Page 22 of Puck and Prejudice
“Yes.” Lizzy gave a weak grin. “Imagine that.”
Chapter Nine
The clinking and scraping of iron gradually penetrated Tuck’s awareness, pulling him from his deep sleep. He blinked, fixing his gaze on a crack in the ceiling’s plaster rosettes, his brain registering the pieces of his surroundings like a puzzle coming together. Nope. He wasn’t in the hospital ready to tell Nora about his vivid dream. His ass was still firmly planted in 1812.
The room held an unfamiliar scent, a blend of cedar and beeswax underscored with a bit of old-home dampness. Tuck’s gaze wandered over the four-poster bed, the high ceiling, and the walls painted in two tones, light blue and creamy white. Opposite the bed, the portrait of the room’s former inhabitant, Edward, stared back from the canvas with an inscrutable expression.
“Thanks for lending me your room, old buddy,” he murmured, wiping sleep from his eyes. Neddy may be gone, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Everyone he’d met in the past twenty-four hours? They were all long dead and buried in his time. And now that included himself. They were a world of ghosts not knowing they were already history.
The great cosmic cycle could cave your head in.
Saluting Neddy, Tuck tossed off the blanket and swung his legs to the side, his bare feet sinking into the soft rug. First, hereached under the mattress and pulled out his phone, turning it on.
No signal.
No shit.
Still, it comforted him to see his screen saver, a Regals team shot from last season. He looked at the guys, the arena. Matty Vincenza, the backup goaltender, would step up. Coach would have called in an emergency backup too. Maybe a kid from UT Austin. Did they know he was missing yet over in England? He was out for most of the regular season, but they must have gotten word. What would they do? Give up his spot? No fucking way.
He powered off his phone and returned it to its hiding spot. Absentmindedly scratching his lower back, he wandered over to the window. He needed a distraction, so he decided to check what was making that noise outside.
A round-cheeked house servant yanked a chain, pulling a bucket up from the stone well in the middle of the yard. Hence the clatter of metal. He whistled under his breath. When he returned home, he’d never take indoor plumbing for granted again. He might even buy his toilet a top-of-the-line bowl brush.
The servant must have sensed his gaze because she turned to glance up. Suddenly aware that he had slept naked, Tuck leapt back into the safety of the shadows. The last thing he needed was to look like some pervert with a flashing fetish.
The door flew open behind him. “What the hell!” Tucker’s snapped surprise earned him a frown from the gray-haired man who entered.
He grunted as Tuck clapped his hands over his dick. “Morning, sir.” The male servant inclined his head in a stiff bow. “I’m here to see you dressed properly.”
Not again.
“Why is this necessary?” Tuck asked. “I’m fine handling it on my own.”
“Not from what I’ve seen,” the servant drawled calmly, striding to a chair to inspect the clothing Tuck had tossed there the night before. He held up the jacket and clicked his tongue before moving to the wardrobe. “What I witnessed yesterday was a man in his underthings for all to see, even respectable ladies.”
“I was in pants and a shirt.” After a life of hockey, he was well accustomed to changing in front of others, even the media when they came through the locker room door hunting for a quote.
“That’s right.” The servant turned with a puzzled look. “No waistcoat. No jacket. No hat. And in front of MissWooddash, for shame. I don’t know how you Americans behave across the pond, but here?” He made a disapproving sound that seemed to convey the wordsYou come to this house and try any funnybusiness,I’ll mess you up.
And Tucker approved of that. Here was Lizzy, alone in the country, surrounded by nothing but deep dark woods. A territorial sensation clenched his gut as he forced logic into his head. The women in this house deserved physical protection, but from what he could see, they could take care of themselves just fine. Anyone attempting to break in would likely find themselves fleeing like the burglars inHome Alone.
While this servant was taking his sweet time selecting clothing, Tucker caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His skin had a natural olive tone, but he’d spent last summer indoors. The chemo port scar on his chest was a visible reminder of why. His abs were lean, lacking clear definition, sure, but his waist was trim.
Would Lizzy like it?
The thought rattled him like a shot off the crossbar. What didit matter? If she went along with whatever plot was being cooked up by her cousin and her friend, it was to serve her own purposes. Not because of his abs.
“Here we are, sir.” The servant handed him a white linen shirt with a twinge of annoyance. “Don’t stand there looking at it; put it on.” Tuck took the shirt and pulled it on over his head; it hung to his mid-thighs.
“What’s your name?”
“Robert, but most call me Robbie.”
“Thank you, Robbie. And I think—”
“Please don’t.” Robbie cut him off. “Think, I mean. My job isn’t to chat; it’s to get you dressed so I can see to my other chores.”
“Are you often sent to dress a guy?”
