Page 69 of Her Beast

He hesitated so long that she thought he might just turn and flee. But then he surprised her and said, “Why of course—if you like.”

“Yes. I would like that. Do you live here?” she asked, not wanting him to turn and leave just yet.

“I do.”

“But I never see anyone else—not even in the delightful greenhouse.”

“No, this entire area is all yours.”

“This must be a very odd house.”

He hesitated, and then said, “Mr. Barton designed it specifically to suit his needs.”

There was that word again:needs.

“What needs?”

Mr. Butkins’s frank gaze shuttered quickly. “Er, you’d have to ask him, miss. He’s an extremely private man.”

“I know that. Everyone knows he’s a recluse. And he was burned in a fire.”

Again, he hesitated.

“He told me so.”

“He did?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? Is it a secret?”

“No, but it isn’t something he talks about.”

Warmth bloomed in her belly at the thought that he’d talked about it with her.

You hardly left him a choice, did you?

She ignored the dig.

“How much of his body was burned?”

He gave a rather harassed grimace. “Er, I couldn’t say.”

“Couldn’t or won’t?”

“Uhm—”

“What does he look like beneath his mask?”

Butkins’s jaw sagged.

“Is my curiosity so hard to understand?” She knew she was being rude by firing questions at him so rapidly, but it was an excellent way to put a person off balance. And when people were off balance they were far more likely to let the truth slip.

“Well, no, I suppose. But I have never seen Mr. Barton without his mask.”

“Never?”

Butkins shook his head.

“Have you worked for him long?”

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