She counted all the way to two hundred, and nothing happened. Absolutely nothing, that was, beyond the howling of the forlorn winter’s wind and the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

Surely if the pair of strangers hadn’t believed her and intended to storm her household, they would have done so already?

She backed away, heading in the reverse toward her fire, all the while her gaze remaining fixed on the windows.

Or mayhap they wouldn’t. Mayhap they are even now looking through windows as you attempted to do at Val’s.

And if they did? God help her, it wouldn’t take much for them to deduce that the rooms were empty and her family was missing, and that Myrtle was the only one who remained.

Swallowing hard, Myrtle stretched her wobbling fingers about, searching for the metal poker. Her fingers met cold steel, and she stirred the embers there and added a log to ensure the fire continued to blaze . . . before setting the poker aside.

With fear fueling her steps, she hurried off in search of the one person aside from that pair of strangers who remained in London.

Val.

His name was a whispered litany in her head, a reminder that she wasn’t alone. Not really. He was here.

And yes, he didn’t want her about. In fact, he didn’t want anything to do with her, but he’d also proven gracious enough as to not turn her away.

And taking hope and faith in that, she quickened her steps and headed down to the kitchens. After she’d added several logs to that fire, she fetched the wax candles and their stands; lighting two at a time, she carried them slowly to the main floor, and placed them upon the windowsills.

She made a dozen trips in all, carrying two dozen candles.

Her work complete, Myrtle hummed a Christmas carol under her breath.

Now, she had a trip to make.

After all, there was only one sure way to ensure a man’s cooperation.

With that fueling her, Myrtle grabbed the largest wicker basket and took a quick detour.

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

After leaving Myrtle last evening, Val had resolved that exchange between them would be their final one. He’d revealed more to her, a mere stranger, than he had to anyone these past years about his life. About Dinah.

Alas, it appeared fate was determined to muck up those efforts.

Or rather, she was.

RapRapRapRapRapRap . . . RapRap.

Horace barked, scrambled to the front of the room, and jumped up so that his paws were planted on the door.

The dog proceeded to whine and scratch.

RapRapRapRapRapRap . . . RapRap.

And Val knew.

If he hadn’t known because of his dog’s eager reaction, he’d have known by the spirited little rhythm of that tapping at his door the identity of the person on the other side.