Page 242 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“It?” Curiosity slowed his haste to send her away. That and her proper speech. Not something he’d heard from the prior birds who’d pecked their way inside.

“The monster. The beast. He’s been—”

“Stop that.” Brier strode forth, beyond irritated with himself for not latching the doors sooner, lockingherout. He’d only left the door unlocked because a good customer—a marquis’ wife, in fact—had sent round a note, saying her spouse would be by to retrieve a recently arrived order after his other commitment this evening, if he could. Something must have delayed the Marquis, because Brier had seen neither hide nor hair of the reliable, if notorious, lord (whispers abounding about a house of delights Lord Blakely owned—but not something Brier had first-hand knowledge of, so ’twas easy to discount the rumors).

He reached her side, intent on shoving her outside—no room for weakness, he reminded himself, irritated all over again when he caught her scent: the soft, wholesome fragrance of rose-water she had no business wearing.

And he had no business noticing. Inhaling.Sniffing, even—by damn—trying to get impossibly closer even as he nudged her aside to wrench the door open against the blasting wind. “Out, I say.”

“Have you not ears? There is danger afoot!”

Barnabas eyed the pair curiously.

The wet woman he hoped would stay—at least long enough to fondle his furry self. The taller, broader man he’d lived with for years. The calm, sometimes cross, proprietor of this establishment—Barnabas’s place of employment—the man who rarely smiled, yet never raised his voice.

But was certainly raising it now. “Be off with you, woman! This is no place to ply your wares, and your skinny arse is dripping everywhere!”

“Quick! Bolt the door.” The female put her back to it and frantically scraped her feet for purchase, trying to shove it closed. “The key! Where is it?”

Barnabas watched with something akin to wonder as the two grappled over the door. Fighting each other every bit as much as the howling wind.

“Rrreow.”Close it, you loons. That blast of wind just gutted two candles.Granted, they’d been almost burnt to puddles, given how late the hour, but still.

“Please leave, madam.Out.”

They jostled. Frozen rain and sleet pelted inside.

“There is something fiendish out there—and it is after me!”

“You are befuddled. Have you been tippling?”

“Merrow.”She’s not befuddled. I see him.

“You think a soaker would speak so clearly? Bolt the door, you bufflehead!”

“Not”—his man grunted—“until”—fought back the female dervish—“you’re…beyond it!”

“Mew.”He’s out there, I tell you.“Merrow!”

The female whirled on Mr. Chapman, grabbed hold of his shirt between neck and shoulder andshook. “If you do not want my death on your conscience, quit being an idiot and help me.”

With an aggrieved huff, his man finally stopped battling woman and door. “There is no one out there. Much less after you.”

“Rrooeewwwl.”His eyes are glowing. Do you not see?

“There is!” She released him and shouldered the door until it thumped shut. Wilted down in aplopof wet female and fabric, seating herself against it in a shivering huddle.

Mr. Chapman grunted at her. “Woman, I—”

“Yowl!”Pay attention to me!

The glowing eyes came closer through the night causing Barnabas’s fur to stand on edge.

The cat, wearied of arguing humans disturbing his slumber, narrowed his gaze on the newest arrangement of goods: his man’s most prized delivery for the holiday season.

Barnabas promptly batted first one and then a second piece straight to the floor.

The resulting raucous far more—and far more effective—than he’d expected.

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