Nothing.
“Gi—”
A hand covered her mouth. “Shhh,” he murmured. “Let’s listen for a moment longer.” He didn’t have a good feeling, and he trusted his gut.
He’d drawn a hell of a lot attention at the masquerade pummeling Rafferty, and he’d been distracted with Alyssia, so he hadn’t considered possible consequences. He hadn’t halted to assess the whereabouts of his uncle.
Had his uncle seen him?
Recognized him?
Was he being overly cautious?
But bloody sure enough, another sound came, softer this time, almost like... a muted footstep? His legs tightened instinctively around her. Upstairs, noises would carry, but downstairs noises weremore difficult to discern.
“Damn it.”
“Perhaps a window caught in the wind,” she offered, though she sounded uncertain herself.
“No wind tonight,” he replied quietly.
He glanced toward the closed chamber door. There was nothing for it, he wouldn’t be at ease until he inspected the house thoroughly.
Bishop’s jaw flexed.
He loosened his legs around her. “I’ll investigate.” Bishop rose from behind her, stepping from the bath and retrieving a pair of trousers.
She rose as well, reaching for a towel. “I’ll join you.”
“No, stay here. If there is something, I don’t want you to be near it.”
“And I don’t want to let you investigate alone.”
“Alyssia.” His tone brooked no argument. He would give in to almost anything, but not at the cost of her safety.
“Fine, but be quick about it or I will come after you.”
Damn it. “Promise me you’ll stay in the chamber.”
She’d found his robe and shrugged it on, tying the belt tightly across her middle. He’d have ogled the sight if it were any other damn time. “No promises. You have fifteen minutes to investigate, or I’ll come after your hide.”
He wanted to curse again but a laugh tumbled out instead. “Very well.” He’d have to do a thorough, but quick, search. He gave her a quick kiss on the temple before striding from the chamber. “Keep your pretty derrière right there. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Bishop didn’t waste another second. He slipped into the corridor, waiting for his eyesight to adjust before making his way toward the stairs, water cooling on his skin. When he reached the stairs, he was careful to take them one at a time and as stealthily as possible.
When he reached the last one, he heard an unmistakable curse.Bishop halted, every muscle taut. Definitely a person in their house who shouldn’t be there.
He cursed his uncle to perdition. It was his man. Of that, he had no doubt. He should never have let his guard drop at the masquerade; Rafferty had been the distraction, not the threat. His uncle would seize any sign and form of weakness, and newly wedded contentment was “weakness” enough. Alyssia was upstairs, alone and vulnerable. The thought twisted something in his chest. This house was his at the moment. This woman was his. And no man would touch either. No one was allowed to invade their sanctuary.
His hands fisted, and he strode over and pushed the door open. The window stood wide, curtains whipping with the cold. A small table lay overturned, prints of muddy soles stamped across the rug. One intruder knelt on the sill, grunting as he tried to haul another blackguard through.
The larger man straightened slowly, wiping sweat from his brow as he turned to Bishop. Cold eyes. Broken nose. A face used to winning fights. His uncle certainly hadn’t held back. This man was immense. Broad as a doorway.
Every instinct in Bishop flared.
The giant’s mouth curled into a grin.
Chapter Sixteen
