Lizzy bounced on her toes. “Well, go on, then. Open it.”
“Right.” Marshalling her courage, Kate broke the seal and unfolded the letter. She read the first line and the excitement and nerves quickly turned into the familiar weight of disappointment. “I don’t know why I let myself become hopeful,” she grumbled, refolding the letter. “It’s always no.”
“They’ve no sense,” Lizzy said loyally. “They’ll never make a go of their business with poor judgment such as that.”
They’d been making a go of their business for nearly a half century, but Kate couldn’t see the good in pointing that out. “Thank you, Lizzy.”
“You’d not have such trouble, if you led them to believe you’re a man,” Lizzy commented. “Or if you let Lord Thurston put a word in for you. Or you could pay them—”
“I could do all those things,” Kate agreed and crossed the room to place the letter in a drawer of her desk, on top of a stack of similarly worded rejections. “But I won’t. I want my work to be accepted on its own merit. And I want credit for that success.” She scowled at the stack of letters for a moment before turning to Lizzy. “Does that make me dreadfully vain?”
“Not dreadfully,” Lizzy hedged. “A mite stubborn, though.”
Kate reached back to close the desk drawer. “If being a mite stubborn is what it takes, so be it. I’ll send out another inquiry tomorrow.”
And she would send another inquiry after that, and another after that, and however many it took after that until she received a satisfactory answer. Seeing her music published and hearing it played in a public venue wasn’t her only dream, but it was the only one hard work and perseverance would make come true.
As the sun set, Hunter settled on a stone bench in a secluded section of Haldon Hall’s vast garden. He gave the man sitting on the bench across from him a hard look. “Was it really necessary for me to come here on the last day of a house party?”
He didn’t mind visiting Haldon Hall, of course. He just preferred those visits occur in the time and manner of his choosing.
“It was necessary,” William Fletcher informed him. “I’ve a mission for you.”
“Why couldn’t you give me my orders in London?”
William smiled at him pleasantly. “Because that would have required I go to London when I’d rather stay here.”
Hunter snorted and leaned back against the bench. “What’s the mission, then?”
“Right.” William nodded once. “Lord Brentworth is holding his own house party next week at Pallton House on the coast. I want you to attend.”
“To what end?”
“To keep an eye on Lady Kate.”
Hunter straightened up. He couldn’t have heard that correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Interested now, are we?” William chuckled, then wisely continued on in a businesslike manner before Hunter could respond. “It has come to my attention that Brentworth’s son, Lord Martin, has decided to try his hand at smuggling. I’m afraid the information my source was able to acquire is rather vague, but there exists the possibility of young Lord Martin using his father’s estate as a base of operations. And it is well known that young Lord Martin has a tendre for Lady Kate.”
“You can’t possibly be serious. Lady Kate embroiled in a smuggling operation?” The idea of Kate being connected to a criminal operation was absurd under any circumstances, but that she would be involved with the foppish Lord Martin was nearly laughable.
“She’s not embroiled at present,” William explained. “Your job is to make certain she stays that way.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to have Whit or Alex see to her safety?”
William raised a brow. “And have them keep her locked away at Haldon?”
“Does seem the safest course of action.” Not necessarily the course he would choose, but certainly the safest.
“In this case, the safest course of action is not the wisest course.” William twisted his lips. “If Lady Kate fails to attend the house party so, likely, will her admirer.”
“What sort of smuggler ignores his operation in favor of chasing after a woman?” Hunter scoffed.
“The sort that fancies himself in love.”
“Idiot.” Hunter sat back once more, a sneer firmly set on his face. “We’ll have him in under a fortnight.”
“Not necessarily,” William countered, scratching at his nose. “He’s either the venturer or the sole investor or both, but he’s hardly the type to dirty his hands unloading cargo on the beach. I highly doubt he would make the trip to the coast at all if there was nothing else there for him. He’d arrange for the goods to be brought to him.”
Hunter’s lips pressed into an annoyed line. “We won’t catch him in the act, then.”
“It is unlikely, but with any luck, he’ll use his father’s house to store the goods, or meet with his cohorts…that sort of thing.”
“Lord Brentworth is a suspect as well?”
William shook his head. “I know Brentworth well. The man’s not got a thing to do with it.” He tapped a knee with his finger. “His leg has been giving him trouble since he took a fall from his horse last year. By his own admission, he hasn’t been in the basement of Pallton House in over a year.”
Hunter found it difficult to imagine anyone would be bold enough to store smuggled goods right under his father’s nose, but then, one never knew with the nobility. They had a tremendous capacity for conceit. “What sort of goods are we in search of?”
William didn’t trouble himself over the transport of everyday items. He was, he often remarked, head of the War Department, not an excise man. Hunter had noticed William was more likely to point this out when near a fine bottle of French brandy.
“There will be the usual sort of smuggled items brought over, no doubt, but it’s a bit of paperwork we’re after,” William responded. “I can’t provide you with further detail.”
Hunter gave him a humorless smile. “Afraid I’ll slip back into old habits?”
