Page 11 of To Love a Beast

"Get rid of her," Everett growled.

"But, sir . . ." Lightfoot began to protest, but Everett was in no mood to listen.

He slashed his hand through the air, cutting off his valet's sentence. "Get rid of her. That's an order."

The sound of small shoes on stone steps pounded through him like railroad spikes. Everett spun away from the entrance and ran for the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the second-floor landing, then pressed his back against the wall and slid into the shadows.

Head throbbing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing. He needed a cold compress and a dark room to sleep off the pain before knives started piercing his skull, but he couldn't rest until he was assured the woman was gone.

He'd not allow another female intent on pursuing her own agenda to destroy the peace he'd painstakingly carved out for himself over the past five years. One life had already been stolen from him. He wasn't willing to forfeit another.

Chapter 4

The knock that sounded a moment later reverberated through Everett's chest as if the stubborn woman's knuckles had rapped on his ribcage instead of his front door. He ground his molars together, bracing himself to hear her voice again.

He hadn't heard a young woman's voice in over four years. His housekeeper, Mrs. Potter, was the only female on the property, and she had to be at least fifty. He hadn't gotten a clear look at the girl on the path, but he'd heard her plenty well. Arguing. Cajoling. Yelping when Spartacus knocked her down.

The woman had backbone. He'd give her that. Standing up to a man she couldn't see was one thing, but she'd stood her ground with his dog, too. A feat most men failed to accomplish when they found their way onto his property.

The click of the latch signaled that Timens had finally gotten around to opening the door. The fellow never did anything quickly, and for once, Everett was glad. Gave him time to settle his breath so he could eavesdrop on the conversation in the entry hall directly below him.

"Yes?"

Everett bit back a grin. Timens had mastered the art of unwelcoming visitors. Disapproval fairly dripped from that single word.

"Good afternoon."

Everett winced at the feminine answer. Melodic. Educated. Completely unruffled despite the fact she'd encountered two beasts not three minutes ago.

"My name is Callista Rosenfeld of Rosenfeld's Bindery. I'm here to see Mr. Lightfoot."

Rosenfeld's Bindery? That couldn't be right. They'd contracted with a Mr. Mordecai Rosenfeld for the redressing of the library. Not a woman. Never a woman.

"I'm sorry, miss, but the master is not at home to guests. You may address your concerns to him via correspondence."

Good man, Timens! Everett nearly cheered aloud. Stuffy butlers might be annoying, but they had their uses. Especially when it came to sending young women packing. He could picture him easing the door closed even now.

"How fortunate that I'm not here to see your master then. Unless you consider Mr. Lightfoot your master?"

"Lightfoot?" A series of coughs and sputters ensued. "Not likely."

A chuckle filled the entry hall. "She's got you there, old chum. Let the lady in."

No! What was Lightfoot doing?

Everett banged the back of his head against the wall as a growl rumbled in his throat.

"You heard Mr. Griffin. He was quite clear about his wishes."

"I'll handle Griff. Why don't you see to some refreshments for our guest?"

She was not their guest. Argh! The pain in his head intensified tenfold. He'd obviously allowed his valet too much leniency over the years. Valet, man of business, confidant. Lightfoot wore far too many hats and was the closest thing Everett had to a friend out here. But he was still an employee. One paid to follow his instructions to the letter. Maybe he needed a reminder of who was in charge around here.

Holding a hand to his pounding head, Everett snuck a glance around the corner of the wall he'd been using as a shield. "Lightfoot." The low roar of his name filtered through the entry hall in clear warning.

Lightfoot—the blackguard—paid him no mind. The brunette's chin tipped up, however, and her eyes widened. Everett jerked back into the shadows. Foul woman, making him scurry into the dark as if he were a blasted cockroach. This was his house. She should be the one scurrying away, not him.

"Let's go into the parlor, Miss Rosenfeld. We can discuss our business there."