“She’s not?”
Was that relief in Dair MacRae’s eyes? Interesting. “No, I have no intentions toward Emma.”
“Then you have me totally confused. Who the hell is the woman you intend to marry?”
“The companion.”
“What companion?”
“Mrs. Tate’s companion.”
Dair froze, blinked twice. “The old battle-ax? Her bosom nearly took out the Grecian urn when she walked in.”
“Padded today, I am certain.” Jake chuckled softly.
“Well.” Dair folded his arms. “Obviously I wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s not like you. But then, I don’t think you ever took your eyes off Mrs. Tate.”
“So what did I miss?”
Again, Jake probed the sore spot on his chin. Then, grinning wickedly, he said, “It all has to do with cookies, you see. Spicy sweet.”
“Having children has driven you insane.”
“That is a possibility I will not argue with. However, my sanity or lack thereof is not an issue in this instance. ‘Mrs. Peters’ is the perfect choice.”
“Why?” Dair shuddered. “She may have been interesting for you to talk to, I’ll allow, but Jake, she’s rather…well…old. And she’s…she’s…spread out. I thought you intended to share a bed with your bride.”
“Oh, I do. I certainly do.” Now, he laughed out loud. “She’s actually a good bit younger than me, and she’s not fat at all. In fact, her figure is quite lovely, as is her face without the stage paint.”
“Stage paint?”
“Subtle and well done, but those wrinkles were painted on. Her hair isn’t gray, but quite the same shade as her sister’s.”
“Her sister! So you do know the woman.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve met her on two previous occasions and they’ve both proved memorable. Dair, I need you to put your investigative talents to use for me again, if you will. I want to know everything you can find out about Kat McBride of Fort Worth, Texas.”
CHAPTER FIVE
KAT FELT ALMOST GIDDY as the carriage turned on the drive that led up to Chatham Park ten days later. “Oh, my. Look at that, Emma. It’s a palace.”
“Owned by an American upstart,” Emma added. “That’s what those women were saying at the theater last night. As if they were better than Jake Kimball’s father because he worked for his money rather than inheriting it. Personally, I think a man who makes something of himself, by himself, has much more to preen about than a man who is wealthy just because somebody else died.”
“That’s very American of you, Em.”
“Well, I am an American and I’m proud of it! I tell you what, Kat, if these snotty English primroses start giving me grief because I’m from Texas, well, they just might get their clocks cleaned.” Emma folded her arms and sat back against the seat in a huff.
Kat smiled at her sister’s vehemence. It was nice to see Emma loosening up. She suspected this bit of Menace-like behavior would be good for her in that respect. Her sister had become almost stodgy in recent years.
Kat turned her nose back toward the carriage window. Her pulse pounded with anticipation. She told herself it was due to the hunt. Certainly the prospect of seeing Jake Kimball again, tangling with Jake Kimball again, had nothing to do with it.
The man was a scoundrel. According to Monique, who made a point of becoming privy to the on dits, society was aghast at Kimball’s plot to advertise for a bride, then pit the finalists against one other in a contest disguised as a country house soirée. Draconian, they accused. Gauche, they declared. Positively reprehensible—even for a Yank. Yet, for all the whispers, the muttering, the yammering about scandal, an invitation to Chatham Park this weekend had been the hottest ticket in town.
And somehow, despite Emma’s unfortunate tendency to tell the truth and Kat’s own tendency to let her mouth run away from her, the McBride Menaces had scored the invitation of the year. Maybe even the decade.
“Monique said she subtly asked around about Jake Kimball. Nobody mentioned his having a necklace that looks like yours, but she did learn that Jake Kimball’s father kept collections at Chatham Park,” Emma said.
“Which collections?”
“That, she couldn’t find out. Someone said something about butterflies, and someone else talked about fossils.”
“No Texana?”
“She heard nothing about Texana, but that doesn’t mean it’s not here, Kat. Look at it. Chatham Park is huge. We’ll be lucky to find the water closet.”
