“How very kind of you. I… Would it be possible to dine in my room? I do believe the excitement of the day has made me quite tired.”
“But have you been out walking so very long? I was under the impression that you’d had a nice long nap this afternoon after we returned.”
“Well, I did, yes, of course, but near drowning can be so very tiring!”
“Mrs. Johnson has a meal prepared. We were only waiting for you to wake up. Imagine! We didn’t want to disturb you, but you were already awake and wandering about.”
“Right. Imagine,” she murmured. “But I am so very exhausted…”
“You must join me for a meal.”
She lifted her hand, smiled—her teeth grating beneath the facade, surely—but not at all certain how to escape his insistence. “As you wish.”
“As you wish,” he returned, but his tone gave evidence that they would, indeed, dine together. He walked to the door, opened it and indicated that she precede him. She did so, the sweet smell of rosewater drifting to his nostrils.
He followed her, showing her the elegant dining room to the right of the main entry, adjacent to the kitchen. A fire burned brightly and the table was beautifully set. He pulled out her chair, seating her with all propriety. Her head was lowered. When he took his own chair, she looked up and murmured, “This is all quite lovely. Thank you.”
He noted that she was looking at the clock on the mantel. Was her intent to slip back to her own home this evening? Or had she thought that she could sleep the night and be back before her father noticed her bed empty in the morning?
He waved a hand negligently. “Emma loves to cook. She doesn’t get the opportunity all that often.”
“You don’t eat?” she inquired with fake courtesy.
“I’m usually at my club, arguing with someone,” he admitted. “When I am in London.”
“Ah, yes. You are seldom in the country.”
“You knew that?” he asked.
“Of course. Your name is quite often in the papers.”
“Ah. So you remember reading the newspapers.”
She flushed but rebounded admirably. “Indeed, I do.”
Emma swept in then, bearing a large silver tray with delicate slices of beef and pheasant, generous servings of au gratin potatoes and greens. Ethan—handsomely attired in livery—was at her side, ready to serve.
Hunter noted that his guest sat up, savoring the aromas. He wondered then when she had last eaten.
“Child?” Emma said. “Oh, this is so difficult! We must call you something!”
“Mmm, true,” Hunter murmured. “It does seem rude to keep referring to you as ‘girl’ or ‘child.’” He watched as they were both served, and thanked both Emma and Ethan, then sat back in his chair, surveying his guest.
“Ah, well, soon enough, we must discover your real name!” he said. He smiled up at Emma. “But for the moment, well…”
“Perhaps she is a Jane,” Emma suggested.
“Possibly. Or Eleanor,” Hunter said.
Ethan poured glasses of wine, then looked up. “Anne, perhaps. It’s a popular name.”
“A lovely name,” he agreed, lifting his glass, and politely waiting as the girl realized that she must lift hers, as well. She did so; he took a sip of wine, and mused once again. “A name…a name…Adriana, for she so comes from the sea! But then again, into the sea, out of the sea…like a creature with many lives. I know—Kat!”
As he had expected, she choked on her sip of wine.
But then again, she recovered splendidly.
“Kat?” she inquired. She stared straight at him. “Why, sir, how amazing. It does have a most familiar ring.”
“Kat?” Emma said.
“Kat, Kathy…Katherine,” Hunter said. “At any rate, my dear, you will always be our little Kat, then. And like the creature, the cat, may you have nine lives!”
She lifted her glass, coolly observing him.
“Cat!” he repeated. “Ah, yes, the most clever of creatures. Yet one known for the danger of its curiosity. And, hmm, cat…a sweet lovely creature that curls on the sofa at night, and then again, the kind of creature that prowls the jungle, ever searching for prey.”
The coolness in her eyes turned to fire. How they blazed at him!
“Mistress Kat,” Emma murmured. “Will that be all right, my dear? Until we learn otherwise?”
“It will be lovely,” Kat assured her.
