Lady Rogue (16 page)

“You played piquet?” she repeated, for that seemed far more significant than the fact that her whole tale was slowly beginning to fray.

“We played piquet,” he affirmed. “And I let her win. Which was quite difficult, because she’s a careless player. Unlike yourself.”

“And that’s all,” she pressed skeptically.

“Yes.”

“A rakehell of your reputation?” she asked flippantly, wanting with all her heart to believe him. “Why?”

He looked down for a moment, then caught her gaze again. His sensuous lips pursed ruefully. “Because Barbara Sinclair is a poor substitute.”

Kit narrowed her eyes, her heart beating quite fast. “A poor substitute for what?”

“For you, my dear.”

She swallowed, then took a deep breath. “You are under a debt of—”

“Yes, I’m quite aware of that, thank you very much.” His voice was pained and exasperated, and his fingers sought hers again. “Which has nothing to do with my…feelings toward your person.”

“‘Feelings’?” she repeated, exceedingly curious.

He snorted, his lips quirking in a half smile as he slowly shook his head. “Shall I detail them for you?”

“Please do.” She very much wished to hear what he would say, and besides, he seemed to have quite forgotten his demand to know how she had spent the night.

Alex looked sideways at her. “Let me put it this way, so as not to shock your delicate sensibilities, chit. I believe it to be your choice of attire.”

“You like my clothes?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I hate them.”

“Well, excuse me, Everton, but you’re the one who—”

“Now, now,” he interrupted, raising a hand to fend her off. “Let me finish. Even the most modest of women’s clothing is designed to…reveal the form beneath,” he explained in a bemused tone. “This, I believe, is done for purposes of sale and marketing. You, however, have seen fit to remain determinedly concealed beneath lawn shirts and waistcoats and cravats and evening coats and breeches. The only flesh I’ve seen of you is above your neck and below your wrists.” He looked at her, his eyes amused again. “And it’s deuced frustrating, chit.”

He desired her. Alexander Cale, the Earl of Everton, desired her, a smuggler’s daughter. Making a mighty effort to gather her puddling wits up from the floor, Kit returned his gaze. “Scoundrel,” she muttered.

What he had said, unsettling though it had been, provided her with a possible answer to a very sticky question. It had occurred to her sometime last night. She had
been so concerned with finding proof that he was the quarry her father was after that she hadn’t considered what was to be done with him once she did know for certain. Alex, she recognized, could not and would not be bribed to leave them be. Short of killing him—and the mere thought of that had left her frantic with distress—she had been unable to come up with another solution. Until now.

If he wouldn’t be bribed, and she wouldn’t allow him to be hurt, then perhaps she could distract him. Immediately the idea was distasteful to her, for she’d lost enough of her heart to Alexander Cale to wish not to hurt him. But it was infinitely better than seeing him dead. She wasn’t certain, though, that she could pretend to be as captivated with him as he seemed to be with her, and not forget what her true purpose was.

“Kit,” Alex said, and she started. His chin was resting in one palm, his elbow on the table, his intrigued and speculative gaze on her face.

“Hm?” she returned, blinking back to the present.

“Twopence for your thoughts,” he murmured.

“I, ah, I was just thinking that I doubt Father had your particular…reaction in mind when he dressed me in breeches,” she offered.

“So cool, you are,” he muttered. “I’d hoped for a slightly more flattering response.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Kit replied stiffly.

“An honest answer would be refreshing,” Everton commented, unmoving.

“Does it matter whether I tell you how I feel about you?” she countered, unable to keep the slight, desperate edge from her voice. “It wouldn’t change anything.”

“It would matter,” he said quietly.

She couldn’t meet his searching gaze. “I find you very annoying, then,” she shot, and stood.

Moving with startling swiftness for a man of his height and strength, Alex beat her to the door and leaned back against it, blocking her escape. His hand strayed down to his coat pocket, and her eyes followed it.
Slowly, he lifted a key and dangled it before her face. “Forgetting something, aren’t you?”

“You weren’t serious!” she protested, alarmed and angry, and oddly exhilarated.

“Deadly serious,” he murmured.

“
Lourdaud! Âne! Bravache!
”

“I believe you’ve used at least one of those on me before,” he commented mildly, though his eyes bespoke a different emotion entirely. “Best for you if you keep in mind that I have a fairly good memory.”

“As do I.”

“Good. Then I don’t need to repeat the question.”

“I hate you.”

“Not quite what I was looking for, but at least it’s honest.”

