“I can explain,” she said weakly.
“That will be interesting.”
He started moving, and seeing as he was carrying her, she had no choice but to go along. She didn’t feel up to walking, and since she was about to get fired, she might as well enjoy the novelty of being swept off her feet. She’d always wondered what it would be like to play the role of the damsel in distress. Although she’d been in distress on numerous occasions, no one had ever treated her like a damsel. No one had thought her worthy of care and protection.
Except for Papa and Mr. Trelawney. And I paid them back by getting them killed.
Her chest tightened. Maybe she deserved everything bad that happened to her. Maybe it was her comeuppance for being a bad apple grown from a bad seed.
Nonetheless, when Lord Ethan nudged open the door of her bedchamber, exposing the warm and cozy space, yearning crept through her. This was the nicest place she’d ever stayed. She didn’t want to give it up.
Her rescuer shouldered the door shut.
“To keep the bats out,” he said.
She shuddered, not about to argue with his logic.
He carried her over to the bed. Through her threadbare nightgown, she felt the sleek bulge of his muscles surrounding her, and her tummy quivered. His scent was delicious: a mix of crisp, sophisticated spices and virile male musk. She stole another whiff before she found herself unceremoniously dumped onto the bed.
Lord Ethan towered over her, his hands braced on his hips. For some reason, he was wearing gloves. He was also wearing a black silk dressing gown that exposed a vee of his muscular chest, which had an enticing sprinkle of dark hair. His large feet were shod in fine velvet slippers.
“I am waiting.”
She yanked her gaze up from his bulging, hair-dusted calves. “For what?”
“Your explanation,” he bit out.
Oh, right. Think, Xenia, think.
“I heard a noise in the hallway,” she said. “It came from behind the door. I thought it might, um, be a burglar or something of the sort. So I went to investigate.”
His expression was stony. She had no idea if he believed her.
Then his eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong with your voice? You sound different.”
Drat!She’d forgotten to disguise it. Now that the horse had left the barn, she decided it was too troublesome to keep up the prim tones.
“This is my usual voice, sir. If I sounded different yesterday, it was because I was recovering from a head cold,” she said glibly.
“Hmm.” He looked unconvinced. “Be that as it may, you disobeyed my direct order. I made it clear that you were not to enter that room under any circumstances. The infestation was discovered the day before you arrived. Until I can find someone to remedy the situation, I’ve kept the bats quarantined. Thanks to you, they are now loose in the house.”
Eek! That’s disgusting.
Wisely, she kept her reaction to herself.
“Since I caused the problem,” she said, “I shall take it upon myself to rectify it.”
He stared at her, not even bothering to voice his skepticism.
“I’ll ask in the village,” she clarified. “I am sure I can find help.”
He crossed his arms.
“You needn’t worry about a thing, my lord,” she said stoutly.
Eager to persuade him (and keep her job), she rose and put on a brisk, the-housekeeper-will-take-care-of-it smile. She gave his arm a reassuring pat—which was a mistake. When her fingertips brushed the hard curve of his biceps, she felt as if she’d touched an electrifying machine. A charge buzzed through her, blood rushing to her cheeks and the tips of her breasts, which jutted visibly against the worn fabric of her nightgown.
Can he see my nipples?Her legs trembled.