Emma nodded, pleased, and absented herself from the dining room with a swish of her petticoats. Ethan shrugged and followed in her wake.
“Lovely,” Hunter murmured, ready to address his meal.
“Lovely!” she repeated, her voice low, sweetly dangerous. And he looked up to see that her expression was one of fury. “You wretched—bastard!” she cried.
“Good heavens!” Hunter’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What language from such a gentle maiden.”
“You should rot in hell,” she declared heatedly. “You followed me!”
“I did,” he informed her flatly.
“You’d no right!” she cried in dismay.
“Indeed, I had every night. I might well have been nurturing a viper at my bosom.”
She started to rise. “Sir Hunter, I’m sure you’ve nurtured many a viper at your bosom, and with the greatest pleasure! I did not ask you to ‘rescue’ me from the sea—you chose to do so. You’ll remember that I awoke in your carriage and that it was you who caused me to bump my head! And now it will be you who…who…”
She seemed at a loss for words.
“Who what?” he demanded, suddenly angry. “Who will betray you? No, what I need to know for myself is not necessarily information I will share. Play your little charade tomorrow for Lord Avery and your precious David Turnberry. I’ll not give you away.”
“Why not?” she asked warily, still tense, half risen, half seated.
“Sit down, Kat. That is what they call you, correct?”
“Kat…Katherine. I’m sure your hearing is excellent,” she muttered.
“Sit down. Emma worked hard on this meal. For her sake, you will enjoy it.”
Rigidly, she took her position once again.
Then she winced. “You will really let me meet with David and Lord Avery as if…as if I were…”
“Their equal?” he suggested. “Oh, indeed. Since you feel you must.”
A flush betrayed the edge of shame she was feeling. “My father is a fine man.”
“Of that, I’m quite certain. And a talented one.”
“He is talented! Don’t you dare mock him!”
“I am not mocking him.”
“Then don’t patronize me. You don’t know anything about him.”
“Oddly enough, I do know a bit. I sincerely believe that he is an incredibly talented artist and that his light, as they say, has been hidden under a bushel for too long. And it was quite evident that he cares for you a great deal. He is a good man. And there is nothing wrong with your home or with your father’s being an artist. So why this charade?”
She was instantly defensive. “Everyone must lead a slightly different life at times.”
“If you say so.”
“Well, you do!”
“Do I?”
“Traveling the globe, gadding about,” she said. “Digging into other peoples’ live! Ancient lives.”
“There’s a difference.”
“There is not.”
“I do it as myself.”
“Well…you, sir, have more opportunity than most,” she argued weakly.
He shook his head. “Who are you trying to be? And why? You’re playing a dangerous game, Kat.”
She shook her head. “I’m not! I just want—”
He sighed. “Good God, do you think that silly boy, your dear David, will see you and simply forget his very rich and titled lady? Do you really believe that you two will somehow live happily ever after?”
She did not reply but sat back stubbornly si
lent. He shook his head. “The man leaves for Egypt in a week. I suppose there is no harm in seeing that you are somehow properly introduced.”
She let out a soft sigh.
“Thank you,” she said with amazing dignity.
She toyed with the meat on her plate, then ate in earnest, then apparently feared that she was eating too quickly and slowed down. She caught his eye, and her fork froze in mid-position. “Tell me,” she inquired. “Will David’s lady be going to Egypt with him? Does Mrs. Johnson accompany you?”
“Cairo can be a delightful place and many women do come. But the digs are hard, most difficult on women, and few do attend, though there are those who are remarkable scholars and eager for the digs. They are equally willing to accept the rugged accommodations one must abide in the desert. I believe that Lady Margaret will make the trip, but not that she’ll attend the dig. There’s a wonderful hotel the English frequent each season. Shepheard’s. We all start off there before heading off in various directions. Arthur Doyle is heading down, if he’s not there already. His wife is ailing. The dry climate down there is excellent for her condition.”
“Arthur Doyle?” she repeated.
