Page 6 of The Wolf Duke

A beauty from head to toe.

Some bastard knew what he liked. Reiner had plenty of enemies—Falsted was just the most disgruntled at the moment. So he just had to find out which one of his enemies this chit worked for. How dangerous she was. He knew plenty of people would like to see him ruined—or dead.

Taking a long moment, his attention went down to his wrist and he folded back the fabric of his white lawn shirt to his mid-forearm. With the majority of his guests gone, he’d foregone his coat, opting for just a shirt and waistcoat for this confrontation. Changing the cup of water to his left hand, he repeated the process with his other sleeve. His fingers tightening around the glass, he stepped closer to her on the bed.

Without pause, he tossed the water into her face.

She jerked, curling onto her side in the bed, but didn’t rouse.

At least she was moving.

Reiner went to the basin of water atop the chest of drawers and dipped the cup into it, filling the glass. He moved back to the bed, splashing the water full onto her face.

A brutal gasp and she sputtered, jolting upright in the bed, her arms flailing. Wiping the water from her lashes, she frantically looked around.

No sense of time or place in her eyes.

Her look landed on him.

Stark terror shot through her eyes. Blue eyes. Light blue eyes with the oddest rogue streak of golden amber that burst upward in her left iris. That one flaw in the unique color, as though Leonardo had mixed the color of her eyes from the seas, but then a speckle of gold paint had fallen into the creation.

Her head swung to the left side, searching. Searching. She gasped, pausing for a second as she saw the side table.

He’d set her dagger there on purpose, curious to see what she would do with it.

He didn’t have to wait long.

In the next instant, her legs swung out from the bed and she popped onto her feet, snatching the knife and scurrying to the far corner of the room. A practiced hand, she held the onyx-handled blade deftly with seasoned grace.

One question answered.

She wasn’t some innocent maiden dumped behind his castle.

Dagger high and pointed at him, she moved backward until she ran into the wall. Her gloved left hand flattened on the plaster for support as she eyed him. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” Reiner turned from her, walking over to the chest of drawers to set the cup atop. He looked at her over his shoulder. “No I think the question is ‘who are you?’”

Her head shook slightly. “No you—where am I and how did I get in here?”

Interesting—a Scottish lilt lined her words. He hadn’t expected that. Reiner faced her fully, his arms crossing over his chest. “What were you doing trying to sneak into my home?”

She flicked the knife in the air. “I don’t have a blasted idea where I am, sir, so I most certainly did not attempt to sneak into your home.”

His eyebrow cocked. “No?”

“No.” She shoved off from the wall, approaching him, the tip of the dagger high at his chest. “Now tell me where in the hell I am.”

He didn’t flinch. “You would like to play a game, then? Fine. You are at Wolfbridge Castle.”

“Wolf…” Her look narrowed at him, confusion flickering across her eyes. “Wolfbridge…”

“Castle.”

“What—where?” She shook her head and took another step toward him, the dagger within striking distance. “How did you get me here?”

“What’s your name?”

She flicked the blade back and forth in the air. “Tell me how in the bloody hell you got me here.”

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