“Aren’t you darling little angels,” one of the brides— the knight’s widow—said.
The girls beamed. Jake resisted correcting the young woman and continued. “As you undoubtedly are aware, I intend to provide my nieces and nephew a home from now on, and my wife will be intimately involved in their upbringing. Consequently, it’s important for the girls to get to know you, thus they’ll be spending time with each of you alone. I trust you’ll give them the attention they require during these entertainments?”
The women all murmured their agreement.
Jake removed a folded slip of paper from his jacket pocket and addressed the baron’s daughter, a shop girl and the ducal niece. “Miss Walker, Miss Yancy and Miss Wainwright, Miranda requests that you accompany her on a walk to the folly. Is that agreeable with you?”
The three women smiled and nodded.
Jake winked at Miranda, who skipped over to her assignments and said, “This way, please.”
Theresa, the sea captain’s daughter and the other shop girl prepared to take a pony cart ride around the lake. Belle challenged the knight’s widow to a game of checkers. All departed, leaving the McBride sisters with Caroline and Jake. Jake gave his niece’s hand a squeeze. “Mrs. Tate, Caroline would like to spend time with you this afternoon. Would you care to join her at the fish pond?’
“That sounds delightful,” Emma replied. She offered Caroline a winning smile and added, “I’ve been a fisherwoman since I was your age. I’ve spent many a pleasant summer afternoon beside the Trinity River fishing for catfish.”
Caroline’s eyes went round and she shot her uncle a questioning look.
“Catfish are one of the ugliest fish you could ever see, sunshine,” Jake explained. “Picture a big fish with whiskers.”
To Emma he said, “Caroline doesn’t speak, but if you pay attention, her eyes tell it all.”
Then he addressed Kat McBride. “Shall we tag along behind them, Mrs. Peters?”
Kat pursed her lips as if pondering his question for a moment, then she briskly shook her head. “Thank you, but I think I’ll just spend the time resting in my room.”
I’ll bet. “But you’re her chaperone. Shouldn’t you stay with her?”
“Heavens, no. She’s not a young ingénue. She’s a widow. Not a young widow, either.”
“Well, thank you,” Emma interjected, a bite to her tone.
“I’m not really her chaperone,” Kat continued. “I’m simply Mrs. Tate’s traveling companion, her friend. You go along with them, Mr. Kimball. You can help take the fish they catch off the hooks. Emma loves catching, but she hates unhooking.”
Emma’s smile was sheepish. “She’s right. I can do it if I must, but I prefer pawning that task off on someone else.”
“No worry, there.” Jake playfully tapped his niece on the nose. “Caroline is a champion fish-taker-offer. Right, sunshine?”
The girl’s eyes glittered with laughter and she nodded.
Dair spoke up. “I’d be happy to accompany you ladies and assist if needed.” He winked at Caroline and added, “I wouldn’t mind having help removing fish from my line, myself. Squirmy, slimy things scare me.”
Caroline rolled her eyes at that bit of nonsense.
“There you go.” Jake stuck his hands in his pockets, then said, “All right, Mrs. Peters. We’ll leave you to your rest.”
She backed away from them, waving her fingers and smiling. . “Good luck, Caroline. Here’s wishing you a record catch.”
Kat turned and walked sedately toward the house. Jake would bet his favorite fertility totem that she dearly wanted to run. He’d allow her twenty minutes, he decided. That would give her plenty of time to get into trouble. In the meantime, he’d walk along with Caroline and Emma Tate. Who knows what interesting tidbit he might learn from his sister-in-law-to-be?
“All right, ladies. Let’s proceed to the fish pond and dig some worms for your hooks, shall we?”
Then I’ll meander back to the house and see if the little minnow has taken my bait.
KAT REALIZED she needed an organized approach to her search, so she chose to work from the top down, right to left. That meant she’d begin in Chatham Park’s north wing. Just to be thorough, she made a quick sweep of the servants’ quarters, then she descended a floor to the guest bedrooms where she tried the handles on every door.