“Indeed. The writer.”
“You know him?”
Hunter arched a brow. “I’ve written quite a bit myself, and so have spent some time in literary circles.”
She didn’t seem at all impressed. “The man who gave us Sherlock Holmes?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
“And then killed off his hero?” she demanded.
He laughed. “Look, the last time he wrote, it was to complain about the way people are so disturbed over Holmes—who is nothing but a product of his imagination—when his dear wife is fighting for her life. The hotel, as I said, is wonderful. So while your David digs in the desert sands, Lady Margaret will comfortably await him. And the others, and her father, of course.”
“And so many people go every year!” she murmured. “What about Mrs. Johnson?”
“Emma prefers London,” he explained. “Or the coast of France. Sometimes she comes, but usually she begs out.”
Kat sighed again. “I’m really not at all in that world,” she murmured. And for a moment, there was no guile in her eyes, no cunning, and her hair, catching the light from the fire, shimmered, and she was so beautiful, yet so lost and forlorn, that he longed to touch her, was tempted to rise and go put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
But this cat, he knew, had claws.
However, she rose once again to her feet, this time with impeccable dignity. “Since you followed me and are well aware of my home and family, you’ll understand that I must return tonight. I had hoped that tonight… Well, it wasn’t to be. I will go home and give my father no more reason for concern. I can find my own way, but would be grateful if you would have your man escort me.”
“I’ll see to it,” he assured her.
“Thank you.”
“Perhaps…” he began, then paused, for he wondered why he was willing to go to any trouble to see that this urchin met the object of her ridiculous desire.
He inhaled and exhaled. “Perhaps there is still something that I can do.”
“You don’t know my father, sir.” Her shoulders squared. “Though he possesses great talent, he…well, we are usually behind in our rent. Oh, he is a good parent, but…he loves the sea, and so we keep something of an excuse for a boat. He does wondrous oils, but he sells those for almost nothing and makes a living doing portraits. More often than not, he finds an old woman sitting on a step to be intriguing and…well, those works simply haven’t sold. Still, he is fiercely proud, and he will allow for no reward. As perhaps you’re aware, his family was a good one, and as a strong believer in education, he saw to it that my sister and I were schooled. But he will not allow me out tomorrow morning, for he believes that it is a disgrace to reward someone for saving a life, since human life is precious, not something to be bought or sold.”
Hunter was again moved in a way that made him long to touch her. He shrugged instead. In her simple pride and honesty, she had a rare appeal.
“Still…well, we shall see.”
A flush rose to her cheeks. And hope flickered in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, and the words sounded sincere. Then a rueful smile curled her lips. “Why are you being so kind?”
He nodded gravely. “Perhaps I am doing you no favor,” he said.
“But you are.”
“Icarus wanted to fly…and the sun melted his wings,” he reminded her. “It’s a hard crash back to earth,” he said.
“I do not intend to crash land,” she assured him.
He kept staring at her as he reached for the bell at the side of the table and rang it lightly. A moment later, Ethan was there. “This young woman needs a ride home, my friend.”
“Yes, Sir Hunter,” Ethan said, his expression impassive.
“Thank you very much,” Kat said to Ethan, then she turned back to Hunter. “Good night, Sir Hunter.” Her smile deepened, became soft, tender and whimsical. “And whatever may come, thank you. Truly. From the bottom of my heart.”
She turned and moved gracefully from the room, and he felt his breath catch.
Ethan stared at Hunter, waiting. Hunter gave a nod and Ethan disappeared after the girl.
Hunter’s every muscle seemed to twitch and burn.
Insane!
He rose, took a small cigar from the cedar-lined box on the mantel, and lit it.
Good Lord, he was Hunter MacDonald, not some besotted young twit.
He lit the cigar and paced the room. Let it go, he told himself. She would be safely back with her family. There was no need for her to see with her own eyes that what she craved would never be. And yet…
She appealed to him on such a strange level! In many ways, she seemed so naive, and in many other ways, she was as clever as a fox. When she meant no seduction or sensuality, her eyes spoke otherwise.
