THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

tub, her predecessor had only bathed when the seasons changed.
    She heaved a resigned sigh. “How much will it cost to replace the wiring in just the main living areas?” She didn’t want to know or even speculate on how much fixing all the wiring would cost. She’d have to take care of the rest the same way she paid off her credit cards. A bit at a time. Right now, she simply wanted to use a hair dryer, leave a hall light on at night, and make toast without burning the place to the ground.
    She took comfort where she could. The electrician wouldn’t be knocking any holes in her newly acquired walls. The wiring ran in tubing along the stone floors, walls, and plaster ceilings.
    “Dinna worry about the cost, my lady. I’ll work up an estimate and send it to Mr. Silverstein in a day or two. I’m sure we men can come to a meeting of the minds.”
    After a broken night’s sleep and a hard morning of cleaning, Beth had little patience for a patronizing pat on the head.
    She’d already found water-damaged paneling, six windows with broken panes, more that wouldn’t open, and she’d only examined half the keep. She shuddered to think what else lay in wait. She’d be dead broke in a month at the rate things were going, “maintenance” or no.
    And this was her keep, damn it. Not Tom Silverstein’s.
    “Mr. MacBride, I’ll be the one to approve or reject your estimate, so please send it to me. Meanwhile, is there anything I should do to keep from setting this place ablaze?”
    He made a thick “ humphing ” sound at the back of his throat and puffed out his chest. “Aye. Dinna plug anything else in. And dinna leave any lamps on when ye go to sleep. Wouldna do to have ye wake and find yerself and the castle afire, now would it?”
    “Ah.” She wanted to cuff his surly ears.
    When Silverstein returned for her boating lesson, she’d request a different electrician. The job would take weeks—if not months—-to complete, and she couldn’t hold her tongue around this man for that long.
    She walked down the stairs and into the bailey with him. Waving goodbye, she smiled benignly and warned, “Do be quick as you pass under the portcullis, Mr. MacBride...wouldn’t do to wake and find you skewered to the ground, now would it?” 
    ~#~
    Duncan had never heard a woman curse so much in his life—or death, come to think on it. 
    He’d followed Beth for most of the morning as she tore through his keep with the speed of a waterspout, tearing down window covers and poking into corners and cupboards like some crazed ferret. He paid close attention to what she found fascinating and to what offended her thin, aquiline nose. He had to concede she recognized craftsmanship when she found it. But the more dust, decay, and fractured furniture she found, the more colorful her language became.
    Still rattled by her presence, he retreated to his solar and flopped down on his side—-the left side—of his great bed. In the wee hours of the night he’d come into his room and been relieved to discover she’d chosen the right side.
    He’d settled next to her. Fingering a silky strand of her hair as she slept, he thought about the curse that had sent him into this place of neither life nor death. He again pondered the curse—-the prophecy—etched into his grave marker by that witch, the mother of his third wife. He’d been so relieved to find the carved words—-to learn there was hope—he’d memorized every letter.
    Only by ain token trice blessed ...had to mean his wedding ring... would one come to change ye fate .
    Could this mouse, this new heir, be the one spoken of? Was she strong enough? Had he simply made a dreadful mistake by trusting the last unattached woman? At least the titian had taught him a valued lesson; he’d never again let his weakness for flame-colored hair lead him by the balls. He still couldn’t believe he’d thought himself in love with the witch.
    Well, he harbored no fear of repeating his mistake with this one. Miss Pudding was as plain as porridge. But she did have good skin. And a nice mouth.
    She slept so soundly; with such stillness, in fact, he’d been forced to touch her twice during the night to be sure she still breathed. She’d grumbled briefly, but soon settled back into the deepest slumber he’d ever witnessed. Odd.
    And odd didn’t begin to describe her morning ablutions.
    He studied the parade of bottles and glossy black cases on the dresser a past descendant had added to