She wasn’t so certain it was, even under these circumstances, but it gave her a moment to think up a lie for her whereabouts of the evening, as he knew she hadn’t been at White’s. “I went to Covent Garden, hired a hack to take me to Dover and thought about purchasing a place on a ship to Calais, changed my mind, stomped about Dover for a time, and took a hack back to London again.” She folded her arms and prayed she had sounded angry enough that he believed her.

He lowered the key, something swift and almost vulnerable running across his lean features. “Why did you change your mind?”

“I don’t know. I wish I hadn’t, now.”

For a long moment Everton looked down at her. “Well, this leaves me with something of a dilemma,” he finally said.

“And what might that be, pray tell?”

“You’ve told me what I wished to know, but I can’t very well have you running back to Paris in the middle of a war and nearly a week short of the fortnight. Your father would be rather annoyed, and I would have failed in honoring my own patriarch’s debt.”

Damnation. She’d meant only to rattle him, not to box herself into a corner. Or rather, into her room for the next week. “I wouldn’t consider locking me away to be
the least bit honorable, either,” she told him.

“Yes, well, we’ll decide that later,” he said, and pocketed the key. “For now, why don’t you finish eating, and we’ll go to Gerald and Ivy’s?”

“I don’t want to go to—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Kit,” he said darkly, and she realized she had hurt him. “I need to go, and therefore so do you. If you’d been a female out all night, you’d be ruined.”

With that he stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

“I am a female,” she muttered.

“W
ho are you disemboweling?”

Alex finished his shot and stood the billiards cue on end, before he looked across the table at his cousin. “Beg pardon?” he returned, though he had heard the comment quite clearly.

Gerald Downing gestured at the number three ball, still rolling about the table in a rather haphazard fashion. “As I recall from your gloating victory speeches on innumerable past occasions, the secret to winning at billiards is a cool head and a snifter of—”

“Brandy,” Alex finished with a half-amused scowl. “You’re full of pale platitudes this morning, aren’t you?”

“You’ve provided me with most of them. I do hang on your every word, you know.”

“Oh, stuff it and get me a brandy, Gerald.”

He shrugged and strolled over to the liquor tray to do as he was bid, while Alex studied the disaster he’d made of the table. At the sound of female laughter emanating from the morning room across the hallway, he scowled again and looked in that direction. The damned chit was making a wreck of him, and she likely knew it perfectly well. A door shut, and the attractive music vanished behind it.

“It’s our lot in life, you know.” Gerald sighed, approaching to hand over the brandy.

“What’s our lot?” Alex lifted the snifter and took a healthy swallow. It didn’t help.

“Being laughed at and never having a clue about what we’ve done that’s so damned amusing,” his cousin replied, stepping around to plan his shot.

Alex’s frown returned. He had a very good idea what Kit Brantley found so amusing. On the ride over to the Downings she’d scarcely looked in his direction, the stiff line of her spine letting him know precisely how angry she was at being ordered about. He had been angry as well, mostly at himself for letting her get to him again. It had shaken him, when she’d said she’d gone all the way to Dover, and had nearly taken herself back to France. Her response was not the one he was used to receiving when he expressed interest in a woman. Until she’d said she hated him, he would have been much more amenable to throwing her onto the breakfast table, ripping her clothes off, and licking every inch of the body she’d been keeping concealed from him for the past eleven days. And he was still thinking about it, thinking about her.

Gerald sank two balls before he missed, and Alex stepped up to the table again. His cousin had actually left him a fair shot, and a chance to take back the entire game. He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should have poured yourself a brandy while you were at it,” he commented, leaning his stick across the table.

“How much longer will dear Kit be staying with you?”

“Six days,” Alex muttered, choosing his angle of attack.

“And how are you holding up?”

Alex glanced up at his cousin and shifted his stance a little. “Splendidly.”

“No tangled bedsheets yet?”

“Shut up, Gerald.”

Gerald chuckled. “Given the appalling lack of restraint and manners you have heretofore exhibited, I am quite proud of you, m’boy.”

Alex made his shot, and watched, unsurprised, as the
nine ball dropped into the corner pocket, the cue ball following close behind. “Gerald,” he said succinctly as he straightened, “I possess an exceptional degree of restraint, for which you should be exceedingly grateful.”

Gerald eyed him. “Why don’t you simply go to Barbara or one of the other half a hundred women who would be more than willing to service the Earl of Everton?”

Because I want Christine Brantley
. “What makes you think I haven’t been?”

“You’re drawn tighter than a bowstring, Alex.”

