“Thank you,” he said quietly.
And that was all. He accepted Hunter’s assistance from the carriage, and Ethan helped him to the house. Then Hunter entered the carriage.
He said nothing but stared at her while they waited. In the shadows, it seemed that his look was menacing.
“What?” she whispered, annoyed that the word sounded a little desperate. “I did nothing.”
“I did not suggest that you did.”
Again, he was silent. And she could not bear it.
“He is in danger, I believe,” she said.
“What?”
“David is in danger,” she said firmly.
Hunter let out a sound of impatience and looked toward the house, anxious to be on his way.
He looked back at her suddenly, angry. “You would create a drama where there is none in order to justify your continued obsession.”
She felt as if she had been slapped. She braced herself against the carriage wall, staring at him. “I am creating nothing. When I dragged him from the sea, he looked up and said something about being pushed.”
“Strange, he never mentioned such a thing to anyone else.”
“I know. He pretends he does not remember now.”
“Perhaps he does not remember because it did not happen.”
“All right, Sir Hunter, you tell me how he managed that cut on his forehead tonight! By tripping into the door? That is ludicrous!”
“Did you see or hear anyone else about?” he demanded.
“No,” she admitted. She sat up. “But I told you…the last time I was at the museum, I did hear whispering.”
He sighed, looking away again.
“Hunter, I am telling you, it’s the truth. I heard whispering. I wasn’t exactly…forthcoming because I was so nervous. You see, I had gone…exploring a bit. I looked at your office, and at Lady Carlyle’s. And it was then that someone slipped into the outer office.”
He was staring at her intently. The interior of the carriage was in shadow, but she could feel the rapier sharpness of his eyes. “Many people come in and out of the office.”
“No, but this was…furtive. They were whispering about finding something. And about…the desert being dark, I swear. I believe that David is in danger.”
Ethan had returned. The carriage jerked into motion again. It was so sudden and unexpected that Kat was thrown to the opposite seat, landing right on top of Hunter.
She felt the instant grip of his hands on her, steadying her. She felt the rush of his breath on her face, the searing heat of his body.
He didn’t release her as he said, “You silly girl! I think that you would say or do anything to follow David about, to remain close!”
He still didn’t release her. And she felt as if she’d been glued where she was, unable to break his hold, unable, even, to look away. She was crushed against his chest, between the spread of his thighs, and there was something about the awkward position that seemed to light a fire in her, equal to that he seemed to emit.
Finally, his hold eased ever so slightly. His thumb traced a path over her cheek, down to her lips, treading over them lightly, ending at her chin. She couldn’t breathe.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s truly that—”
“He’s not what you want,” Hunter interrupted.
“I can handle myself, I know it,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Can you? Maybe, because you are playing with nothing but a callow youth? If he were suddenly to cast the world aside to claim you legally and before the masses, you would be sorry, can’t you see that?”
She could not respond, for suddenly, he kissed her. And it was far different from that kiss she had experienced just the night before. Hunter’s lips were firm and possessive from the second they touched hers, creating a thunder of a heartbeat within her chest. They were not light, they did not tease, they were not awkward. His mouth molded to her mouth, created a passionate fusion, and his tongue pushed between her lips, and with liquid fire to it, something intimate and stirring, rousing, liquid, molten. His tongue demanded, sought, and she was startled to feel an immediate response inside her, a desire to allow the demand. There was a hunger in his kiss, vitality, strength, a force of life that seemed to quicken the very soul. She should have been fighting him. She should have been pulling away. But she could not move, in fact, did not wish to move, for she was eager to know more of this ever greater warmth, his hands upon her now, touching her…
Then his mouth lifted from hers. His subsequent words cut deeply into her, stilling the rise of fire.
“Oh, yes. I see that you can handle yourself in the midst of assault!”
“Oh!”
That did it! She shoved hard against his chest, then slammed her hands on his knees to rise, to thrust herself back into the opposite seat. One of her hands slipped, however, landed high on his thigh, touched—
“Oh!” she cried again, struggling for balance. She would have touched him anywhere then, just to escape.
But by then, his hands were on her waist, cleanly lifting her and setting her firmly back in her seat, well away from him.
And at last, blessedly, the carriage came to a halt. Trembling, she wiped the back of her hand over her face. He didn’t notice, for he was already out of the carriage. She shrank back when he reached for her, but he would have none of it. She needn’t have feared. He was obviously anxious to be done with her for the night, lifting her out, setting her down in one rapid motion.
She spun away, still quite speechless, and nearly ran for her front door. It opened, and Maggie was there. Kat tried to still the wild beating of her heart, fearful of betraying the storm of sensation and emotion he had created.
“Good night, Sir Hunter!” Maggie called cheerfully from the door.
She didn’t know if Hunter responded.
In fact, she didn’t even know if Maggie spoke again or closed the door. She raced for the stairs.
“Kat!” Maggie called. “Will y’not be having your dinner?”
“Oh, Maggie, bless you…but no. I’m…um…exhausted, not hungry, thank you.”
“Child! Your father will want to see you!”
