Destined to Last (20 page)

“You are the single most bullheaded individual I have ever met,” he informed her and watched her lips twitch. “Are you quite through?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether you made that order simply because you’re angry I managed to obtain in five minutes what you and Whit could not in days.”

That hadn’t occurred to him. Though now that she mentioned it, it was a trifle embarrassing. And he could certainly understand why she’d wonder. He could also see her bringing it up in an effort to shift the focus of blame from her to him. At a guess, he would say it was a little of both.

Taking her hand, he drew her to a chair, and then picked up another to set it close enough for their knees to almost, but not quite touch. He wanted to be near her, but not so near as to be distracted from his purpose.

“My purpose in issuing orders is not to spite or punish you, Kate,” he told her as he took his seat. “My primary mission, you’ll recall, is to keep you safe. My methods may be different, but I am no less determined than Whit to keep you from harm.”

“Is…is that all this is to you? A mission?”

He couldn’t help himself, he reached out to brush the
backs of his knuckles along the soft skin of her cheek. “You know better.”

She gave a small nod, and he let his hand fall away.

Her hands plucked at a ribbon on her peach skirts. “It’s only that…you’ve asked nothing of me in this investigation but to watch the staff.”

“I’d have asked you to search the house as well,” he reminded her.

“You’d have asked me to re-search the house,” she corrected. “It’s not quite the same.”

“It’s only been a matter of days.”

“I know.” She sat back in her chair with a small huff. “I hadn’t intended on goading information from Lord Martin. But he was
there.
Right there and it was so easy. And to have to endure his company and
not
have him speak of the one thing that interests me about him was more than I could—”

“I know.” He remembered well the long hours in town with Lord Martin.

“He’s not at all suspicious, I assure you.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can,” she retorted, frustration creeping into her voice. “I’ve known him longer than you. He’s really not at all clever.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” He blew out a long breath. “An entire barrel of brandy at five in the morning?”

She nodded. “Oh, and he said something else. He said…” She scrunched her face up a little in thought. “That I couldn’t breathe a word to anyone because it wasn’t his secret to tell.” She relaxed her features again. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“What are we to do next?

He gave her a hard look. “I meant what I said, Kate. You do nothing else in this investigation unless I specifically—”

“May I at least offer suggestions?” she cut in with a roll of her eyes.

“I would welcome them.”

“Then I suggest you and Whit investigate Smuggler’s Beach tonight.”

“Thank you,” he drawled. “But there is a possibility these particular smugglers use a different beach. Unlikely, if Pallton House is the base of operations, but possible.”

“But you will go to Smugglers Beach?”

“Yes.”

“And I suppose it would be too dangerous for me to come along and—”

“Yes.” Absolutely yes. The very idea made his gut began to roll again.

She sighed and nodded. “Pity.”

He waited for another argument, or at least a spot of wheedling. When it wasn’t immediately forthcoming, a sliver of unease ran up his spine.

“You’re being very sensible about this.”

She frowned at him. “What did you expect me to be?”

“Insensible.”

“How flattering.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not agreeing so readily because you plan on following Whit and me, or sneaking down to the beach on your own in the dark?”

“That beach?” she said, taken aback. “Certainly not. Why ever would I do such a thing?”

“For the adventure.”

“That wouldn’t be an adventure. It would be an unmitigated disaster.” She gave a delicate snort. “A midnight walk down a rocky slope to a smuggler’s beach, when I can barely walk down a well-lit hall without tripping over my own skirts?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, sometimes I
can’t
walk down a well-lit hall without—”

“If you knew it was foolish, why ask to come?”

“I didn’t,” she countered, “not to the beach. I had hoped
you’d tell me it would be safe enough for me to take a lantern to the bluffs and watch from a safe distance.”

“I see…It’s not.”

“Wouldn’t have been able to see much at any rate,” she commented absently, studying him. “You truly expected me to be foolish about this, didn’t you?”

“I don’t recall using the word foolish. But you are stubborn, and you are impetuous. The combination gives me some worry.”

