Page 3 of The Duke's Christmas Scandal
“Who’s there?” she whispered.
Horrifyingly, footsteps echoed toward her.
Tavi grabbed the poker and edged into the corridor. A huge figure like a misshapen man lurched down the flagstones.
She shrieked and lunged.
“What—?”
A man—an actual man, not a phantom out of her apparently fervid imagination—stumbled back. Tavi’s aim proved less than accurate. The iron swished harmlessly through the air. He dogged it easily.
“Excuse you,” the man said, raising his gloved hands, palms outward, either in a gesture of peace or to strangle her; Tavi wasn’t sure. “I didn’t expect a woman.”
Her fear and ire surged anew.
She was alone in an abandoned building with a stranger who sounded a wee bit too interested in her sex for her comfort, miles away from help. Tavi shrieked and brandished the poker again.
“Don’t touch me, you—you scoundrel!”
“Easy, Miss!”
“Mrs. Dawson.” The lie slipped out easily. She’d used it more than once in her twenty-six years. Spinsters did what they had to do to protect themselves. “My husband went to find help.”
“Husband,” he echoed, lowering his arms. Tavi raised the poker again. His arms went back up, shielding his face, of which she could hardly see anything, between the edge of his scarf and the brim of his hat. Blue eyes, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure.
And what was she doing, pondering the color of his eyes, seconds before he was going to ravish her?
Although, if he meant harm, he wasn’t exactly rushing to overpower her. Either he’d been put off by the poker or the mention of her fictitious husband. Or both.
“Where was your husband’s mount? I assume that was your pony I found in the barn.”
He moved forward. Tavi backed up, still brandishing her weapon.
“Nutmeg.”
“Charming.”
Was he smiling?
Tavi’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding long enough for her to decide.
He looked past her, into the room beyond. “Where did you find wood to make a fire?”
“I broke down a chair. It wasn’t structurally sound, anyway.”
The stranger glanced at her skeptically. “So I understand the situation properly: you put your horse in my tumbledown stable, helped yourself to my oats and a quantity of my hay. Then you came into my castle, broke my furniture and burned it. And now you have the temerity to threaten me with my own fire iron. Do I have that straight?”
Tavi’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know you’re the owner?”
He laughed. Threw back his head and positively howled. Confused, Tavi’s grip on the poker slipped.
“Are you the caretaker?” she demanded. “If so, I’d say your employer has reason to be dissatisfied with your performance. Not a single door was locked, and your sense of hospitality is severely lacking.”
“Well, I am rather new to the job,” he said amiably. “Why don’t you set aside the weapon, Mrs. Dawson. I’ll make a pot of tea while we await your husband’s arrival.”
“He might be some time.”
“I imagine so. It’s eighteen miles to the nearest town.”
