Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection
Before her abrupt awakening, Maggie had been dreaming about her parents. Now hearing this oaf mention her mother made her wince. “Mrs. Carr is my mother.”
Impatience thinned the man’s mouth, long and firm above a rock-like jaw shadowed with black whiskers. “I’m delighted to hear it. So can you fetch her?”
“She’s been dead five years.” Maggie was too on edge to soften the stark words.
The man looked startled. “I was told to ask for her.”
“I’m Miss Carr.”
“You’ll have to do, then.” He didn’t sound pleased. Too bad. He wasn’t the one whose feet were freezing on icy flagstones. She rubbed one foot over another in an attempt to restore circulation. Her toes ached with cold. “Have a man look after my horse, and I’d like a brandy and some hot food in a room that isn’t like a bloody ice cave. Perhaps you could get a footman to lay a fire in the library or drawing room.”
Who on earth was this demanding brute? Maggie tightened her grip on her shawl, wishing she’d coshed him with the poker, instead of letting him into the house. Not that she’d invited him. He’d pushed his way in, without a by-your-leave.
She drew herself up to her full height. Unfortunately, she was only five feet five, while the stranger must be at least six foot three. The ice she injected into her voice was colder than the air around her. She ignored a whisper at the back of her mind, warning her that if he knew the name of the house and its housekeeper, he might indeed have a right to be here.
“Mr. Hale, before you take over the whole place, would you care to explain what you’re doing here?”
His eyes, dark and deep-set, so in the uncertain light she couldn’t make out their exact color, sharpened on her. “Good God, girl, you’re freezing.”
Her lips tightened. “Mr. Hale—”
He scowled at her from under thick black brows. “Go upstairs and put on something warm at once.”
“You have no right to give orders, sir,” she snapped. “As if I’d let a stranger roam about the house without supervision.”
He released a longsuffering sigh. “And while you’re supervising me, you’re turning a fetching shade of blue.”
“What color I turn is none of your concern.” She winced at how childish she sounded.
“I give you my word, my purposes are honest.”
“And how am I to know that, other than you telling me so?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. God save me from obstinate women.” He reached forward and grabbed her by the waist, flinging her over one brawny shoulder. She landed on her stomach, punching the breath from her lungs. “Where’s the nearest fire? You’ll catch your death, if I don’t take you somewhere warm.”
Pounding on his back was like beating at the mountain he so resembled. “Put me down!”
She kicked him, but in this undignified position, it was difficult to gain momentum. He caught up the lantern and laid one powerful arm across her thighs, further restricting her movements.
“Where are the kitchens? I assume you’ve got a fire there.”
“I’ll have you up on a charge,” she spluttered, as he moved along the corridor.
“Never mind. I’ll find them myself. I’m an architect, and any architect worth his salt can find the kitchens.”
“I insist you put me down,” she said breathlessly, as he started descending the stairs.
Oh, dear, this was rather disorienting. She closed her eyes and ignoring the dictates of pride, clung to the back of his thick wool coat, damp with melting snow. Although how snow could melt in this temperature, she had no idea.
“Stop your griping, woman.” He swung around the landing, making her stomach dip. “Where in blazes are the servants?”
Heavens above, was it safe to admit she was alone? She was too shocked and angry to be frightened. Which was stupid. If ever a man had proven himself her physical superior, this one had.
Perhaps she was wrong about him not being a murderer, and he was carting her downstairs to kill her. Except if murder was his intention, there was nobody and nothing to stop him murdering her upstairs. And it would save him the trouble of hauling her around.
Not that her weight seemed to inconvenience him. He wasn’t even breathing unsteadily.
“Miss Carr?” Juggling the lantern, he pushed at the door to the kitchens. The wavering light increased her queasiness, so she was very glad when he strode across and deposited her in front of the banked hearth. She only just grabbed her shawl as she struggled to find her feet, although any protection it offered was purely token.