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George’s smarmy look locked onto her, his smile curling the edges of his thin lips. “One betrothed dead and one betrothal broken, if I remember correctly? You were lucky my father took you after all the scandal of both of those.”
Domnall jerked the door open and George stepped in front of Karta, cutting her off and stepping into the abbey first.
George looked to Domnall as he passed him. “So you were part of that merry band of Vinehill men who wreaked terror on the innocent maids in the land?”
His jaw flexing, Domnall ushered her into the abbey and the slightest squint came to his eyes as he looked at George. “Not exactly.” He closed the door behind him with admirable control. “I am lucky to have worked for the Marquess of Vinehill. I was an orphan and he took me in, raised me. Gave me every opportunity to become more than my circumstances allowed. I am fortunate in all that I was taught, as I am well-versed in running an estate thanks to him. That knowledge will be a tremendous help here, as Kirkmere Abbey has much to be righted.”
“What a charming story.” Sarcasm thick in his high-pitched voice, George removed his coat and dropped it and his gloves in a heap on the floor as he looked around the small vestibule in the rear of the abbey.
Domnall stepped in front of him, pointing down to George’s outerwear on the floor. “What are you doing?”
George looked around, his eyebrows arched in disbelief. “You don’t have someone to collect our gear?”
“Whether I have someone or not isn’t the point. Don’t disrespect my home by dumping your sopping coat onto my floor. Pick up the jacket, Lord Leviton.”
For long, agonizing seconds both of the men glared at each other, neither moving a muscle. George bolstered by an inherited sense of pomp and privilege. Domnall not needing to be bolstered by anything—he already was the better man in every which way that mattered.
Her breath held, Karta was just about to pick up George’s coat so the situation wouldn’t come to blows when George coughed and looked away.
Grumbling under his breath, George turned around to pick up his overcoat and gloves. “I have a mind to tell you exactly—”
Karta jumped between them, her voice loud and drowning out George’s words. “Dom, it looks like Theodora is famished, but she isn’t about to go anywhere without you.”
He looked down at his deerhound, his lips pursing. “She hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”
“And it was a long trek for her back and forth from the dower house.”
“Wait.” George jerked upright with his coat in his hands. “You two spent the night together at the dower house?”
A high-pitched laugh burst out of her mouth. “Don’t be silly, George. Theodora accompanied me to the dower house last evening.”
“So you spent the night there but he did not?” George’s finger flung out at Domnall.
She nodded, her eyebrows lifting in her best attempt to look at him like he was mad as the lie slid easily off her tongue. “Of course.”
“But you have been nowhere but at your maid’s side, I thought,” George said.
“Except for last night—the dark closed in so quickly on me that I didn’t dare set back to Kirkmere in the ink of the night. Domnall came to make certain I was well and collect me this morning.”
Domnall cleared his throat, his mouth pulling to the side. “Please excuse me, then. The hound is hungry.” His look rested on her for a long moment. He knew exactly what she was doing and he didn’t approve.
Without the slightest glance at George, he reached down and scratched Theodora’s ears. With a long look back to Karta, the hound followed Domnall down the center hallway for a few steps and then they turned to the left, disappearing down the stairwell to the kitchens.
She waited until the echo of Domnall’s steps was swallowed by the ancient stones and then she whipped around to George. “What do you think you’re doing, George? This is Domnall’s home and you come in and manifest this rudeness?” Her hand motioned to his coat draped over his left arm. “He has a good mind to kick you out into the snow and then where will you be?”
A sneer lifted the right side of his mouth. “I’ll be back at the dower house with you.”
Her arms clasped across her chest. “It’s not going to happen, George.”
“Maybe not today, but you did say your maid was on the mend.” His head tilted to the side. “She should be ready to come to the dower house and tend to us in a day or two.”
“She almost just died, George. She is not going to be up to waiting on you hand and foot for quite some time.”
“Then you will just have to do my bidding for her.” He stepped toward her—too close. “You must know that I’ve thought of little else since the last time I saw you—the situation we found you in.” A snake smile curled his lips. “Truly, how could I not obsess?”
Her gut tightened into a tiny, hard ball. “How could you not obsess?” She leaned toward him, her eyes level with his. “You’re a grown man, George. You have a wife and children. Too many mistresses to count. That is how you don’t obsess.”
She reached out and plucked his coat and gloves from him. “Your coat and gloves will be in the front hall. I’ll find Domnall’s butler and he can show you to an appropriate room.”
