Page 28 of Wolfhaven

“I should make you carry your own treasures,” he grunted, shifting the heavy wooden box.

“Put it here. The bottom isn’t too wet; it won’t hurt the blankets.” She gestured to the wheelbarrow. Stubbornly, the duke refused.

“It will be too heavy for you to push,” he said, straightening his spine and striding ahead.

“Gareth Lucan, put that damned trunk down at once,” she ordered. “I shall manage.”

He hesitated. With effort, she rolled the handcart over to him, set it in the wet dirt, and pointed at it. Her ploy worked.

After a beat of hesitation, he obeyed.

Five minutes later, Evaine regretted her bravado. The damned man seemed willing to let her suffer the consequences of her actions as she wrestled the overloaded one-wheeled cart down the soggy forest path.

“Let me,” he grumbled, pushing her aside. Evaine fought him, and Gran gasped as the wheelbarrow tilted drunkenly to one side. She threw herself at the trunk, holding it in place while he righted it. Together, with him taking one handle and her the other, they pushed it past the gates and the rose bushes, into the courtyard, around the empty fountain, and finally up to the steps.

Raindrops spattered her forehead just as they ducked beneath the porte-cochere.

“We should get inside,” Gran said, making her way up the stairs without waiting for their assistance. Evaine exchanged a glance with the duke. He glowered at her sullenly.

“Well? Are you going to help me, or not?” They carried it up to the front door just in time for the sky to open up. She ran back down the steps to fetch the bedroll, while he gathered Gran’s satchel along with the various other odds and ends they had haphazardly collected from the cottage. They made it into the foyer of Wolfhaven just as the sky opened up and poured buckets of rain down onto the already-soaked world.

“I think this means we’ll be staying here for the time being,” she said neutrally.

“Come on, then. You can’t sleep in the kitchen again,” Gareth grumbled, and stomped up the main stairway carrying her trunk. He rested it briefly on the console table where she had discovered Marina’s journal last night.

“Why can’t we stay in the kitchen? At least it’s warm in there,” she huffed. Her arms ached from trying to carry too much stuff all at once. The hem of her skirt caught on the toe of her boot, though it was only ankle length and supposed to be short enough not to be an encumbrance. She wanted her old trousers, but they were dirty and for some odd reason she didn’t want to be seen in them by their unwilling host.

“Because there are no beds,” he called back through gritted teeth. Evaine couldn’t exactly argue the point. She was willing to sleep on the stone floor until the cottage could be repaired, but Gran’s old bones needed a comfortable place to rest.

“Go on, I’ll be in the kitchen while you set up,” Gran called out when she hesitated at the landing. “If I’m going up those stairs, it will be only once.”

Evaine shifted the weight of her bundle and went right, following Gareth, the climb forcing her heart to pound until she couldn’t get enough breath. At the top, she eyed the grand hallway stretching in seemingly infinite and opposite directions. One ended in thick carved doors that were barely visible in the gloom. The other showed signs of life in the form of wan daylight spilling from an open door. She went that way, but she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder at the darkened hall behind her. Hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She would have sworn someone was watching her.

“In here,” the duke called out. She hurried to the open door and found him struggling to pry open the window. The casement had rusted, and he was using the heel of his palm on his injured hand to pound on the seam. She winced when it opened with a cantankerous shriek. He dusted his hands and eyed her. “The place could use an airing out. Once that’s done, it should suit admirably.”

Evaine surveyed the room. Once upon a time it had been richly appointed with two large four-poster beds, now covered with dusty tarps. Matching wardrobes were set against each wall. A pair of matching dressers sat beside them and nightstands flanked either bed. A wrought-iron mirror stood in the corner. Apart from the marks of time—a film of dust over everything and a staleness that had set into the rug—the room was dry and warm. It would more than serve their simple needs.

“I’ll give you an hour or so to settle in. Then we should get to work.” Gareth strode past her.

“Work?”

“You are here to help me strip this place bare of valuables, Miss Ballard.”

“Evaine,” she corrected him tersely. He ignored her.

“Your employment terms have not changed simply because I am now required to house you. Get settled, and get to work. I’ll be waiting for you in the hall.”

Infuriating man.

Chapter 15

Gareth

Gareth spent the next hour opening each door on the second floor. All were precisely as they had been abandoned ten years ago, with the addition of a decade-thick layer of dust that lay on everything. He changed the bandage on his hand and went about unlocking guest bedrooms, prying open the rusted windows. He had already taken notes on the paintings that still hung in the hallway, so he set about listing anything that might be sold.

Beds – 14

Wardrobes – 9