“I heard a noise.” A woeful excuse but she could hardly malign the esteemed Mrs Pugh.
“Doubtless Morgan locking the shutters for the night.” He stared, eyes as black as the devil’s riding boots. “My apologies for not greeting you earlier. I was dealing with Mari, but I believe Mrs Pugh has imparted all that is necessary?”
And plenty that was unnecessary.
“Indeed,” she instead replied.
The duke canted his head, stepped close and then claimed her hand within his – rough, sizeable and warm despite the chill of this eve.
Isabelle’s eyes widened; what was he–
The cold metal of a lantern handle was pressed into her palm.
Oh. Of course.
“Take my lamp, Miss Beaujeu. And may I caution you against wandering the hallways at night as our mad dog has a taste for pretty maidens.”
And he twisted, striding away into the shadows like some arcane phantom.
That chain rattled once more and Isabelle gulped – ghosts she could endure, but mad dogs kept at bay by padlocked gates?
She scurried back along the corridor to her chamber and slammed the door.