“When you cease being charming, you cease altogether,” she grumbled. “Stubborn, I’ll grant. But I’m not impetuous.”

“Really?” he drawled. “I recall you arriving at Suffolk last year, having raced across the country on horseback to warn Evie of danger—”

“I didn’t go
alone
,” she cut in. “Whit, Alex, and Sophie made the trip as well.”

“But you
would
have gone alone,” he guessed, “because you’re impetuous.”

“I’d have gone alone,” she corrected, “if I had no other choice. Evie was in danger. Would you
expect
me to ignore a loved one in danger?”

He expected she’d fight to the death for those she loved. But while he admired that about her, he had no intention of encouraging it. “You searched Pallton house and the grounds on your own.”

“That wasn’t impetuous. The amount of time it took to talk Mirabelle into it alone qualifies it as having been well planned.”

“You arranged a rendezvous with a smuggler, and possible traitor, at night, not twenty minutes ago.”

“At dawn,” she corrected, for the sole purpose of irritating him, he was sure. “And it isn’t impetuous to take advantage of an opportunity.”

“It is when it’s an opportunity to put yourself in danger.”

“Of Lord Martin,” she said with a humorless twist of her lips. “I think perhaps you
are
as overprotective as Whit.”

The disappointment in her voice made him uneasy. The hint of anger made him defensive, which in turn made him uncomfortable. “You can’t very well expect me, or anyone else who cares for you, to idly sit about while you blithely stroll into danger.”

“Stroll?” She sat up in her chair slowly, her anger becoming quite evident.
“Blithely?”

“There are limits,” he tried to explain. “You have limits. You may not always be willing or able to recognize the full extent of them, but—”

“I am not an idiot,” she snapped, her blue eyes sparking. “I am fully aware of my limitations. I know I’m clumsy. I accept that I am very easily distracted, and do occasionally speak or act before thinking things through quite as well as I ought. I am not so foolhardy as to dismiss those limitations on a whim, or even fail to take them into account when considering a venture such as searching the house or goading Lord Martin. I can, and do, distinguish between calculated risks taken for the right reasons and tossing myself into peril for no reason at all.”

“Kate—”

“You wish for me to understand and accept your desire to protect, but you’ll make no effort to understand and accept my desire to not be so…so…” She shook her head, and her lips thinned into a line as she searched, obviously frustrated, for the right word. “So bloody well protected.”

He felt his brows rise. Kate didn’t swear. He’d heard every one of her friends curse at some point, but never once had he heard so much as a “damn” from Kate.

“You don’t swear.” Not the most eloquent response he could have offered in that moment, but there it was.

“I just did.” She rose from the chair and looked down at him with cool eyes, just as she had the first time they’d fought.
“I may not always make the right decisions, Hunter, but it shouldn’t be assumed that I’ll never make any but the wrong ones, nor be unable to weather the consequences should I do so.”

With her speech concluded, she spun on her heel and left the room.

Hunter watched her go, equal parts baffled, frustrated and—and he’d suffer the tortures of the damned before he ever admitted it to Kate—just a little impressed. The woman was nobility, through and through.

She was also thoroughly aggravating. What the devil did she expect from him, an invitation to single-handedly apprehend the smugglers at her leisure?

Well she’d have to learn to live with disappointment. He was a man, damn it. His store of honor may have been limited, but even he understood that it was a man’s duty to protect the woman he meant to make his wife.

She was being irrational. Unfair as well. She hadn’t complained when he’d taken care of the business of the vase, had she?

That hadn’t been done to protect her, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him, it had been done to charm her.

He ignored the voice and changed the subject.

He wasn’t insisting he control every facet of her life, was he?

Not yet, the voice chimed in.

“She’s too stubborn,” he grumbled.
That
at least, he couldn’t argue about with himself. The knowledge that he was, in fact, arguing with himself had him dragging a hand through his hair. Arguing with himself, daydreaming about her nose, nearly letting himself be ravished on a ballroom floor—the woman was well on her way to driving him stark raving mad.

