by Olivia Drake
Amy scrambled to her feet and brought over her sketchpad. “Look, Uncle Gabriel. I can draw just like you.”
With a surprising tenderness in his smile, he regarded the stick people scrawled on the paper. “Excellent,” he said, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “Perhaps you’ll be an artist someday.”
Amy beamed. “I wanted to show my picture to Uncle Brandon. Why didn’t he come for dinner, Mama?”
Vivien glided closer, reaching down to take the little girl’s hand. “I’m afraid Uncle Gabriel never had the chance to ride over to his house and ask him. Now, it’s time for you and your brother to go to bed.”
Gabriel flashed a gloating smile at Kate.
So he hadn’t lied about his destination. Kate hoped he didn’t notice her mortification. She had ridden like a lunatic to stop him, when he’d merely been heading out on a visit to a neighbor.
Vivien drew Amy toward the doorway, and Michael and his family said their goodnights.
By the time they’d gone, Kate had recovered herself. Summoning her best manners, she said, “I beg your pardon, my lord, for mistaking your purpose.”
One eyebrow raised, he regarded her. “I’ll forgive you on one condition. That you promise to make it worth my while.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“First, you’ll have to fetch my sketchbooks.”
“You wish to draw?”
“No, I want the books you’ve stolen from me. The ones from Africa.”
Kate bristled. “I haven’t stolen them. I merely wanted the chance to look through the drawings. Perhaps there’s a picture of another treasure you haven’t told me about.”
He sent her a scurrilous grin. “Get my artwork. Then I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”
Lucy knew when to seize an opportunity. Upon seeing Kate leave the drawing room, returning a short while later with an armload of sketchbooks, Lucy lost no time in maneuvering the situation—and the furniture.
“Move the table over here in front of the chaise,” she said, directing two footmen. “And set a branch of candles at either end, behind the books. Thank you, that will be all.”
As the servants departed, she spied Kate walking toward a nearby chair. Clearly, the girl needed a prod in the right direction.
Lucy took Kate by the arm and guided her to the spot beside Gabriel on the chaise. “Sit over here, my dear. That way, the two of you can look at the drawings together. I’m sure you’ll find that my grandson is an extremely talented artist.” She bustled around, selecting a sketchbook at random and handing it to Gabriel.
“How helpful of you, Grandmama,” he said, his smile holding a hint of irony. “And here I thought you’d order me up to bed early.”
“Pish-posh. Dr. Lygon said you’ll be fine so long as you confine yourself to quiet pastimes for a few days.”
“If you like, my lady, I’ll be happy to monitor his progress,” Kate said.
Gabriel smirked at her. “You’ll be my personal attendant?”
“I’ll be your warden,” Kate retorted. “Else you’ll be riding off again without telling me.”
Lucy hid a delighted smile. Kate Talisford was the perfect woman to tame her high-handed, daredevil grandson. What a shame she still wore her drab blacks, though. The somber hue turned her skin sallow and did little to enhance the red-gold hair that was scraped into an unattractive knob at the back of her head.
Patience, Lucy reminded herself. In a few days’ time, she would fix those superficial details. She would teach Kate how to entice a man. Then she dared her grandson to resist the girl.
Resuming her seat with the Rosebuds and Nathaniel, Lucy picked up her cards. “There now,” she murmured, keeping her voice low. “Don’t they make a handsome couple?”
“But they look as though they’re quarreling,” Enid whispered, her brown eyes avid beneath the orange turban. “I wonder what they’re saying.”
“For pity’s sake, don’t stare,” Olivia chided. Defying her own command, she stole a glance at the couple. “I do hope he doesn’t break her heart.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “You three will never learn,” he declared. “You’re still up to your old tricks.”
Lucy sent him a cool stare. He grinned right back at her. Time had dealt too kindly with Nathaniel Babcock. He’d been handsome in his youth, but now, blessed with a full thatch of white hair and a smile that could make an unsuspecting woman’s heart melt, he possessed an élan that was irresistible.