And, he reminded himself ruefully, she found him so…well, so nothing!
He grinned at the fire, shaking his head, and he knew what had so intrigued him. She was a lot like him. An adventurer, willing to take chances, centered on a quest. She was fresh and bright and so different from any other woman he knew.
And so…
He realized that he was now the one plotting.
He glanced at the clock, ticking away in the corner. The hour was growing late. Still, he strode through the house, anxious to saddle Alexander and ride out into the night.
No help for the hour.
Lord Avery would have to understand. And he would. He was a good fellow.
ETHAN HAD NO DIFFICULTY understanding that Kat was sneaking back into her own home. “I shall be watching for your safety, miss, and that is all.”
She smiled at him from the street. “Thank you. But I’m afraid your carriage will be quite evident here, in this street.”
He nodded somberly. “Then, miss, you should hurry.” He nodded his head toward the east. “It wasn’t so long ago that Jack the Ripper was at work, and his haunts are not so terribly far from here, and Lord knows, they never did catch that bloke, not that anyone will admit, so…please get on in, miss. I’ll not be leaving until you do so.”
“Thank you again, Ethan!” she said, and waving, hurried around to the side of the house and the trellis she could climb to her upstairs room. As she did so, she feared that she would emerge through her window into her room to find her father waiting in fury.
She crawled through the window into the darkened room and then nearly screamed as a form rose from the bed.
“Kat!”
“Eliza!”
Kat grasped her throat, then exhaled in a rush. Her heart was beating loudly enough to wake the dead, she thought. It slowed as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Eliza was sitting up now, staring at her, wide-eyed, excited and full of questions.
“Did you see him? Lord Avery?” she demanded.
Kat
shook her head, sitting on the bed next to her sister. “I’m afraid not. The day’s excitement was far too much for him.” She sighed deeply and hopelessly. “At least I wasn’t discovered sneaking out of the house. And as for Lord Avery—and David—I would have met them both tomorrow.”
“Where have you been, then?”
“Oh. Sir Hunter had a meal laid out,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Sir Hunter! You had a private dinner with the fellow? A tête-a-tête?”
“No! I ate, and that is all. It was…I suppose…a lovely meal. His housekeeper enjoys cooking.”
Eliza climbed off the bed and danced elegantly around the room. “A private dinner—with Sir Hunter MacDonald!”
“There was nothing all that private about it!” Kat protested.
“But…well, the man is exceptionally fine looking!”
“He is?”
Eliza paused, staring at her. “Are you daft, Kat? I’ve seen the sketches of him—and the photographs that have been in the journals. Furthermore, he is…pure legend! On the queen’s business in India! Cruising down the Nile, joining up with his old military friends on some great excursion! Sailing in one race or another and taking the cup! Oh, Kat!”
“Eliza, stop! Oh, he’s been quite decent, it’s just that I had to listen to his housekeeper rave on and on about him all day, and…don’t you see? In my heart, my mind, David is the perfect man,” Kat said. She looked woefully at her sister. “And now I never will meet him properly. Unless I can think of…something.” Her expression changed. “Papa really has no idea that I slipped out of the house?”
“None,” Eliza said a little sharply.
“What’s wrong?”
Eliza wrinkled her nose. “Lady Daws was here again! I was very afraid for a few minutes that you would be caught, because the wretched woman was insisting that she see you and give you a piece of her mind. Be warned—according to her, you are the basest of creatures, causing such a commotion, bringing the police out and, of course, worrying poor Papa. Luckily, he was firm when he insisted that you be allowed to rest. Why, I could hear her! The woman was actually halfway up the stairs when our father stopped her!”
“A close call indeed,” Kat murmured. “But…she didn’t come up. And I thank you, Eliza, for keeping my secret.”
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