Kat let out a long sigh. “Emma, don’t you dare say anything that will get us sent away before I’ve searched the house.”
“Excuse me? I’m not the one who let her mouth overrun her brain dining the interview. I couldn’t believe you talked about women’s suffrage! I thought you’d ruined our chances for sure.”
Kat agreed. She still couldn’t believe they’d actually won an invitation. After their return to the hotel with the prize in hand, Monique had gone on the prowl for gossip. She’d returned with the news that he’d interviewed almost a hundred girls. One hundred! Really, did women here have no pride? Out of all those interviewed, only seven had received invitations to the weekend’s festivities. Two were shop girls, one a baron’s daughter, and the rest an impoverished knight’s widow, a sea captain’s daughter, and the bastard niece of the Duke of Worrell. And, Mrs. Casey Tate. Betting books at the gentleman’s clubs had the baron’s daughter as the odds-on favorite. Most considered Emma a long shot.
Kat had been insulted on her sister’s behalf, which was totally foolish of her since the entire exercise was a farce.
“Look at the lake, Kat. See the swans?” Excitement gleamed in Emma’s eyes, and she flashed Kat a Menace grin. “Papa would kill us for pulling a stunt like this.”
Peeking through the avenue of tulip trees lining the winding road she spied swans and fountains and flowers galore. The estate was a delight for the eye. She glimpsed a folly and a hidden flower garden, statues and fountains and what appeared to be a maze. When their carriage rounded a curve and the house came into view, both sisters caught their breath. “It’s huge,” Emma mused.
The massive mansion rose in front of them like a general on a battlefield, commanding all within sight. The building was a collection of styles—a baroque front, Greek Revival portico, and a high tower, or belvedere, that added a suggestion of the medieval to the place. Kat counted at least four three-storied wings off the main building.
Then, as the coach pulled into the circular drive, standing on a third-floor balcony, she saw him. Jake Kimball, thief, scoundrel and one audacious American.
Kat shook her head. “Look at him. It’s as if he’s a prince awaiting the arrival of his princess. Only, it’s a princess contest, isn’t it? What do you think he has planned for this weekend? Competitions? The woman who can darn socks the fastest earns five points, woman with the most points at the end of the weekend wins?”
“My,” Emma said, gazing up toward the balcony. “There is something appealing about a man surveying his kingdom. Jake Kimball certainly is handsome.”
“You should see him without his clothes,” Kat said absently.
“Mari did tell me he made one fine-looking pirate. I was disappointed he didn’t wear an earring at the interview. Mari said it added a dashing touch.”
Dashing didn’t begin to describe the man. Handsome was an understatement. “As if he needs more handsome and dashing,” Kat grumbled. “Any other man would have been laughed out of the country for wearing an earring and publishing that advertisement. He gets a hundred women lined up to compete to be his bride. A woman he can wed, bed and kiss goodbye with nary a second glance when he runs off to Tokyo.”
“Tibet,” Emma corrected.
“It’s appalling that women would put up with such nonsense.”
“Hmm,” Emma murmured. “I wonder if he plans to hold a kissing contest?”
“Emma!”
Kat’s sis
ter laughed as the carriage rolled to a stop, and moments later they climbed a broad flight of stone steps and entered Chatham Park. The great hall took Kat’s breath away. A painted ceiling, paintings on the wall, marble sculptures and rich Persian carpets on the floor—and a host who fitted his surroundings perfectly. Monique would be the first to say the man was a work of art.
Halfway down the staircase, Kimball said, “Ladies, welcome. I’m delighted you could join us. Alasdair MacRae, you remember Mrs. Tate and Mrs. Peters.”
Her attention fixed totally on Jake Kimball, Kat hadn’t noticed the man who’d come to stand in a doorway that opened into what appeared to be a library. Mr. MacRae’s shoulders all but spanned the doorway. He wore his clothes casually, his chocolate-colored jacket the same color as his hair. His knee-high boots were scuffed and worn and comfortable appearing. Not the typical English country gentleman. Of course, he wasn’t English, he was Scots-American, and they were a different breed, anyway.
