Gabriel was evidently not dead because he was breathing rather heavily. Birdie realised she was crushing the poor man. She’d have scrambled up, but his arms were clasped around her like iron bands.
She felt an odd stirring in the pit of her stomach.
“Can you please say something? You’re awfully quiet and there’s a glazed look in your eye,” she said breathlessly.
“I’m fine.” His voice was thick. He cleared his throat and loosened his grip.
“And your head?” She scrambled off him and backed away to put as much distance between them as possible. He sat up and shook his head.
“My head, ma’am, as previous wars have proven, is thicker than stone and impossible to crack.” He adjusted the eye-patch.
“I’m glad.” Birdie stared at him and clutched her primer, as if to ward him off. Something had happened that she couldn’t interpret. A sizzling. A spark. A tingle as if the blood in her veins had turned to champagne bubbles. Birdie cleared her throat. “What was it you wanted?”
Gabriel looked at her blankly. Then a look of thunder shadowed his face. “Oh. Yes. I wanted something. You had my room cleaned!”
Birdie picked up the books and held them in her arms. “It was about time. Three maids went in and came out with five buckets of pitch-black water. You should’ve seen it.”
Her husband folded his arms. “I thought I’d made myself clear: I don’t want anyone in my room.”
“Yes. I gave the orders that no one should disturb you. Which is why they cleaned after you left.”
“No. I mean that not a single living, breathing, soul should enter my room. Ever.” He jutted out his chin. “You touched and moved my possessions, and now some of my things have been moved or are missing. My pistol is gone.”
“How excel—I mean. I do not know what happened to your blasted pistol. I gave instructions to the maids to work carefully and quickly. I gave the order not to remove anything aside from dust, dirt and cobwebs.”
“But someone must’ve moved it!” Gabriel gave a frustrated huff.
To avoid his gaze, Birdie shuffled the books in her arms, rearranging them. “You probably did so yourself,” she said dismissively. “Sometimes we move things without thinking.”
He threw her an irritated look. “I forbid anyone, including you, to touch my pistol. And I want everything in my room to be returned to its original state. Every. Single. Thing.”
“Certainly. Your wishes shall be respected, Your Grace. Shall I instruct the maids to return each little speck of dust and grime? I’ll tell them to shake out their rags there.”
“Birdie.” He gave an exasperated laugh and felt the back of his head.
“Oh, dear. Do you have a bump on your head?”
“I’m fine.” Gabriel continued to rub his head.
Birdie lifted her hands to touch the back of his skull. His black curls were as soft as silk. This sizzling feeling pulsated through her. Again, there was an odd look on his face. She dropped her hands quickly.
“Look at the library, isn’t it a gorgeous room now that it’s clean?” she babbled. “It took four maids to carry the heavy carpet outside. Now we can see that it is Persian and quite valuable! I daresay this room is becoming my favourite by far. But look, how late it is! I need to get changed and ready for supper tonight. Do not forget. We dine at seven.” Birdie gave him a last smile and promptly left, with the books under her arms.
Gabriel exhaled a shaky breath.
What the deuce had just happened? And he wasn’t thinking of the library and the cleaning. Truth be told, he couldn’t care less now. He had more imminent, disturbing problems. His heart still hadn’t calmed down from the staccato it had hammered into his chest when Birdie had fallen on top of him. It was a sensation that he’d enjoyed rather more than he’d cared to admit. For one moment, he’d thought she was about to kiss him. Suddenly, there was nothing he wanted more. Zounds. When he’d opened his eye and gazed into her hazel ones, he almost kissed her.
Dash it. Why hadn’t he?
He felt uncomfortably hot and bothered by the entire episode and had completely forgotten what he’d wanted from Birdie.
His pistol. It was all about his pistol. Where the deuce was it?
He took a step back and stumbled over a ghostly figure by the window, half-hidden by heavy brocade curtains. He uttered a muffled oath and grappled with it, only to discover it wasn’t human, but a construct of broom and linen sheets.
The devil! Did the entire house conspire to bring him down?
Just at that moment, Higgins entered.
