Her Scoundrel

by Geralyn Dawson

  She turned away from the window, took a seat in a carved mahogany-and-leather, throne-type chair and tried to turn her attention back to the novel she’d pilfered from the library.

  Five minutes later she was back at the window.

  Out on the lawn, her sister was playfully struggling over a croquet mallet with MacRae. Jake had abandoned Miss Yancy and was now repeating his croquet lesson with the duke’s niece, Miss Wainwright. The four girls frolicked in the middle of the field. Mrs. Hartman sat on an iron bench beneath a shade tree with the toddling marquess in her lap.

  Kat startled when a knock sounded on the door behind her. “Miss McBride?” called the butler. “A message has arrived from London addressed to Mrs. Tate and Mrs. Peters. Mr. Kimball instructed me to bring it to you.”

  Kat let out a growling noise, then marched to the door and yanked it open. Chatham Park’s butler stood in the hallway holding a silver tray upon which lay a vellum envelope. “How did you know I was here?” Kat asked, reaching for the note.

  “Mr. Kimball told me.”

  Kat narrowed her eyes and frowned. How did he know? No one followed her up here. She’d made sure. Not even Emma knew which room she’d chosen to conceal herself in today. He must have someone spying on me.

  Probably one of the girls, she decided. This house no doubt had hidden passages like her parents’ home. Heaven knows, Kat and her sisters had spent their fair share of time spying on visitors come to call at Willow Hill.

  Kat took the envelope from the tray, then closed the door. “Monique,” she murmured aloud, recognizing the handwriting on the envelope. She opened the letter and read. “Oh, great. Just great.”

  Her grandmother had run off and gotten “married.” Again. What was it? The fifth time? Tenth? Kat couldn’t keep it straight.

  Monique had lost her husband, Jenny’s father, to pneumonia when Kat and her sisters were still girls. She’d grieved hard for a year, then proceeded to form a series of romantic liaisons with gentlemen all over the globe. Monique saw that the couple always had a wedding ceremony of a sort, but never one that was legal, thus leaving her free to marry again at will.

  Now, apparently, according to her letter, she had picked her new partner and departed England on an extended honeymoon to Greece. She wrote that the girls should continue on their travels without her. They could expect Monique to return to Texas next winter. She’d signed the missive “Monique, Countess of Wharton.”

  “An earl, for Pete’s sake.” Kat chuckled softly. Some things never change.

  Well, she guessed she’d better track down her sister and give her the news. Emma would want to know this information as soon as possible.

  Kat stepped out into the corridor, then paused in front of a hall mirror where she checked her hair, pinched her cheeks, then bit at her lips. Satisfied with her reflection, she hurried downstairs.

  If the thought occurred that she was happy to have an excuse to join the others wearing one of Emma’s dresses instead of her disguise, she didn’t acknowledge it. She was too busy planning how to worm her way into the croquet game.

  She couldn’t wait to take a croquet mallet to Jake Kimball’s ball.

  MOIST BLACK soil clung to the white wire wicket when Jake tugged it from the ground at his nieces’ request.

  Bored with the relative calm of a game of croquet, the girls had requested they begin a new game, baseball.

  The question had sent a wave of nostalgia running through Jake. One of his earliest memories was of his father jumping to his feet and roaring with delight as the Knickerbockers’ first baseman whacked a home run in a game against the Gothams at Elysian Fields in New Jersey. Jake’s 1869 Brooklyn Athletics card formed the basis of his most prized personal collection, his baseball cards. Jake recalled many a summer afternoon when he and his sister joined neighborhood children in a game. It’s no wonder she’d taught her daughters to enjoy the sport.

  “Uncle Jake?” Miranda ran toward him, one of four sand-filled bases clutched to her chest. “Here comes Miss McBride.”

  Delight ribboned through him as he turned and looked toward the house to see Kat striding toward them. She looked stunning, her eyes aglow, color in her cheeks. She wore the yellow silk dress her sister had worn to his interview. Jake smiled with masculine appreciation at seeing her true figure revealed, and around him the remaining potential brides stirred.

  “Who’s she?” he heard Mrs. Hartman ask.

  “She looks like that woman from Texas,” Miss Yancy declared.

