LITMIR.BIZ

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      She was amazed to realize that he was actually smiling. “You’re afraid of the dog?”

      “You, sir, must not be ridiculous. I merely respect such a creature.”

      “Come. You’ll have nothing to fear when he knows I wish him to look out for you.”

      She moved forward, once again determined not to betray fear. Yet, even as she did so, her heart was pounding. But it wasn’t the dog. It was proximity to the man, she knew.

      As she came near, he gripped her hand, not with any cruelty, just simple impatience. He laid it atop the dog’s head. The animal whined and thumped its tail.

      She felt the size of the Earl of Carlyle, his height, his very vital touch. Like a coiled snake, he seemed mercurial with energy, with something explosive within. It was hypnotic, like the heat of a fire. She stepped back, staring at him. “I’m really not afraid here. I’m sure that your dog—”

      “He likes you.”

      “How nice,” she murmured.

      “Yes, actually, it is. He is a sound judge of character. He is most wary of your guardian.”

      She forced a grim smile. “Is that a reminder, My Lord, that we are prisoners here? That we are being…bribed, perhaps?”

      She expected anger, something other than the dry laugh of amusement she received in return. “Perhaps. I will leave Ajax and rest assured myself that you will be safe and well throughout the hours of darkness. Good night, Miss Montgomery.”

      “Now wait!” she began.

      “Good night,” he repeated. He turned and was gone, closing the door behind him in a way that brooked no objection.

      Camille stared after him, incredulous and angry. Had he left the dog because he thought she might be up to something? Or because he thought she might be in danger? Was she being watched, or guarded?

      Ajax, staring at her, whined and thumped his tail. He padded over to her, still wagging his tail. She petted him on the head again. Huge eyes looked up at her. They seemed adoring now.

      “You are really such a fine and handsome fellow,” she told him. “What is it with you and that sneer and your growling? Is it all a facade?” A facade. Like the mask his master wore?

      It was all quite ridiculous. And yet, it seemed that the lamps flickered suddenly when there should have been no breeze. Deep in his throat, Ajax let out a warning sound.

      “What is it, boy?” she whispered. Despite herself, she felt a deep unease. But the statues were unmoving. The room was empty.

      “I think, my fine fellow, that I’m going to finish my brandy. And I must admit, I’m glad to have your company.”

      Ajax must have believed her. When she finally doused the lamps—all but one, which she kept by her side—he leaped up on the foot of the bed. Thank God that it was a large bed. Still, she was glad to have him there, sitting sentinel through the night.

      IN THE MORNING, she congratulated herself on befriending the dog. Now she could move about the castle as she chose.

      She was determined to head straight to Tristan’s room and have it out with the fellow before having to face the master of the castle again. If she knew exactly what Tristan had done and what had transpired, she’d be better able to stand up for him. But the minute she walked out the door, the giant who had brought her in the night before greeted her. Had he just been standing around in the hall all morning, waiting? It appeared to be so.

      “His lordship is waiting for you in the solarium,” the man told her gravely.

      “Ah, what a surprise,” she murmured. “Lead on, please.”

      Ajax trotted at her side as the man led her along the hallway, across the landing from the lower floor and into the next wing of the sprawling castle. Here, one giant room, a ballroom perhaps, led into another. Glass lined much of the ceiling, and it was actually quite beautiful, with the morning sun casting bright rays through to light the marble flooring and elegantly papered walls.

      The earl was there, not seated but standing, hands clasped behind his back, at one of the long windows overlooking a central garden.

      “Good morning, Miss Montgomery,” he said, turning to greet her. Due to the mask, she was ever more aware of the sharp blue color and piercing quality of his eyes.

      “Indeed, it seems fine enough.”

      “Were you able to sleep well enough after the disturbance?” he inquired politely, as if she were certainly a welcome guest.

      “I slept just fine, thank you.”

      “Ajax was no trouble?”

      “Ajax is a lamb, just as Mrs. Prior informed me.”

      “Usually,” he agreed pleasantly enough. “Well, you must join me for some breakfast, Miss Montgomery. I hope we have something that you might desire. Omelettes, oatmeal, toast, jam, bacon, fish…?”

      “I seldom eat heavily in the morning, Lord Stirling, but I do thank you for your generous hospitality. However, I hate to take advantage of it.”

      He smiled, quite grimly, she was certain.

      “Hospitality is easily afforded here.”

      “Too easily,” she said sharply.

      “I do apologize for my lack of manners last night, but you did take me quite by surprise. So you work for the museum?”

      She sighed deeply. “I am quite knowledgeable, I assure you. And yes, I work for the museum.”

      He walked to the table that had been set with shimmering silver, a snowy cloth and chafing dishes. From an urn he poured a cup of coffee. “Tea, Miss Montgomery? Or do you prefer coffee?”

      “Tea will be lovely, thank you,” she murmured.

      “How long have you worked for the museum?” he asked.

      “About six months.”

      “And your work for the museum had nothing to do with your guardian’s appearance here?” he asked.

      The words were politely spoken but they had a frightening edge. She decided that she liked him better when he was angry. There was something quite unnerving about the ease of his movement and the pleasantness of his tone.

      She accepted the cup of tea he offered to her, and with little choice, also took a seat in the chair he pulled out for her convenience. He sat next to her, close, his chair at an angle, his knee nearly touching hers.

      “Lord Stirling, I do assure you, Tristan is in no way involved with my work!” She didn’t add that she kept her guardian as far from the museum as she could at all times. “I swear to you, I gained my position there through knowledge, work and dogged determination! And I’m terribly afraid that I am going to lose that position,” she added bitterly. “Sir John has no tolerance for tardiness.”

      “Sir John?”

      “Sir John Matthews. He is my immediate superior.”

      “The department is run by David, Lord Wimbly,” he said sharply.

      “Yes, yes. But Lord Wimbly seldom…” She refrained from saying that the man seldom actually worked! “He has many functions to attend. His work is seldom at the museum itself. Sir John sees to the actual care and study of the exhibitions. He works closely with two men who have been on many excavations themselves, Alex Mittleman and Aubrey Sizemore. When there is a new exhibit, Lord Wimbly is present, and with Sir Hunter MacDonald, they make the arrangements. They also choose what purchases shall be made for the galleries, and they are in charge of seeing who receives grants for study and further expeditions.”

      “Where do you fit in?” he demanded.

      She flushed slightly. “I read

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