Most wouldn’t open, and rather than waste time trying to pick the locks—a skill she’d learned while on the road with Rory—she made a mental note of the rooms requiring a return visit. The rooms she was able to enter proved to be unoccupied bedrooms and, like her own, were decorated in themes. She discovered a room of dolls, one of wooden train models, one of seashells. She didn’t find anything the least bit Texan or religious oriented, but she wasn’t worried. Jake Kimball’s father had been passionate about his Texana collection. She expected him to have it housed in a more prominent location within the huge house—if it were even in Chatham Park.
Her necklace posed a different problem. If Kimball owned a collection of jewels, she doubted she’d find them lying around waiting to be stolen. What she hoped to find was a room with signs of having more substantial security than she noticed elsewhere in the house.
“Maybe I should have started at the bottom and worked my way up,” she muttered. Knowing the other guests were either out of the house or in the saloon taking tea made snooping easier. Nevertheless, it wasn’t until she descended to the common rooms on the next floor that her pulse sped up and the speed of her search slowed down. In these rooms, themes were not so readily transparent.
Kat shut the door of the ante-library behind her. The scent of leather and tobacco permeated the air, and a section of bookshelf immediately caught her notice. “A History of Texas,” she read aloud. “Flora and Fauna in the American Southwest.”
Did this room hold all or part of Jake Kimball’s father’s collection of Texana? Could it be this easy?
She made a quick visual search of the room, but saw no sign of an altar cross. No, it wouldn’t be this easy.
The room was filled with treasures, however, and she tried to figure out what theme tied them all together. From the mythological scene of the painted ceiling, her gaze trailed down the walls, across bookshelves interspersed with a painting of a gentleman with a tricorn hat, another of coaches on a dusty mountain road and a third of cattle and deer in a park. Furniture consisted of gilt wood armchairs and sofa in a neoclassical design, and two easy chairs upholstered in contemporary needlework. She spied a large collection of oriental blue-and-white porcelain, a group of Minton figures and a jeweled ormolu-and- white-marble mantel clock beneath a glass dome.
“What pulls it together?” she murmured, picking up a Copeland figure of a girl feeding birds.
A voice behind her rumbled, “Blue. The color blue. Chatham Park boasts a room dedicated to each of the primary colors. Why are you in my blue room, Mrs. Peters?”
Kat whirled around. Jake Kimball hadn’t made a sound as he’d entered the room. Darn. She ordinarily had better hearing while acting improperly.
One dark eyebrow arched. “Stealing the porcelain, perhaps?”
Kat asked herself what Wilhemina Peters would do in a situation like this, then she descended into character by going on the offensive. “This house is ostentatiously large, Mr. Kimball. If you are going to invite guests here, you should have manners enough to provide them with a map. I’ve been lost for hours, and I am quite devastated by the event. It’s downright rude to leave guests in such turmoil, sir, and it doesn’t reflect well upon your hospitality.”
Kat finished the harangue with her best imitation of Wilhemina Peters’s full-bosomed harrumph and attempted to brush past him and out of the room.
He stopped her by gripping her arm just above the elbow. Then he reached behind him with his free hand and swung the door shut. “Not so fast, my dear,” he said, his voice a low and somewhat threatening purr. “You’ll pardon the forwardness of my upcomi
ng action, but we’ve been beset by theft here at Chatham Park. It is my duty to protect the premises.”
He stood so close, Kat could feel his body heat and his masculine scent, a combination of sandalwood and leather. Wary, she narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘protect the premises’?”
His grip on her arm firmed, and his free hand slid slowly down her side. Kat didn’t have to fake her gasp at the boldness of his touch, and when his hand slipped into her dress pocket, she protested, “Sir!”
“What is this?” He removed a small figure of a trapper.
“How did that get there?” Kat asked in honest confusion.
“It’s impolite to steal from one’s host, madam.” He set the figurine on a table. “What else do you have hidden away?”
