All right, so she looked. How could she not? She rarely saw muscles that defined outside of a marble statue in a museum.
“Quite the introduction,” he said dryly. “How do you do?”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” she managed, forcing her gaze back to that enormous light-gray eye with its long curling eyelashes. “Take off your helmet. It’s ridiculous.”
The earl considered her for a moment, then removed the helmet.
Had she thought hisabdomenchiseled? Good God, thatface. Densmore could cut glass with that jaw and those cheekbones. A mass of soft, wavy brown hair only called more attention to the angular beauty of his absurdly handsome visage.
“I changed my mind,” she said hoarsely. “Put the helmet back on.”
He did not.
“Look,” she said. “I’m sorry about the door. I’m supposed to avoid unnecessary property damage, because I promised my siblings I’d only use my weapons to kill people.”
He took a hasty step back. “What?”
“Listen closely.” She edged toward him. “This is your final opportunity.”
The earl retreated another step. “Final? I’ve never seen you before.”
“And if you play your cards right this time, you’ll never see me again. Just hand over that deed.”
He held up his palms. “I haven’t any deed.”
“Don’t waste my time.” She angled her deadly battle-axes toward each side of his neck. “You saw me cut down that door. Do not annoy me any further, Densmore, or I shall cut you down, too.”
8
Stephen cleared his throat. The one boxed in by sharp blades.
“Just one small detail,” he said politely. “I’m not the Earl of Densmore.”
It was not what he was supposed to say. Stephen would do almost anything for his cousin, but he drew the line at decapitation.
Beth the Berserker scoffed at his claim. Hers was not a coquettish scoff—more of anI hold you in eternal disdainsort of scoff—but Stephen could not help but notice how much more attractive she was in front of his face than the pretty picture she’d made through his telescope. Taking off his helmet to see her clearly was the best decision he’d made all day.
It did not hurt that the trough of water had drenched her ample bosom, plastering her wet bodice to the contours of her chest. Since the berserker’s blades were at his throat and she obviously knew how to use them, Stephen did his best to keep his eyes on her suspicious green gaze and not on her enticing décolletage.
There was also the chopped door to consider, and the fact that the shirt, coat, and waistcoat he’d donned that morning were now rent in two, and hanging from his shoulders in tatters.
“Not the earl? A likely story,” sneered the berserker, with a curl of one of her plump, pink lips. “Am I supposed to believe you to be a butler?”
“If you know anything at all about the Earl of Densmore,” Stephen replied calmly, “then I needn’t convince you that his lordship is not the sort of person to answer his own door. Or care why it is that you have come to call.”
The berserker considered this, then inclined her head. “He’s about to care. Take me to him.”
“I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen admitted.
She harrumphed. “When will he return?”
