Destined to Last (19 page)

She tripped a little on the front hall rug and decided that a woman who had just picked herself off the floor in front of a room full of guests might also be well served by paying more attention to what she was about. The last thing she needed was to make another spectacle of herself.

Slipping a hand into her pocket, she felt the cool and reassuring weight of her new watch. She blew out a short breath, squared her shoulders, and headed into the parlor with the steady rhythm of the watch ticking against her fingertips.

Hunter turned the page of a book he had absolutely no interest in nor any intention of reading. He hadn’t even intended to go into the library. After Kate’s departure from the music room, he’d headed for his bedchamber thinking to have a drink while he waited for the appropriate time to return to the parlor. He’d made it halfway before he’d heard a door open quietly behind him, followed by soft steps trailing him down the hall. It hadn’t been necessary for him to turn around to know it was Miss Willory. The girl had been watching him with a crafty gleam in her eye all night.

She’d been eyeing him craftily, obviously, or otherwise since she’d arrived at the house, but the gleam had never been as pronounced as it had become in the last few hours. He’d detected nerves and anticipation as well. And the premature glimmer of predicted victory.

He meant to douse that glimmer before the night was over. With that purpose in mind, he’d turned his steps away from his room and gone right to the library. He’d pushed through the doors, selected a book at random, took a comfortable seat by the fireplace, and waited for the show to begin.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Miss Willory entered the library and closed the door behind her. She walked halfway into the room, then affected a startled little gasp and blush. “Oh, Mr. Hunter, I didn’t see you sitting there.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I thought you’d retired for the night.”

“And I thought you were still in the parlor.” A lie for a lie, he thought.

Miss Willory gave a delicate shrug and moved farther into the room. “The conversation quickly grew tiresome. So much bother over one silly little bench and a clumsy…Well, at any rate, I thought a bit of light reading would be more enjoyable. We’re of a mind, it would seem.”

He ignored her last comment and waved a distracted hand at the shelves of books behind her. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

She made a show of perusing the shelves for a few moments while he made a show of reading his book.

Under other circumstances, he might have found her pursuit of him amusing. It hadn’t been a year since she’d last looked at him as Mrs. Keenes and Mrs. Lubeck had on the veranda—with lips pinched tight in disapproval. What a remarkable change a reversal of fortune could effect in a woman. Within weeks of her father losing a staggering amount of money in a poor business venture, Miss Willory had become all blushes and smiles in his presence.

Hunter couldn’t blame her for it, despite her previous snubs. He understood desperation and the single-minded drive to create a secure place in the world for oneself and those one felt responsible for. He might have even dredged up some sympathy for Miss Willory now, in her bid to save her family from outright ruin. Might have, had he not suspected Miss Willory of having something to do with the broken piano bench.

“What is it you are reading, Mr. Hunter?” Miss Willory gave up her search for light reading to step forward and stand in front of him.

He didn’t bother looking at her. “Too soon, Miss Willory.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He nodded his head in the direction of a clock on the mantel. “You’re making your move too soon. Your friends won’t be arriving for a few moments more, at least. Given your vanity, I imagine you told them not to dally too long, but you have to give them some time to escape the parlor and find us. We could be in the billiards room, for all they know.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” He shrugged and turned the page. “Suit yourself then. Far be it from me to dissuade a pretty woman from climbing into my lap at the time of her choosing.”

“Climb into your…?”

“No doubt you’d prefer to play the victim, but with me sitting in this chair, your options are limited. Unless you intend to drag me to the floor.” He considered that. “Far be it from me to dissuade you of that notion as well.”

“I…You…”

“Imagine your father will hold me responsible either way. But that
is
what dueling pistols are for.” His mouth turned down at the corners, just for a moment. “Pity, rather liked him.”

“Dueling pistols?” she fairly squeaked.

“Unless he prefers sabers?” he inquired, finally giving her his attention.

She gulped, her eyes darting to the clock, then the closed door.

“Having second thoughts, Miss Willory? Or perhaps you think the closed door will be sufficient to ruin you. Or perhaps you thought it would be a mere compromising.” He gave her a long, cold, hard look. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but just as cold. “
Perhaps
you were laboring under the impression that I am a gentleman.”