“Nothing. I didn’t take that. I don’t know how—” She broke off abruptly as his hand smoothed upward from her hip and along her waist. She attempted to wrench away from him to no avail, before his hand swept across her bodice.
“Well. What have we here?” he asked, his fingers prodding the stuffing in her corset “Your flesh feels rather feathery.”
“Get your hands off me,” Kat snapped, trying yet again to pull away. This time he allowed her to go. But when she attempted to sweep past him, out of the room, he stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
“You’re not at all what you seem, now are you? This discovery begs the question Why the disguise? What are you concealing? What do you fear my finding out? Your identity? Your purpose for sneaking around my ante-library? Could it be you are looking to steal something more valuable than a figurine from me?” She struggled as he removed her eyeglasses, then tugged off her wig. His blue eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “A jeweled cross, perhaps, Miss McBride?”
Kat put both hands against his hard chest and shoved. This time he let her go.
“How did you know?” she asked, her voice trembling. Whether from anger or reaction to his nearness, she wasn’t sure.
His lips stretched in a slow smile. “You’re an unforgettable woman, my dear. I don’t believe I’ve ever known a woman with eyes as green as yours. What color would you say they were?” He moved toward her. “Celadon? Malachite? Serpentine?”
Kat backed away. “Green. They’re just green.”
“No.” He kept advancing.
Kat felt the wall of bookshelves against her back. She thought she should probably make a dash for the door, but she couldn’t seem to make herself look away from him. His stare was intense. Mesmerizing. She had a quick mental vision of how he’d looked the first time she’d seen him. Naked and wet and gleaming beneath the warm Texas sun.
Her mouth went dry.
“Your eyes are more than just green,” he insisted. “They’re like cat’s eyes. Kat’s eyes. I’m curious to learn if they glow in the dark.”
Holy Hannah Now she was flat against the bookshelf, his hands against the wall on either side of her. Trapping her. Her fingers searched book spines, gripped a thick volume, a weapon should she need it.
His gaze dropped to her lips. “What are you doing here, Katrina?”
Getting into trouble, I’m afraid.
Again.
“I’d thought you’d given up on your quest for the Sacred Heart Cross. Your letters quit following me around the world.”
No mention of the necklace. He obviously wasn’t aware that his niece had spilled the beans, so to speak. Kat cleared her throat. “I lost interest in you.”
“I’m crushed.” He moved closer and his body heat toasted her skin. “I quite enjoyed your entreaties. They showed such imagination. I admire a woman with imagination. Perhaps I can…entice your interest once again?”
Oh, my. Oh-my-oh-my-oh-my.
He leaned forward, inhaled her scent. “Mmm. Spicy. Perfect.”
Perfect?
“You still want the cross, don’t you?”
Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. She licked her dry lips and his eyes narrowed. “I do.”
“I’m glad.” His head clipped toward her. He nuzzled her hair.
Her blood hummed and her eyes drifted shut. “You’re glad?”
“I’m…excited.”
So was she. Heaven help her, she was excited and needy and achy for the first time in years. For the first time since Rory. Rory. Another scoundrel. What was wrong with her? Why was she attracted to the wrong kind of men?
His lips brushed the sensitive skin just behind her ear, and Kat shivered. She tilted her head, allowing him better access to her neck. He immediately accepted the unspoken invitation, and his teeth gently scraped her skin. Kat caught her breath. She wanted to sink against him, to press against his hard, hot body. She wanted to trail her fingers across his naked skin. She wanted…she wanted.
“Kiss me.” Deep and persuasive, his voice caused her nipples to tighten beneath the mounds of padding.
“No,” she breathed, her tremulous voice just above a whisper. She couldn’t believe her body was reacting this way to this man. It frightened her.
He drew back. Stared deeply into her eyes. He didn’t speak, but Kat heard him nonetheless. Yes. Oh, yes, Katrina. Say yes.
“No,” she said, with a little more force.
He stroked his finger across her bottom lip. “Is that intended for me or for yourself? Do you truly want me to walk away, sweeting?”
