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301 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 18, 2013
“Madam, what is it that you think I can assist you with? I do not like being disturbed this late in the evening. Nor do I appreciate you soaking everything in your wake.”
She blinked and took a few shuffling steps forward. “My Lord, my name is Mia Danvers, I live in the cottage at the edge of your estate.”
“My God.” He’d never met her before, at least he did not remember if he had, but she’d lived on their property for nearly eight years. An agreement between his late father and her parents, an agreement that had been written into his father’s will. Alex remembered his mother saying once that the poor girl was mad. But up until now they’d never had any trouble with her. In fact, she’d kept to her own and out of sight, so Alex had never questioned her living arrangement. He studied her now, taking in the frantic, almost crazed, expression on her face. It might be time to reexamine the situation, search for a way around his father’s odd demand.
“Miss Danvers, what are you doing away from your cottage?” he asked, voice firm and authoritative. She needed to know this sort of behavior would not be tolerated, regardless of what his father had agreed to.
She craned her neck awkwardly to the right, then moved in that direction, heading straight for the fire crackling in the hearth. But she ran right into a chair. With her hands she felt around the piece of furniture, moving around it as she did until she stood directly in front of the fire. She silently warmed herself for several moments before she spoke.
“I witnessed a murder tonight. On your property.”
“I can smell perfume on you, a couple of varieties as well as scented waters for hair rinses. Decidedly feminine smells so it seems logical that perhaps you’d danced tonight,” she said.
He stopped walking, just stood still. The fact that she could know that simply by the smell of him felt awkwardly intimate. As if he stood before her an open book ready for her to peruse and discover any of his secrets. Not that he had any. He lived a reputable life. He was a good man with very few vices.
She was a Danvers, a well-bred lady. That fit. She was lovely and graceful. And had she not been denied a Season of her own, she no doubt would have had her selection of suitors. Perhaps he would have thrown his hat in her ring. She was different enough to be interesting, but of good breeding to ensure she could have made a good duchess. He shook his head. It was a futile thought. Blind girls weren’t the stuff of duchesses.
The Ripper was waiting.
He picked up his pace, the girl looked behind her shoulder at him, then turned back to the front and sped up. He would catch her. She was a petite little thing and her stride would have nothing on his. He proved that very thing when he caught up with her in three long steps.
"Where are you going so quickly?" he asked.
- p. 184
"I have to keep you out of harm's way," he argued.
"No, you don't." Though she longed for him to continue to do so. Did that make her weak? Ultimately she knew that if he did pawn her off on her sisters, it was likely she'd never be near him again. And that, for reasons she didn't care to examine, scared the hell out of her.
"If I don't, who will?" he countered.
"I will. I've lived on my own, with nothing but the assistance of Rachel and we've managed quite nicely without you or my sisters." She stepped over to where she knew he still sat. Without another thought she reached out and jammed her finger into his solid chest. Whether she craved his protection or not, she'd be damned if he'd treat her as some sort of invalid. "What gives you the right to think you can order me about? Simply because you've inherited some prestigious title and now everyone around is to bow to your every whim? Well, let me tell you one thing, Alex Foster, your title means nothing to me. I'm not impressed by who you are, and I'm most certainly not intimidated. As far as I'm concerned, you're no different than any other man on the street. Well, with the exception that you want to control my life." She stopped talking long enough to realize she was actually winded.
- pp. 144-145