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It sounded Welsh. And unpronounceable. “Thank you, Mr.—”
“Griff will do. You left your room.”
A mistake, she thought now. But she had been searching for answers.
She had—she acknowledged to herself—gone looking for him. Intimidating as he was, she drew an unexpected comfort from his presence.
Admitting that to him, however, would put her at an even greater disadvantage.
“I was hungry,” she said and waited for his roar.
He scowled. “I would have brought you food.”
“I didn’t know that. You didn’t tell me anything. What is this place?”
“Sanctuary.” He guided her toward the stairs without touching her, herding her back to her room. “I told you that.”
Emma sniffed. “You said I would be safe here.”
“So you will be. Now.”
She stopped with one foot on the stairs. “Those men—”
“Will not bother you again.” He shifted his weight, urging her upward. “They would not have troubled you at all if you had stayed in the room.”
“I thought you wanted it,” Paul’s voice whispered in her head. “You were certainly asking for it.”
Emma bit her lip hard. “If you are accusing me of inviting their attentions—”
Now he stopped, looking down his big nose at her in apparent surprise. “I did not.”
“No, but you said—that is, you implied—”
“I do not blame you, lass,” his deep voice rumbled. “You cannot help the way you smell.”
“What?”
He sighed and placed one hand at her waist to guide her down the hall. “Never mind. Kelvan was ever a manwhore, and Murdoc is an ass. It is not your fault they forgot the hospitality due a guest.”
She stared at him, her mouth open, surprised and moved almost to tears by his reassurance. All her life, she had been blamed for attracting unwanted masculine attention. As if she could help the size of her bosom or the color of her hair. The devil’s color, her father called it. Letitia Hallsey had cautioned her repeatedly about leading men into temptation.
Emma had been more amused than offended by the head-mistress’s strictures. There were no men at Miss Hallsey’s school except for the porter and an occasional visiting father or governor. Who would take notice of one red-haired mathematics and drawing instructor?
“Of course I noticed you, sly little thing,” Paul had said. “I couldn’t help it. You invite men’s attention.”
And yet this man—Griff—had just said what had happened was not her fault.
Their eyes held until his pupils widened, dilated, black on black, and her blood drummed in her ears.
Emma caught her breath. He was still a man. She must be careful. “Is that what I am?” she asked pointedly. “A guest?”
“My guest.” He nodded, holding her gaze. “Aye.”
“Mine,” he had said.
The word shivered between them.
She tore her gaze away. “I don’t understand. You called yourself a warden. Is this a jail?”