“Oh, Maggie, please, beg Papa to understand…I’m just too exhausted!”
And she ran on to her room, still shaking.
Tired, oh, God, yes, she was tired! But could she sleep?
She tried, but tossed and turned all night, still feeling the burn. And something far worse. How could Hunter’s touch have caused this tempest, when David’s had not?
HUNTER DID NOT HAVE TIME to assess his own eddy of emotions because there was a carriage in front of his house when he returned.
Lord Avery had arrived.
He frowned, thinking that he had barely left David Turnberry at the man’s house.
He entered through the side, frowning when he saw Emma Johnson preparing a silver tray with a glass of whiskey.
She shrugged. “His Lordship arrived just a few minutes ago. Would you like a whiskey, too?”
“A very large one,” Hunter said, nodding his thanks and striding through to the parlor.
“Lord Avery,” he said.
The man was agitated, pacing before the fireplace. Emma entered almost right behind Hunter, carrying her tray.
“My thanks, good woman,” Lord Avery said, taking a glass. Emma gave Hunter another look that indicated the man had given her no reason for his arrival, and when Hunter had taken his glass from the tray, she quickly took herself out of the room.
“What is it?” Hunter asked.
“I am torn,” Lord Avery said. “Sorely torn.”
“Mmm, so am I this evening,” Hunter murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
“No, ’tis nothing. What is your dilemma, Lord Avery?”
The older man swallowed down his whiskey, as Hunter had already done so. They stared at each other with empty glasses.
Lord Avery opened his mouth, then shut it again. He
let out a sigh.
“Dear Lord Avery, what is it?”
“I don’t believe that we can bring the girl,” Lord Avery said at last.
“Pardon?”
Lord Avery began pacing again. “Lord knows, Margaret will not make up her mind about anything! So this is surely as much her fault.”
“This…what?” He frowned. Had David Turnberry been in any way sincere? Had he told them tonight that he was in love with the artist’s daughter?
“Hunter, I feel like the most wretched excuse for a peer of Her Majesty’s realm! There is nothing specific, really. Are you blind, my good fellow? That little waif is not just exquisite, she’s like a lava flow! Her every movement, her smile, her eyes… Oh, don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe she’s a tart in any way. She’s just…dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Hunter echoed.
He’d thought the same thing himself on occasion. In fact, tonight, on the ride back to his house…
“You’re saying that she’s done nothing,” Hunter said. “But she’s dangerous.”
“I see the way they look at her.”
“They?”
“All those young fellows.” He waved a hand wildly again. “All those fellows Margaret refuses to choose between!”
“Ah.”
“But if I renege, what will her father think? And he is a fine man, a truly fine man. I would dare say that I call him a friend now! Ah, would that the lass who saved the boy’s life have been the sister! Sweet, gentle and more like…well, a little more like a mouse.”
“Is Margaret anxious that Katherine Adair not accompany us?” Hunter asked.
“Margaret adores the girl! She is eager to have her as a companion.”
“Is there really nothing specific that has happened?” Hunter asked.
Lord Avery hesitated. Sighed for at least the tenth time. “Young David. When he came in tonight, he said that she found him on the floor when he had apparently hurt himself. And the way he spoke of her…forgive me for being a father, but that’s what I am. I will not have such competition for my Margaret, and that is that.”
“I see,” Hunter said. And he did. And he had wondered several times himself if there had been a way to ground Kat. When it had all begun, he had thought himself the one in control. He had certainly considered himself to be in control of himself, if nothing else.
But he wasn’t. He was as smitten, or at least as much in lust as every one of the young swains around her were!
So. That was it. Lord Avery had decided. He did not need to be an ogre himself!
And yet…
“You’re forgetting that you did promise her father she would be tutored in art.”
“There must be another tutor.”
“You don’t trust me to look out for her?” Hunter grated his teeth, wondering what the hell he was doing. Did he want to be able to say, without lying, that he had tried his hardest?
No. He wanted to see her. Wanted to touch her, wanted to have her, wanted to quell the fierce desire that shook him to the core. He wanted to believe that she was just a woman, like so many others who had come through his life.
“Sir Hunter! If the woman were your mistress and those chaps knew it, none of them would be brave enough to so much as kiss her cheek! But I know and you must know, she is too young and innocent, as well too well protected by her father, to be a man’s mistress. Hunter, I have so agonized over this!”
“She is also an excellent assistant,” Hunter mused aloud. “She is uncanny with her ability to learn. She can translate intricate pages already.”
Lord Avery paced again. “Can you call Emma for another whiskey?” he demanded.
“Of course,” Hunter said.
And he strode out to the kitchen to find Emma, who was, of course, attempting to eavesdrop.
“Will you bring another round of drinks, please?” he said.
“What? Oh, yes, surely, Sir Hunter!” Emma said.
“You’ll be able to hear us better while you’re doing that, too,” he said, a quirk of humor stirring within him.
“Sir Hunter!” she protested. But then she came to him and whispered indignantly, “You can’t let him do this! Why that lass…she risked her life and asked nothing for it!”
“Mmm,” he said noncommittally.
