At his side, Horace cocked his big head in canine confusion. “I feel you on that, pup,” Val said under his breath for his dog’s benefit.

“It sounded as though you said ‘splendid,’” she jawed. Of course she should also prove to be a damned jabberer. “Which is very kind, as I’m quite happy to meet—”

“I was being sarcastic,” he said tightly, attempting to disabuse the ninny of whatever illusions she’d built in her head to erase the fear she seemed to be absent.

The lady frowned. It was the slightest downturn at the corners of her lips, so faint, like it was a wholly unfamiliar movement for those muscles.

But then she smiled and started forward once more. “I’m generally very good at spotting sarcasm.”

“That I doubt,” he said under his breath.

“I’ve been known to be sarcastic myself, sometimes.” She spoke like she thought he should care. “Mrs. Belden insists it is rude, but I believe it to be quite handy to have many different forms of humor . . .”

And perhaps it was that complete confusion that kept him out here conversing with the silly thing. Nay, not conversing. Speaking with people was another activity he’d let die with his wife. Listening. He was, however, listening to the chatterpot . . . which was more than he’d done with, well, anyone that he could think of.

“I was not being humorous,” he snarled, managing at last to put a nail in the coffin of the unending flow of words falling from her lips.

At his side, Horace took his cue and growled, taking a step forward.

Even with the distance between them, Val spied the way the lady trembled.

Good, she was afraid of Horace. Horace had a nasty bark and growl that he wasn’t afraid to use the rare times anyone came near Val, but never had he bitten. Instead, the dog ensured people kept their distance.

Only, the young lady took a step closer, and another . . . and Val narrowed his eyes as it hit him like a long-ago fall he’d suffered from a horse: she was undeterred.

Val rested a hand on top of the enormous creature’s head, staying his charge.

She licked her lips. “Is that your . . . dog?”

She displayed the same fear that all did around the lupine wolf dog. Val had always loved the pup, but he loved him all the more for keeping bloody humans away from him. This time proved no exception.

“He doesn’t like people,” he said brusquely.

Lady Myrtle chewed at the tip of her glove-encased finger, contemplating Horace. “You’re a person, and he seems just fine with you.”

My God, was she stupid, bold, or just a damned innocent? He’d wager she was a combination of the three all rolled together.

“I love dogs,” she shared. She continued to make her way over.

“Does he look like a dog?” he rumbled, briefly halting her in her tracks.