  “Hmm,” murmured the brides simultaneously, as if they’d realized that the odds of winning the contest had grown longer.

  Jake wondered if any of them would recognize the transformation of “Mrs. Peters.”

  When he’d spied Kat standing in the window of the armor room earlier, he’d been moved to flirt conspicuously with the women. He’d hoped such behavior on the heels of his marriage proposal might annoy Kat enough to draw her outside.

  “Do you think she’ll play baseball with us, Uncle Jake?” Miranda asked.

  “I’ll bet we can convince her.”

  “Good. The more players we have, the more fun the game is.”

  Jake glanced around at the remaining women. “Yes, Miranda. I do believe you are right.”

  Miss Yancy stepped closer to Jake and flashed him a winsome smile. “I hope you’ll choose me to be on your team, Mr. Kimball.”

  He gave her hand a gallant kiss. “I’d be honored to have you on my team, my dear. However, Miranda and Theresa have captain’s honors. Right, girls?”

  “That’s right,” Theresa piped up. “My team is the Green Caterpillars and Miranda is calling hers the Yellow Jackets.”

  “We’re going to sting you,” Miranda added. She reached out and pinched Miss Yancy, saying, “Buzz.”

  “Ow.” Miss Yancy’s smile had some teeth in it as she slapped playfully at the girl.

  Returning his attention to Kat who had now drawn within earshot, Jake decided that introductions were in order. “Ladies, allow me to introduce Miss McBride of Fort Worth, Texas. Miss McBride, these ladies are—”

  “We met yesterday,” Kat said, cutting him off. “I’m Mrs. Tate’s sister. I came to Chatham Park in disguise.”

  Following a pregnant pause, Mrs. Hartman asked, “Why?”

  Kat shrugged. “I’d hoped to steal something from Mr. Kimball, but he found me out.” While the women gaped and gawked, Kat turned to Jake and asked, “Where is Emma?”

  Jake glanced around. Both Emma and Dair had gone missing. Imagine that. “I’m afraid I didn’t see her leave.”

  “She and Mr. Dair have taken Robbie inside to change his nappy,” the new nanny explained. “I offered to take him, but Mrs. Tate insisted.”

  Belle skipped up to join the group. “They’re coming right back. They said to go ahead and pick teams. You’ll play, too, won’t you, Miss McBride?”

  “Please?” Theresa wound her green hair ribbon around her finger.

  Miranda smiled hopefully. “Miss Emma told me you can swing a bat real good.”

  Kat’s gaze flickered from one girl to another. Jake read the refusal in her eyes, but as she opened her mouth to respond, Miss Starnes batted her lashes toward Jake and said, “I am quite an…athletic…woman. I’d love to…play. I just need a bit of instruction. Mr. Kimball, I’d like to place myself in your expert hands.” Her voice dipped into a purr as she added, “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  Kat snorted.

  Not to be outdone, Miss Wainwright stepped forward. “I’d like some instruction from you, too, Mr. Kimball.”

  Kat rolled her eyes.

  After that, Mrs. Hartman and Miss Yancy chimed in, presenting their athletic qualifications and personal desires with tittering giggles and come-hither looks. Soon Jake found himself instructing the bride prospects in batting stance and swing. Of course, doing so meant he had to stand behind them place his hands atop theirs on the bat and demonstrate the motion of the s
wing. Each of them used the occasion to brush and rub against him like cats looking for a good stroking.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Kat muttered, scowling with disgust. “Have you people no pride at all?”

  Jake had to stifle a laugh when Miranda met Kat’s gaze and said, “They’re all cooey and cuddly because they want to marry him. It makes me want to throw up.”

  Kat rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Turns my stomach, too.”

  At that, Jake couldn’t help but sputter. He disguised his laughter by turning it into a cough and stepped away from the bride in his arms. “Miss McBride? Shall I instruct you in the fine art of how to hit a baseball, too?”

  Kat paused, looked up into the sky. “I shouldn’t,” she said softly. “I know I shouldn’t, but the temptation is so great.”

  “I’m a firm believer in indulging in temptation, Miss McBride,” Jake said, showing a devilish grin. He held his arms out wide. “Step into my office, my dear.”