Almost irresistible. “Learn what, pray tell?” she asked.
“Not to mind other people’s business,” he said. “Leave ’em alone, I say. Live and let live.”
His cavalier attitude annoyed Lucy. The cad would never understand her need for great-grandchildren to brighten her old age. “If Gabriel doesn’t marry, he’ll go off adventuring again.”
“So let him. A man needs his freedom.”
Olivia pursed her lips. “Speak for yourself,” she said, slapping down a card. “A young man needs a family to settle him.”
“And a woman to love,” Enid added with a wistful sigh. “Don’t you wish you’d married, Nathaniel? Don’t you ever feel lonely?”
“Impossible,” Lucy said with a cultured laugh, before he could spout another glib remark. “There’s always another rich widow for him to gull.”
As soon as she’d spoken, Lucy was appalled at herself. It wasn’t like her to be cruel. She had learned long ago the value of social euphemisms, for the truth was too often unpalatable.
To her surprise, she fancied there was a flash of pain in Nathaniel’s eyes. Yet his rakish smile remained fixed on his craggy features, and he threw back his head and chuckled. “You’re a dangerous woman, Lucy. You always could see right through me.”
Sincerely repentant, she brushed her fingertips over the smooth sleeve of his coat. “Forgive me. That was thoughtless and inconsiderate. I don’t know what came over me.”
“No offense taken. I believe in calling a spade a spade.” He gathered up the cards, his long fingers expertly shuffling the pasteboard rectangles. His blue eyes twinkled with practiced charm. “Now, while I have you at my mercy, I’ll remind you of our wager. If I win this round, you’ll let me visit you in your boudoir.”
A surprising warmth swept through Lucy, a sensation she immediately discounted. The only thing worse than an old roué was the woman who made a fool of herself over him. “You must be dreaming,” she said airily. “I made no such wager.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Leaning closer, he winked. “But ’tis you I’ll be dreaming of.”
Kate concentrated on sitting perfectly motionless on the chaise. If she dared to shift position, even a fraction of an inch, she would brush against Gabriel’s arm or leg. It wasn’t the notion of impropriety that held her immobile. Rather, any physical contact fed the disgraceful heat inside herself.
Lady Stokeford’s blatant matchmaking didn’t help matters. The dowager clearly didn’t realize how ill-suited Kate and Gabriel were. Kate wanted a settled life, the chance to work on Papa’s book undisturbed. Lord Gabriel Kenyon was an uncivilized wayfarer.
As he leafed through the sketchbook, she stole a long look at him. His profile showed the clean, chiseled lines of a classical sculpture: the strong slash of cheekbones, the high brow, the firm mouth with that hint of a world-weary smile, as if he were privy to secrets she could never fathom. The years spent outdoors had burnished his skin to a teak hue. His dark hair, sorely in need of a trim, grazed the collar of his white shirt. How she would like to have the right to reach out and tuck that wayward strand behind his ear—
He turned his head and his ocean-blue eyes pinned her. “Is something wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“You’re staring at me.”
“You’re mistaken,” she said quickly, fighting a blush. “I was looking at the drawing.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you’ll have a comment on what I just told you about
it.”
Nonplussed, Kate whipped her gaze to the page that lay open on his lap. The inked lines showed a scene of tribal men gathered in a circle. They wore fantastical headdresses, bracelets circling their upper arms, and animal skins. The detail was exquisite right down to the tattoos decorating their half-naked bodies, and so real that she could imagine them dancing.
“It’s...fascinating.”
“I was just saying that this scene has a particular importance to our book.”
She frowned. “Kindly remember that I haven’t agreed to collaborate.”
“Then you don’t care to hear more about the drawing.” He started to close the sketchpad, but she stopped him, her fingers tensed around the leather cover. Swallowing her pride, she asked, “Will you please explain again? I must have been wool-gathering.”