“I certainly do. Ladies, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Emma smiled shyly at him and a touch of color stained her cheeks. Kat’s eyebrows winged up. Was her sister attracted to MacRae? Oh, lovely.
Kimball continued, “We will show you to your room so you can freshen up. Three carriages arrived no more than ten minutes ago, so I’m afraid I’m a bit short-handed of servants at the moment. You won’t mind Mr. MacRae and me showing you the way, I trust?”
Emma darted another look toward MacRae. “That’s fine.”
Kat wasn’t so certain.
Kimball gave them a brief history of the house as they climbed the stairs. The estate had been a minor holding of Sir John Cowper, who sold the property to Kimball’s father years ago. “My father expanded the house substantially. He wanted beautiful spaces to display his treasures.”
“Oh?” Kat responded with what she hoped came across as casual interest. “What treasures?”
“His collections.” He smiled, his eyes gleamed, but he didn’t elaborate.
Kat felt almost as if she’d been challenged. She persisted. “What sort of collections?”
He waved a hand. “Oh, this and that. Ah, here we are.” They’d arrived at the third-floor landing. “Dair, if you’d show Mrs. Tate to her room? It’s the snow globe room. I trust you’ll find it satisfactory. I’ll have your bags sent up as soon as possible. Mrs. Peters, if you’ll come with me?”
“Wait!” Kat exclaimed. “Mrs. Tate and I are not together?’
“Heavens no. I’ve chosen rooms with each guest in mind. After our discussion the other day, I am quite certain you’ll find it to your liking.”
As Kat followed Kimball down a long hallway, she decided she had a bad feeling about this. Had Kimball separated all his brides from their chaperones? Had Emma been on to something? Did he intend a kissing contest, or worse, a bedding comparison?
She wouldn’t put it past the scalawag. Heavens, some of the women probably wouldn’t complain. Some of the women probably fantasized about a man like Jake Kimball taking them to his bed.
Kat focused on the man in front of her. Foolish women, they’d like to tug that leather tie from the back of his neck and run their fingers through his thick, unfashionably long hair. They’d look at his broad shoulders and want to smooth their hands over his muscles. They might even want to run their tongue down the curve of his spine.
Kat’s gaze followed the path of her thoughts. They’d certainly want to cup their hands around the hard, naked plain of his buttocks and—
“Here we are.”
Kat jerked her stare up and willed away a blush as Kimball glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “It’s the equal-rights-for-women suite.”
That announcement effectively distracted her. “What?”
“Come inside and see.” He grinned his pirate’s grin, and were it not for her disguise, she might have mentally added, Said the spider to the fly.
However, protected by the battle-ax persona she’d adopted, Kat brushed past Jake Kimball into her room. Did he just sniff at me as I went by?
Then, Kat forgot about her host as she realized what awaited her inside the bedroom. Framed newspaper articles decorated the walls: the Daily Telegraph, the Times, the Eclectic Review, the Guardian. Forgetting herself and her disguise, Kat laughed. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s subversive. Look at what some of these women proposed—divorce, equal pay, admittance to Gentleman’s clubs. Can you believe that? Such nonsense would set back men’s and women’s relations for a hundred years.”
Kat walked toward an article hung prominently on the north wall. A Victim of Bigamy Demands Justice for Her Children, read the headline. Kat swallowed a lump in her throat. Bigamy. Good heavens. “Where did this come from?”
“The California Spirit of the Times. I understand bigamy was quite a problem in California during the gold rush days.”
California wasn’t the only state with bigamists, Kat thought, a wave of sadness washing over her. “Not this article. All the articles.”
“I told you my father was a collector.”
“He must have been an interesting man.”
Kimball was staring at her peculiarly, as if he could sense her melancholy. Kat frowned. Perhaps her acting abilities weren’t quite up to snuff.
“My father was…driven,” he finally said. “It brought him great success, great wealth. I cannot say it brought him much happiness. As much as he wanted to possess things, he didn’t care much about human contact. His family paid the price.”
“You?”
