Page 7 of Plucked By the Orc

But wasn’t it rude ofhimnot to say anything?

“Madam,” he said stiffly. “Are you aware of the hour?”

“Half-past nine, at least, I’d wager. I’ve been up since dawn.”

“I find your presence here a shock,” he told her.

If her presence came as a shock, this gent did a fine job of hiding it. Not so much as a tremor unsettled the erect line of his massive figure. Black hair, thick and lush as any she’d seen on a gent, spilled around the horns that curled back on each side of his head. He was so tall that the top of his horns grazed the ceiling above.

But she wasn’t about to let him see her intimidated. Confidence was a deterrent every bit as effective as the dagger tucked into her pelisse. “La! You invited me ‘ere, didn’t you? And it’s a Monday, it is.”

“Indeed.” She thought she spotted a tiny tug lifting his lips, but before he broke into a full smile, he cleared his throat abruptly. “At any rate, I’m glad you’re here, Miss Gabbert. Glad you came to your senses.”

She’d been born with an abundance of common sense. That quality hadn’t fallen out of the sky thanks to Duncan Higgins, Duke of Barrington. However, it was nice that he remembered her name.

“Nonetheless,” he continued, raising one enormous finger in the air, “my card specifically notes that I accept visitors betweenthe hours of two and five.” He glanced at the fancy pocket watch he’d kept guarded from her yesterday. “It’s far from the appropriate hour.”

Iris gnawed on her bottom lip. “Well, early bird gets that worm and all, right, kitten?”

“Why do you call me kitten?” His tone carried no hint of anything but genuine curiosity.

“It seems to fit ‘ya well enough.”

“I don’t resemble a kitten in the slightest.”

“Exactly right, that.” He held her gaze steadily. “It’s a jest.”

“I don’t understand the humor.”

Blimey. This would be a long conversation if she didn’t change the subject. “So, are you going to let me in then?”

A butler appeared behind Duncan Higgins. Not any gnome or troll or the like, but human as they came, a stern man with snow-white hair and a countenance that still retained traces of the handsome young man he’d once been.

When he saw Iris, his brow wrinkled. Apparently, an orc for an employer was all well and good, but a young woman with a gown that might have seen better days was a bridge too far.

“Your grace, is there something with which I may assist?” The butler sounded like a right nob. She suspected that what he actually wanted to do was kick her out on her bottom.

“Clemons, please have Mrs. Thompson prepare a late morning tea service. Miss Gabbert and I will take it in the library.”

“Very good, sir,” he said, in a tone which implied quite the opposite.

Then, Iris was alone with Duncan Higgins to plead her case for a better life.

Chapter Three

Iris followed Duncan Higgins down a narrow hallway chockablock with sumptuous velvet draperies fringed with gold tassels, gilded sconces, and oil paintings of grim looking orcs with horns and the same massive jaw, hands, and broad chest as Duncan himself. Most of them wore thick woolen cloaks, modest in cut. Only one gent sported English attire: a court uniform from the heyday of the mad king about twenty years prior. She assumed this was the first Duke of Barrington.

When they arrived at the library, Duncan held the door open and gestured for her to come inside. Cushioned armchairs and a chaise longue, all of an impressive size, were situated in front of a marble hearth with a roaring fire. She settled on an oversize chair close to the fire as his grace placed his pipe in a holder on his remarkably uncluttered mahogany desktop.

He picked up a leather bound notebook with a coat of arms embossed on the cover in black ink—a chevron with wolves on either side of the diagonal. A velvet ribbon kept the place. Heopened it thoughtfully while picking up a goose quill pen with a pointed nib.

“You don’t mind if I take notes, do you? I’ve thought about it and wish to include our conversation in my book.”

“Book?”

“The Curious Customs of the Human Ton.”

Iris twisted the worn strap of her reticule in her hand. “I’m not sure about all that.”

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