Page 56 of The Wolf of Mayfair
Wingrave shot a dark glare upon her, daring her to finish that sentence.
She didn’t, but that didn’t matter, just as it didn’t change anything.
He hadn’t heard her entry.
But then, why would you? You’d your bloody left ear to that goddamned panel.This, when he never left his unhearing ear vulnerable that way. He never kept his head anything but directly toward any and all doors.
Feeling left open, defenseless, he wanted to flee.
Flee? This was his damned household. In fact, this room she’d invaded would, in fact, belong to him after his bastard of a father kicked up his heels and went on to where all the other miserable souls went to rot.
He grunted. “You’re awake, then.” He’d known as much. He’d known the minute her fever broke days earlier, just as he’d learned from Mrs. Trowbridge of the lady’s improving health.
A wistful smile teased at her full crimson lips. “Never say you missed me while I slept.”
“I meant from your fever, Miss Wallace. You’ve awakened from your fever. Furthermore, you didn’t sleep,” he said flatly. “You were unconscious.”
Which begged the question ... “What in hell are you doing here, Miss Wallace?” When she should not be here but resting or sleeping instead.
Meowww.
Wingrave narrowed his eyes. Nor had Helia entered this lair alone.
The lady made a familiar clearing sound with her throat, one he recognized as a telltale sign of her unease. “I—”
“You,” he seethed.
Helia faltered.
That fat cat, on the other hand, took Wingrave’s warning as a welcome and wandered into the room. In a display of feline challenge, it promptly collapsed at Helia’s feet.
Wingrave flared his nostrils. “Oh, no, you don’t.” He’d kept the goddamned beast away until Helia healed. He didn’t need the damned creature anywhere near her now that she’d begun to recover. “Go,” he barked.
Helia’s auburn eyebrows came together into a troubled little line, and she took an unsteady step to go. The bloody beastie matched the lady’s steps.
“Not you,” he snapped, freezing the pair of them in their tracks.“You!”
Helia glanced about the room, like there could possibly be someoneelsehe spoke to.
Wingrave jabbed a finger in her direction. “Him.Her,” he snapped. “Thatthing?”
Helia followed his impatient gesture downward. “Thing?” She frowned. “Thisis a cat.”
“I know what a damned cat is,” he bellowed.
Her eyes went wide.
Or was that his own?
Perhaps it was the both of them.
He inwardly recoiled. Good God, in the whole of his thirty years, he’d never lost control more than he had with this woman.
Wingrave took in a slow, deep breath. “I know what a cat is,” he repeated frostily and with a greater calm. “I want it out of this room.”
“But—”
Wingrave slapped his palms together with such force that the mouser took off through the opening in the doorway, leaving Helia and Wingrave ... alone.
