Page 5 of Crying Wolfe
A yowl both feline and masculine saw Rosaline suddenly released.
Orion had leapt from the top rung of the ladder and landed on the man’s shoulder. The kitten stopped his fall by digging his claws in as deep as he could and sliding down the length of the man’s bicep, shredding both shirt and skin in the process.
The stranger flapped the offending arm, doing his best to disengage the clinging beast sunk deep into brawn. A string of subsequent curses blistered Rosaline’s ears and struck her dumb as he grabbed the kitten with hands much too large for such tiny bones. “The fuck off me, you prickly little shit.”
“No!” Rosaline sobbed as he tossed the little creature aside. She wheezed out a relieved breath when she saw that Orion had been aimed at an overstuffed chair and landed on all fours without incident or injury.
The wrath she saw in the gunslinger’s eyes as he turned back to her sent her scrambling back up the ladder. It broke her heart to leave Orion to face the monstrous American on his own, but if she stayed, she damned not just herself, but every single person she cared about.
And they’d been through enough.
“Hey! Git back here.” Instead of following her up the ladder, he went for something on a side table. His gun?
Spurred by that thought, she dashed over the bookshelves and shimmied out the window right before the entire observatory flared with light.
He’d turned on the gas lamps. Now he could see her well enough to pick her off the ledge with his remaining bullets.
A cold jolt on her foot made her realize she’d lost a slipper, but she didn’t have the time to care about that. With the nimble bounds of a fleeing deer, she made her way around the ledge with impossible speed. She would rather meet her fate at the end of a fall than from the violent lance of a bullet.
Diving through her window, she turned to latch and lock it, hazarding a look back across the way.
The observatory glowed with golden light, but no huge American stood in relief against the glass, pointing a pistol between her eyes.
He hadn’t followed her up the ladder. Hadn’t chased her across the ledge.
Dropping out of sight, she drew the drapes and held her breath.
Could she really have just gotten away with it?
CHAPTER2
Elijah Wolfe’s clodhoppers barely fit on the damned ledge, but if a little girl could make the trip so quick, he wasn’t about to play the part of a chicken.
It didn’t surprise him to find the window locked, so he forced it open with a heavy bump from his shoulder…the one not torn to shit by a tiny demon.
He was still bleeding, goddammit.
A nuisance he’d take care of once he got this all straightened out and was able to retrieve whatever that little bandit had in her pocket.
Bending down, he crawled through the casement feet first, kicking the velvet drapes aside and leaping over the decorative window seat.
Huh. The English sure kept nicer quarters for their servants than back home, that was for damn sure.
He scanned the room lit only by a dim oil lamp, looking for the slip of a girl who liked to cling to shadows. Times like this he wished he could develop the nose of a hound; he’d follow a trail of honeysuckle and herbs right to her. The bedroom looked like she’d smelled. Summer yellows, gold, and cream, much too soft and cheery for this dismal climate.
Though the bedclothes were in disarray, he found no sign of her. Not under the bed. Nor behind the bath screen or in the crowded wardrobe.
Eli crossed to the door. Best wake Morley and the house, let ‘em know they’d an intruder and a thief in their midst. The lawman could decide what to do with her, then.
He just needed to be certain to keep the Hespera House more secure, especially until he could find a specialist to date and verify Mrs. Clarkwell’s incredible discovery. Though he’d already reinforced doors and windows on the first floors, he’d apparently neglected to plan for waifish maids who skittered along rooftops in this part of the world.
Who’d have fucking guessed?
When his hand fell on the door latch, a delicate sneeze ricocheted through the quiet early morning hours like a blast from his pistol. .
Eli whirled. He’d already checked the wardrobe. It’d been so chock-full there was no way an actual human could have taken refuge there.
Then he remembered how slight the little bit had been. How his hand had wrapped around her entire ankle with room to spare. She was short and wiry, even smaller than her oversize robe had initially advertised. Enough so that Eli had felt like some kind of bully when he’d realized his trespasser was not only ashe, but would snap in half like a pussy willow reed if he handled her too rough.