“I do have other—”

His cousin raised his cue and pointed it at Alex’s chest. “Don’t even attempt to blame it on Bonny Bonaparte,” he stated, then sighed, leaning over the table. “At least you’ve only six more days to worry over her virtue.”

Alex turned to look at his cousin, for the first time realizing what six days meant. She would be gone. She would leave for Dover, and not change her mind and return. He’d never see her again. “Yes, thank goodness,” he muttered, looking toward the doorway again.

“No, I’m glad you told me”—Ivy smiled—“and I truly don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“But I was standing there, gawking,
gawking
, at a dress. Hanshaw must have thought I was demented.”

“However you were raised, Kit, you’re still a female,” Alex’s cousin said patiently, as though the whole twisted mess was perfectly clear to her. “And one who has perhaps begun to think of herself as a female for the first time?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Kit said irritably. She’d spent the morning spinning lies for Alex, and then found herself telling more to explain her dour mood, when Ivy trapped her into having a coze. Everything was becoming so complicated. And the easiest thing to do was blame everything on Alex Cale. If he hadn’t been so handsome and witty and interesting, she wouldn’t have minded all the terrible things she was doing. She’d never
even thought of them as terrible until she met him.

“Are you and Alex…getting along?” Ivy asked, looking at her from over the rim of her teacup.

“What do you mean by that?” Kit asked sharply.

“Just that you were having quite an argument the night we met you. Gerald tried to wager me that the two of you would have Cale House burned to the ground within the week.”

“Well, Everton’s a very irritating man,” she pointed out.

“Yes, he can be.” Ivy sat back and looked at her for a moment. “You know, I have an idea.” She sipped at her tea. “You’re not quite my size, but if you’d like to try a gown on, I think we can manage to find one for you.”

That stopped Kit. “I…no, I don’t have time for that,” she stammered. “Really, I…I mean thank you, but…” She paused. Once she returned to Paris with her father, she would never be able to do such a thing. The risk was far too great. “Do you think I might?”

Mrs. Downing laughed. “If you have time, yes, I don’t see why not.” The bell rang for luncheon, and she stood. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Tomorrow?” She truly had no time for this. She needed to make certain that delaying or distracting Alex would enable her father to transport the goods he’d acquired across the Channel. If Reg or Augustus was actively involved, and not just supporting Everton, she would have to find a different way to slow them down. “All right.”

Gerald and Everton were already in the dining room when they arrived, and with a quick look between Kit and Alex, Ivy dismissed the servants. The earl’s expression was still cool as the two men stood at their entrance, but Kit decided it was his own fault. He was the one ordering her about as if she were one of his footmen.

Ivy seated herself, and Alex immediately followed suit. After a moment he looked up at Gerald, still standing and glaring at him, and then over at Kit. She clutched the back of her chair and clenched her jaw.
She’d hurt his feelings, and now he was pretending he didn’t remember that he’d kissed her, that he’d told her he desired her, that she was even a woman.

He sighed and pushed to his feet again. “Pardon me, my lady. I hadn’t realized you were being a female today, after all.”

Kit’s first instinct was to curse him in French, her second was to ask him when he’d acquired the ability to read minds, and her third was to burst into tears and flee the room rather than continue lying and fighting with him. Instead, she gave a forced smile and dropped into her chair. “One can never tell, I suppose.”

His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, but she refused to look at him as she passed the platter of roast chicken to Ivy.

“Alex,” Ivy said with a smile, “I was wondering if I might borrow Kit tomorrow, if you’ve no objection.”

Everton looked at his cousin-in-law, then at Kit again.

She glared at him. “I won’t ruin your stupid debt,” she whispered.

He pursed his lips and sighed. “I have absolutely no control over Kit’s actions, so I suggest you ask her.”

“I’d love to, Ivy,” she put in, attempting to shorten the conversation, and thereby the entire meal, by as much as possible.

Alex lifted his fork, but paused with it midway to his mouth. “Why, just out of curiosity?”

“I merely find her company more tolerable than yours,
cochon
,” Kit replied hotly.

The earl raised an eyebrow, while Gerald choked on a mouthful of bread. “Excuse me, Kit, but are you completely certain you’re a female? I can’t recall a single chit who’s called Alex a pig
before
he’s broken with them.”

That was simply too much. Kit shoved to her feet and slammed her fork back down on the table. “Yes! I am a female!” With an exasperated, infuriated snarl she stomped from the room.

She was out on the drive, wiping tears from her face
so she could step out into the street without being gawked at, when Alex caught up to her.

“Not fleeing again, are you?” he queried, falling into place beside her.

“I’m sorry I called you a pig. I didn’t know Gerald spoke French,” she grumbled, hoping tears wouldn’t ruin her coat sleeve.

