“If he’s not the sort to do it,” he mumbled, mostly to himself as he took a seat. “That begs the question as to why he did.”
Kate seemed to think about that. Seemed being the key word, because what she said after a moment was, “Actually, begging the question indicates that a person has made an argument for their position on a matter by offering a point that is wholly dependent on their position having been correct to begin with. It’s an assumptive, even circular sort of—”
“Kate,” he cut in gently. It truly was fascinating the way her mind worked.
“What? Oh.” She set the sherry aside. “I don’t think I need any more of that.”
He felt his lips twitch. “Tell me what you were doing when Mr. Potsbottom arrived.”
Her brow furrowed in thought. “I was going to the music room from the parlor, just as Mrs. Keenes said. I ran into him in the hall. Or he into me. I’m not certain which.”
“Was he in the parlor when you left?”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t recall, to be honest. He may have come in for a time with the other gentlemen.”
“Did you speak with him earlier in the day?”
“No, Mirabelle and I were out for most of the day, and Mr. Potsbottom wasn’t present when we returned to the house, nor at tea.” She blew out a hard breath. “I simply have no idea what possessed him.”
“We’ll figure it out.” But as he meant to see Mr. Potsbottom permanently removed from the house, his erratic behavior suddenly became a less pressing matter than the phrase, Mirabelle and I were out for most of the day.
“Where did you and Mirabelle go?”
“Oh, we went exploring.” She sat up a little straighter in her chair, and pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, excitement suddenly lighting her eyes. “Did you know there are bluffs to the east of here? Great rocky ones that jut out into the water and—”
“Who told you that?”
“No one. Mirabelle and I discovered it. We went for a stroll.”
“A stroll,” he repeated, drawing out the last word.
“Yes.”
“Down more than two miles of beach?”
“Oh.” She slumped a little in her chair. “So you did know.”
“Yes. What I don’t know is what you were doing there.” And why the devil Whit had allowed it.
“I told you, Mirabelle and I were—”
“Going for a stroll, yes.”
“More of a hike at that point, really. After a time, we followed the bluff rather than the beach.” She smiled at him and shrugged. “Seemed safer, under the circumstances. But we did discover a small beach between two rocky outcroppings and a trail cut out of—”
“Tell me you had more sense than to go down that trail.”
She blinked at his hard tone. “I had more sense than to go down that trail.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. “Are you just repeating what I said because I told you to, or did you actually have—”
“I had more sense than to go down that trail,” she said again, and with just enough emphasis to betray her irritation.
Good. Irritation didn’t begin to cover what he was feeling. There was a sick knot of fear in his stomach, and another, tighter knot of it weighing on his chest. Something might have happened to her. She could have been accosted, abducted, fallen from the bluffs. The possibilities were endless, really. And horrifying. Unaccustomed, and uncomfortable, with being afraid for another, he retreated to the safety of cold anger. “But not, apparently, a sufficient amount of sense to keep from going down the coastline to begin with.”
She tipped her chin up. “There was absolutely nothing wrong with me going—”
“What if someone had seen you?”
“Then someone would have seen two ladies taking a stroll along the beach,” she retorted. “Hardly an uncommon sight.”
“Had it been an actual stroll, yes. But two miles up to Smuggler’s Beach while—”
“Is that really what it’s called?” She gave a small snort. “One would think they’d come up with something a bit more discreet than that, or at least more creative.”
“It’s had the same name for…” He bit off an oath. It was nothing short of astounding how quickly she could steer a conversation off course. “Doesn’t signify. It was reckless of you to go running about the coast looking for smugglers. For the remainder of the house party, you will stay in my sight every minute of the day that you are not in your room. Am I understood?”
Her mouth fell open. “That’s preposterous.”
It was, probably, but he wasn’t in a mood to argue with her, not while his stomach was in a knot. “That is an order.”
Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Every minute of every day? Had the man come unhinged? The order wasn’t just preposterous. It was impossible. What was she to do when it was time to leave her room, send a maid for him? What was she to do after dinner when the ladies went into the parlor and the gentlemen had their brandies? What was she to do if Lizzy or Mirabelle wanted a few private words with her when she was not in her room?
“You can’t order me to stay in your sight every minute. What—?”
“I can, and I have.”
“But it’s ridiculous,” she countered on a bewildered laugh. “It’s beyond ridiculous. I can’t—”
“You can, and you shall, or I’ll inform your brother why I’m here.”
“What?” Likely she would have come up with something more intelligent to say if her mind hadn’t been swamped in utter disbelief. She couldn’t have possibly heard him correctly. Surely he wasn’t issuing a threat.
Hunter leaned back in his chair, his face set in hard lines. “I’m sure he’d be interested to know his only sister is attending a house party in the midst of a smuggling investigation.”
Apparently, he was issuing a threat. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Neither I nor my brother is an idiot, Mr. Hunter. Whit knows of the smuggling operation.” Probably, she amended silently. “And I know he knows of the smuggling operation.” Again, probably. “Why else would he attend this house party—”
“He doesn’t know you know, nor that I told you what you know.” He pressed his lips together and grumbled something akin to, “I can’t believe I just said that,” before continuing. “He doesn’t know of your involvement.”
