Destined to Last

by Alissa Johnson

  It was a trifle embarrassing, really, that she’d mooned over him for so long.

  “Kate, dear.”

  Kate looked up from her untouched bread pudding to discover the other ladies rising from their chairs and her mother nudging her arm. “Oh, right.”

  Only a little time left now, she thought. As soon as the gentlemen were done sipping their brandy, they would join the ladies in the parlor. She hoped they sipped quickly.

  To Kate’s irritation, they sipped slowly. It was another hour before the gentlemen arrived and Mr. Hunter set the chess game up in a quiet corner of the room.

  She managed, just barely, to keep her peace until they were seated and she opened the game by pushing forward a pawn. She’d not have been able to manage even that show of patience if her mother hadn’t been watching the pair of them from across the room with a sharp and faintly disapproving eye.

  “What are we to do next?” she whispered.

  “What’s that?”

  “About Lord Martin.” She glanced to where Miss Willory had trapped the gentleman in question on the other side of the room. Or perhaps Lord Martin had trapped the lady. It was impossible to say as both looked a mite disgruntled. “What are we to do?”

  Hunter pushed one of his own pawns forward. “You draw less attention to yourself by speaking softly than you do by whispering.”

  “Oh.” She supposed that made sense. Nothing said “secret” quite so loudly as a whisper.

  “I’ll speak softly,” she assured him. “Tell me what we do next.”

  The wait was killing her.

  “We wait,” Mr. Hunter informed her. “And watch.”

  She felt her shoulders, her back, her everything slump in the chair. “You must be joking.”

  “I’m not,” he assured her with a small laugh. “And it’s your turn.”

  She’d waited all day to hear her role in the mission, only to discover it was to wait? She glanced at the board and brought out a bishop. “That’s all? I’m to do nothing more than wait and watch?”

  “Did you expect everything to happen all at once?” he asked, moving his knight.

  “No, but I’d rather hoped to be doing something.”

  “You will be.” He smiled at her. “You’ll be watching.”

  She sighed and pushed a pawn forward. “What will I be watching for?”

  “Unusual behavior from the staff.”

  She perked up a little. This was a bit more interesting. “Why? Do you suspect—?”

  “If this house is used as a base of operations, then at least some of them are apt to know of it.”

  “Oh, of course.” She couldn’t help but glance at the maid who came in carrying a glass of milk for Mrs. Ifill. The girl looked to be no more than fifteen years of age, and harmless as a kitten. “How am I to distinguish between harmless unusual behavior and truly unusual behavior.”

  “I’m afraid that question requires some clarification on your part.”

  “Well, every staff has their own way of running a house and keeping their employer happy. Some ways might seem a little odd to you and me, but really aren’t—”

  “Try an example.”

  She gave him one she’d never been able to puzzle through. “The staff at Mr. Reiter’s estate always move to the far side of a hallway when he passes. Always.”

  “Ah.” He took her pawn with his knight. “He pinches.”

  “He…?” She shook her head. “He’s not the sort to hurt a servant.”

  His waggled his eyebrows at her, his smile turning devious. “It’s not the sort of pinch meant to hurt.”

  “Oh…Oh.” She never would have guessed it of sweet old Mr. Reiter. No wonder both her mother and her brother had avoided answering that question. “I can ask you near to anything, can’t I?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  That answer, Kate decided, was infinitely better than, “that remains to be seen.” The possibilities it opened up were endless. Well, nearly endless. She couldn’t expect him to have an answer for everything, or even be willing to answer everything. But he was willing to listen to her questions, just as he’d been willing to speak with her of rakes and—

  “It’s your turn again, Kate.”

  “Right.” She pushed her rook forward two spaces without really looking at it. He’d called her Kate again. Did he mean to, she wondered, or even realize he had? She didn’t mind if he did, not in the least. With the exception of Lizzy, none of her friends—and she rather thought she and Mr. Hunter were back to being friends—referred to her as Lady Kate. But if he did realize, why had he not yet asked her to call him by his first name as well? She decided there was really only one way to find out.

  “Are you going to invite me to call you by your first name?” she inquired, grateful her mother wasn’t close enough to overhear that terrible breach of etiquette.

  He frowned absently as he studied the board. “Do you need an invitation?”

  “Well, yes. That is generally how it works.”

  “I don’t recall waiting for your invitation.”

  He had known, then, and not asked her in return. She twisted her lips in annoyance. “I can’t…I’m not…”

  “Not what?”

  “Not you,” she replied with a frustrated huff. “I can’t go about ignoring the rules of propriety simply because it suits me.” Push at their boundaries a little, certainly, but not ignore them entirely.

  He angled a bishop out and looked up from the board. “Why not?”

  “Because…” She moved a pawn. “Because it doesn’t suit me. I like the rules of propriety. Some of them,” she clarified. “This one. Are you going to invite me or not?”

  Chuckling, he brought his queen into the game and leaned back in his chair. “Lady Kate Cole, would you do me the honor of using my Christian name?”

  “Yes, thank you. I believe I shall.” She maneuvered her knight so that he couldn’t take her rook without sacrificing his queen, then straightened in her chair. “What is it?”

