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rary that mentioned grounds she could use. Abandonment. The FBI could keep Kip under ice for as long as they wanted.
Scott looked at her with the sweetest stare she’d ever seen in her life. It worked to tamp down her worry. “Bro, cool it with the Big Bad Dom act, okay? She’s our guest.”
Eric released her chin. “Good enough for now. Later? A guess won’t suffice, but you’re exhausted and need rest.”
At the end of the hall, they came to a door where the man who had sat behind the brothers in the courtroom was changing its knob. Even though indoors and on the floor here, the guy had on shades and was wearing a suit and tie.
“Is the light too bright in here for you?” she asked him.
Eric laughed. “God, I love your sass. His Aviators are just a part of his signature look, Megan.”
“All done, buddy.” The man stood and placed his tools in the box next to him. Then he handed a set of keys to Eric.
Eric took them and nodded. “Great. Megan, let me introduce you to Dylan Strange. He’s a friend. He’s also put a lock on your door as well as a deadbolt.” Eric handed her the keys. “These are for you.”
Scott turned to her. “We meant it when we said we want you to feel comfortable in our home.”
“Thank you.” She took the keys and curled them up in her hand. Eric and Scott deserved their gallant surname. She turned to Dylan. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Strange.”
The man’s eyes narrowed at first. Then he extended his hand to her. “And you, Mrs. Lunceford.”
She shook his hand.
“Enough with the introductions,” Eric stated. “Megan needs rest.”
Dylan nodded. “I’ve got an early flight in the morning, so I’ll be saying my good-byes now.”
Eric waited until Dylan was gone. “The bathroom in this suite already has a lock. No one will disturb you. Scott and I will have Gretchen unpack your things.”
A sudden flash of foolish jealousy shot through her. “Gretchen?”
“A person we cannot live without. Gretchen Hollingsworth keeps this house running.”
“Yes, I do, sir,” a silver-headed woman said in a distinctive British accent. Megan guessed her to be in her mid-sixties. “And with little or no help from you two lads.”
“How many times do we have to ask you not to wear that outfit?” Scott hugged the lady.
The formal maid uniform was light gray with a crisp white apron. Gretchen smiled, making her green eyes sparkle like emeralds. “I believe that employed domestics, whether maids or manservants, should wear uniforms, Mr. Scott. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”
“This isn’t Downton Abbey, Gretchen, and you’re much more than a maid to us.”
“Employment as a domestic is, I believe, an honorable profession. I’m proud of my uniform.” The lady sent her a quick wink. “And how would you know, Scott, if this is or isn’t Downton Abbey? Whenever I turn my television show on in the den, you head for the exit every time.”
“Enjoy your soap opera all you want,” Scott said. “How would you say it?” He continued in a terrible attempt at an English accent, “Not my cup of tea.”
Gretchen shook her head. “Every male needs to leave this space right now.”
Scott saluted and Eric leaned down and kissed the sweet woman’s cheek.
“Go, before I get a broom to your behinds.” They marched off, and Gretchen turned to her. “Welcome to Knight Mansion, Mrs. Lunceford.”
“Please call me Megan.”
“You Americans and your informality.” Smiling broadly, Gretchen led her into the most luxurious bedroom she’d ever seen. “I’ll draw you a warm bath and then I’ll put away your things, dear.”
“Thank you, Gretchen.” A castle, two handsome Knights, and Gretchen. What woman wouldn’t feel like a princess?
* * * *
