“I see that. But I’d like to think we would both agree that a pistol would trump a sword were this little confrontation to turn into actual combat.” He stepped toward her, all the while assessing how carefully and quickly he might disarm her.
Her eyes flashed again. She took a step back. “I… I don’t believe you have a pistol. You’d have shown it by now. And I will slice you in half if you take another step closer.”
He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “Well, you see,” he said, squinting, “I don’t usually point pistols at ladies. But I’m quickly beginning to consider making an exception in your case. Especially if you continue to threaten me and refuse to put down that sword.”
She did exactly the opposite. She lifted the sword even higher, but the muscles in her upper arms quivered. It had to be a chore for her to keep the thing aloft.
“If you have a pistol, show it. I dare you to,” she said, her jaw clenched.
“Oh, my dear Miss House Thief, don’t tempt me. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time to put down that sword before Iforceyou to put it down. It’s entirely your decision.”
“You’ll have to kill me first. And I’m no house thief.” Her quaking arms lifted the sword even higher, and she had the audacity to jab it toward him slightly.
That was it. Christian was through with this farce. He had to disarm her before she hurt herself or him or, God forbid, the dog, who’d sat in between them watching this peculiar exchange, his ears switching from side to side, no doubt in an effort to hear each of them more clearly.
Christian reached her in two long strides, wrenched the sword out of her hand, twisted her arm behind her back, and pulled her sharply against his chest. “You say you’re not a house thief, but let me see if I have the right of it. You’ve broken intomyhome and you’re trying to kill me? With my own sword?”
The woman struggled to pull her arm free, but Christian held her fast, her backside squirming against him. He wasn’t about to allow her to scramble away from him. God only knew what she’d scoop up to fight him with next. The dog, perhaps?
“Yourhome? How do I know this isyourhome?” she asked in a tone that was both demanding yet edged with fear. And in an accent that was obviously not that of a maid, but of a lady. Unexpected.
Her breath came in panting gasps, and her breasts—which Christian had quite a good view of, actually, given that he was close to a foot taller than her—were heaving. She was frightened. Good. Thieves shouldn’t get too comfortable.
“I damn well know it’s not yours, Miss Thief.”
“I told you. I amnota thief. Let go of me.” She struggled harder to break free of his grasp.
He tightened his hold on her arm. “Is anyone else with you?”
“No.”
“How long have you been here?”
“This is my third night.”
“You have been in my home three nights?” Outraged, he glanced around the room, searching. “What have you taken?”
“Nothing. How many times do I have to say it? I’m no thief.” She attempted to elbow him in the ribs. He stepped back just in time, mentally thanking his fencing days at Eton for his quick reflexes.
He secured her elbow so she couldn’t do it again. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said calmly, “but unless you can tell me in the next five seconds who you are and why the hell you’re in my house, I’ll be happy to toss you out in the snow, thief or not.”
She stopped struggling and made a small gasping noise. That was more like it.
“You’reMaster Christian?” Her head snapped to the side, and he saw the outline of her patrician profile, though she still had her back to him.
Christian tightened his grip on her warm wrist. “I’m the one asking questions here, not you,” he growled near her ear. The lily scent was definitely coming from her. Her ebony hair was giving off the essence. It smelled… good.
“I’m trying to prove that I’m not a thief,” she insisted. She’d stopped struggling for the moment. “How else would I know your name?”
“I’m certain it’s written on some paperwork in here somewhere, and it appears you’ve made yourself at home. But you’ll have to do better than toss about a name to convince me you haven’t broken into my house.”
She took a deep breath. “Mr. Fergus knows I’m here. He said I might stay.” She tossed her head after that pronouncement, obviously proud of herself for getting another name right.
Christian considered this a moment. It seemed unlikely that such a slip of a woman had done something violent to Mr. Fergus, but shehaddrawn a sword on him and his man wasn’t here at the moment. For all Christian knew, Miss Thief’s husband was hiding outside somewhere having disposed of Fergus’s body, waiting to spring a trap.
“What is the dog’s name?” Christian asked slowly. He nodded toward the animal.
Miss Thief’s chest rose and fell, her breathing shallow. Christian tried to ignore the enticing view of her décolletage.