  “What is…?” Hunter gaped at her a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. The woman was a gem.

  “Do you mean to tell me you don’t know?” he asked when he could speak again.

  “Of course not,” she replied, apparently unfazed by his reaction. “How could I? I’ve only ever heard you called Mr. Hunter, or just Hunter by Whit and McAlistair. Do they know your Christian name?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned a little, then shrugged. “Hardly signifies as I couldn’t have asked them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’d have wondered why I was asking.”

  “There is that.” Still chuckling, he moved his bishop to threaten her knight.

  “Well, what is it?” she demanded. “Your name, I mean.”

  “It’s Andrew.”

  “Andrew,” she repeated, a line forming in her brow. “Andrew.”

  “Does it not meet with your approval?”

  “I don’t think it’s a matter of approving,” she mumbled absently and just as absently sacrificed a pawn to his bishop. Her mouth formed his name again, as if she were tasting it, and hadn’t decided yet if she cared for the flavor. “It’s a matter of becoming accustomed to it.”

  “I see.” He took her pawn and watched her quietly say his name again. “And how long might that take, do you think?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said before silently repeating his name.

  He hoped it would take a few moments more at least, because watching Kate mouth his name was nothing short of an erotic delight. Particularly the way she drew out the “rew” so that her perfect rosebud mouth remained puckered even after she was done sounding the word. He imagined covering that mouth with his own. He imagined her lips forming his name on a whisper as he lowered her to the floor. He imagined her whispering it again and again as he stripped away the layers of clothes to stroke the heated skin beneath. He imagined taking his time, all the time he wanted, all
the time he needed. He imagined tasting, and touching, and teasing until the whisper became a moan. Until the moan became a plea. Only then, when she was begging, when she was writhing beneath him in tortured ecstasy would he give her what she wanted—

  “No, I don’t think I like it.”

  It actually took him a moment to realize she was referring to his name, and not his sexual prowess.

  “What do you mean you don’t like it?” he demanded, shifting a little in his seat. Bloody hell, how long had it been since he’d had such a powerfully erotic daydream, in public no less? Ten years? More? Not since he’d been a green boy, surely. He couldn’t decide if he was more amused or embarrassed. He shifted again and decided he was mostly just uncomfortable.

  “It doesn’t fit you,” Kate explained, clearly unaware of his current line of thought. “Not as well as Mr. Hunter does, at any rate.”

  “Call me Hunter, then.” It made very little difference to him, as long as he could get her to moan it.

  “Hunter,” she murmured, then gave a decisive nod. “Yes, I believe that will do.”

  Pity she didn’t want to try it out a little longer. “Certain you wouldn’t care to practice—?”

  “Kate, dear, it is growing late.”

  The sound of the dowager Lady Thurston’s voice as she rose from her seat across the room had them both looking up.

  Kate glanced at the clock. “It’s not yet midnight.”

  “Quite late enough.” Lady Thurston replied as she arrived at their side. She gave him a pleasant smile. “You understand, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Of course.” He understood the lady didn’t care to have her only daughter too long in his company. He wondered how much of that was a result of her preferring someone else as a possible son-in-law, and how much of it was her preference for anyone else as a possible son-in-law. More the former, he guessed. She had, after all, agreed to his looking out for her niece, Evie.

  Kate rose from her chair with a sigh. “I trust I’ll see you at breakfast?”

  He’d be seeing her all day. “You will.”

  Lady Thurston ran her eyes over the chessboard. “You might as well finish the game, dear.”

  Kate glanced at the board. “Oh, yes.”

  Finish the game? “I thought you were—”

  He broke off as she leaned over to push her queen halfway across the board.

  “Checkmate. Good night, Hunter.”

  It had been a very long time since Hunter had gaped at a woman as she left a room. About as long as it had been since he’d lost himself in an erotic daydream in public, and just as long since he’d been put into checkmate within eight moves. Or had it been nine? He hoped it had been nine.

  Whatever the number, it left him gaping at her as she left, then smiling as their footsteps echoed down the hall.

  And then he was grinning. Oh, yes, Lady Kate Cole was, indeed, the finest life had to offer.

  Nine

  By two o’clock on her first full day as an agent of the crown, Kate was forced to admit that it was probably best she wasn’t asked to fill the role with any regularity. She was, as it turned out, demonstrably bad at waiting and watching.

  She’d tried her hardest, she truly had. It was just that her task turned out to be rather unengaging and the presence of Hunter much too distracting. She had assumed that after breakfast he would spend the day fishing with Lord Martin and the other gentlemen. Instead, he had spent the day in the house, making it all too tempting for her to go seek him out. It was absurd that she should do so, but she couldn’t seem to stem her curiosity. Was he searching the house? Questioning the staff? Counting the floorboards?

  Desperate to know what he was about, she had ever so casually tracked him to the veranda after breakfast, where they had sat speaking to other people. And then she had trailed him at a very respectable distance to the library where he had read a book and she had pretended to. And finally she had followed him, after a perfectly suitable amount of time had passed, to the parlor where he was now looking over a paper in a chair some distance from where she sat writing an imaginary letter to the Duchess of Rockeforte.