A woman could trap a gentleman into marriage with very little trouble. She needed only to close the right door or plan a kiss at the right time, and suddenly she had the gentleman neatly bound up, boxed in, and otherwise defeated by his own sense of honor. Bit like carrying your own rope to the gallows, in Hunter’s opinion.

It was a sight more difficult to hang a man without that rope.

Too difficult for Miss Willory, it seemed. She glanced at the door one more time, then sniffed haughtily. “I’ve no idea how much you imbibed tonight, Mr. Hunter, but I suggest you severely limit the quantity in the future.”

He went back to looking at his book. “I shall take that under advisement.”

“Given that you are clearly deep in your cups, I shall endeavor to forget this unfortunate conversation by morning.”

“I’d estimate two minutes left.”

She spun for the door. “Good night, Mr. Hunter.”

“Miss Willory.”

A
s the bright light of the late morning sun streamed through the windows, Kate glanced at the parlor entrance for the tenth time in the past half hour. Ten, she assured herself, was a perfectly acceptable number of glances. At least insofar as it was unlikely to draw the notice of the other guests in the room. Guests who did not include Hunter, which was why she continued to glance at the door.

She’d not had the opportunity to speak with him privately again the night before, and he’d been missing from breakfast. Gone in to Iberston at sunrise, Whit had informed her. Determined not to obsess over his absence, she’d retired to her room to compose. Three hours later she’d emerged and headed to the music room to test the first quarter of a new sonatina.

She’d assumed she would have to stand while she played, but to her amazement and delight, there was a brand new piano bench sitting in front of the instrument. After questioning a maid and discovering Hunter was responsible for its purchase, she’d gone straight to the parlor where she had been awaiting his arrival ever since. Surely the man didn’t plan on spending all day in his room.

“Would you care for a game of chess, Lady Kate?”

Kate glanced up from her sheets of music at Lord Brentworth’s
query. He’d been very solicitous toward her last night in the parlor and again that morning at breakfast, and now he’d elected to keep the gentlemen at the house rather than take them out for the day. He was clearly attempting to make amends for the unfortunate piano bench incident, and she hadn’t the heart to tell him she wasn’t especially interested in a game of chess at the moment, nor that she would have considered it a personal favor if he
had
taken the gentlemen out for the day. Particularly Lord Martin and Mr. Laury, both of whom were eyeing her from across the room. The first with more interest than appropriate given that he was currently engaged in a conversation with Miss Willory.

“A game of chess would be lovely,” she replied politely.

“Excellent, my son was just expressing his desire to play.” Lord Brentworth turned and gestured for Lord Martin. “Martin, Martin, my boy, come have a game of chess with Lady Kate.”

Taken completely off guard, Kate wracked her brain for a way to excuse herself from the game. “Oh, er…” She looked about the room as if someone or something in it might offer inspiration, but nothing and no one did.

Oh, blast. She’d have to play. There was no possible way of getting out of it without insulting Lord Brentworth or Lord Martin or both.

She managed what she hoped passed for a smile but feared was really more of a grimace as father and son set the game up before her. She detested playing chess with Lord Martin. The man was a dreadful opponent. He tried to put himself in check at least once per game and seemed to be under the impression that being bested by a woman in under ten moves was quite acceptable if those ten moves were dragged out over the course of several hours. She’d never met anyone who took such an excessive amount of time at his turn.

She’d rather hoped the embarrassing spectacle in the music room would lessen his interest a little. But honestly, if the
man wasn’t to be dissuaded after more than three years of clear disinterest and two rejected offers, a broken piano bench wasn’t going to see the job done.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Lord Martin remarked, taking his seat.

“Hmm,” was the best she could manage.

“We’ve not spent much time together these last few days.”

“I suppose we haven’t.” That had been
exceedingly
nice.

“You’ve been preoccupied.”

She barely refrained from raising a brow at his peevish tone. He was jealous.
Very
jealous if the pouty set of his lips was any indication. She considered that as she moved a pawn forward to start the game. People were often rash and foolhardy while under the influence of jealousy. Lord Martin, already prone to silliness, was no doubt particularly susceptible to that pitfall.

She shouldn’t, she told herself. She really shouldn’t.

Oh, but it was such an ideal opportunity. And she wouldn’t be breaking a promise to Hunter, not really. She
had
tried to keep her distance from Lord Martin, and she wasn’t looking to charm information from the man. She was looking to goad him, which was entirely different. Under the current circumstances, it was also entirely irresistible.