“If I were worried over you slipping back into old habits, I’d not have you slipping in and out of locked doors, would I? You were a thief longer than you were a smuggler.”
He’d been better at it too. “You’ve no proof of that.”
“Don’t need it, do I?” William asked with a smile before waving his hand dismissively. “I can’t provide you with further details because I haven’t any. As I said, the information I’ve acquired is vague. It’s possible we’ll not find anything beyond a bit of brandy.” William shrugged. “Acquiring paperwork isn’t your objective at any rate. I’ve decided to task another agent with that matter. There’s a London connection for him to explore, and he’ll take primary control of the investigation at Pallton House after that.”
“While I play nursemaid.” In truth, Hunter had no intention of limiting his role to nursemaid, but he saw no reason to advertise as much to William with an easy capitulation.
William raised his eyebrows. “Would you prefer the alternative?”
The alternative, unfortunately, was to stand trial for his own ill-fated foray into smuggling almost seven years ago. Apparently, that time round, William’s source hadn’t been at all vague on what sort of paperwork was to be found among the harmless crates and barrels. “I prefer my neck the length it is, thank you.”
William gave him a disgustingly patronizing smile. “Cheer up, Hunter. Another six months and your obligations will be met. Out before you’re thirty, eh? And perhaps the prince will see fit to grant you something extra for your service. Wouldn’t you like to be a baron?”
A corner of his mouth hooked up. “Prinny can keep his titles.”
“I rather thought you aspired to be a member of the elite.”
“I aspire to wealth,” he corrected, “and what it can acquire.”
“It can’t acquire happiness,” William pointed out.
“True, but insufficient amounts of it will certainly afford a man a great deal of misery.”
Cold, hunger, and loneliness came to mind.
William brushed his hands along his thighs and rose from his seat. “Well, then, if having coin and what it can acquire is what you seek. I would venture to say you are a success.”
He would be, Hunter mused. There was just one more acquisition to make.
Three
It came as a surprise to no one that the dowager Lady Thurston’s ball turned out to be an unqualified success. Particularly not to Kate, who’d been privy to the extensive preparations and attention to detail—or minutiae, to hear her brother tell it—the event had received. According to her mother, there were but three things a lady need worry herself over: the children she loved, the charities she supported, and the parties she threw. Kate had been tempted to ask where husbands fit in, but knew better. Her parents’ union had not been a love match. It had been civil and grounded in some level of affection, but not a love match. In the end, that had probably been best, as her father had died some years ago in a duel over a woman who was not his wife.
Her mother’s ball, however, was not the time or place to dwell on unhappy memories. It was supposed to be the time and place a young unmarried lady paid attention to the young unmarried gentlemen in attendance. Particularly if they happened to be gathered about her chair in the corner of the ballroom.
“What say you, Lady Kate? Red or Green?”
She hadn’t been paying attention. “Er, green.”
Two of the young gentlemen said something akin to “ah-ha!” Another groaned in defeat, and the last gentleman, who really wasn’t all that young, chuckled and slapped the back of one of the victors.
“Um…” She rose from her chair. “Do excuse me. I…I need some refreshment.”
She walked away swiftly, wondering if she would ever learn what sort of opinion she’d just expressed by saying “green,” and made her way across the room. From the corner of her eye, she saw another gentleman start toward her, hesitate when he saw the direction she was headed, and then quickly back away when she reached her destination.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling and quietly hummed along to the tune the musicians were playing. Her little ruse never failed. Whenever she wished for a little peace from her suitors all she needed to do was stand next to the refreshment table.
She was not, it would seem, to be trusted with food.
Kate stifled a snort and reached for a glass of lemonade. No wonder she’d not fallen in love with any of the men who courted her. They would never risk their lives to save her from a runaway mount. They wouldn’t even risk their cravats to speak with her.
She might have thought on that a bit longer, but she was distracted by the rare sight of her cousin, Mrs. Evie McAlistair, engaged in a dance with her husband. Now there, Kate thought with a sigh, was a love match. The sort she dreamed of finding with her own handsome prince.
“Lady Kate, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
Kate jumped at the deep male voice, sloshing the lemonade in her glass onto the skirts of her blue silk gown. “Oh, bother.”
Mr. Hunter stepped around from behind her and produced a handkerchief from his pocket. She nearly told him she didn’t need it—she had enough sense to bring her own—but she bit back the sharp retort. Being rude to the man only seemed to encourage him. And reason dictated that if he pursued her merely for the fun of ruffling her feathers, she need only stop allowing her feathers to be ruffled and he would lose interest and let her alone.
She daintily accepted the square of linen. “Thank you.”
“The least I could do, after startling you.”
She rather thought it was. “It was my error. I was woolgathering.”
“We can debate the matter over our dance. You will dance?”
She’d rather not. “Yes, of course.”
“A waltz.”
A waltz? After he’d been so forward that morning? And when he’d never before asked her for so much as a reel? Suddenly the man expected nothing less than a waltz? Oh, she desperately wanted to make another comment on his arrogance.