  She snuck a quick glance at him. His clothes, she noted, were as tidy now as they had been first thing that morning. Her white muslin gown, on the other hand, was a mite wrinkled, had a brown smudge of unknown origin on the hem, and a small black ink stain near her waist. She scowled at the spot, then scowled at the pen in her hand. How ridiculous did one have to be to acquire a very real ink stain as a result of writing an imaginary letter? She set her pen down, brushed at a wayward lock of blonde hair, and once again glanced at Hunter.

  How fastidious did one have to be, she wondered, to always look a veritable fashion plate?

  Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. Hunter’s clothes were stylish, yes, but they were too subdued in color and cut to be considered the fashion du jour. There were no brightly colored or outrageously patterned waistcoats for him. She knew for a fact he didn’t pad his shoulders, and he seemed to avoid the impossibly high and stiff collars favored by some other gentlemen. There was nothing about Hunter that marked him as a dandy or a fop. He was simply…polished.

  She recalled that her brother, Whit, had once remarked in passing that Hunter was a man who possessed an inordinate amount of self-control. Perhaps that was what drove him to keep his appearance so well ordered—a desire to be, and look to be, in absolute control.

  A simple enough appearance for one to obtain—provided it was someone other than herself—when one did nothing more than go from breakfast room, to library, to parlor. Clearly, the man was not about searching the house or questioning the staff. He didn’t look to be about anything at all, not even counting the floorboards. Her curiosity got the better of her. She pushed away from the desk and rose from her chair.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter,” she chimed loudly for the benefit of several ladies gathered at the far side of the room. “Can I interest you in another game of chess before tea?”

  He waited for her to reach him before giving her a wan smile and a simple, “No, thank you.”

  She opened her mouth to respond to that, then changed her mind when she noted he was still sitting. She gave him an inquisitive look. “Are you aware that it’s rude of you to still be seated while I’m standing?”

  “It won’t be when you sit down.”

  Apparently, he was aware. As the question had been mostly an academic one, she shrugged, unoffended, and took her seat. “Why won’t you play chess?”

  “I don’t think my pride could take it.”

  She fought back a smile. “Yes. That’s understandable.”

  A corner of his mouth hooked up. “Evie told me that the two of you are the most evenly matched players at Haldon.”

  “We are.”

  He closed his book. “You bested me in nine moves.”

  “Eight,” she corrected. “You shouldn’t have brought your queen out so early.”

  “Eight,” he conceded. “My point is, she wasn’t able to do the same.”

  “Yes, well, the most evenly matched, and evenly matched in truth, aren’t the same thing, are they?”

  “Clearly not.” He set his book aside. “Did you come all the way over here to discuss chess?”

  “It was less than twenty feet. But no, I did not.” She glanced warily at the other guests before lowering her voice even further. “Isn’t there something you should be doing?”

  “I’m speaking with you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I meant in regards to the investigation.”

  “Perhaps I’m doing both, as you are. You’re watching the staff and talking to me at the same time, aren’t you?”

  She could barely walk and breathe at the same time. She gave him a sheepish smile. “No, to be honest, I’m not. With very few exceptions, I’m rarely at my best when trying to perform simultaneous tasks.”

  “You played chess and spoke last night.”

  “As I said, there are a few exceptions
.” She looked down to the ink stain on her gown. “You may count yourself fortunate that I didn’t upend the table midway through the game.”

  “Wouldn’t have bothered me in the least. I find your lack of coordination to be one of the most charming things about you.”

  She looked up and laughed. “Oh, you do not.”

  “I do, in fact.”

  “I…” Good heavens, he was serious. She couldn’t fathom why he should be. Gentlemen often liked her despite her clumsiness, not because of it. She shook her head at him, baffled. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve been gifted with extraordinary beauty, wealth, position, and talent. If it weren’t for your ungainliness, you’d be insufferable.” He smiled at her. “Everyone should have at least one flaw.”

  “I…” She had difficulty responding to that, which really ought to have kept her from responding at all. “I have loads of flaws.”

  The inability to recognize when I ought to keep my mouth firmly shut, for instance.

  “Is that so?” He tilted his head at her a little. “Care to share what they might be?”

  “Um…”

  “Oh, Mr. Hunter!”

  For the first, and what Kate was certain would prove to be the only, time in her life, she was happy to see Miss Willory enter a room. Even if Miss Willory was wearing a peach gown with a neckline cut almost, but not quite, low enough to be considered vulgar. Kate strongly felt it to be a case of revealing more than the view warranted.

  Miss Willory reached them and sighed heavily. “I vow, I have been looking for you everywhere. That is…” She tittered, then blushed. The latter was something Kate knew the woman could do entirely at will. Which was, in her estimation, a perfectly stupid talent. “Well not everywhere. That would be silly of me, wouldn’t it? I would never…Goodness, I’m making a terrible ninny of myself.”

  Hunter waited for the wave of tittering to pass before asking, “Is there something I can assist you with, Miss Willory?”