“I
have
been rather anxious,” she said with a small sigh. “My brother’s birthday is only weeks away, and I’ve yet to find a suitable present.” It wasn’t an outright lie. Whit’s birthday
was
fast approaching, and she hadn’t yet settled on a gift for him. The fact that she wasn’t at all anxious about the matter was a minor detail.

Lord Martin’s lips relaxed into a pleasant smile. “Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He turned his attention to the chessboard. “Ask your mother to purchase a gift for him.”

She wanted to ask him how that would make it a gift from
her, but knew that would not lead the conversation in the direction she sought. “I suppose I could, only I’d rather hoped to come up with something myself. A new cravat pin, do you think?”

“I’m sure that would be adequate. I just purchased—”

“Oh, adequate won’t do. Not for Whit. It must be something special. What of new handkerchiefs? I could embroider them.” She shook her head and continued before he could comment. “No, I gave him those two years ago. A fine brandy? Oh, he would adore that. Pity one can’t find some sensibly priced…” She trailed off, as if embarrassed to have mentioned the subject of money. She began to fiddle with one of her pawns. “Never mind. Maybe I should ask Mr. Hunter to help me choose a new epee, instead.”

Lord Martin’s head snapped up. “I can help you.”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her pawn and gave him a distracted and decidedly patronizing smile. “Oh, yes, of course. You’re always so helpful, Lord Martin, thank you. Do you suppose Mr. Hunter knows anything about fencing? A new epee is not so ideal as a fine brandy, but he can’t very well get me that. It will have to be the epee. After dinner, I’ll—”

“
I
could get you the brandy.”

She went back to fiddling with her pawn. “That’s very nice of you.”

He straightened his padded shoulders. “I could. Reasonably priced.”

She reached over to pat his hand. “Certainly you could.”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll have it then.”

“I…” She drew her hand away, opened her eyes wide and blinked repeatedly. “You’re quite serious, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Well, good heavens.” She let her surprised expression grow into a delighted smile. “How wonderful. Oh, how fortunate for me. Lord Martin, this is
most
generous of you.”

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all.” He waved off her compliment with false modestly. “You’ll…you’ll not ask Mr. Hunter to choose an epee for you?”

“I’ll have no need now, will I?” In truth, she never had. She’d chosen one herself for Whit last year. Just because she had more sense than to try to use one didn’t mean she was completely ignorant of them. Logic such as that would no doubt be lost on Lord Martin. “I can scarce wait to see Whit’s reaction,” she told him instead. “Won’t he be surprised?”

“You mustn’t tell him where you got it,” Lord Martin said sternly. “You mustn’t say a word of this to anyone.”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” He nodded once and leaned over the board a little. “It’s not my secret to tell, you see.”

She didn’t need to affect her shock this time, it was entirely genuine. “It isn’t?”

He shook his head and changed the subject. “Tomorrow morning, meet me at the bench behind the half wall. Do you know the one?”

She nodded, still feeling a trifle bewildered by his secret comment. “Yes, I know it.”

“Excellent. Shall we say five?”

“Five? In the morning?”

He nodded again. “That should give me just enough time. I’ll bring a barrel of brandy, you bring—”

“A barrel? How are you going to bring an entire barrel of brandy?” And what on earth did he expect her to do with it once he had? Hide it in a reticule?

“Oh, right.” A line worked into his brow.

Good heavens, the man was such a twit sometimes. She would have found it impossible to believe he was involved in a smuggling operation if he hadn’t, in that very moment, been offering her smuggled goods.

“Right.” Lord Martin continued. “Just bring the money, then. I’ll—”

He broke off at the sound of Hunter’s voice. “Good morning, Lady Kate, Lord Martin.”

Kate turned away from Lord Martin as Hunter came to stand before them. She’d been so engaged in her small act of espionage, she’d not noticed his entrance. He didn’t appear angry at discovering her in the midst of a chess game with Lord Martin. How lovely he’d not presumed she had orchestrated the game. Pity his good humor with her was sure to be short lived.

His eyes dipped down to the board, and Kate’s lone pawn moved out of its starting position. “My apologies for interrupting what I’m sure is an engrossing match, but Lady Thurston would like a word with you, Lady Kate.”