“A waltz would be lovely.” She sincerely hoped the words didn’t sound quite as ground out as they felt. “How very kind of you to ask.”
“Not at all.”
The best she could manage in response was a tight smile. She assumed he would leave after that—she was more than a little surprised he’d braved her company at the refreshment table at all—and return for her when it was time for their waltz.
He didn’t. He just stood there, watching her in silence, his lips curved up in a half smile as if he knew full well what she was about.
Let him look, she thought, he’ll see no ruffled feathers. She turned away to watch the dancers, sip at the lemonade remaining in her glass, and even tap her foot in time to the music. She glanced at him, once…twice…
She couldn’t stand it. She had to talk. She had to make him stop looming over her.
“Will you return to London on the morrow, Mr. Hunter?”
His lips curved up just a hair more. “Briefly. And your plans?”
“We’ve a house party to attend in Sussex next week. Lord Brentworth’s affair. Mother forgot to inform me of it until today. This afternoon, actually.” She licked lips gone dry. Did the man never blink? “I realize it’s not the most fashionable of parties, but…” She gave up and leaned forward to hiss at him. “Would you kindly refrain from staring at me that way?”
Rather than appear abashed, he merely raised a brow. “Nearly every man in the room is staring at you.”
“I rather doubt it, but if so, they have the courtesy to pretend otherwise,” she chastised. “Or, at the very least, blink now and again.”
He had the unmitigated gall to actually wink at her. “Will that do?”
“No.” The absurdity of it, however, did create a tickle of laughter in her throat.
“Are you certain it wasn’t effective?” Mr. Hunter inquired with a grin. “Because you look as if you might like to laugh.”
Either she wasn’t nearly as accomplished at hiding her feelings as she thought, or the man was too perceptive by half. Better if it was the latter, she decided. She didn’t care for the idea that everyone could read her so easily.
“Are you not familiar with the phrase ‘looks can be deceiving’?” she asked pertly.
His smile grew and there was a pause before he answered. “I’ve a passing familiarity with the saying.”
Kate thought it sounded as if he might have more than a passing familiarity, but the sound of the musicians beginning the first bars of the waltz kept her from responding.
Mr. Hunter offered her his arm. “I believe this is our dance, Lady Kate.”
She laid her hand lightly on his forearm and was surprised by the swell of muscle beneath her fingers. She looked down at where the ivory of her glove rested against the black of his coat sleeve. How strong did a man have to be, she wondered, to have noticeable muscle in his forearms?
She’d not felt it with any of the other gentlemen she’d danced with in the past, and that accounted for a respectable number of gentlemen. Did it have something to do with his mysterious past? She recalled Whit mentioning that Hunter’s father had been a merchant of some sort, but a father’s profession needn’t always dictate the son’s. Had he been a blacksmith? Were pirates known for their strength? She rather thought it was just agility, but perhaps—
“Is there something the matter with your glove?”
She jerked her gaze up, a little bewildered to find they’d already reached the dance floor. “Beg your pardon?”
“You’ve been staring at your glove for the last thirty seconds. Is there something the matter with it?”
She hadn’t been staring at her glove, she’d been staring at him, but she had no intention of correcting his mistake. “No, I…No, nothing the matter.”
“Shall we dance, then?”
“Certainly.” She cleared her throat and carefully placed one of her hands
in his and the other on his shoulder. A shoulder, she couldn’t help but note, that was also considerably muscled.
Mr. Hunter slid his free hand around her waist to rest at her back. She had only a moment to wonder why such a light touch should feel so significant before he swept her onto the dance floor.
Kate immediately applied herself to not thinking about her waltzing partner’s physique, an effort that might have met with more success had she been doing most anything besides waltzing. Waltzing required touching, an obvious impediment to her goal. Furthermore, dancing was one of the very few activities where she was able to exhibit a respectable amount of grace with very little effort. As long as the music maintained a consistent tempo, it was simple, almost instinctual, for her body to move in time. In short, the task provided no distraction whatsoever from thoughts of Mr. Hunter’s unusually muscled form.
Thoughts she was going to stop having, immediately.
“A penny for your thoughts, Lady Kate.”
Had dancing not come so naturally to her, she very likely would have tripped upon hearing that question. Not for all the pennies in the world would she tell him where her mind had been.
“I, er, I was thinking you’re a very fine dancer.” It was entirely possible that thought had flitted through her head at some point. It was even true—for a large man, he displayed a surprising amount of grace.
She waited, expecting him to deliver a compliment of his own. Gentlemen usually commented on her dancing skills. She suspected they did so in part to be polite, but mostly because they were stunned to find she wasn’t trodding on their toes.
In retrospect, she should have known Mr. Hunter would not do what she expected. Instead of returning the compliment, or thanking her for the one he’d received—as she rather felt he ought—he subtly bent his head, lowering it just enough for her to see the taunt in his dark eyes, and the humor.
“Liar,” he whispered.
The tickle of laughter returned. “If you don’t keep the proper distance, there will be more lies circulating about this ballroom than you find amusing. People are watching, you know.”
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