“They will not return, Myrtle,” he said gruffly, taking her lightly by the arms and rubbing gently. “Not now that they’ve been discovered by both of us. And now that there are people aware of their intentions to rob from your father, they cannot return. Not without risking the constables and guards who’ll be there in wait.”

Guards?

“I took the liberty of hiring several men to watch the various entrances of your family’s townhouse.”

“You did?” she whispered.

He nodded. “You indicated your father’s antiquity collection meant a good deal to you and him, and—” He coughed into his fist.

He’d thought of everything.

Touched by that kindness, she took his hands in hers. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“You needn’t thank me.” An endearing blush filled his cheeks, and she fell in love with him all the more.

He’d known what that collection meant and had sought to protect it, spending his own monies to see her home guarded.

And then she stilled.

And her.

He’d made sure there were men stationed outside.

Going cold, and besieged by the sudden urge to cry, she slipped her hands from his and, to hide their tremble, picked up her teacup. “I thank you for seeing that I’m looked after. I trust my family will return soon, and you will be well compensated for your efforts on our behalf.”

Val scowled. “I am not looking for compensation,” he gritted out with a heavy amount of annoyance coating that low growl.

“I didn’t mean to suggest you were,” she said when he took a furious step toward her. “Just that—”

“You believe I intend to leave you in that townhouse as your family did, forgotten while the guards I hired oversee looking after you?” he demanded.

“I . . . uh . . . yes?” His eyes narrowed into thin, dangerous slits. “No?” she ventured, her voice pitching slightly up with that second question. His lashes dipped even lower. “Er . . . maybe?”

With a little whine, Horace covered his face with his paws.

Val growled. “I’m not leaving you alone,” he said curtly, and she couldn’t even be offended by his tone because of the reason for it.

He was offended that she’d expected he should leave her. Which meant . . . he surely cared in some way. That she was . . . more than a responsibility to him.

Her hopes were dashed in an instant with his next words. “I’m not waiting for your family to remember they’ve neglected you. We leave at first light,” he said, picking up his bag and setting it down atop the immaculate surface of his desk.

She found her voice. “We leave at first light?” What was he saying?