As he and Saraband splashed their way back to the manor, he saw that Cinderella stood in the open doorway, watching his approach.

“I was too late,” he called through the gale, as he dismounted and strode toward her.

“I know.” That acute golden gaze inspected him with visible disfavor. He had a horrible inkling that she meant to refuse him entry, despite knowing that he was stuck on the wrong side of the river. An elegant great hall with oak-paneled walls and black and white floor tiles extended behind her. “I checked from upstairs.”

This time, she was better prepared for outdoors. She wore clogs and she’d wrapped a rough shawl around her head. For a moment, she bore a haunting resemblance to the clan women on his Highland estate.

“I didn’t want to risk crossing.”

There was a suspenseful pause. Surely she wouldn’t lock him o

ut. Then she stepped aside and gestured toward the house’s interior. “Come in.”

Lyle didn’t immediately obey. Although the roaring fire in the ancient hearth beckoned like brandy to a drunkard. “Will you ask someone to see to my horse, please?”

She glanced across to Saraband. “There’s nobody else here but me.”

Lyle frowned in puzzlement, although the reasons behind her lack of hospitality became clearer by the minute.

“There must be staff.” The house was large and well kept, too much for even the most diligent Cinderella to manage on her own.

Her lips turned down. He couldn’t help noticing how full and pink they were. Alluringly kissable. From her slender feet in those incongruous clogs up to the ruffled blond crown of her head, Cinderella was a delectable package.

“Of course there are staff. Just not here.”

“They don’t live in?”

She sighed. “We’ve been rehearsing the Easter play. The household had the afternoon off, to keep the details of the production secret. Because they all have family in the village, with the river rising, they’ll stay there now in case of an emergency. Bassington Grange is high enough to be out of danger. Bassington Lea isn’t.”

“What about the cast, then? Are they still here?” Although Lyle regretted the prospect of company. Other people meant he needed to mind his manners. Some madcap part of him enjoyed this unconventional encounter.

She shook her head. “They left about twenty minutes ago.”

He must have just missed running into them. Cinders stepped past him to share the doorstep. To his surprise, she only reached his shoulder. Her bearing had made her seem taller. In the restricted area, she stood close enough for him to catch a drift of her scent. His nostrils flared at the fresh, flowery perfume, detectable even through the rain. Despite the cold, heat prickled his skin.

A noise from inside distracted him from the lassie. Stubby legs skittered on the tiles and a small white dog raced toward them, barking all the way.

“Bill, no,” she said in dismay, as the dog leaped around the trim ankles showing beneath the shortened skirt. “How on earth did you get out, you dreadful beast? I had you safely shut up.”

“He’s just trying to protect you.”

“I can look after myself,” she said, as the dog rushed up and down the shallow steps between the door and the forecourt. “Sit, you brainless hound.”

The dog heeded the voice of authority and sat. Unfortunately in a large puddle below the lowest step. Filthy water splashed up and turned white fur muddy gray.

“A great watchdog you make, my friend.”

Lyle hid a smile at her resigned tone. “Perhaps he senses my benevolent intentions.”

She shot Lyle an unimpressed glance as she stepped out into the rain. “I told you he’s a brainless hound.”

He followed her down the steps. “There’s no sense in both of us tramping through the downpour.”

He reached for Saraband’s reins, but the girl beat him to it.

Any argument—that delicate chin was stubborn—meant longer outside. While Cinders lowered her head against the rain and hauled his horse, he splashed after her.

As they battled around the mansion to the yard at the back, he realized that he hadn’t yet introduced himself. She’d turned his world upside down, and thrown his manners out the window. Be damned if he was going to do the pretty in the middle of this tempest.

Tags: Anna Campbell Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net