She felt herself drowning, and instinct took control. She lifted her chin, offered her mouth, yearning for that sweet, savory taste of life she’d gone without for so long. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t go.”
Lightly Jake Kimball’s mouth touched hers, his lips moving with tantalizing expertise across her tender skin. The taste of him, brandy and passion, filled her senses, and Kat’s lashes fluttered, then drifted shut. Sighing, she swayed into his arms. Jake murmured a sound of victory.
Locking his arms around her, he drew her against his chest. The heat of him burned through the layers of their clothing and seeped inside her, warming her. Making her hot. Hotter than she’d ever been in her life.
Her pulse pounded and arousal rippled through her, coaxing her, stimulating her.
Affecting her.
He said her name once, softly, then deepened the kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth, hungry and demanding. Kat wound her arms around his neck and accepted the intimacy of his tongue with an eagerness that surprised them both.
Yearning, naked and hot, built within her. Passion. It was passion, and it exploded out of Kat like Fourth of July fireworks. It had been so long since she’d known a man’s touch. So long since she’d felt alive.
So long since anyone had held her.
It felt good. So good.
She almost wept.
His hands moved restlessly over her back, stroking up and down. Her fingers delved into his thick hair, then drifted to his shoulders, clutching the layers of muscle that stretched across his broad frame. She clung to him, her senses reeling, giving as good as she got. Their mouths mated, their tongues battled, their breath mingled. The kiss went on and on and on.
Part of Kat knew she should be shocked by Jake’s bold behavior, or at the very least offended. A part of her was screaming for her to resist him. To resist her own weakness.
But the biggest part of her wanted it never to end.
Lost in his kiss, Kat forgot her worries, her troubles dad strife. Her blood rushed warm through her veins.
Her nerves sizzled with pleasure. Sensations dormant for years flowered into full bloom. Lost in his kiss, Kat came to life again.
Had he lowered her to the floor right then, she’d have murmured not a sound of protest.
Instead, he pulled away, and the cold sense of loss seeped back into Kat’s bones.
He stared at her, his blue eyes darkened with passion like a stormy sea. Satisfaction gleamed in his expression. Slowly he reached out and traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Spicy sweet. Just as I suspected.”
Kat shivered at his touch and tried
to calm her pounding heart. “Mr. Kimball, I—”
He moved his index finger to her hp. “Call me Jake. I think we’ve moved that far, don’t you, Katrina?”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to think or feel or do. She was caught inside a whirlwind of emotion that left her battered and baffled. “How did this happen?”
“It’s rather simple.” Amusement lightened his eyes. “You were snooping, I caught you, and I kissed you.”
That was more than just a kiss. He’d stripped away first her disguise and then her defenses. “Why?”
Now he chuckled. “Because I wanted to, sweeting. And I always get what I want.”
He winked devilishly, and Kat’s guard went up. She might be attracted to him, but she wasn’t stupid. Looking at Jake Kimball now was like seeing Rory all grown-up and dangerous.
How frightening was that? This was no youthful, playful rogue like her late not-quite husband. This was a mature, sexy, wealthy, successful, seductive, infuriating scoundrel.
Katrina Julianne McBride, get your bustle back to London as fast as the carriage will carry you.
Jake caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. “You are an infinitely kissable woman, Kat McBride, even dressed up like a frumpy old woman.”
He stared into her eyes and sucked her fingers, one by one.
For the first time in memory, Kat thought she might swoon. The man had stumped her. Nothing was going as planned. He was supposed to be with Emma at the fish pond, not here, kissing her, sucking her fingers, sending her senses into a tailspin. She didn’t begin to know how to respond to that. She should slap his face. She should kick him in the shins.
Although, if he’d kissed her for merely snooping, no telling what he might do if she attacked him.
A delicious shiver went down her spine.
Kat closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? Had she lost every last shred of self-respect?
Jake Kimball didn’t seem to care about self-respect. And it was patently obvious he didn’t care about propriety. Nor did he even notice Kat’s distress.
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