactly what kind of woman she was.

But when he looked at her face, he knew she was an innocent. There was something about her visage that made his insides tighten with the sudden need to help her.

Yes, she appearedguileless. That was the word.

Hard but without ruthlessness.

She had known pain. He could see it in her eyes, but she had not known the world. Of that, he was certain. There was an innocence there that could not be belied, and as she stood in her dark gray cloak in the shadows with the hood up about her face, he caught sight of fear dancing in her pale blue orbs.

“You do not belong here,” he said softly.

She laughed. “I do not belong anywhere anymore, Your Grace, thanks to you.”

The laugh surprised him. But he refused to be provoked. He cocked his head and asked with genuine curiosity, “What have I done? Do tell me, so I can make amends.”

“Do not make fun,” she gritted, her eyes flashing steel.

“I am not making fun,” he corrected, letting his hands rest on the edge of the tub. “It is the truth. If I do not know what I have done, I cannot help you, and you’ve come to proposition me. Isn’t that what you said?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line as if she was gathering the courage to speak the words she’d come to say. At last, she rushed, “You drove my brother out of England.”

He scowled, not caring for where this was going. “Is your brother one of those piss pot fools that I had a duel with a few months ago?”

She tensed. “Yes.”

He shook his head, feeling regret for her but certainly not for his actions. “I am very sorry that one of them is your brother. How unfortunate for you that you had to grow up with one of those idiots.”

She blinked. “I cannot argue with that,” she said.


Tags: Eva Devon Historical