He smiled knowingly. “These Abyssinian natives led us to the lost city. Without their help, Henry and I would never have found the ruins. It’s considered a holy, haunted place, the home of spirits.”
With renewed interest, Kate pulled the sketchbook onto her lap and studied the illustration, wondering at the lives of these noble savages. “Why did they consent to take you there?”
“I convinced them that I could exorcise the ghosts, that I have powers over the spirit world.”
She huffed out a breath. “Of course. You’re a smooth-talking devil.”
“With no gift for prose. At Eton, I was the despair of my headmaster.” Leaning an elbow on his knee, he graced her with a coaxing smile. “Think about it, Kate. With my artistic skills and your aptitude for the written word, we can publish a book that will have all of England talking.”
“How do you know I have any talent for writing?”
“Henry liked to read your letters aloud around the campfire. Your descriptions of the neighbors were especially colorful. The gossipy Weaselly Beasley, the pompous vicar, silly Mrs. Wooster.”
Kate stiffened. She’d never meant for her whimsical meanderings to be read by anyone but Papa. She’d wanted to brighten his travels with all the neighborhood news, and in her heart, she’d also hoped to tempt him to come home.
Loath to let Gabriel see her vulnerability, she turned the questioning on him. “Why are you so eager to publish a book?”
When Gabriel lifted his dark lashes, Kate sensed that she’d struck a nerve. But he merely lounged against the chaise, stretching his arms out along the back. “Fame, of course,” he said in a jaunty tone. “To see my name immortalized. Imagine how the women will flock to me.”
He didn’t need a book to make women flock to him. He had only to curve his mouth into that smoldering smile. Coolly, she said, “I doubt you can stay in one place long enough to see the project through to the finish.”
“You’re right, I don’t like my freedom curtailed. But I’ll remain here long enough to complete our book.”
There it was again. Our book. Gritting her teeth, Kate fought the pressure of resentment. She wanted to compose the book Papa had always intended to write, but had never had the chance. It would be a labor of love, her last chance to atone for refusing to bid him goodbye.
No one must be allowed to interfere, least of all, Gabriel Kenyon.
Warm and solid, his hand came down on hers. “I admired your father, Kate. His work should be remembered.”
She pulled her hand free. “I’ve no wish to discuss him with you.”
“Then let me do the talking. Henry adored you and Meg. He spoke of you often. You were very important to him.”
Not as important as you. “You’re only trying to maneuver me.”
“I’m trying to help you. This book is your memorial to Henry, is it not?”
His keen blue eyes stripped bare her emotions. Kate felt exposed, stricken, mortified that he could see into her heart. She laced her fingers in her lap. “My motives are not in question here.”
“Nor should mine be.” He gestured at the sketchbooks piled on the table. “Each one of these drawings has a story. Each scene was witnessed by your father. Whether you like it or not, you need me.”
She feared he was right. How could she do a thorough job without Gabriel’s sketches and anecdotes to fill in the gaps? Yet every fiber of her being resisted the prospect. She couldn’t collaborate with the man who had used his wealth to lure Papa from his home and family.
“I can manage on my own by using Papa’s papers.”
A faintly calculating look replaced his charm. “There’s something I haven’t mentioned,” Gabriel said in a soft growl. “In addition to naming me as your guardian, Henry also appointed me executor of his estate.”
“Papa didn’t own an estate. He was a university professor. We lived in a rented cottage.”
“Nevertheless, he entrusted his possessions to my care. That includes you ... and all of his papers.”
“No,” she said on a searing wave of shock. “No.”
“Yes. Those journals are mine.” With a coolly confident expression, Gabriel regarded her. “So you can either accept me as your collaborator, or not write the book at all. The choice is yours.”
Fury besieged Kate. Wasn’t it enough that he had destroyed her family? Now Gabriel would rob her of the one chance to vindicate herself, to make up for that painful parting with Papa.
She felt the wild urge to lash out at Gabriel with her fists, to give him another lump on his thick skull. But she couldn’t do that, not with the Rosebuds sitting a short distance away.
