Or whom he’d chosen to take it with.
“Involving my brother is more trouble than it’s worth,” she said starkly.
Fancy knew her too well to argue. “You being alone in that manor gives me a worry.”
“I’m not alone. I have Zeus…and Gentleman Henderson.” What her butler lacked in the conventional skills expected of a servant, such as politeness, he more than made up for with his talents as a former prizefighter. “If anyone dares to trespass, he’ll dispatch them forthwith.”
“Even so, I’ll ask me da and the boys to make sure all the locks are in working order—”
Zeus shot up, startling both women. The hairs stood upon his neck as he let out a low growl.
“What is it, boy?” Bea said tersely.
The bull terrier let out two fierce barks, dashing out of the gazebo and toward the far wall of the garden. It was then she noticed the waving of the tall brush on the other side…as if something—orsomeone—was disturbing it.
“Sweet heavens.” Her heart punched against her chest. “There’s an intruder!”
5
As Wick battled through tall,prickly brush to assess the stone wall that surrounded Miss Brown’s rustic fortress, he was not in the best of moods. Last night, he’d experienced the most profound pleasure of his life. Pleasure that hadn’t just been about sinking his cock in an available cunny (albeit the tightest, wettest, most addictive cunny he’d ever had).
He’d experienced a…connection. One deeper than lust. One that had felt rare, so undeniablyrealthat he’d thought his masked lady felt the same way.
Damnit, she’dcuddledwith him while he fell into a deep post-coital slumber. Before that, she’d come at least three times that he’d counted and possibly more than that, given the way her sheath kept squeezing him so tightly (hence, the most addictive cunny).
Despite all that, he’d awakened in the study alone.
She didn’t even bother to leave a note goodbye.He glared at the unsympathetic, and rather high, wall. Had he been nothing more to her than a convenient cock? A way to scratch an itch?
Devil take it, he felt…used.
Cursing himself for an idiot, he found a foothold and began his ascent. They’d made each other no promises: she hadn’t even given him her name, for God’s sake. She was a one-night diversion like so many before her. If he felt disappointed, then it was his own bloody fault.
Shaking off his displeasure at waking up alone, he’d made the journey to Miss Brown’s; the front gate of her estate had been locked. With no one there to open it, he’d had to pick the lock—a trick he’d learned not in the underworld but at Eton (who said boarding school didn’t impart useful skills?). Then he’d ridden up the graceful drive.
He had to admit that the recalcitrant Miss Brown knew what she was doing when it came to land management. He’d passed thriving farms on the way over to the manor, cattle dotting the lush grazing lands and farmers at work scything the hayfields. The lawns around the drive were well-tended, with natural clumps of trees here and there and smooth sweeping grass leading up to the ivy-covered mansion.
The large, three-story house had an elegant, balanced design, with sparkling arched windows that promised excellent light and two wings flanking the main structure. It was the sort of house Wick could imagine himself living in if he ever settled down. Ready to do business, he’d knocked on the door and been greeted by her mountain of a butler, whose missing teeth and scarred fists better suited a prizefighter than a man in service. And Wick was using the term “greeted” loosely.
“No invitation, no entry,” the giant had boomed.
He’d slammed the door in Wick’s face.
Despite Wick’s persistent ringing of the bell, the impertinent bastard would not open it again. Wick had thought about giving up…for approximately half a minute. Backing down was simply not in his nature. He’d gone to look for another way in and foundanotherwall surrounding the garden behind the house.
Which led to his present precarious position half-way up said wall that, he now suspected, was designednotto be scaled. The sole of his boot slipped on the smooth rock, and he gritted his teeth, holding on by his fingertips until he could get a secure foothold again.
To motivate himself, he recalled the latest correspondence that he and Miss Brown had exchanged. He’d sent her a courteous missive containing a princely offer.
Her reply?
Perhaps a certain thickness of the skull affects your comprehension, sir, so I shall repeat myself once more: my land is not for sale. Accept that fact or don’t, but the result will be the same. Kindly refrain from wasting my time. Any further contact from you will be construed as harassment.
Harassment? When all he’d done was offer hertwiceas much money as her bloody estate was worth? Nonetheless, he’d maintained a polite tone in his next note, inviting her to London at the expense of GLNR.
Her response had been succinct:
I’d rather meet with the devil himself.
