Destined to Last (28 page)

H
unter eyed the wall beneath Kate’s window and blew out a short breath.

One would think, given the woman’s romantic nature, that she would have a trellis or the like about for her prince to clamber up—a balcony for him to climb onto at the very least. Or perhaps trellises and balconies were only for white knights and doomed lovers. Probably, princes were meant to use the front door.
Very
probably, princes were not meant to use the front door in the middle of the night. Which meant he would be climbing the wall.

No matter, he had more practice sneaking in and out of windows than most. In addition, the exterior walls of Haldon were made of uneven stone. It would be an easy thing for him to find handholds and footholds…relatively easy. He’d always been better at opening locked doors than crawling through windows.

He eyed the wall a little longer, blew out another short breath, and found a handhold. The climb, he soon discovered, was not quite as easy as it looked. The stone was chipped and jagged in places, and worn smooth in others, so that he alternated between feeling as if he were trying to scale a rosebush, and attempting to climb a waterfall.

By the time he was two-thirds of the way up, he was a little out of breath and a little put out with himself for not having thought to search out a ladder in the stable. Granted, scaling a ladder wouldn’t be quite the romantic gesture that scaling a
wall was, but Kate would probably have appreciated it more than finding him broken and bloody beneath her window. Then again, if she was
very
angry with him…

He pushed that thought aside and concentrated on navigating the remainder of the wall. When, at last, he reached the window, he breathed a sigh of relief to find it was not only unlocked, but wide open. He moved the drapes aside, slipped silently over the sill, straightened, and then, shocked by what he found, stood where he was, unable to move a muscle.

During the ride from London, he’d fantasized, countless times, about how his little escapade might play out. He imagined finding Kate sound asleep in her bed, the covers up to her chin and her pale blonde hair spread across the pillow. He’d envisioned stealing softly to her bed and kissing her awake. He’d imagined her lids fluttering open and the fog of sleep slowly clearing from her blue eyes.

But nowhere in his daydream had Kate been standing in the middle of her room dressed in cape, gloves, and bonnet, and staring at him as if he had two heads and a tail.

Likewise, his daydream had not contained any variation of the question, “Where the devil are you going?” But that was what came out of his mouth, because it was the middle of the damn night. Where the devil
was
she going?

Her hand flew to her heart. “Hunter? What are you doing here? Has something happened? Miss Willory—?”

“No, no. We caught her and her contact. It’s done. I…” She looked so beautiful. So perfectly beautiful standing in the stream of moonlight from the window. “I…Oh, hell.”

He crossed the room in three strides to pull her into his arms.

“I missed you,” he whispered raggedly a second before he bent his head and kissed her, everywhere—her mouth, her cheeks, her brow, her nose. He even pulled off her bonnet to brush his lips across her hair. If it was within reach, he pressed his mouth to it. He couldn’t help himself. A well of panic he’d
not realized he’d been keeping at bay since he’d left his house washed over him now. He was so close to having what he truly wanted. She was right there, right there in his arms. But if he made a mistake, if he did something else wrong, if he couldn’t make her believe, if she left him…

“It’s all right, Hunter.”

He was trembling. He could feel his arms shaking, as they had after he’d pulled her from Whistler on the bluffs. But he couldn’t fool himself into thinking it was from physical exertion. Not this time. Not while his legs felt as if they might give out beneath him and his breath shuddered in and out as if he’d run the whole distance from London.

Kate’s hands ran slowly up his back, down again. “It’s all right.”

It wasn’t. It wouldn’t be if, if he’d been wrong and he really was helpless. It wouldn’t be if he couldn’t make things right.

“I want to make things right.”

She pulled back a little to study his face. “Then I’m sure you will,” she said softly.

Not just absolute loyalty to those she loved, he realized as the panic began to dim, but absolute faith. He wasn’t at all convinced he could live up to it, was quite certain he’d not done a thing to earn it, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t find the courage to try and keep it now.

Feeling a bit calmer—though by no means confident—he took her hand and led her to the pair of chairs in front of the fireplace. He sat her in one, took a seat in another. And then promptly stood back up again to begin pacing the room.

“Hunter?”

“A moment.”

Too late he realized he should have spent less time on his ride to Haldon daydreaming about waking Kate with a kiss, and more time planning what to say once she woke. Because knowing he had to try to earn the love and faith she offered,
and knowing
how
to try were two very different animals. He wanted to simply tell her that he loved her and leave it at that. But he
needed
to tell her everything else. He needed her to know the man he’d been.

