He shook his head. “Lynforth was gulled. Some swindler must have drawn up false papers just to bilk a dying man out of his money. I employ more than a dozen stewards and solicitors to manage my affairs, and they would not sell property without my consent.”
“Are you very sure?” Arching her eyebrow, she surveyed the expanse of unopened letters and envelopes. “How can you know if you haven’t gone through the post in months?”
She plucked an envelope from the pile and turned it over in her hands. “I could help you read and answer these, if you like. I served as my father’s secretary for years.”
“I don’t want your help.”
He said it so sharply, she dropped the envelope.
“Let me give you a little history lesson, since your father was so fond of those. My ancestors were granted a dukedom because they successfully held the Scottish border. For centuries. And they didn’t do that by throwing up their hands and saying, ‘Very well, then’ whenever someone knocked at the gate and claimed this castle was theirs.”
Izzy laughed a little. “But I’m hardly a marauding band of Scotsmen. And we aren’t living in the sixteenth century.”
“No, we’re not. We have laws and courts. So if you mean to stake a claim on this castle, go find a solicitor. Have him look over the papers and write to my solicitors. The two can argue back and forth. Chancery will hear the case eventually. Perhaps as soon as three years from now. That’s if you’re lucky.”
Three years?
Izzy didn’t have three years. If forced to leave, she wasn’t sure how she’d manage for the next three days. And she didn’t have money for solicitors—much less solicitors qualified to take on a duke.
She had no choice but to stand her ground. Behave as though the place was hers. If he succeeded in removing her today, she would never get her toe in the door again.
“If your solicitors would care to come here and examine the documents, they are welcome. But I’m not leaving.”
“Neither am I.” The unscarred half of his brow furrowed. If he could properly glare at her, Izzy surmised, he’d be giving her a glare hard enough to chip diamonds.
“It’s no use being stern,” she told him. “Glower all you like, but for heaven’s sake, you gathered me into your arms and carried me in from the rain. I could swoon all over again just thinking of it.”
“Don’t mistake that for chivalry.”
“Then what was it?”
“Practicality. I couldn’t have simply left you there. You would have attracted vermin.”
She smiled. “Oh, dear. All this and a sense of humor, too.”
Apparently, no one had given him a compliment lately. He looked as though he’d been thrown a grenade. Or a wet kitten.
He might be wealthy, powerful, angry, and big. But on at least one score, Izzy had him outmatched. Buoyancy. She knew how to handle prickly creatures, and she knew how to make the best of a less-than-ideal situation.
When thrown in the pond, she learned how to swim.
“This isn’t such a quandary as it seems,” she said. “You want to stay. I want to stay. Until the legal matters are settled, we’ll share.”
“Share?”
“Yes, share. This is a vast castle, built to house hundreds of people. I’ll just take a spare tower or wing for my own. You won’t even notice me.”
He leaned close. “Oh, I’d notice you, Miss Goodnight. I’d notice you. There’s no castle big enough to keep a man like me from being aware, every moment, of a woman like you. You don’t have to speak a word. I can hear the rustle of your petticoats. I can smell the scent of your skin. I can feel your heat.”
Heavens. If he could sense her heat, he must feel it right now. She was hot everywhere.
“I’m not Lord Archer,” he went on in that low, seductive rumble. “I’ve never read your father’s soppy stories, and you’re not some little girl to me. I’ve run my hands all over your body. And these hands have an excellent memory.”
Oh . . . goodness.