“Hunter, she is lovely and polite and charming and…you mustn’t let him do this!”
“Thank you, Emma, I’ll bear your thoughts in mind. He is, however, Lord Avery.”
“And he has no expedition without you!”
“I beg to differ. He will have Brian Stirling, Earl of Carlyle, and his countess, and they are both excellent Egyptologists.”
“You are the best! You are the most knowing, you have fought the queen’s wars, you speak the language, you…you know everyone in Cairo.”
“Thank you, Emma. Could you get the drinks, please?”
He strode back into the parlor. He didn’t know how Emma managed to pour the drinks so quickly, but she was right behind him again.
Lord Avery took his. Hunter did the same.
They looked at each other and swallowed them down in a gulp.
They were replaced on the tray.
Emma frowned. “Lord Avery, will you be having another?”
“No, thank you. That’s it. I’ve said what I’ve come to say.”
Emma stared balefully at Hunter.
“That’s all, Emma, thank you,” he said.
With a whish of skirts, she departed. Slowly.
“Lord Avery, let me ponder the situation tonight,” Hunter said.
Lord Avery frowned, but then he nodded. “I do not jest when I say that I am worried. Why…I am worried now for her father! I take responsibility for that girl when we sail. As I would expect the man to look after my child.”
“Sadly, neither are children, Lord Avery.”
“Precisely!”
“Let me think about the right thing to do,” Hunter said.
“Am I a fool?” Lord Avery asked. “I thought it all such a fine idea! And the man, the father, what a true talent! They are innocents, all of them. I’d not hurt them. But I’d also not cause a tear to fall from my daughter’s eyes!”
“I don’t believe that Lady Margaret will be at all upset,” Hunter offered.
“I don’t know,” Lord Avery said. He shook his head. “Perhaps I am blowing this situation all out of proportion… You’re right. A night’s sleep. A night’s sleep may well make sanity of it. Thank you, Hunter, for the suggestion.”
He smiled a brittle smile. “I will take my leave, then. I will talk to you in the morning.”
“Call me at your convenience, Lord Avery.”
“Bah! I hate those gadgets. We’ll talk.”
“We’ve two days before we leave. There’s much still to be done.”
“We’ll talk,” Lord Avery said with assurance, and he turned to depart by the front door.
“Good night, then, my lord,” Hunter said.
And so Lord Avery donned his hat and cape and departed. Hunter took a seat on the crimson sofa.
Emma made an immediate appearance.
“You mustn’t let that poor child be cast out of this!” Emma said.
“Hardly a poor child,” he murmured.
“Sir Hunter!”
“I’ll have another whiskey, Emma.”
“Humph!”
“In fact, just bring the bottle.”
“Sir Hunter!”
“I’m thinking, Emma.”
“Humph!”
She went to the kitchen, returned with the bottle and another clean glass. His tray, however, did not hold only whiskey. She had seen to it that, despite the hour, he was given a hot supper.
“Sir Hunter, you must eat.”
“Fine!”
And she walked out.
He picked up the bottle and swigged straight from it. The whiskey burned down his throat and into his gullet.
He drank more.
HE BECAM
E AWARE OF A pounding on his door, and it felt as if someone had taken a hammer to his head.
He groaned and thundered out, “Go away!”
“Sir Hunter!” It was Emma.
“Is there a fire?”
“A fire? No.”
“Then go away!”
For a moment, he thought that he had been left in peace. Then the door to his room opened. He opened an eye slowly. It wasn’t like Emma to just walk in. He slept in nothing but his flesh, and there was no guarantee that the covers would be in a proper position.
But it wasn’t Emma. It was Kat!
Her hair was down, a luxurious fall over her shoulders. She was wearing one of her sister’s perfect concoctions, something with a bodice that enhanced the breasts and made the waist minuscule. For once, her eyes were a soft hazel, guileless, and he knew that she was nervous, that it had taken her a great deal to come into the room.
He groaned, turning into his pillow, offering her the expanse of his back.
“Sir Hunter, please!” she said.
He rolled back, wishing he had forgone the whiskey. And why the whiskey?
Her!
“What?” he demanded.
“You have to help me.”
“No, I don’t.”
She inhaled a deep breath. “Eliza is worried. She said that Lord Avery was very upset when David came in last night, that for some reason it seemed that he was angry with me! I can’t imagine why.”
He stared at her then, at the length of her, at the perfection of her form, the classic beauty of her face, and the wildfire of her hair.
“Nor can I,” he said sarcastically.
“He seems to think that I’m…trouble.”
“You are.”
“What? But I must go on the expedition!” she said.
Ah, yes, she must go. David was going.
“Could you get out of my bedroom, please? As you can see, I’ve not risen.”
“You have to listen to me, please.”
He stared at her. She wasn’t going.
“Excuse me, then.” He rose. He was glad to hear her gasp at his nakedness. He walked across the room to the bathroom, slamming the door.
He poured water and doused his face, needing the cold. He put on the bathrobe hanging on the door.
“Sir Hunter?”
He took his time, brushing his teeth.
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