He wanted a drink. It was barely noon and he wanted a
drink. He could add that to the growing list of unhealthy habits directly attributable to Lady Kate.

“Should’ve chosen a more biddable woman,” he muttered.

Apparently, he could also add talking to himself to the list.

He was having the drink.

Kate, no doubt, had gone to her room to sulk. Women always took to their rooms when they were in a snit.

Brow furrowed, he rose from his chair and headed for the study.

L
ord Brentworth kept the best brandy in the house in a cabinet behind his desk. Hunter helped himself to a small drink and made a mental note to repay the man for the expense with a new bottle. Raising the glass, he took the first sip and let the heat of it burn away some of his anger.

A bit of time to think, and a spot of fine brandy to do it with, that was all he needed.

He imagined Kate had her own rituals for settling her temper. She’d not remained angry with him for long after their last argument—a night and part of a day until…well, until he’d apologized for doubting her word.

She wouldn’t be receiving an apology this time round…probably. He’d see how he felt about it when he was through with his drink. The possibility of an apology, however, did not mean he was willing to change his position on any matter regarding her safety. There wasn’t enough brandy in the world to see that accomplished.

But if he’d said something that had led her to believe he thought her an idiot—

“Ow! Let go of me!”

Hunter set the glass down. Bloody hell, he knew that screech. Miss Willory was in a scuffle with someone down the hall.

“Let go of me this
instant
!” Her voice reached a painful and very unattractive pitch. Clearly it wasn’t an act. The woman was a dedicated actress, but she wasn’t a particularly talented one.

Gritting his teeth, he abandoned his drink and headed for the door. How many ill-mannered sots could there be at one bloody house party?

To his complete shock, he found Miss Willory struggling not with an overenthusiastic admirer, but with, of all people, Lizzy. Even more astounding, was that Miss Willory appeared to have very good reason to struggle. Lizzy was forcibly dragging the woman along by—holy hell, he couldn’t be seeing this correctly—her
ear.

“What the devil is going on here?” he demanded.

“Oh, Mr. Hunter! Thank goodness you’re here.” That statement would have come as no shock at all, if it hadn’t been uttered by both women simultaneously.

“Lizzy, let go of Miss Willory’s ear.”

“I’ll not. She’ll bolt.” As if to discourage Miss Willory of the idea, Lizzy gave the woman’s ear an extra twist.

“Ow!”

“
Now
, Lizzy.”

Lizzy grumbled, but did as he ordered.

“Thank you. Now someone explain to me—”

They both began talking at once.

“I saw her—” Lizzy began excitedly.

“She accosted me,” Miss Willory panted, rubbing at her ear.

“—giggling in a stall—”

“She’s a
lunatic.
”

“—she broke that piano bench—”

“Enough!” He turned cold eyes on Miss Willory. “Explain yourself.”

“She lies,” Miss Willory cried. “I cannot believe you would give credence to the word of a mere servant over my—”

She broke off with a yelp and jumped back when Lizzy reached for her again.

“You’ll tell him the truth,” Lizzy demanded, “or I swear I’ll twist your ear clean off.”

“I’ll have you sacked!” Miss Willory shrieked, swatting wildly at Lizzy’s hand. Lizzy merely reached up and grabbed hold with the other.

“Ow! Mr. Hunter!”

“I believe Lizzy means what she says.”

“You can’t be—ow! All right, all right! Let go!”

Lizzy looked to him. He nodded.

“It was just a spot of fun,” Miss Willory whined, rubbing her ear when Lizzy once again let go. “I thought it would wiggle under her a little, that’s all. It wasn’t supposed to break.”

Hunter held back his growing—or regrowing to be precise—anger. “And what was supposed to happen with Mr. Potsbottom?”

It was only a guess that Miss Willory had been involved in what had transpired outside the music room, but the coincidence of her showing up with two friends just moments after a typically good-natured man had been pawing at Kate made it an educated guess. A good one, by the way Miss Willory’s eyes briefly widened before she pasted on an innocent expression.

