“There is a naked man in my house,” her cousin whispered, on the verge of hysteria.
Bess stole a peek around the doorjamb. The intruder’s waistcoat and cravat had joined the pile. He was tugging his shirt over his head.
Not quite naked yet. Although he would be in a moment unless she acted quickly.
She felt around in the dark for a weapon and grabbed the first item she touched—a large candlestick. Brandishing it like a cricket bat, she murmured, “Stay here.”
Gemma gripped Bess’s waist and shuffled behind her.
“I said stay.” Bess hushed command left no room for argument.
Her cousin released her. “What are you going to do?”
“Shhh.” Bess had no idea, but she would figure it out. When she’d accompanied Gemma to Davensworth Cottage to help her set up house, she hadn’t imagined one of her duties would involve ousting a nude man from the premises. Better her than Gemma, though. As a widow with five years of marriage to her credit, Bess wouldn’t see anything she hadn’t seen before.
When she peeked from her hiding spot once more, he’d disappeared. Another clatter came from the kitchen. She hurried along the corridor with the candlestick raised above her head. Taking a deep breath to shore up her courage, she ran into the kitchen, hollering loud enough to wake the dead.
The man, who was stoking the fire in the kitchen hearth, bolted upright, smacking his head on the mantle. He dropped the iron poker; it landed on his foot. A roar like nothing she’d ever heard ripped from his throat. His nearly black eyes were ablaze when he spun toward her. His muscular chest heaved and fell with mesmerizing regularity.
Bess gaped.
He’d stripped to his drawers, and the garment clung to him like a second skin. Oh, how wrong she’d been. Her previous marriage hadn’t prepared her at all for such a vision. He was a man in his prime, seemingly chiseled from marble with extra attention paid from God himself.
He frowned. “What’s the meaning of this? Screaming like a banshee and scaring a man half to death?” He advanced on her, bobbled a step, and knocked his hip against the butcher’s block. “Hellfire!”
“Y-you—” Bess’s mouth was dry. She moistened her lips. “You are trespassing. Gather your clothing and be gone.”
He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. A roguish smile eased across his handsome face. “It is cold outside, love. Don’t be inhospitable.” He weaved side to side. His eyelids were heavy over bleary eyes.
“Law, you are foxed,” Bess said.
“Not enough for the night I am having.”
Bess heard a gasp behind her. “Lord Julius, oh my heavens!” Gemma’s hands were over her eyes; the apples of her cheeks were flushed bright pink. “What brings you to Davensworth on such a night?”
“An unfortunate turn of events, miss.” He slurred his words, confirming Bess’s suspicion. “My horse spooked and dumped me in Fairrigan Brook.”
“That cannot be, my lord.” Her cousin carried on as if covering her eyes and conversing with a half naked man in her kitchen happened every day. “Fairrigan Brook is east of the village, toward Everly Manor. You must have fallen into Murkwood.”
“Did I?” He scratched his temple. “Yes, you must be right. I couldn’t have traveled from Fairrigan on foot in such a short time. Must have become turned around.”
Bess propped the candlestick on her shoulder, lowering her guard. “Gemma, how do you know this rogue?”
“Lord Julius Everly at your service, Miss.” With a ridiculous flourish of his hand, he bowed low over his leg. The momentum knocked him off balance, but he braced a hand against the wide-plank floor before he crashed face first. When he righted himself, he winked. “And I am no ordinary rogue. My father is the Marquess of Seabrook.”
“Well, forgive me, my lord. I had no inkling I was in the presence of greatness.”
He laughed and swayed on his feet again. “Do you know this vexing she-devil, Miss Price?”
Gemma—a woman of four and twenty—giggled. Her hands were still over her eyes. “Bess is my cousin, the dowager Countess of Hadley, and she has graciously traveled to Davensworth to assist me with setting up my household, now that Father is gone.”
His expression sobered. “My condolences, Miss Price. Your father was a fine man and extraordinary brewer of ale, as I can attest to this evening.”
Bess wasn’t surprised he was familiar with Uncle Roger’s brewery. Even a dunk in the creek couldn’t wash the yeasty scent of ale from him. The smell should be off putting, but mingled his own masculine fragrance, the combination was pleasant. Bess found him infuriating.
“Thank you, my lord,” Gemma said. “I hope I can honor my father’s name and maintain the brewery’s reputation as its new proprietress. Bess, retrieve a blanket for Lord Julius while Anne and I prepare a bed for him.”
“Don’t go to any trouble, Miss Price. Once my clothes dry by the fire, I will be on my way, if you will allow me to borrow a horse. Mine is likely halfway to Everly Manor stables.” He mumbled under his breath, “I hope.”
“Nonsense, my lord.” Gemma was already striding from the kitchen. “We’ll not send you out in inclement weather. That would be unneighborly.”
“How kind of you, Miss Price.” He aimed a smirk at Bess. “She is a lovely young woman, your cousin.”
“Not vexing like I am?” Bess lowered the candlestick to her side. “I’ll return shortly. Stay here and do not move a muscle.”
In an act of defiance, he flexed his chest—right, left, right—and grinned.
She narrowed her eyes. “Does anyone find you charming?”
“If you must ask, I’m not trying hard enough.”
“Save your effort. Men like you have no effect on me.” She spun on her heel and stalked from the room, her racing heart proving she was a liar. After all this time, she was not immune to a handsome scoundrel, even when he would bring her nothing but trouble.
Gemma met her at the landing above stairs and shoved a blanket into her hands. “Lord Julius will stay in my father’s bedchamber. We uncovered the furniture. Anne is making the bed, and Robbie is building a fire. Please, direct our guest to the room.”
“He requires a keeper,” Bess said. “Did you see the mess he made in the kitchen? The man is inebriated.”
“I’ve heard rumors Lord Julius has a wild streak. It appears the gossips were telling the truth.” Gemma bustled toward her father’s old room. “Provide him with an escort if you prefer.”
“I don’t approve of him staying here.”
Bess’s cousin stopped at the threshold and leaned against the doorjamb. “That is the benefit to being an independent woman. I require no one’s approval but my own.”
She blew a kiss and sashayed into the chamber. Hearing Bess’s own words parroted back elicited a smile of admiration. Her cousin was coming into her own.
When Gemma first came to stay with Bess while in mourning, she’d blushed every time Bess looked her way. She spoke in a near whisper, and rather than admit a preference for anything, she would suffer. A year of Bess’s companionship turned her into a bit of a rebel.