“Your father wouldn’t allow it?”

“I never told him how much I wanted it.” She spun over to a chest and pulled open a drawer. “My feet are cold,” she said, grabbing a pair of wool socks. “I arrived in Dublin this morning and checked in here before I went off on my adventure. I always stay in this room. Cute, isn’t it?”

“It’s lovely.” He obviously didn’t care one way or the other about her suite. “Did your father visit you during your posting here?”

“No, he did not,” she said, dropping onto a chair and slipping on her socks. It was an intimate thing to do in front of a man she’d known for mere hours, but cold feet were cold feet. “My father and I get along, in case you’re wondering. We just have different views on Ireland.”

“Lizzie…”

His sudden intensity mixed with the softness of his voice shot her up from her chair. This was not one of her Rush cousins. “I’m talking too much. You must be hell in an interrogation. You’re so smooth and-” She stopped herself. How many of his interrogation subjects would be affected by the concern in his voice, the drape of his sweater on his broad shoulders? “Never mind. I dozed off, and now I’m in one of those crazy half-awake, half-asleep states.”

“You’re not accustomed to the intensity of the fighting you did earlier tonight, and you’re jetlagged. Why did you fly from Boston?”

“I didn’t say I did.”

The slight smile again. “As I said, I have an able assistant.”

“Does that mean I really do have MI6 on my case?”

“You have a flare for dramatics as well as an active imagination.”

“It’s been that kind of year. Our main offices are in Boston. I spent a lot of time there growing up.” She didn’t go into more detail. “How’s Keira?”

“She’s safe in garda hands.”

“That’s good. I assume you wouldn’t be here otherwise. I wish I could have met her under better circumstances. What happened in the stone circle was…” Lizzie tried to find the right word and realized she couldn’t. “It was different.”

“Where did you learn defense tactics?”

She gave him a knowing smile. “I read the SAS handbook on self-defense.”

“You’ve been doing research of your own, I see.”

“You’re not denying you’re a British SAS officer?”

“Did Simon tell you about my background?”

He had her there. She’d given herself away. “I knew you and Simon were friends, and I’m a curious type-which is how I ended up in a knife fight in the Irish hills. What about you?”

“I was looking for Keira. Were you drawn to Estabrook because of his adventures? I gather you’re something of a daredevil yourself.”

“I wasn’t drawn to Norman at all. I just hung out with him and his friends on and off. Long weekends, vacations, when he was at one of our hotels.”

“You came a long way to find Simon.”

This time, she was ready for the dodging and darting of his questions. “I came a long way to hike the Beara Way. I’d heard Keira’s story about the stone angel and thought I might run into her and Simon.”

With a glimmer of a smile, Will moved close to her, just inches from her, and before she could catch her breath, he touched his fingertips to her hair. “You’re an adept fighter but not a particularly adept liar.”

“Not tonight, maybe. Ordinarily I’m a very adept liar.”

“You were concerned Estabrook would go free, and you arranged a cover story that would allow you to talk to Simon without his thinking you’d come to Ireland specifically for that reason.”

“ Norman ’s legal situation was added impetus for me to choose the Beara Peninsula for my hike.” She licked her lips, dry now, sensitive. “I’ve wanted to walk the Beara Way for some time.”

“You didn’t last long, did you?”

“A gale and a knife attack took all the fun out of my adventure.”

“You also started in the very village where you’d expected to find Simon. Do you always hike alone?”

Lizzie decided she was in over her head with this man and broke for the closet. She yanked open the door. “Call downstairs for whatever you need,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to reach up to the shelf. “Help yourself to the tub. The lavender bath salts here are my favorite. My aunt Henrietta and I picked them out together. I soaked for thirty minutes earlier tonight. Almost fell asleep and drowned myself.” But as she glanced back at him with a breezy smile, she realized she now had him picturing her in the tub.

Definitely in over her head.

She pulled a fluffy duvet and pillow down from the shelf. “You can have the bedroom. I’ll take the sofa. That way,” she said, carrying the bedding to the sofa, “I can hear you if you try to sneak out.”

“Lizzie.”

She unfurled the duvet. “If I’m wrong about you, I can defend myself. I don’t care if you’re SAS, MI6 or a bored British aristocrat.”

Will slipped an arm over her shoulders and turned her gently to him, surprising her. “You’re exactly what you seem to be, aren’t you?”

“And that would be?”

“A hotelier who’s more comfortable picking out bath salts and hiking the Beara Way than defending herself and a perfect stranger from a killer.”

“Maybe I’m comfortable with picking out bath salts and taking on killers.”

“I should have followed you from the pub. I could have spared you…” He seemed to shake off any regret. “Lizzie, you’re not a professional. Whatever you’re up to, you don’t have to go about it alone.”

He was good, she decided. Under the expensive clothes and polished manners, the upper-class bearing, were the quiet competence and self-assurance of a man who knew what he was doing-who, in fact, had real training and experience.

But Lizzie had held tight to her secrets for a long time. Once she let go of them, they wouldn’t just be hers anymore. She’d be giving up the security they’d provided her for over a year. She’d be forced to trust whomever she confided in.

It was a big step. Too big.

“What I’m up to right now,” she said lightly, “is falling asleep on my feet.”

Will responded by easing his arm down her back to her hips, as if helping her to stay upright. “You’re trying to keep yourself from telling me the truth.”

No kidding. “What I’ve told you is the truth.”

“It isn’t everything.”

“A two-way street, I’m afraid.” She suddenly realized she still smelled of lavender and wondered if he noticed. “You’re an attractive and dangerous man, Will Davenport, and you’re wearing a very soft, warm sweater. That’s a near-irresistible combination for a sleepy woman.”

He kissed her forehead, so close now she could feel the warmth of his sweater. “Then I’ll be noble and resist for both of us,” he said, a slight roughness to his voice that suggested resisting wasn’t that easy for him.

Lizzie’s throat tightened, and part of her wanted just to sink into his arms and let him protect her, keep her safe. How much longer could she carry on alone? Norman had crossed a threshold in the past twenty-four hours. People had nearly died. A woman was missing. He was missing. But he still trusted her, Lizzie thought, and that gave her a certain leverage with him, perhaps the only leverage anyone had. If she let anyone-the director of the FBI, Simon, this Prince Charming of a stranger with her now-interfere, she risked losing the one advantage she had in helping to find Abigail Browning.

And, possibly, in staying safe herself.

Will touched a thumb to her upper cheekbone. “You’ve dark circles under your lovely eyes. You’re exhausted.” He let his thumb drift down to the corner of her mouth before his hand fell back to his side. “Good night, Lizzie.”

“Why did you come here?” she asked, a little hoarse.

He winked at her. “The lure of a beautiful, mysterious woman.”

“You’re a very charming liar, Lord Davenport.”

“Sweet dreams,” he said.

He picked up his bag and ducked into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him.