An Honorable Thief (26 page)

"Now?"

"If you like." He nodded, and she carefully drew the fork back. They both inspected the toast and after a short consultation, solemnly pronounced it ready to be buttered. That was Lady Marsden's job, apparently. She buttered the toast lavishly, honey was applied and the toast was devoured by child and man alike, with gusto.

Kit watched the whole procedure, a lump in her throat.

He sprawled, relaxed on the hearth rug, in his fine London clothes and his shiny Hessian boots, a small, decidedly sticky girl-child resting against his chest, sleepily licking honey from her fingers. He seemed not to mind at all, in fact he looked like a man who had been given a taste of Heaven for the evening.

Kit bit her lip. He looked so stern and severe and he'd been so gentle with the little one, it almost broke her heart to watch them.

He glanced over at her and smiled. He wasn't a man who smiled often. It made her want to weep again.

After that night at the opera, she'd resolved to keep him at a distance with the strictest, most rigid formality.

Formality was simply not possible; not when they were both sprawled on a hooked woollen rug in front of a crackling fire, the detritus of an impromptu picnic scattered around them and each with a sleepy child nestled against them. Or in his case, with a small tow-headed angel curled up in the crook of his arm, sound asleep against his heart.

Kit swallowed. Something seemed to be stuck in her throat.

"I think it is time we put these children to bed," said Lady Marsden softly. She stood and lifted Molly who was fast asleep, from her husband's arms. He in turn lifted the sleepy Nell from Kit's side and carried her through to the bedroom. Mr Devenish rose, Sally still asleep in his arms, and followed the Marsdens through to the children's bedroom.

He returned in a moment, stretching his arm. "Arm went to sleep," he grimaced slightly. "Little tyke weighs a ton."

Kit was not deceived. Like Sir William, Mr Devenish clearly loved children. And neither of them seemed to mind that they were only girl-children. It was an attitude Kit had never come across before. It wasn't because they were English, either. Her father was English and he'd been so bitter

about her mother's failure to give him a son. He'd never forgiven Kit for being a girl.

Sir William seemed not to mind that his wife had given him three worthless girls. He didn't even seem to think they were worthless. Nor did Mr Devenish...

Kit wondered if Mr Devenish would be as sanguine if his own wife failed to provide him with an heir. Would he treat his own daughters with such tenderness?

She watched him standing before the fire, his back to the room, his long strong legs braced in their black Hessian boots. She thought of the grave way he'd consulted with the little girl over the readiness of the toast. He hadn't acted like a man who thought little girls were a worthless nuisance.

His daughters would be lucky, she thought.

So would his wife...

Chapter Ten

"Kit, dear, you will be pleased to hear we are invited for luncheon to Gelliford House tomorrow." Rose smiled happily at Kit over the breakfast table.

"Oh, how nice," said Kit politely. "What is Gelliford House?"

"You have never heard of Gelliford House?" said Sir William, surprised.

Kit shook her head. "Should I?"

Rose looked at her, shocked. "But, Kit
—Gelliford House!"

Kit smiled and shrugged ruefully. "Never heard of it. I suppose it is some frightfully grand mansion where Shakespeare lived, or Queen Bess or someone. You forget I did not grow up in England. I do not know all the famous places."

Rose exchanged a glance with Lady Marsden and then said quietly to Kit, "It is not famous in the least
—only to our family. It was the house I was born in. All the Singletons were born there. Except you."

"Oh!" Kit realised she had blundered. Rose was supposed to be her aunt. She ought to know the name of her ancestral family home. "Sorry, Papa never mentioned the name of his home before. Is it far from here?"

"No, only a short drive. We shall leave after breakfast, and that will give us time to show you everything before luncheon," said Rose. "Our guests will not be arriving until at least four o'clock, and if we leave Gelliford at half past three, it will give us plenty of time to get home."

"We?"

"Oh, we are all invited," said Lady Marsden.

Kit's eyes went to Mr Devenish, who was addressing himself to a slice of ham. He glanced up, saw the question in her eyes and smiled faintly. “I have never been to Gelliford. It shall be most interesting to see your old family home. Did you spend your whole childhood there, Miss Rose?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, though it passed to a cousin when my father died. Papa was the second son, you know, so he was living there at his brother's grace. My cousin still lives there
—I suppose if you called him Cousin George, it would be all right, Kit, dear."

Gelliford House was not as beautiful as the Marsdens' home of Woodsden Lodge, but it was much bigger. It was set in a deer park, with a drive leading up to it, lined with ancient oaks.

Cousin George proved to be a spindly, earnest man in his late fifties, with a very strong sense of his own worth and lineage. He greeted Kit a little stiffly, as if he was doing her a great favour in receiving her at all. Kit wondered what Rose had told him to make him accept her as a relative.

He turned to Rose. "Ah, Rose, I suppose that fellow found you, all right?"

Rose looked puzzled. "Fellow? What fellow, Cousin George?"

"Fellow came looking for you, couple of weeks back.

Thought you lived here, for some reason. Sent him off to London."

"But who was he?''

Cousin George frowned, then shook his head. "Can't think of it for the moment. Thin dark fellow. Brown skin. Shouldn't be surprised if he was a foreigner. What have you to do with foreigners, eh, Rose?"

Rose looked bewildered. "I cannot imagine."

Kit felt anxious. She was the only connection with any foreigners. Was it some man who had known her father? Someone who had somehow made the connection with Kit Smith, vagabond adventuress and Miss Rose Singleton, respectable spinster of the ton?

"Forgotten his name, hang it," said Cousin George. "Never mind, it'll come back to me."

