“Don’t just stand there,” the fascinating gentleman on the grey horse commanded. “Help her up.”
There it was again—the little quiver in her stomach roused by the rich timbre of his voice.
The beast obeyed and offered a gloved hand. “Come on, wench, let’s have you on your feet. Let me inspect the goods on offer.”
Anger raised its head once more.
Lydia would rather play nursemaid to Arabella for a whole month than receive assistance from this miscreant.
“I am quite capable of standing on my own.” She batted his huge hand away and scrambled to her feet. “And I am no man’s wench.”
The beast laughed though his eyes failed to convey amusement. “Ah, a capable wench. Just the sort I like. And eager, too, why else would you be waiting alone in the dark?”
Lydia brushed dirt and damp leaves off her cloak, hitting out at the material to relieve her frustration. “If you are in any way implying that I might be free with my affections, then you’re sorely mistaken. But rest assured, I have come to see you.”
Oh, she had witnessed the evidence of this man’s cruelty. The locals deemed him a disreputable rake. Judging by his crude manner they certainly had the measure of the man.
A growl of approval resonated in the devil’s throat. “Then come up to the house. I’m sure we can find somewhere private to conduct our … conversation.”
“Enough,” the other gentleman said. “Cease with your tormenting. Any fool can see she’s gently bred. Any fool can see she is out of her depth.”
Out of her depth!
Affronted by the thought she lacked the wherewithal to tackle a worthless toad like Greystone, Lydia squared her shoulders.
“The only reason you may consider me out of my depth, sir, is if Greystone here is the scoundrel everyone knows him to be.” Her pulse raced so quickly it made her breathless. “Why would he care about ruining a lady’s reputation when he is single-handedly responsible for the deaths of his tenants?”
The giant moistened his lips as his dark eyes ravaged her. “Lord, that’s one hell of a temper. Indeed, it roused more than a twitch in my breeches.”
“Mind your manners,” his companion ordered as he dismounted and strode towards her. “It seems the lady has a gripe.”
For some reason, Lydia’s cheeks flamed. The gentleman carried himself with a level of confidence that could outshine Arabella. While Greystone had a feral, almost savage look about him, this man’s features were softer though just as striking. Lydia’s heart fluttered whenever she met his gaze.
How was it this considerate gentleman could control a man like Greystone?
“Oh, I have more than a gripe, sir,” she said, turning to throw daggers of disdain at the hulking beast. “I have a grievance against this devil.” She stabbed her finger at the fiend though wished it was a pitchfork. “And I refuse to leave until I have had my say.”
“Is that so?” The gentleman’s calm voice failed to soothe her temper.
The vile creature hummed. “Then let me hear your complaint. Tell me what it is you think I’ve done. Tell me of this terrible travesty.”
“Oh, you know damn well what you’ve done.” Hot blood raced through her veins.
“My dear,” the beast began—it was a vast improvement on wench. “You should know there are few women brave enough to challenge me. In fact, I know of none. What do you say we take this little spat elsewhere and you can give me a good thrashing?”
“That’s enough,” her hero said. “Remember we are on English soil now. The ladies here are not as forthcoming. I’m cold, tired and in desperate need of sustenance.”
“Then are you going to inform the lady of her mistake or do I get the privilege?”
Lydia frowned. “My mistake?”
The man with the greenest eyes she’d ever seen turned to face her—held her captive in his spell. “Allow me to present my good friend Devlin Drake,” he said, gesturing to the beast at his side. “He is not the gentleman you want.”
Devlin? The name sounded much like devil. No wonder Ada was confused.
Lydia swallowed. “He isn’t?”
“No.” The kind gentleman straightened. “I am the tyrant you seek. I am Greystone.”