Mrs Y. left without a word. Griffin looked at Jordon thoughtfully. “I’m wondering what happened to you before you entered our estate tonight. The lads at the gate tell me you appeared, ‘between one lightning flash and another’. Normally they would have smelled you coming.”
Jordon drew a deep breath. The brandy was already affecting her judgment. Why not tell him? Maybe he could actually help. “The lightning brought me.” When he remained quietly interested, she added, “I was crossing the road. A car almost hit me – I swear, it wastryingto hit me – and suddenly I was here. Well, in the road, at least. I don’t know how.” Despair threatened her self-control. “I’d just like to go home.”
“Hmm.” He stared into the fire for a long moment. At length he said, “Well, I’m no Traveller myself; I don’t know how it’s done. Unfortunately, those who do know are not the sort you can trust to see you home. They’re more the type to take you to their lair and keep you.” He smiled as if he understood the urge. “I suppose we’ll just have to keep you ourselves.”
Jordon’s hackles rose. “I’m not a lost puppy!”
“So I see,” he almost purred. “However, you need a dry place to sleep tonight. I can offer that.”
Her eyes narrowed in warning. “Can you guarantee I’ll sleep alone?”
His eyes swept slowly over her, reminded her that she wore only a blanket and a borrowed pair of slippers. He smiled. “You will be safe here; if you wish to be.”
His words made her stomach tighten under the scrutiny of this unwanted interest. The man was gorgeous, but too confident for his own good. She wasn’t going to encourage him. “Not interested,” she said firmly, and set aside her cup. She didn’t need more brandy when he was in the room.
“Very well.” He rose and offered her a hand up, then tucked it neatly through his arm. The gesture was so courtly she found ithard to object, though the feel of his heated skin against her hand was subtly delicious. She tugged free, saying, “I need both hands on the blanket.”
His smile was wolfish. “Of course. We wouldn’t want it to slip.”
Jordon was not used to blushing, so she tried to hide her face and ignored him. As she did, movement caught her eye. She glanced out of one of the dusty windows and stiffened as lightning flashed, illuminating the large shapes that prowled the yard.
Griffin followed her gaze. “Yes. They are awake. And busy, I suspect. You’ve brought quite a storm with you. It’s a good thing that you came to us. You seem to have stirred up some serious trouble. I don’t think any of the neighbours would have dealt easily with it.”
Jordon swallowed. “Are they like you? Griffins and such, I mean.” For all she knew, she’d landed in an entirely different world. Tonight, anything seemed possible.
He grinned. “I’m afraid not. They’re rather ordinary, for the most part. Careful on the stair; those slippers are rather big for you.” His hand hovered protectively at her back as she took the marble stairs in the floppy slippers.
She wished it wasn’t so protective. She was in more danger of stumbling from the heat of his hand than from the oversized foot gear. She held herself stiffly, ready to object if he got fresh, but the hand hovered, just shy of her back. It was worse than if he’d touched her outright.
Then she found herself silently following him through the draughty, dusty old house. The only source of light was Griffin’s candle and the occasional flare of lightning. Stern oils frowned down at her from the walls as they passed. Sculptures of plaster and older, worm-eaten wood ones gazed at her with solemn, chiding eyes. All around her, the house breathed, expectant. She had the uncomfortable feeling that something was required of her.
To distract herself, she said, “You have a lot of art here. I expect to come upon the statue of David at any moment.”
He smiled down at her. “You’ll find no stone statues here. Gargoyles are touchy about that sort of thing. The idea of being trapped forever as stone . . .”
Jordon frowned. “Gargoyles?”
They had come to a lighted doorway. He paused outside and looked in. “Mrs Y. has been busy.”
Jordon peered in. Mrs Y. saw them and grunted in satisfaction. “We’ve not had guests in years. I had to pull the Holland covers off and fetch fresh bedding.” She’d lit a fire in the hearth, Jordon saw. It burned with a reassuringly yellow and orange flame.
Mrs Y. moved to the wardrobe and removed a neatly folded square of white. She shook it out, revealing a long-sleeved, cotton nightgown with a row of tiny buttons down the front. Pretty and old-fashioned, the bodice and hem had tiny blue flowers embroidered with twining silver vines. She laid it across the bed. “There you are, and I brought warm water for washing.” She pulled a large jug from under a tea trolley and poured the steaming contents into the old-fashioned washstand. “And that should be that until morning.”
Jordon paused, acutely aware of the man at her side. It felt too intimate with him here. “The room looks very comfortable, thank you.”
Mrs Y. looked satisfied. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. We rise early.” She let herself out.
Jordon glanced at Griffin. He hadn’t moved. “Well. Goodnight, then.”
He smiled, slow and warm. “It has been. I’ve enjoyed your company.”
Her blood felt thick, her heartbeat a little too strong. She wished now that she’d had nothing to drink. She didn’t handle liquor well. She licked her lips, searching for a reply . . . and he kissed her.
She instantly forgot what she’d been going to say. His lips were soft, scorching hot. Or maybe she was the one on fire. Her insides certainly seemed to be in meltdown.
His hands were gentle, yet firm as he slid one into her hair, used the other to span her waist. He kissed her as if they were already old lovers, as if he had the right.
It was long moments before she was able to lower her head, breaking the kiss. “I don’t know you.”
