Knowing that, Rafferty couldn’t just go off and get a well-deserved rest. He needed to use every spare minute he had looking for the damn money.
He moved through the darkness on silent feet, heading toward the top floor and the servants’ rooms. Only Martina slept up there, and she’d gone through everything with a fine-toothed comb, but another set of eyes might pick up on something new. He moved past the closed bedroom doors, heading for the back stairs, when he heard a sound.
It was just a small scuffle, probably nothing more than an errant mouse. But it had come from Georgie’s room, and there was no way he was simply going to walk on by.
He pushed the well-oiled door open silently, peering into the stygian darkness, and saw nothing. He was about to close it again, when he heard the scuffle, and something moved by the fireplace.
He always carried his knife, even when dressed in full butler’s regalia, and he slid it out, prepared for anything, when a dark figure rose from the floor, and he half expected a ghostly moan. He was about to fling the knife when the creature spoke, stopping him cold.
“Rafferty?” came Georgie’s strained voice in the darkness, and he dropped the knife, shaken.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, moving into the bedroom in a blur of speed, catching hold of the dark figure. It was Georgie, all right, wrapped in a dark blanket, and he wanted to shake her. “Why didn’t you say something sooner—I could have killed you!”
“I didn’t know it was you,” she said, her attempt at sounding practical belied by the tremor in her voice. “I thought you might be the man with the teeth.”
“This house is supposed to be empty. Why aren’t you with your family in Kent?”
“I was sick,” she said in a stronger voice.
“You don’t sound sick.”
“I’m better now.”
Damn the girl. “And they just left you behind?”
“They thought Jane and Betsey would look after me, but they never showed up.”
“I told them they could take the next few days off.” He clutched the heavy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Why are you wearing this?”
“I was cold, and I couldn’t get a fire started, and there were no candles....”
He released her, striding to the window and pushing open the curtains. The bright moonlight flooded the room, and he could see the frost on the edge of the glass. He turned back to her. “It’s a wonder you don’t catch pneumonia in this freezing house. What in the world were your parents thinking? That I’d take care of you? Where’s Martina?”
“Martina went with them—Norah insisted. I told you, they thought Betsy and Janie would look after me, but I never saw them, and they probably didn’t even know I was here.” Her teeth weren’t chattering, but he could tell it was taking her a great effort to keep up the pretense of warmth. “Can you start a fire?”
He looked down at her, not bothering to hide his frustration. Were her parents complete idiots, to leave her in the dubious care of a man? But then, to them he wasn’t a man, he was only a servant, and therefore no threat to their younger daughter.
They had no idea. “We’re getting out of here,” he said abruptly.
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because it’s not safe. Anyone can see the house is empty, and it’s ripe for thieves and burglars.” And Billy Stiles, he added silently.
“Don’t you want to stop them?” she asked.
“I would if you weren’t here. It’s too dangerous to wait around here hoping no one comes to investigate. Where’s your heavy cloak? It’s cold outside.”
“Er...I don’t really have one,” she confessed. “Won’t this blanket do?”
He growled, low in his throat, and stripped off his heavy winter cloak, pulling it around her unresisting body. “That’ll do until we get where we’re going,” he said grimly, ignoring the chill that ran over him. She must have been freezing, huddled up in that blanket.
“Where is that?”
He didn’t bother to enlighten her. This night was turning into a disaster, and all it would take would be for Billy Stiles to show up with half a dozen of his men. Which he’d swore he wouldn’t do, which meant he’d be there any time now. If Georgie had been where she belonged, he could have stayed there and made sure Billy and his mates didn’t do too much damage. As it was, the best he could do was get Georgie the hell away from there and hope for the best.
“Come along,” he said. “We can’t afford to waste time.” He took her arm, thanking God it was encased in his heavy wool coat, and steered her from the room.
The coat was warm with his body heat, and it smelled like him, masculine and delicious, and she had to behave herself and not snuggle down in it the way she wanted to. He was angry—well, she’d expected no less. He’d been doing his best to avoid her, and now he was stuck with her. She knew she ought to feel guilty about it, and a small part of her did. But most of her was simply reveling in the warmth of his coat around her and the strength of his arm as he led her through the inky blackness of her deserted home.