“Only in regard to fine wine and farmyard animals,” Alex commented. “Do stop for a moment, won’t you? Hessian boots were not made for running to Marathon.”

With a scowl, she tromped to a halt and turned to face him. Silently he held a white rose out to her. Her heart gave a flop, her anger and frustration melting into something else entirely, as she reached out and took it from him. “Thank you.”

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, licking his lips and glancing aside for a moment.

“For what?”

“For telling you that I’m lusting after you. It would seem to be my own problem, and I will simply have to struggle with it.”

Kit looked at him skeptically. As far as distracting him, if she simply fell upon him, he would be suspicious. Subtlety where Alex Cale was concerned, though, was not one of her strong suits. “And will you be successful, do you think?” she ventured.

He gave a short grin. “I really don’t know. It’s a test of my character I’ve never had to engage in before.” He put his arm out, inviting her to return to the Downings’ house.

This confusion of hearts was a new experience for her, as well. “No, I really don’t wish to right now,” she grumbled.

“Well, come on, then, chit,” he said with an unexpected smile, “and I’ll teach you to drive the phaeton and let you terrorize the pedestrians in Hyde Park. That will perk you up, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it might,” she admitted. With a last wipe at her eyes, Kit took a breath and followed him back to his carriage. He climbed up, then held a hand down to her.
She clasped it and let him help her into the seat. He delayed a moment before he released his grip, but she didn’t dare look up at his face for fear that she would kiss him in front of the Downings’ groom. As they started off, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an apple, which he wordlessly handed to her.

She accepted it with a grin and bit into it. A juicy chunk came loose with a crunch. “Thank you, Alex.”

“Well, actually it was to give to the horses, but you’re welcome,” he answered dryly, then gave her his dazzling, breath-stealing smile and chuckled.

Abruptly everything was all right again. She had days to think of something, after all. “I can share,” she offered, finally relaxing again, and with a laugh took another bite.

As with everything else Alex had witnessed her attempting, Kit Brantley took to driving a phaeton as though she’d been born to it. “Ease up a little on Benvolio,” he instructed, sitting back and crossing his arms to watch her profile. “You’ve got Mercutio doing all the work.”

“I’ve got it,” she acknowledged, glancing at him with the faint grin she’d been wearing for the past half hour, since he’d turned the ribbons over to her. “Can I set them into a gallop?”

“I’d advise against it,” he answered smoothly.

“Just thought I’d ask.”

“At least you did so
before
you sent us careening into oblivion.”

In the mottled, leaf-obscured sunlight of Hyde Park, her green eyes sparkled as she laughed. After her disappearance of yesterday and her subsequent tale, he remained uncertain whether he was being played for a fool, but it was obvious even to a thick-skulled male such as himself that something was dreadfully upsetting her, though he hadn’t a clue what it might be. Still, as he had lately discovered, the chit’s low spirits immediately caused him to forget his own troubles, and his duties, in a quest to cheer her up.

“Everton! Kit!”

Alex turned his head to see a phaeton approaching them, and felt his own team jump as Kit also recognized the carriage’s occupants. “Steady, chit,” he murmured, nodding as Hanshaw, with Lady Caroline, pulled alongside them. “Stop the carriage,” he continued out of the side of his mouth.

“Alex…” Kit’s voice was tight, and he glanced at her, concerned that she was about to cast up her accounts again. Her face was pale, her eyes looking beyond him at the other carriage.

Sensing she was near panic, he reached out one hand to grasp her wrist. She jumped, her eyes darting to his face as he took the reins out of her shaking fingers. “She won’t bite,” he whispered in her ear, “and I certainly wouldn’t let her maim you.”

“I say, what are you two conspiring about?” Reg complained, leaning around Caroline to eye them.

“My cousin is attempting to destroy my cattle,” Alex offered, “and is generally ignoring my advice about the fine art of two-in-hand.”

Kit settled back to lean against his arm, as though seeking the comfort of touching him. He had no idea how to figure her out. One moment she was distant and hostile, and the next, vulnerable and trusting. He could spend a lifetime discovering her, he thought—and was immediately dismayed by the thought. He had no plans to give his heart away ever again. And she was a damned spy, for God’s sake.

“My mother never informed me how insufferable the other side of the family was.” Kit grinned at Alex, who had a difficult time not gaping at her. The chit had more backbone than some soldiers.

Caroline laughed. “I have often wondered, if each side of a family claims the other is intolerable, which one is actually correct, or whether we should all be locked up somewhere.”