  As the brides muttered, Kat said, “You know, Mr. Kimball, I learn best by visual instruction. Why don’t I pitch the ball to you, and you can show me how it’s done?”

  It was a direct challenge, a trap. So you think you’re a pitcher, do you ? “Now, why do I suspect you have ulterior motives with this suggestion?”

  Her smile bordering on sly, Kat wiggled her fingers toward Theresa. The girl gave the woman the baseball. Gesturing toward the field, Kat asked, “Shall we?”

  Miranda placed the bases, then Jake stepped toward home plate, the prospect of competition putting a spring in his step and a gleam in his eyes. He tested the weight of the bat and took a few practice swings as he waited for Kat to take the pitcher’s mound. “One of you girls want to be catcher?” he asked his nieces.

  Theresa waved her arm, then wrestled a mitt away from Belle and dashed toward home plate.

  Kat whistled a jaunty tune as she sashayed her way out to the pitcher’s mound. “Would you mind too much if I toss a couple of practice balls before I throw at you, Mr. Kimball?”

  At me? Suspicious of her innocent air, Jake narrowed his eyes. “Be my guest.”

  “Give me a target, Theresa,” Kat said.

  The girl held the baseball mitt in front of her chest. Just the way her mother taught her, Jake thought, glowing with a sense of pride. Kat tossed the ball into the air then caught it. Once. Twice. Three times. “Ready, Theresa?”

  When Jake’s niece nodded, Kat made a gentle, underhanded throw that crossed the plate at a snail’s pace and landed softly in Theresa’s glove. Theresa tossed the ball back to Kat who made a second gentle throw. Jake wondered if he’d read the woman wrong. Maybe she did want batting tips, after all.

  “All right,” Kat called. “I’m ready.”

  Jake stepped up to the plate. “Do you want to me talk you through a swing or do you want to ask me questions?”

  Kat finger-waved to her obviously shocked sister who’d returned from the house with a freshened toddler in her arms, then smiled at Jake. “How about I make a couple of throws and then we’ll decide how best to proceed?’

  As was his habit, Jake tapped his bat twice on the ground, then brought it back over his shoulder. Wanting to set a good example, he paid attention to his form. Bat up and back, he wiggled his wrists, waggled his butt and kept his eye on the ball.

  Until Kat McBride did a bit of waggling of her own. Concealing the ball behind her back, she leaned toward the plate. Jake’s eyes about popped out of his head. Her top few buttons had come undone, and he could see skin and the shadow between her breasts. Plump mounds swelled toward him. Jake’s mouth went dry.

  Kat moved with the fluid grace of a ballet dancer, and the ball sailed past.

  Theresa jerked up a thumb. “Strike.”

  “Wait a minute.” Jake glared down at his niece, then back toward the pitcher’s mound. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Kat sucked on her bottom hp. Her plump, rosy bottom lip. “You were standing over the plate with your bat at the ready, so I just assumed…”

  Jake stepped away from the plate. Just assumed, my ass. She’d done that on purpose.

  Theresa tossed the ball back to Kat McBride who caught it with practiced ease. The woman was a ball player. A ball player and a sneak. Bet she had unfastened those buttons herself. She should be ashamed, flashing her bounty in order to distract him.

  Wonder if she’d hike up her skirts when she ran the bases?

  “Is there a problem?” Kat asked, the innocence in her tone at odds with the glee in her gaze.

  Little witch. Two can play at this game, by God. “No problem. No problem at all.” Jake slipped his bat between his legs and held it with his thighs while he rolled up his shirtsleeves above his elbows, his gaze fixed upon her mouth. Then he stepped up to the plate.

  He rolled his shoulders. Flexed every muscle he could flex. He waggled the bat. Waggled his butt. Winked at her and said, “All right, little cat. Show me what you have.”

  After nervously drawing the back of her hand across her brow, Kat repeated her wind-up. Eye on the ball, Jake told himself. Don’t notice her cleavage. The ball. The ball.

  The ball came at him hard and inside. Jake swung around just as it dropped. His swing swished smoothly through the air.

  Theresa did the thumb thing again. “Strike two, Uncle Jake,” Belle called helpfully from the sidelines.