The idea of it terrified him. Bad enough that he should have fallen in love, but to hand her his heart, and then all the reasons she should drop it and walk away went against every instinct he’d honed since he’d been a boy. And though earning a lifetime with the woman he loved, and not selfpreservation, had been his purpose in coming to Haldon, he couldn’t keep from stalling a bit before coming round to that purpose.

He stopped in his pacing to light a few candles and then nod his chin toward the bonnet he’d tossed aside. “Where were you going?”

“Er…” She shifted a little in her seat, a bright blush forming on her cheeks. “To London. To see you. I was being…I was taking a calculated risk. I wanted…to tell you that I love you. Even though I left Pallton House. I wanted you to know that I will
always
love you.”

He let out a long breath and felt the last of his panic ease.
“Excellent.”

“Yes, well. I’m delighted you think so.” The blush died away rather quickly. “You said you wished to make things right?” she prompted.

“Right. Right. I…” The trouble with constantly reinventing oneself, he realized with disgust, was that a man had no practice answering for who he’d been. “I’m a good man,” he tried and nodded as if to drive the point home to both of them. “I may not be a great man, but I am a good one.”

She, in turn, shook her head in bafflement. “Yes, I know. Why—?”

“There are things, portions of my past you aren’t aware of. A time when I was…less good.”

“It doesn’t change who you are now.”

“No, it doesn’t.” It felt incredible to be able to say that, and believe it. It didn’t feel nearly as pleasant to say, “It could change how you feel about me. How—”

“No,” she cut in, her voice resolute. “It won’t. Nothing could.”

“I was a liar, a cheat, and a thief.” He spit the words out quickly, afraid he would lose the courage.

“I see,” she said slowly. “What did you do?”

“I lied, I cheated, and I stole,” he replied in a tone that was both dry and cautious. “Mostly, I stole. I was using the phrase in a literal sense.”

“Oh.” She frowned thoughtfully. “What did you steal?”

“Food, coin, whatever I could. Whatever I needed.” Once or twice, it had simply been what he wanted, but it wasn’t necessary to admit
every
sin in one night. “Life was difficult for a time, for a long time, after I left Benton. I did what was needed…what I felt was needed to survive. And to thrive. I picked pockets, slipped into homes, took—”

“You went into people’s
homes
?”

“Yes.”

“Good heavens,” she breathed. “How often?”

He sincerely hoped she wasn’t looking for an exact number. He’d not cared enough at the time to keep count. “As often as I needed until I was old enough to acquire what I needed in other ways.”

“What other ways?” she asked in a tone that said she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know.

“I did apply myself to legal work,” he assured her. “I also cheated at cards and used my ill-gotten winnings to finance a variety of enterprises. Some that were reputable, and some that were less reputable, but vastly more profitable, like smuggling.”

“You were a smuggler.”

“I was until William caught me.”

“Is
that
why you went to work for the War Department? Why you might have hanged?” She opened her mouth, closed it. “What on earth were you smuggling?”

“Wool out and brandy in, as the majority of smugglers do. Until a few hours ago, I was under the impression I had unwittingly smuggled correspondence between spies. As it happens, that was a…misunderstanding.”

“That is a
significant
misunderstanding.”

“It was. But it’s been…cleared up.” Almost. There was still the small matter of retribution.

“Well…all right.” She shook her head, clearly bewildered. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

He almost wished there were, just so he could keep talking. The longer he talked, the longer he delayed the moment of judgment. Then again, the longer he kept talking, the less likely that judgment would fall to his favor.

He shook his head.

She was quiet for several moments—several excruciating long moments to his mind—as if digesting everything he’d said. “Do you feel better for having told me all of this?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know.” How was he supposed to have an answer for that before she’d told him how
she
felt about it?

“Did you tell me thinking you might feel better?”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

“Well, why did you tell me?”

“I…I thought you should know. I needed you to know. And I suppose I needed to make a gesture.”

“Like the gesture of climbing through my window?”

“I was afraid words would not suffice.”

“It depends on the words,” she replied softly.

He crossed the room to pull her to her feet and cup her face in his hands. He took a deep, fortifying breath, and then
took the biggest risk of his life. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I adore you. I could provide a speech, if you need it. Something poetic like you’ve read in your books—”

“No. No, that isn’t necessary,” she said unsteadily. She closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh, then another, much shakier sigh.