That was very certainly true. If Whit had any idea she was helping—even in the most limited sense of the word—with the investigation, he’d send her packing back to Haldon.
Her hands fisted in her lap. “You would compromise your own mission just to spite me?”
“I do nothing to spite you, Kate,” he replied in a patronizing tone. “My primary mission is to protect you. And if that requires I inform your brother that you, and his wife, were traipsing about the beach looking for smugglers—”
“Leave Mirabelle out of this,” she cut in. “She did nothing more than go for a walk because I asked it of her. Furthermore, I wasn’t looking for smugglers. I was just…looking.” She tossed up her hands in frustration. “It was the middle of the day, for pity’s sake. Even I know smugglers don’t bring their shipments ashore in broad daylight. And with Lord Brentworth’s house full of guests two miles away? They’d have to be terrifically stupid to take such a risk. I can’t imagine Lord Martin, for all that he is rather silly, investing his money in a ship full of fools. At the most, he’d—”
“You’re rambling.”
“What of it?” she snapped.
He merely lifted a brow at her sharp tone. Kate wondered how the movement of a single eyebrow could say so much, and then she wondered how what it said could be so irritating.
She didn’t care to be looked at as if she were an excitable child. She wasn’t in the habit of throwing fits of temper. On the other hand, she could probably manage a fairly respectable fit if he kept issuing asinine orders while he looked at her with that one irritating brow raised.
“I assume you felt the need to
interrupt my rambling for a reason?” she ground out.
“Only way to get a word in edgewise,” he returned.
“Then have your word.”
“Thank you.” He lowered his brow, but leaned forward to catch and hold her eye. “I am willing to compromise on the matter of you staying within sight at all times, but not on this—you will not, at any time, leave Pallton House grounds.”
She considered that. It wasn’t as asinine as his first order. And she had practically given her word that she would adhere to his orders. She had no intention of breaking her promise. But what if the ladies took it into their heads to go out for a picnic in the nearby countryside, or her mother asked her to go into town for a bit of shopping?
She pressed her lips into a line. Participating in the investigation was becoming more bother than it was worth. “What if I’ve need—?”
“No more arguments, Kate,” he cut in for what she thought must be the hundredth time. The aggravating oaf. “You will remain on the grounds at all times, or I will inform your brother of your involvement in this mission and let him decide what’s to be done with you.”
“Decide what’s…?” She gaped at him yet again—just for a moment, just long enough for the waves of insult and indignation to solidify into the far more useful emotion of fury.
“You,” she began coolly, rising from her chair, “and that ultimatum, may go straight to the devil. I shall inform Whit of my involvement, and I shall decide what is to be done with me after that.” She sniffed once and looked down her nose at him. “I’ll leave it to William Fletcher to decide what’s to be done with you.”
“Holy hell, you’re stubborn.” His voice was more awed than angry. “You’re quite serious, aren’t you? You’ll tell Whit yourself.”
“Yes.”
“He’s mentioned you can be mule-headed,” he commented in an aren’t-you-rather-interesting sort of way that turned the edges of her vision red, “but this I hardly expected.”
“Apparently, you don’t know me as well as you would like to think.”
“Apparently,” he agreed. He leaned forward in his chair and motioned toward the door. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and just a little taunting. “Go on and tell him, then. It should be interesting to see how he takes the news of your untrustworthy behavior.”
“I beg your pardon?” Her tone was sharp enough to cut glass.
“You agreed to adhere to my orders.” He sat back against the cushions of the chair once more. “You’ve broken your word.”
Kate took a slow, deep breath through her nose in an effort to control the overwhelming wave of emotions that insult had provoked. Coles never broke their word, not since her father had passed. It was a matter of utmost pride for every member of the family. The accusation that she had failed to uphold that honor infuriated nearly as much as it wounded.
She didn’t speak again until she was certain she could do so in a voice that was confident rather than thready. “Unlike you, my brother knows me too well to question my integrity. Had you let me explain myself rather than rushing to assume the very worst of me, you’d have known I was only looking for clarification of your order, not seeking to excuse myself from a promise.”
His dark eyes searched her face. “You meant to keep your word?”
“I always keep my word.” She spun on her heel, headed toward the door, and threw a parting shot over her shoulder. “And I give you my word that Whit won’t cast aspersions on—”
“I’m ordering you not to inform your brother of your involvement.”
She stopped in her tracks, but didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. She simply could not look at the man…not without risking doing him a physical injury.
“Not tonight, Kate.” His voice had gentled, a fact that only added fuel to her fury. There was nothing more grating than being enraged and having the object of that rage remain calm and collected. “You’re angry,” he continued. “It would appear you’ve some right—”
She turned around for that, and found he’d risen from his chair, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve ample right,” she bit off.
“Be that as it may, I am ordering you to wait twenty-four hours before making a decision you might regret.”
