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sheets and figured the one with elasticized edges went on first. He tucked a corner of the sheet over the top of the mattress and pulled another corner to the bottom of the bed. It was nowhere near long enough. Turner peeled off the corner he’d fitted and wrapped it around the end of the mattress. When he pulled at the sheet, he’d still got the edge wrong. Fuck.
    He yanked the whole thing off and held it up. It was impossible to tell which side was longest. It looked like a giant’s shower cap. Turner scowled and tried again. Three corners secured, a touch of brute force to drag the last into place and the sheet was stretched tight enough to bounce on.
    Not that he had anyone to bounce with. Turner looked up and he snapped his head back down. He didn’t need anyone to bounce with, no matter what his cock thought.
    Five cartons later, he found the duvet. The moment he ripped the tape, it exploded out of the cardboard like crazy foam to flow onto the wooden floor. Turner glared at the black and burgundy duvet cover he’d thrown on the bed. How the hell was he supposed to get all of this fluff inside it?
    Fluff.
    Matty was as fluffy headed as that little jacket she’d worn. He hadn’t the energy to argue with her earlier, but he meant what he said, this would be her last night under his roof. Too dangerous to have her around. His thrall hadn’t worked. Maybe she was just too pig-headed to be influenced. Nothing was ever easy.
    Turner wrestled most of the duvet into the cover and stared in dismay at the resultant lumpy mess. He must have it the wrong way round. He growled and went in head first, dragging a corner of the duvet to an inside corner of the cover, then holding the two together while he tried to do the same on the other side, only to find the duvet wouldn’t reach.
    He needed another pair of hands.
    Turner almost gave up, but he refused to be beaten by a couple of acres of cotton and goose down.
    By the time the bed was made, his bad temper had reached critical mass. He flopped down on the duvet and stared at the ceiling, festooned with decorative plaster. He knew just the thing to calm him. Turner picked out ribbons, swags, urns and draped figures in the detail. Superb craftsmanship. The hours it must have taken. The crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room looked original, though electricity rather than candles made the glass beads twinkle. Little to worry about in those days. Life was one of rules and regulations, and everyone knew their place.
    Equilibrium restored, Turner sat up. If he was to unpack his clothes, he needed to replenish his energy.
    He was halfway down the stairs when he froze, a yell on his lips. Matty stood stark naked in the middle of the entrance hall, turning in a slow circle. Turner took in her slim boyish hips, her cute backside, her little apple breasts with pert nipples, her hairless— Oh good God . His cock leapt to attention, trying to see for itself. Then he remembered his threat about wandering around naked and scowled. The tadpole was trying to seduce him. Not going to work.
    “Nice try,” he snapped.
    She ignored him.
    Turner stuck his hand in his pocket and tried to strangle his cock into submission. He walked the rest of the way down the stairs and came to a halt in front of her.
    “It’s no good pretending you can’t see me.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
    She headed toward the wall between the library and the drawing room and ran her palms over the dado rail.
    Turner rolled his eyes and stomped to the kitchen. Showing any reaction was pandering to her attention-seeking antics. Best to ignore her. He would feel better when he’d eaten. He would feel a lot better when she was out of sight. He would feel completely better when she was out of the house and in another county. Country. Planet.
    Except when he came back, hunger gone, she was still there, only now she lay curled on her side under the stairs, hugging her knees like a scared