He showed them over the grounds first, then the rest of the house. The library was his pride and joy; he was something of a scholar, Kit surmised, and he would have lingered there all day, pulling out this volume or that to show them. However Rose was most anxious for them all to visit the portrait gallery before lunch.

"The paintings are the most interesting, I think," she said. "They date from the earliest times and the whole family is there."

"Yes," agreed Cousin George. "It is really a very comprehensive collection. Any student of physiognomy will find it a source of fascination to trace the development and inheritance of the family features. You, for instance, Cousin Kit, have your grandmother's eyes."

"Oh, really?" she said. "How astonishing." It was more than astonishing, since she was no relative at all to this family. And her father had remarked more than once that she had her mother's blue eyes.

"Yes, I thought so too. And the dresses and jewellery are very interesting too," added Rose. "It was the custom for the ladies
—for everyone, really—to be painted in their finest dresses and jewels, displaying the family wealth, you know."

"Yes?" said Kit politely, not terribly interested in jewels or dresses.

She felt, rather than saw Mr Devenish give her a sharp look. She glanced across and found herself on the receiving end of a very stern minatory look. Why would he look at her in that way? she wondered. As if she was a naughty child about to do mischief. But she'd been on her best behaviour, a little bored perhaps, but no one could appear fascinated with Cousin George's tedious lectures.

Then it hit her in a flash and she wanted to giggle. He couldn't, surely, think she was planning to rob Gelliford House?
 
,

"These jewels, Aunt Rose, are they still in the family?" she asked innocently.

As Cousin George explained that some indeed were still in the family and in fact were stored in a secret vault in the house, Kit watched Mr Devenish out of the corner of her eye. She managed to keep a straight face as his frown grew blacker and blacker.

He did. He thought she was going to rob Gelliford House. What enchanting sport!

"Let us all go into the Great Hall," said Cousin George. "That is where the portrait gallery is situated."

Everybody moved forward, and Mr Devenish reached to take Kit's arm in what he no doubt thought of as protective custody, but she skipped sideways and attached herself to a surprised Cousin George.

With a Watchdog bristling a pace behind her, Kit saun-tered towards the Great Hall, arm in arm with Cousin George. “Tell me, Cousin George, these family jewels, are there any diamonds? I have a particular interest in diamonds, you see."

Behind her, she could feel Mr Devenish stiffen.

"And how much do you think these old family pieces would be worth today, Cousin George? As much as that, you think? Really?"

Mr Devenish came abreast of them and scowled blackly across at her. Kit smiled serenely back and returned to her questioning of Cousin George.

"I hope they are securely locked away. I don't suppose you'd care to show a long-lost cousin the secret vault, would you, dear Cousin George?"

She made sure that each question wafted to the ears of her glowering one-man audience, though she was fairly certain he could not hear her cousin's responses, uttered as they were in a dry and dusty voice. She fanned the flames of the Watchdog's suspicions all the way to the Great Hall.

Cousin George naturally began with the oldest paintings, many of which were rather gloomy and stiff, in Kit's opinion. She was very glad she wasn't related to these people
— they were a dreary lot for the most part, she thought, though some of the women struck a chord in her.

Grim-faced men abounded, looking important, or self-con-sequential, or simply dull. She disliked the hunting scenes most, where a gentleman and his son or sons, bristling with weaponry, would be posed with hunting dogs at their feet, horses behind, and a variety of slaughtered beasts scattered around
—hares, pheasants, perhaps a boar, sometimes even a stag.

Posed with the adults were stiff little children from every age, dressed as miniature adults and looking solemn and uncomfortable. Some of the little girls were in tightly laced corsets and looked as if they could barely move, poor little creatures.

The ladies certainly exhibited a variety of fashion, making Kit realise how transient a thing beauty was; in some periods, it seemed that the ladies needed high foreheads to

be thought beautiful; some had their hairline plucked so high, it looked to Kit's eyes as if they were almost bald.

"Admiring the jewellery?" grated a deep voice behind her. "I am watching every move you make, don't forget."

Kit giggled. "Yes," she said in a melodramatic whisper.

"I have winkled the secret of the hidden vault from poor, unsuspecting Cousin George and will be back here at dead of night to plunder the place and loot its ancient treasures.

Then I will depart on my midnight steed."

"Oh," he said stiffly. He stared at her a moment, as if trying to decide whether she was truly teasing, or whether she was playing a double game and pretending to tease, to put him off the scent.

Kit winked cheekily.

The hard grey gaze softened slightly. “You are a baggage, miss," he said severely, but his lips twitched. Then his face hardened again. “You have no idea of the danger you court. But know I am watching you. You have clearly not taken to heart what I said to you the other night
—''

Not taken to heart? How could she not have taken it to heart
—his words were enshrined there forever. Kit would never forget him saying it, in that ragged, tender, gruff, matter-of-fact voice.
Marry me.

"You will hang, if they catch you!"

Kit flushed. "Oh, that."

"Yes, that, miss! And I will not allow you to risk yourself any further. Your neck is too pretty to stretch."

She shrugged lightly and strolled towards the next painting. Of course she was worried about being caught. She was not stupid. She'd known from the start that the keeping of her promise to her father entailed the risk of her life. But she'd made the promise and the rest followed. And she had learned young that if you lived a life of risk and danger, with an axe poised to fall on your neck any moment, you

had two choices: live in fear, or take each moment of joy as it came. She, like her father, had chosen the latter.

Hugo clenched his fists. He had rarely been so frustrated in all his adult life. He had become accustomed to ordering things
—and people—how he liked them. It was his instinct to protect what was his. He protected his home, his belongings, his employees—even, in his own way, his less-than-appreciative relatives. But there was never anyone he wanted—no,
needed
to protect more than Miss Kit Singleton.