“What sort of mischief is this?” she demanded, her temper heating as she trailed behind Gray. “Oh, damn them,” she swore when she saw the parlor.

It had been a quick, hurried, and frantic search, Gray mused. Anything but professional and foolishly risky. He was thinking it through when another idea slammed into him.

“Shit.” He took the stairs two at a time, burst into the mess of his own room, and bolted straight for his laptop. “Somebody will die,” he muttered, booting it up.

“Your work.” Brianna stood pale and furious in the doorway. “Did they harm your work?”

“No.” He skimmed through page after page until he was satisfied. “No, it’s here. It’s fine.”

She let out a little sigh of relief before turning away to check Mr. Smythe-White’s room. His clothes had been turned out of the drawers and closet, his bed pulled apart. “Mary, Mother of God, how will I explain this to him?”

“I think it’s more to the point to ask what they were looking for. Sit down, Brianna,” Gray ordered. “Let’s think this through.”

“What’s to think about?” But she did sit, on the edge of the tilted mattress. “I’ve nothing of value here. A few pounds, a few trinkets.” She rubbed her eyes, impatient with herself for the tears she couldn’t manage to stem. “It wouldn’t have been anyone from the village or nearby. It had to be a vagrant, a hitchhiker perhaps, hoping to find a bit of cash.

Well . . .” She let out a shaky breath. “He’ll have been disappointed in what he found here.” She looked up abruptly, paling again. “You? Did you have any?”

“Mostly traveler’s checks. They’re still here.” He shrugged. “He got a few hundred pounds, that’s all.”

“A few—hundred?” She bolted off the bed. “He took your money?”

“It’s not important. Brie—”

“Not important?” she cut in. “You’re living under my roof, a guest in my home, and had your money stolen. How much was it? I’ll make it good.”

“You certainly will not. Sit down and stop it.”

“I said I’ll make it good.”

Patience snapped, he took her firmly by the shoulders and shoved her down on the bed. “They paid me five million for my last book, before foreign and movie rights. A few hundred pounds isn’t going to break me.” His eyes narrowed when her lips quivered again. “Take a deep breath. Now. Okay, another.”

“I don’t care if you’ve gold dripping from your fingers.” Her voice broke, humiliating her.

“You want to cry some more?” He sighed lustily, sat down beside her, and braced for it. “Okay, let it rip.”

“I’m not going to cry.” She sniffled, used the heels of her hands to dry her cheeks. “I’ve got too much to do. It’ll take hours to put things right here.”

“You’ll need to call the police?”

“For what?” She lifted her hands, let them fall. “If anyone saw a stranger lurking about, my phone would already be ringing. Someone needed money, and they took it.” She scanned the room, wondering how much her other guest might have lost, and how big a hole it would put in her precious savings. “I want you to say nothing to Maggie about this.”

“Goddamn it, Brie—”

“She’s six months along. I won’t have her upset. I mean this.” She gave him a steady look through eyes still shimmering with tears. “Your word, please.”

“Fine, whatever you want. I want yours that you’ll tell me exactly what’s missing.”

“I will. I’ll phone to Murphy and tell him. He’ll ask about. If there’s something to know, I’ll know it by nightfall.” Calm again, she rose. “I need to start putting things in order. I’ll start with your room so you can get to your work.”

“I’ll see to my own room.”

“It’s for me to—”

“You’re pissing me off, Brianna.” He unfolded himself slowly until he stood toe to toe with her. “Let’s get this straight. You’re not my maid, my mother, or my wife. I can hang up my own clothes.” “As you please.” Swearing, he grabbed her arm before she could walk out on him. She didn’t resist, but stood very still, looking just over his shoulder. “Listen to me. You have a problem here and I want to help you. Can you get that through your head?”

“Want to help, do you?” She inclined her head and spoke with all the warmth of a glacier. “You might go borrow some tea from Murphy. We seem to be out.”

“I’ll call him for you,” Gray said evenly. “And ask him to bring some over. I’m not leaving you alone here.”

“Whatever suits you. His number’s in the book in the kitchen by the . . .” She trailed off as the image of her lovely little room flashed into her head. She closed her eyes. “Gray, would you leave me alone for a little while? I’ll be better for it.”

“Brianna.” He touched her cheek.

“Please.” She’d crumble completely, humiliatingly, if he was kind now. “I’ll be fine again once I’m busy. And I’d like some tea.” Opening her eyes, she managed to smile. “Truly, I would.”

“All right, I’ll be downstairs.”

Grateful, she got to work.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gray sometimes toyed with the idea of buying himself a plane. Something very much along the lines of the sleek little jet Rogan had left at his and Brianna’s disposal for the trip to Dublin might be just the ticket. He could have it custom-decorated to suit him, play with the engine himself occasionally. There was nothing to stop him from learning how to fly it.

It would certainly be an interesting toy, he mused as he settled into the comfortable leather seat beside Brianna. And having his own transportation would eliminate the minor headache of arranging for tickets and being at the mercy of the hiccups of the airlines.

But owning something—anything—equaled the responsibility of maintaining that something. That was why he rented or leased, but had never actually owned a car. And though there was something to be said for the privacy and convenience of a neat little Lear, he thought he would miss the crowds and company and all the odd expected glitches of a commercial flight.