She searched for a way to indicate that she needed just a few more minutes—a wink or nod or gesture. Surely there was something. To her dismay, the best she could come up with was the question,

“Which one?”

He blinked once. “Which one?”

“Yes, which Lady Thurston? Mirabelle or my mother?” She happened to know that both Lady Thurstons were currently to be found in the dowager Lady Thurston’s chambers with Mrs. Summers, but she’d bet a week’s allowance neither of the gentlemen before her were aware of it.

“Both,” Hunter replied, a coolness creeping into his tone. “They’re in the dowager Lady Thurston’s chambers.”

“Oh.” It was fortunate she wasn’t given to making wagers. “Right. Er…”

“They’re waiting, Lady Kate.”

“Yes…yes, of course.” She rose from her chair. “Do excuse me, Lord Martin.”

Hunter ushered her out across the foyer, past the front staircase and down the hall—all in silence.

Kate bit her lip and glanced up at him. “Am I to assume neither Lady Thurston wishes to speak with me?”

When his only response was a cold look, she decided to choose discretion over valor and keep her mouth closed for the remainder of their walk down the hall. He brought her to the small private sitting room and led her inside. He closed the door, turned around slowly, and then stood there, staring at her—
looming
over her—for several painfully long moments. When he spoke, finally, his voice held both displeasure and a world of disbelief.

“Which one?”

“I…” Oh, dear. She cleared her throat. “I’d rather hoped for more time with Lord Martin.”

“More time,” he repeated.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath and decided to get the conversation over and done with. Perhaps she’d be very lucky and he’d be pleased, even impressed with her resourcefulness. “Lord Martin has agreed to sell to me a barrel of brandy for an unspecified amount of money tomorrow morning. I’m to meet him at the bench behind the half wall at five.”

By the muscle working in his jaw, it was fairly clear that he was neither pleased nor impressed by her resourcefulness.

“I’d have known the amount of money,” she was quick to add in a rather frantic bid to delay his response. “But I hadn’t the chance to ask. I hadn’t a chance to convince him to meet me at a time and place less impractical either. He picked the details of our rendezvous with the notion he’d be hauling along an entire barrel of brandy. Are we quite certain he’s in charge of this operation? Because—”

“Enough.”

Hunter drew a deep breath through his nose and made an attempt to relax the tight knot of muscles between his shoulders and calm the sick rolling in his gut. He wasn’t going to lose his temper. He was not going to begin issuing unreasonable orders just because Kate had
once again
put herself in danger. This time by questioning a known smuggler, whom
she’d once had a
tendre
for, and who
still
had a
tendre
for her, and who now expected to meet her at dawn so that they might exchange money for illegal goods and—

“What the bloody hell were you thinking!”

Very well, he was going to lose his temper.

She shifted her weight and gave him a hopeful smile. “That the information might be of use?”

It was, but that wasn’t the point. “I ordered you to avoid Lord Martin.”

“And so I have, at every opportunity,” she countered. “There was simply no way for me to do so in the parlor. Not without giving him the cut direct in front of a room full of people, and I thought it best to avoid that sort of attention. The rumors that would have resulted—”

“I also ordered you not to try your hand at charming information from him.”

“Strictly speaking, you said it was too much involvement. You never explicitly forbade it.”

The knot in his back grew tighter. “That is—”

“Also, what I did wasn’t so much charm as goad.” She shifted again. “Strictly speaking.”

He bent his head to catch and hold her gaze. “I am ordering you, explicitly forbidding you, from doing anything, speaking to anyone, or going anywhere that has to do with the smuggling operation unless you do so under a direct order from me. Do I make myself clear?”

That
, he assured himself, was a perfectly reasonable order.

Apparently, Kate did not agree. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m…” He wasn’t going to let the argument disintegrate into a childish string of accusations and denials. But bloody hell, if she had made herself a target…

“I am not.
And
,” he was quick to interject, “if we continue
on in this vein, we’ll never get around to deciding what’s to be done with the information Lord Martin gave you.”

She pressed her lips together as if to physically restrain her tongue. Her eyes narrowed. She took a deep breath through her nose. And then, apparently, she caved.

“You are.”

He wanted to laugh. Despite the anger and fear, and the considerable amount of energy it took to keep both under control, he wanted to laugh at that one monstrously stubborn comment.