The young lady spoke to his dog with the same comfort and ease she did Val . . . and what he suspected was an ease with which she spoke to anyone.

He didn’t know what to make of her.

Perhaps that was why at every turn he found himself agreeing to . . . things he’d never in a lifetime believe he’d agree to, like helping her prepare a bath.

They approached her family’s home, where he noted the windows were filled—

He stopped midstep. “What are those?”

Myrtle glanced about. “What is what?”

He jabbed a finger at the windows.

“Candles,” she said, and resumed walking.

Val found his feet once more and moved into step beside her. “Candles?”

“Well, they are for—”

“Never tell me, the Christmastide decor?” he interrupted.

“Yes, that, but also to give the appearance of light so that those thieves think there are more people home than just me.”

“Of course, how could I have forgotten the pair of thieves?” he drawled.

“I know, really, Val,” she chided, endearingly oblivious to his sarcasm. She reached the servants’ entrance first. “Here we are!”

Myrtle let Horace in.

Instead of rushing in behind to get out of the winter cold, she waited for Val. “I cannot thank you enough,” she said as he entered and she shut the door behind them.

With that slight click of the panel closing, he saw the two of them . . . alone.

Yet again.

Tension hung in the chilly air; the quiet rang heavily, so loud in silence that he detected every breath Myrtle drew.

And his own. It came slightly rough and ragged.

Get in, get out.

That became the new mantra.

The sooner he readied her bath, the sooner he could get the hell out of here.

With that motivating thought compelling him, Val did a sweep of her family’s kitchens.

Locating a wooden bath, he dragged the piece out.

As he did, she stoked the fire.

Despite his best efforts, Val felt his eyes drawn to her.

The fire raged still, indicating she’d tended it through the night, meaning she would have had to leave that makeshift bedchamber she’d made for herself, come down here, and then head back abovestairs. “You banked the fire,” he said quietly.

Myrtle shrugged. “If I didn’t, the fire would die, and then where would I be?” She smiled.

He couldn’t think of a single lady of the peerage who’d recall the lesson and then see through those efforts. But she had.

Val proceeded to gather up buckets, and after filling them in the well outside, he returned, placing those pans upon the stove, heating them, and then adding them to the bath. Over and over. Until at last, the tub was full, and steam poured from the top.

He made to leave.