Page 3 of How the Earl Entices

“Yes.”

She whispered, too frightened to find her voice, “What do you want?”

“A place to spend the night. That’s all.”

“There’s an inn in the village.” She waved the poker in the general direction of the harbor. “You can spend the night there.”

He tilted his head, as if listening to the storm. The silence that stretched between them only accentuated the howl of the hurricane gale that swept in from the Atlantic like a banshee from hell. Then he shook his head.

“As soon as the weather breaks, I’ll leave.”

Her hands gripped harder around the poker, so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “You need to leavenow.”

His deep voice matched the intensity of the rain lashing against the cottage. “I have no intention of going back into that storm.”

He stepped away from the dark shadows by the door and came slowly forward toward the firelight, as if no more troubled by a woman brandishing an iron poker than he would have been by a gnat. He set his pistol down on the wooden settle yet kept it within easy reach as he peeled off his fisherman’s peacoat, which was sopped with water, and laid it over the back of the settle. Then he sat down and began to remove his boots.

Her heart lurched into her throat. God help her, he was removing his clothing!

“What are you doing?” she demanded, slashing the poker back and forth in front of her.

“Taking off my boots.” He pulled the left one off his foot.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why?”

In answer, he stoically held up the boot, then tipped it over and poured out the water onto the floor in a puddle.

Her mouth fell open.

He tugged off the other one and poured out just as much water, then looked at her solemnly. “Only Jesus should walk on water.”

She snapped her mouth shut. Oh, his audacity! She jabbed the poker at him, pointing first at the boots, then at his feet. “Put them back on this instant! And leave.Now. You are not welcome here!”

He reached beside him to rest his hand meaningfully on the pistol. Icy fingers of fear curled around her spine.

For one long moment, they held each other’s gaze through the thick shadows of the dark cottage, lit only by the weak flames in the fireplace beside her and the flickering candle on the table. Darkness hid his face, but his eyes were bright as he silently studied her. Then he stripped off his neckcloth, tossing it across the back of the settle beside his jacket. Around him, the puddle on the floor grew larger, evidence of how exposed he’d been in the storm and how drenched through to his skin.

But that didn’t give him the right to force his way into her home at gunpoint. And it certainly didn’t give him license to remove his clothing…which he was still doing, now unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“Stop that! Put your clothes back on.”

“I’m cold, and I’m not going to sit here freezing for the rest of the night.” He pushed himself to his feet and nodded toward her. “I advise you to do the same.”

With her free hand, she clutched at her coat’s lapels, to keep it closed so that the villain couldn’t see her night rail beneath. He said he didn’t want to hurt her, but how could she trust him?

He shrugged and peeled off his waistcoat, then tossed it onto the settle with the rest of his clothes. His wet shirt clung to his broad shoulders and narrow waist like a second skin.

He held out his arms, inviting her to look. “No hidden weapons.”

But Grace knew well that a man didn’t need weapons to harm a woman. She wore the proof of that in the scar on her cheek. Brute strength and anger could be enough to destroy. Although this stranger wasn’t in a rage, the muscles on his broad frame seemed more than powerful enough to harm.

Not threatened at all by the iron poker she still held ready to strike, he walked slowly toward her—rather, toward the warmth of the fire beside her. As he approached, the dim light of the fire chased away the shadows and finally revealed his face. A light growth of beard covered his cheeks, cuts bled at his brow.

A distant memory triggered in the far back of her mind, but it swirled away before she could latch onto it. That face. So familiar…

Or perhaps she was simply so frightened that she’d gone daft. To think she’d know a stranger who’d forced his way into her home, who even now could lunge for the gun still resting on the settle before she could strike with the poker—madness! His large presence in her small cottage was enough to make her tremble, if she wasn’t already freezing from the icy rain.

He unfastened the half dozen buttons at his neck. “You can put that poker down now.”