A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

“I’m done cleaning this one. Feel free to use it.”

“You never answered my question.” He cocked his hip casually and extended his arm, gripping the doorframe–– effectively blocking me. My stomach clenched a little. I didn’t ignore it. I had learned to trust my body’s survival instincts.

“What question?” My voice was purposely cold.

“You said you weren’t British. Where are you from?”

“Albania.”

“Albanian,” his mouth twisted in a sly, sarcastic smile, “Albanians are known to be tough, stubborn, right?” He leaned his hip into the doorjamb and crossed his arms, making himself more comfortable. I was growing more anxious by the minute.

“That’s a stereotype, but I’ll take it as a compliment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more cleaning to do.”

“Sebastian is a hard taskmaster, I take it. Keeps you––busy?” The lascivious tone in his voice turned me rigid. I banked my emotions, trying desperately not to go into full-tilt panic. Had he realized the situation between Sebastian and me, or was it my own paranoia?

“Mr. Horn doesn’t concern himself with what the staff is doing. Please step aside.”

His face impassive, he studied me for what felt like an eternity. As I stepped forward, determined to push my way through, he grabbed the top of my arm. “Hold on, we’re not finished.” Without enough room for me to get any leverage, it was impossible to break out of his hold. An epic scream worked its way up my throat.

“Is this bathroom available?” The smooth baritone brought me to a halt mid-struggle.

Marcus immediately loosened his grip. Scooting out immediately, I found Ben Winters standing in the hallway just outside the powder room. His body was tense, barely containing a violent, tangible force. If I thought him untamed before, he looked positively savage now. His eyes were two shards of ice in his austere face. The lady-killer was gone. All that remained was the killer.

It took only a moment of the wordless debate between the two men to make Marcus retreat. A small part of me felt thrilled, vindicated. Marcus gave Mr. Winters a nonchalant shrug before he stepped inside and shut the door. When Ben looked down, his whole body softened, his eyes filled with concern. “You all right?”

I must have looked more shaken than I felt. He placed his large, warm hand on my shoulder, and patiently waited for my response. “Yes, I’m fine, Mr. Winters. Thank you.” The tight, crisp note of unease in my voice disagreed.

“Ben, please,” he insisted in a gentle voice. My hand came up to smooth back hair that was already smooth. I wasn’t fooling him––he could tell I was still jittery.

“Thank you, Ben. I’m fine, really. I should go.”

“Ben?!” Sebastian’s edgy shout reverberated down the hall. He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at us. This afternoon was going from bad to worse. As far away as he was, I could see him scowling at Ben’s hand resting on my shoulder. The crazy possessiveness needed to stop. I couldn’t have him pawing the ground like an enraged bull every time someone of the opposite sex spoke to me.

The corner of Ben’s wide mouth crept up. His hand fell away from me. “I got this. You go on.”

I wasn’t in any condition to deal with another altercation, still too strung out from the last one. I watched him walk towards Sebastian and then fled in the opposite direction, seeking the sanctuary of my small room.

Chapter Eighteen

The chattering of birds woke me. One eyelid curiously crept up. My window was wide open and the room washed in gold by the afternoon sun. I had lain down for a minute––my head throbbing with the aftertaste of adrenaline and stress––and must have fallen asleep. I was surprised Charlotte hadn’t come to fetch me. We were serving the last formal dinner that evening, and there was still a lot to prepare. In any case I couldn’t remember opening the window.

A rustle of movement in the corner caught my attention. Still wearing his golf clothes, he sat in my chair, dwarfing it. His large body was bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his fists under his chin. He was staring with a quiet intensity that made me want to squirm and hide. Our gazes locked and I watched a mix of indecipherable emotions cross his face. A sense of relief stole over me.

I’m so glad you’re here.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes, my voice raspy from sleep. I hadn’t bothered to take my uniform off. It was a wrinkled mess. Without a word, he came to sit on the small twin bed and cupped my face with such gentleness that it almost made me cry. “Don’t you look like the lord of the manor––nice outfit,” I teased, trying to lighten the grave mood.