“Oh.” She tipped her head back so she could more directly meet his eyes—she, the unlikely first person to do so after his wife’s passing. That subtle angling of her neck only put her features on prominent display: an elfin nose and slightly too-large ears that peeked out from her hair. She gave those curls a slight shake. “You were saying?”

“I care about trespassers who’ve invaded my properties and made a pest of themselves,” he hissed. He infused as much steel as he could into that pronouncement, and yet, even as he spoke, the lady nodded. “I care about people who peer in my windows and pry.” The last words spoken seemed to penetrate.

She widened her eyes. “You are speaking of . . . me?”

Was he . . . ?

With a growl, Val leaned down and stuck his face in hers and snarled. “Are there any other people about, invading my properties and peering in my windows to pry?”

The young miss gasped softly, and she darted her tongue out, trailing it along a seam of thin lips.

At last, he’d frightened her.

Good.

Val, however, wasn’t done with Lady Myrtle McQuoid. He wanted her gone not just today . . . but every day beyond this.

“You are not wanted, Lady Myrtle McQuoid. Do not come back here again . . .” He paused for effect, letting the prominent break linger. “Or else.”

The lady drew back, pulling away from him.

Immobile with fear? Or rooted there by the same stubbornness she’d displayed this day?

Neither caring nor wishing to find out, he snarled, “Now, go!”

With that, the young woman took off running, tripping and slipping slightly as she went, but moving at a quick pace and managing to keep her footing, an impressive feat with the icy snow coating the cobblestones.

Val stood, staring after her retreating form as it grew smaller and smaller . . . He followed her flight all the way to the front door of her family’s property, and then as a servant on the other side of that double doorway drew the panels open and let the lady inside.

And he’d confirmation she was, at last, gone.

For good.

With his nose, Horace nudged Val hard against his knee.

“What?” he asked defensively. “She was a busybody, peering in our windows. I’ll not feel badly for running her off.” Nay, the only thing he would feel badly about was that he’d entertained the nosy chit as long as he had. “We’re better without her sort.” Or any sort, for that matter.

He’d come to appreciate surliness and coldness for the armor they provided; they insulated him from people, which kept him safe from feeling anything. Feeling nothing was safer. He’d come to appreciate ennui as the gift it was. Loving and living and laughing had been highly overrated emotions that only left a person crippled with pain.

“Who was that, Your Grace?”

Startled, he peered over his shoulder.