“I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to.” Her tone turned wheedling. “Did something unsavory occur between Mr. Potsbottom and Kate? I’d not be surprised. Everyone knows she’s been hoping for a kiss.”

“A notion you fed him along with drink, no doubt. And you brought the ladies around in the hopes of finding the two of them in a compromising position, is that it?”

“I’ve no idea what you mean—”

“Tell him what else you’ve done,” Lizzy demanded. “She’s done something else,” she informed him before Miss Willory could answer. “She was giggling in the stables as Kate left and I know she’s done something nasty.”

Kate had gone for a ride instead of her room? Fear, cold and painful, seeped into his bones. “What did you do, Mary Jane?”

Miss Willory gasped at him. “You haven’t permission to call me by my Christian name. I—”

“
What did you do
?” he barked.

She took a step back, but tipped her chin up and pressed her lips together in a thin, mutinous, and very guilty line.

“Bloody hell.” He could argue with her all day and not receive an answer. He spun and took off down the hall at a dead run.

“I’ve not done anything!” Miss Willory shouted after him. “I was only in the stable for a—
ow
!”

Aside from dancing and playing the piano, riding was one of the few physical activities Kate was able to perform with some grace. The sound of hoofs hitting the ground and the feel of the horse moving beneath her had a similar effect as the sea, except that it didn’t silence the music in her head, it simply gave it a rhythm to follow. Knowing an abrupt change in that rhythm sometimes caused her problems, Kate had learned to take extreme care in how she handled her mount. After all, a fall from a horse could be so much more than just embarrassing. It could be deadly.

Not that she
hadn’t
ever embarrassed herself by falling from her horse. She had, but those few occasions had occurred
when she’d let her mind wander while her mount meandered around at a leisurely walk and admittedly, once while her horse had been standing perfectly still.

But Kate was not in the mood to walk her mount for long. She wanted to race. She wanted to feel the wind blow past her face and see the earth fly by beneath her feet. She wanted…

She groaned. What she
wanted
was to march right back into the house, find the nearest liftable—and if at all possible, pointed—object and hurl it squarely at Hunter’s irritating head.

Blithely stroll into danger, indeed.

Kate stopped her mount, Whistler, when she reached the edge of Pallton House’s grounds. It wasn’t all that far to the bluffs, she thought with a wistful sigh. Pity she couldn’t go. She imagined it would be safe enough. Smuggler’s Beach itself was another quarter mile away from where she and Mirabelle had stood and looked out over the English Channel. And she knew for a certainty that there would be no smugglers about until night.

With another sigh, she turned Whistler about, intending to have him walk a bit longer, until she was sure his muscles were warmed, and then race him back to the house. She nudged him forward with her knees.

He balked.

She tried again and added a verbal command. “Walk.”

He moved, but only in a series of prancing side steps.

“Good heavens, horse, whatever is the matter with you?”

She backed him up three paces to remind him who held the reins, and then turned him in a circle to do the same. “Now then, are you quite done misbehaving?”

He shook his head and snorted, which she might have found amusing, if he hadn’t been acting so strangely. His ears were twitching back and forth, and he was swishing his tail as if annoyed. She scanned the ground around them, wondering
if uncertain footing or a small animal might have frightened him.

Finding nothing amiss, she gripped the reins firmly and urged him forward with her heels.

He lunged ahead, then spun completely around, nearly unseating her.

And then he bolted.

Kate tried everything she could think of to make Whistler stop, or at least slow down. She used her knees, shouted commands, and applied steady pressure on the reins. But he continued galloping forward, head turned to one side. Battling her own panic, she shortened her grip on the reins and pulled with all her might. Once…twice…To her absolute horror, the left rein broke off in her hand.

She stared at the useless piece of leather for one baffled, horrified heartbeat, before letting it fall. There was nothing she could do now but reach for Whistler’s mane and hold on.