She clapped the sketchbook shut. “If you expect me to meekly hand over Papa’s notebooks, think again. You’ll have to take them from me by force.”
His gaze sharpened, showing a trace of his true savagery. “I’ll do whatever is necessary, Kate. That’s a promise.”
Rising to her feet, she shoved the sketchbook at him. “Then be forewarned, my lord. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”
Meeting at Midnight
Two nights later, the Gypsies came to Stokeford Abbey. The merry sound of fiddle music drifted from their encampment. Through a misty veil of clouds, the cool face of the full moon smiled down from the midnight sky.
Toting a small knapsack, Kate kept to the deep shadows of the hedge as she made her way toward the stables. Pinpricks of light glowed in the distance. She could see people sitting around the campfires, clapping to the music and watching the dancing. Although it was too dark to distinguish any individuals, she knew that among the Rom sat the Rosebuds, Michael and Vivien, Meg and Jabbar.
And Gabriel.
You can either accept me as your collaborator, or not write the book at all. The choice is yours.
Kate burned to recall that ultimatum. It summed up his arrogant view of her as a mere possession, no more significant than a pet who must obey its master’s every command. Then and there, she had decided to watch for her chance. That opportunity had come tonight with everyone distracted by the Gypsy banquet.
Though he’d been deep in conversation with a group of Gypsy men, she had sensed Gabriel watching her as she’d slipped away after the feast. She’d hastened to her chambers to exchange her old black gown for a pair of rough breeches and a man’s homespun linen shirt, which she’d pilfered from the laundry room that afternoon.
All the while, she’d brooded on Gabriel. The three days he’d promised to his grandmother were up, and Kate knew the knot on his head wouldn’t stop him for long. In the morning, Michael, Vivien, and their children would be departing on a month-long trek with the Gypsies. It was very likely that Gabriel would go to Cornwall then.
Now, in the gloom beneath the old oak tree at the edge of the stable yard, Kate set down her knapsack and adjusted the workman’s cap that hid her curly hair. Her shirt felt ridiculously huge, the sleeves swamping her hands. In contrast, the breeches were too snug, molding to her bottom and thighs. She prayed the disguise would fool all but the most discerning of strangers. A woman traveling alone at night would attract undue attention.
Dangerous attention.
From inside the stables came the faint whinny of a horse. Then all lay silent except for the lilt of distant music. Thankfully, the yard was deserted. The outside servants were enjoying their own revelry in the meadow beyond the circle of caravans. She would never have a better opportunity to borrow a horse without being found out.
Picking up the knapsack, she tiptoed toward the double doors. The Cornish coast lay less than a day’s ride distant. Earlier, she’d slipped into the library and consulted a detailed map of England. She’d traced the route to the approximate location of Sir Charles Damson’s estate. Once she reached the vicinity, it should be a simple matter to ask for directions.
In her knapsack, she carried her feminine garb. She would change in the woods, pay a call on Sir Charles, and locate the statue. With luck, her absence here wouldn’t be discovered until mid-morning.
Gabriel wouldn’t realize she was gone until it was too late.
Reaching the building, she lifted the latch and stepped inside. She paused a moment to let her eyes adjust to the gloom. Then her heart tripped over a beat. A dim glow emanated from the rear of the stables.
Kate froze in place, listening. She could hear only the faint snuffling of the horses in their stalls, the scrape of a hoof. The heavy scent of hay and manure permeated the air.
After a moment, she chided herself. The grooms slept in quarters at the rear of the building. Likely, a lantern had been left burning so they wouldn’t stumble on their way to bed.
Quietly, she made her way down the line of stalls. Now and then, a horse poked its head over the half-door to watch her progress. At the end of the row, she turned a corner and found what she was looking for.
The gray mare looked almost black standing in the shadows. With an eager snort, Stormy nuzzled Kate’s hand.
Laughing softly, Kate produced a withered apple from last autumn’s harvest. The mare crunched the fruit, and then whickered for more.