When the first tear slid down her cheek, he pulled her into her arms with a groan. “Sweetheart, don’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The tears that had briefly clouded her eyes when she’d broken Lord Brentworth’s vase had hurt him to see, but the heartache she quietly cried out now was his doing, and his alone. He couldn’t stand the thought of it. He held her, rocking her back and forth, whispering hoarse words of apology in her ear, and despite his earlier assertion that there would be no begging, he found himself doing just that. “Stop now, sweetheart.
Please
, stop.”

She nodded against his chest, but another minute passed before the soft shuddering of her breath eased into a more natural rhythm.

Sniffling, she pulled back to look up at him. “You’re certain? You’ll chance it?”

He studied her face. Her eyes were puffy, her nose red, and her cheeks blotchy. She was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen. “For you,
with
you, I’d chance anything.”

“Oh.” She closed her eyes again. “Oh, that
is
excellent.”

“I’m delighted you think so too.” He kissed her forehead and gently wiped away the tears with his fingers. “Does this mean you’ll forgive me?”

She sniffled again and opened her eyes once more. “For hurting us both, yes. For the man you were? If you need it, I certainly will. But I’ve never known that man, so…” She trailed off, sniffled once more and eyed him a little curiously. “You weren’t, by any chance, a pirate at some point in your colorful past?”

“A pirate?” he repeated, caught between bewilderment at the non sequitur, a relief so great it threatened to overwhelm him, and a joy so sharp he wondered he was able to feel anything else at all.

She’d forgiven him. She’d offered to forgive him for everything.

“The image does suit you rather well,” she explained.

“No.” He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Pirating is one sin I cannot claim.”

“Pity.” She wiped the remaining dampness from her cheeks and smiled. “I imagine it would be quite exciting to be married to a pirate, even a former one.”

“How do you feel about being married to the current head of the War Department, instead?”

Slowly, she lowered the handkerchief. “Well, er, William Fletcher is a very nice man, but—”

“I meant me, sweetheart,” he explained on a small laugh. “William is retiring. He wants to name me as his successor.”

A smile bloomed on her face. “A nice and very wise man.”

“You may change your mind about that once I tell you his role in our…” He recalled William’s disgust for the number of times he had been forced to relate the story of his deathbed promise to the late Duke of Rockeforte. “No…no, I do believe I shall let him tell you the details of our mission together. I’m done with talking for the moment.”

And with that proclamation, he bent his head to Kate’s. As their lips met, he thought that this,
this
was the kiss he should have given her from the start. There was no purpose beyond feeling, no thought given to who had the upper hand. It wasn’t a test or a lesson or a frantic bid to ease a pain or battle back fear. It was simply love—given, received, and destined to last forever.

K
ate struggled,
almost
successfully, not to squirm in her seat. It was terribly difficult to remain still and wait patiently as a small crowd filed in to take their seats in the theater. But it wasn’t the many curious eyes glancing in her direction that made her anxious, nor that some of those glances also held a distinct air of disapproval along with the curiosity. It was excitement that made her reach out and take Hunter’s hand in an effort to steady herself.

Brushing his thumb across her wrist, he turned to her, his dark eyes filled with concern, with pride, and with love. “Nervous, darling?”

“Excited.”

“And happy?”

“Yes.” She grinned and looked out over the audience from their box. “Oh, yes.”

Because curious, disapproving or both, the people had come. They’d come to hear the premiere of Lady Kate Hunter’s first symphony.

She couldn’t quite believe it. Even now, after months to prepare herself, she couldn’t quite fathom that she was only minutes away from hearing her greatest musical endeavor performed in front of an audience.

Mr. Lucero, owner of the theater had been surprised, and notably hesitant after learning the symphony brought to him for consideration had been composed by a woman, but in the end he’d announced that the “unfortunate gender of the composer” would not deter him from bringing a masterpiece to light.

The “unfortunate gender” bit she could have done without, but “a masterpiece” quite made up for it. Having her dream come true
more
than made up for it.

Having
another
dream come true, she corrected.

As the chandeliers were raised, Kate looked about her, her heart swelling with happiness. There were Sophie and Alex, and Mirabelle and Whit, Evie and McAlistair, Mrs. Summers with her Mr. Fletcher. Lizzy was in attendance, and still blushing at the eyes Hunter’s footman had been making at her earlier. Even her mother had a new suitor, the inestimable Lord Brentworth.

And here was she, Lady Katherine Hunter, with the prince of her dreams.