She’d have given nearly anything in that moment to tell him she would speak to Whit at the time of her choosing, and the devil take his orders. But she couldn’t, not without proving him right. Furious, she spun around again, reached the door, and spun back. “Don’t forget to send a footman for Mr. Potsbottom.”
Hunter didn’t bother with the footman. His own temper still simmering, he followed Kate at a discreet distance to be certain she made it safely back to her room, then went directly to the music room where he found Potsbottom snoring in the very spot where they’d left him.
Hunter toed him with his boot. “Get up.”
When that failed to illicit more than a loud gurgle, Hunter stalked over to a vase with cut flowers and stalked back to dump the contents over the boy’s head.
Potsbottom lurched violently and flailed his arms as if warding off an attacker. “Wazzat? Wazzat?”
“Awake now, are we?”
Mr. Potsbottom stared at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending. “Wazzat?”
Awake, Hunter ascertained, but nowhere near sober. “Get on your feet. We’re going to the stables.”
Mr. Potsbottom required some assistance in fulfilling that command, which Hunter provided in the form of dragging him up and hauling him out the door. Under normal conditions the walk to the stable took under a minute, but with Mr. Potsbottom’s stumbling, lurching, and tripping—all whilst babbling unintelligible nonsense—it was at least five before Hunter pushed through the doors, and then shoved Mr. Potsbottom against the wall of the nearest stall.
His instinct was to follow up that shove with a right jab to the nose, then a left jab to the jaw, and then a serious of blows to the gut, and then…Well, he just wanted to beat the man unconscious.
Pity a man couldn’t answer questions when he was unconscious. While Hunter was debating his limited options, Mr. Potsbottom mumbled something about heaven, or possibly lemons, and his eyes began to roll back in his head.
Hunter shoved him again. “Stay awake, Potsbottom.”
“What?”
That was an improvement, anyway. “You’ve questions to answer. Let’s begin with why you thought Lady Kate would appreciate your attentions.”
“Lady Kate?” Mr. Potsbottom squeezed his eyes shut on a groan. “Mistake…Terrible…Sorry…” His head began to loll to the side then snapped back up again when Hunter gave him a hard shake. “Didn’t mean…frighten her…I’d never…”
“You did.”
“Terrible…Said she wanted a kiss…She said…” He blinked owlishly and looked around a little. “We in the stables?”
“Lady Kate said she wanted a kiss?” He didn’t believe that, not for a second.
“Huh?”
Hunter ground his teeth together. “Did Lady Kate ask you to kiss her?”
“No…No, don’t think she wanted…Might have frightened her…Didn’t mean…I’d never…” His face suddenly took on a green cast. “Gonna be sick…”
Hunter let him go and took a step back. Mr. Potsbottom staggered away a few feet and bent at the waist as if to toss up his wine. But rather than ridding his body of the poison, he kept bending forward slowly until he’d finally toppled to the ground headfirst.
Hunter curled his lip in disgust and wondered if it would be worth the effort to drag the sot up again. Probably not. From what he knew of Mr. Potsbottom, and what little—what very little—the drunken fool had been able to make clear, it was fairly obvious the young man had been drunk, clumsy, and stupid when he’d turned his attentions on Kate, but hadn’t intended to harm.
He’d have another talk with him in London, a sober one, about limiting his drink. And to make certain he kept his tongue in his head.
Mr. Potsbottom snorted, gur
gled, and began to snore.
“Waste of good air,” Hunter grumbled.
A soft snicker sounded from overhead and he looked up to discover a large pair of brown eyes in a young face peeking out from over a bale of hay in the loft.
Hunter jerked his head in acknowledgment. “Evening, lad. You have a name?”
“Simon, sir.”
“Well, Simon.” He dug a few coins out and held one up for the stable boy to see. “Care to earn a bit of this?”
The boy crawled out from behind the hay to crouch on his heels at the edge of the loft. At least twelve, Hunter guessed. Old enough to hear a spot of rough language. He tossed him the coin. “Inform Mr. Potsbottom upon his rising that he is to get on his horse and go home. He can send for his things. If he takes one step inside Pallton House, I’ll personally hack off the offending foot.”
Simon nodded.
Hunter tossed him another coin. “Also inform him that if he speaks one word of what took place this night I’ll personally hack off his head.”
Simon nodded again.
“If he gives you any trouble, come for me. Understood?”
“Aye.”
“Good lad.”
“You hack off mine? If I talk?”
“Won’t need to, will I? That’s what this is for.” He tossed him a wink to let him know the jest, and tossed him the final coin, a sovereign. “You’re in no danger from me, Simon. But I expect you to earn that and be mindful of what you say.”
“Aye,” the boy breathed, he turned the coin over in his hand, his eyes wide. “That I will.”
Though he would have preferred to go straight to his room for a drink, and the privacy in which to savor it and his foul mood, Hunter made himself stop by the library on his return from the stable. Cracking the door open, he looked inside to discover Lord Martin passed out on a settee, Mr. Kepford snoring loudly on the floor in front of the settee, and Mr. Woodruff slumped over in a high back chair, a thin line of drool seeping from his mouth.
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