His mouth quirked in a crooked grin. “Not until now,” he said, his tone wry. “I’m thinking of my sister. She wanted things from my father that he wasn’t able to give her.”
For the first time, Kat caught a glimpse of the man beyond the treasure hunter, beyond the scoundrel. Then Jake Kimball gave himself a shake and the maudlin tone of the moment disappeared. “My apologies. I did not intend to go off on such a tangent. Please make yourself at home, Mrs. Peters. The bedroom is through that door.” He motioned toward the wall to her left. “You’ll find a private water closet off the bedroom.”
A private water closet? If she, the mere companion, had one, then Emma’s room must be as well-appointed. The McBride Menaces certainly had landed in the lap of luxury this time. It’s too bad their grandmother couldn’t see them now—Monique would be so proud.
“And this door?” Kat asked, as much to fill the void in conversation as out of curiosity.
“It leads to another suite.”
“Another companion’s?” It would help Kat to know what other rooms around hers were occupied.
“Actually, Mrs….” he drew the word out “…Peters. Those rooms are mine.”
“Yours?” she squeaked.
“Mine.” His blue eyes stared into hers with a mesmerizing intensity. His voice dropped as he added, “If you should require anything during your stay, do not hesitate to knock. It’s my personal mission to make your stay here at Chatham Park a memorable one.”
With that, he lifted her hand to his lips for a gallant kiss. Kat didn’t move until the door shut behind him, and then, she only swallowed hard and stared at the back of her hand. Surely she’d imagined the quick stroke of his tongue against her knuckle. Hadn’t she?
JAKE’S FOUR nieces lined up before him like little soldiers. Dressed neatly in white pinafores trimmed in blue, green, yellow, and pink respectively, blue eyes shining with excitement, they listened intently to their instructions. Feeling rather like a field commander, Jake marched back and forth in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back, his tone serious as he repeated their instructions one last time.
Then, movement out on the lawn caught his attention. Three of his invited bridal hopefuls now congregated on the lawn like geese. “All right, girls. The battle is about to begin. Are you ready?”
They nodded.
“Very well, troops. Go and be yourselves.”
As the children scampered
away, Dair commented, “You are a diabolical man, my friend. I salute you.”
Jake slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered Kat McBride’s necklace while he watched the McBride sisters join the ladies congregating on the lawn. “I have to say, I’m enjoying the game. I feel as if I’m on the trail of a particularly enticing treasure.”
“Refresh my memory. When was the last time you didn’t find the prize you searched for?”
Daniel. Jake’s heart took a little hitch, then he shoved that sorrow aside. “Quite some time. Remember the Rasmussen diamond?”
Dair nodded. “That proves my point. If that’s the last time you came up empty, it supports the idea that you’re ordinarily quite careful about the prizes you choose to pursue.” Jake shrugged and Dair continued. “I suspect this one might give you a run for your money.”
As the children swooped down upon the bride contestants, Jake grinned. “I’m counting on it.”
The purpose of the inaugural event of the weekend was to introduce the girls to the “brides” and vice versa. Jake understood he needed to give the appearance of going through with his original plan. He needed the women to stay through the weekend to give him time to work things through with Kat McBride. Besides, he did entertain a tiny seed of worry that the lady could surprise him. Might refuse him.
Not if you do this right, he told himself.
Walking out onto the lawn, he prepared himself to do just that. “Good afternoon, ladies. I hope you’ve all rested from your journey.”
The competition began with a bevy of smiles from the beauties who subtly jockeyed for position in the front of the field. Emma Tate didn’t dance around to catch his notice, Jake observed. She was too busy surreptitiously watching Dair. Who, Jake was surprised to see, cast his own intense glances back.
When Belle made a hurry-up motion with her hands, Jake winked at her and continued. “I imagine you’re all curious about the itinerary you’ve been provided. I admit they are not all usual activities for a house party. However, this is not an ordinary house party.”
Her Scoundrel, Bad Luck Wedding #7 (Bad Luck Brides trilogy book two) Page 9