The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(42)

"I left the door open for you!" Duke snapped. "Did you take a key? No, you did not," he answered for her. "If you hadn't gone out, Willie, this wouldn't have happened."

"If I hadn't shot at him, you would all be dead in your beds! I scared him off, good and proper."

"You almost committed murder on English soil," Mr. Glass growled.

"What was I supposed to do? Wait for him to shoot me first?"

"Was he armed?" Cyclops asked.

"How should I know?" Willie said with a pout in her voice. "It was dark."

Nobody had a response to that, and I deemed it a good time to make my presence known. "Is anyone hurt?" I asked, stepping into the kitchen. A hissing gas lamp on the table illuminated their faces and the gun in Willie's hand. It also illuminated Mr. Glass's chest. I kept my gaze averted with some difficulty.

"We're all unharmed," he said.

"How long have you been standing there?" Willie asked.

"Long enough to hear there was an intruder," I said. "What did he want?"

I counted three whole seconds before anyone responded. "Money, perhaps," Mr. Glass said. "Silver."

"I didn't stop to chat with him." Willie thrust the gun into the waistband of her trousers. The flap of her jacket hid it from view. Did she go out with the gun every night? Did she wear it during the day around the house?

I swallowed heavily. "Did you hit him?"

"Would have, if it weren't so dark."

"And he wasn't so fast," Duke sneered. "Or it wasn't a Thursday in London and you hadn't eaten beef for dinner. You missed, One Shot Willie. You've lost your touch."

"Shut your mouth," Willie snapped. "You're lucky I came home when I did."

I shivered, suddenly aware that I was standing in the kitchen in nothing more than a nightgown. "Surely not. Burglary is one thing, but murder is entirely another. He wouldn't have harmed any of us."

The heavy silence blanketed us until Cyclops lifted it with a hearty, "I'm going back to bed." Like Mr. Glass, he wore no shirt. It wasn't until he walked off that I saw the scars crossing his back. There was at least a dozen, all old. "Goodnight, Miss Steele. Hope you can sleep after this ruckus."

"Goodnight, Cyclops."

"We should all return to bed," Mr. Glass said, dragging his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. "Duke, make sure all the doors are secure now."

Duke didn't respond. He was too busy staring at my chest. It would seem I wasn't the only one who'd become aware that I wore only a nightgown. Thank goodness the lamp didn't cast enough light to reach my hot face or show the outline of my figure through the thin cotton. At least, I hoped not.

Willie smacked Duke's arm. He cleared his throat. "Right. Doors and locks. Doing it now."

He hurried off, taking the lamp with him, leaving my candle as our only light.

"Goodnight, Willie," Mr. Glass said.

"I'm not leaving you here alone with her," Willie said, folding her arms.

"Miss Steele is perfectly safe with me."

"It's not her I'm worried about."

He gave her a little shove and a stern, "Goodnight, Willie."

She grunted and stormed off.

"I ought to return to bed too," I said, edging away. "I'll look in on your aunt as I pass."

"Take her a cup of chocolate." He plucked a copper pot off its hook and disappeared into the pantry. He reappeared moments later with the pot half full of milk and a jar of honey in hand. He set them down and fetched a bag of sugar, chocolate and implements.

"You know how to make it?" I asked.

He laughed. It was so odd hearing the sound after such a trying day and evening. "Of course. I'll make you some."

I settled on the stool by the table and tried not to watch him as he stoked the fire in the stove to life, but I gave up. It was impossible. He was right there in front of me. No woman could look away when she was presented with such a fine masculine specimen. I'd never seen so many muscles before. Never seen a half naked man before. It was quite an, er, education. He was completely unconcerned about the damage his lack of attire could do to my virtue. Perhaps Americans weren't as troubled by propriety as we British. If that were the case, there was no need to feel guilty for staring.

"I want to apologize for my cousin's behavior," he said dripping a dollop of honey into the milk. "Again."

"She's very loyal to you."

He spooned in some sugar and stirred the contents. "Willie's got a good heart. It's difficult to find beneath all those prickles, but it's there. We've been through a lot together, and she worries about me as much as I worry about her."

"Why does she need to worry about you? You seem quite capable of taking care of yourself." All those muscles explained how he'd fought off those three brutes. Clearly he knew how to use them effectively. "Aside from your occasional bouts of illness, that is."

His stirring slowed, his attention focused on the task. When the milk began to simmer, he shaved off flakes of chocolate into the pot with a knife and whisked it into a froth.

I fetched cups and a chocolate pot from a shelf. He poured the chocolate into two cups and the pot. The pot and a spare cup he set aside, and handed one of the full cups to me. He indicated I should sit opposite on the stool. I did and looked up. His cheeks flushed and his gaze plunged to his cup.