  Her expression perplexed, Kat tapped her lips with an index finger for a moment before she stopped, smiled and snapped her fingers. “I get it. You’re teaching what not to do!”

  Jake scowled, snarled, then said, “Enough is enough.”

  From behind him to the right, he heard Dair MacRae say, “What do you want to bet that he hits this into the pond?”

  Emma Tate responded. “She’ll strike him out swinging. Kat has a better fast ball than the starting pitcher for the Fort Worth Panthers.”

  Now Jake’s pride was on the line. He choked up on the bat. Focused on the ball. All business. No nonsense. He’d hit it to the far side of the damned pond, by God.

  Kat wiped her hand on her dress. Right along the curve of her hip. She wiggled that hip, right to left, then right again.

  Watch the ball. The ball. The ball.

  She began her windup. Jake drew back the bat. He wouldn’t look at the way her tongue slicked across her mouth or the creamy vee of skin dipping into her bodice. The ball. The ball.

  She drew her right arm back. Her left arm got tangled in her skirt. As her arm came forward, her skirt hiked up.

  He saw lace. Lots of lace. A flash of skin.

  The baseball streaked toward him. Sonofabitch.

  He managed, just barely and by the grace of God, to get some wood on it. Not much wood. Just enough to send it flying foul. Right at Dair.

  The ball hit Jake’s friend right in the nose. Dair let out a yelp.

  “Oh, hell,” Jake muttered as he saw blood spurt.

  “For goodness’ sake, Kat,” Emma snapped, tossing a glare toward her sister as they all converged on Dair. “You should warn people before you pull that stunt.”

  Then she shoved the baby into her sister’s arms and turned her attention toward Dair, clucking her tongue and cooing in sympathy. The girls oohed and ahhed and made exclamations of disgust and interest about the blood. The brides tittered and winced. Jake glanced at Kat and halted midstep.

  Kat held the baby at arm’s length, her eyes round and glassy, her complexion bleached white. Her chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths. Jake feared she might faint dead away.

  “Kat?” he asked. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m the one bleeding here,” MacRae grumbled.

  “I…I…” She closed her eyes and hugged Robbie close. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

  “I’m all right, Emma,” Dair said. “Bloodied, but not broken. This isn’t the first time Jake Kimball gave me a bloody nose and it probably won’t be the last.”

  E
mma clucked some more. “Let’s get you up to the house and we’ll put ice on it.”

  “But your sister…”

  Emma glanced at Kat, and a myriad of emotions chased across her face. “She’ll be fine. If she’ll give herself half a chance, she’ll be fine.” Then, slipping her arm around Dair’s waist, Emma Tate propelled him toward the house.

  Kat stood frozen in place. Robbie’s right fist beat playfully at her cheek as he gooed and giggled. His left hand tangled in her hair. Jake wasn’t certain whether the little mewling sounds came from her throat or the baby’s. The girls looked at one another, shrugged, then shot questioning looks toward Jake. He shrugged right back at them. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Is the game over?” one of the brides asked.

  Without taking his gaze off Kat, Jake nodded. “Why don’t you ladies go back to your rooms and rest for a while? We’ll pick up with the scheduled itinerary after lunch.”

  Miss Wainwright sniffed. “I wanted a turn. My moves are as good as Miss McBride’s.”

  “Goodbye, ladies.” Jake then cocked his head toward his nieces, motioning them to move along, too. Miss Parker held out her hands to take the baby.

  Wordlessly Kat handed Robbie to his nanny, then turned to leave. Jake fell into step beside her, keeping pace as she walked blindly away from the house, not speaking, an island unto herself. Jake shoved his hands into his pants pockets and entertained second thoughts about his proposal.

  A man didn’t need to be a mind reader to realize Miss Katrina McBride had an emotional hitch where the children were concerned. She was protective of them, but not comfortable with them. Being around the children made her stiff and brittle, and her smiles never reached her eyes. Oh, she was kind to them. Gentle. Considerate. But she never relaxed while in the company of his nieces and nephew. Was her reaction a result of having lost a child?

  Maybe so. Jake shot her a sidelong glance. If that were the case, maybe Kat McBride wasn’t the best choice for a bride after all. Maybe she wouldn’t be good for the children. Or the children good for her.