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.”
Kit gave a reluctant, almost shy smile, an expression Alex found to be among the most enchanting he had ever seen. “Finding an impartial observer would seem to be deuced difficult,” she offered after a moment.
“Kit, Alex says you’re only here another few days,” Reg broke in. “What say we round up Devlin and Francis to give you a proper send-off at the Society night after next?”
She nodded happily. “That’s sterling, Hanshaw.”
“You’ve been here such a short time,” Caroline protested. “Lord Everton, you’re not sending him away, are you?”
“Heavens, no,” Alex returned, glancing again at the chit and feeling something painful tighten in his chest. “His father’s returning for him.”
“Can’t you convince your father to let you remain through the end of the Season?” Caroline asked.
“He…no, I, ah, he has some business back in Ireland, and I’ll need to assist him with it,” Kit offered.
Alex wondered if she would be pleased to be leaving. She hadn’t spoken much of her father, and he couldn’t believe she could possibly be looking forward to returning to Saint-Marcel—unless that had been a lie, as well, so he wouldn’t be able to track them later. They took their leave of Reg and Lady Caroline, and he caught Kit turning to look after them. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” he ventured, clucking to the team.
She sat back and sighed. “I suppose not. Perh
aps she doesn’t see much of her father, and doesn’t resemble him.”
Actually, the resemblance was rather striking. “You like her, you mean.”
Kit shrugged. “I could, I think. If she wasn’t who she was, and if I”—she glanced down at her blue day suit—“weren’t what I am.”
“So when you’re fifty, say, do you still intend to be Kit Riley, boy adventurer?” the earl queried as he guided the team out of Hyde Park.
“I don’t know,” she answered after a moment, facing away from him. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead.”
“You’ll be twenty soon, my dear. Perhaps you should begin.”
She sighed, keeping her gaze on the horses. “Perhaps.”
“You still planning on visiting Ivy?” Alex asked the next morning, taking a last swallow of tea and rising from the breakfast table.
Kit looked up at him. “Unless you have something else in mind,” she said after a moment, giving him another expression he had no idea how to read. He’d never had that problem before, he reflected. Telling what Mary was thinking had always been effortless, and deciphering the thoughts and wishes of his various mistresses hadn’t been exactly taxing. Of course, he’d never been as curious about a woman as he was about this one, either.
He shook his head. “More meetings.”
“Oh, blast it, Alex! You’re not a rakehell at all, are you?”
Alex gave a shout of laughter. “You sound completely disappointed.” He chortled, leaning back against the wall.
Her expression did make him think for a moment that she wished he were a rakehell. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin in a dainty gesture, but he could practically see the gears turning in her head, and waited patiently for her next lie.
Instead, she tilted her head at him. “Are they important, these meetings? Might you skip one?”
He shook his head. “No. Important or not, with the slight problem of Bonaparte’s escape from Elba, meetings do seem to be in order, wouldn’t you say?”
“An army would be more in order,” she returned, rising as well.
That, coming from a Bonaparte sympathizer, was a surprise. “You wish me to lead an army to France?” he asked, studying her expression for anything that might give her true sentiments away.
“No,” she said hurriedly. “That would never do.”
“Why not?” he murmured, pushing away from the wall as she stopped in front of him.
She swallowed, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. “Wellington can lead the army,” she said, and turned her back again.
Slowly he reached out and touched her arm, turning her around. “And what would you have me do?” he queried quietly. Her light green eyes met his, and his fingers twitched on her sleeve. He wanted to pull her closer, to touch her, to hold her.
She swallowed, then gave him a grin that didn’t touch her eyes. “You may lead your meetings.” She sighed theatrically. “Though I have no idea how the wives of peers can stand to sit about all day while their husbands attend meetings. It would drive me mad.”
He chuckled. “Most wives, I believe, gain their revenge by going about Bond Street and spending all of their husband’s income.”
“Well, I only have fifteen quid, so I suppose I must remain bored.”
Fifteen quid, and a lifetime of poverty in Saint-Marcel. With a forced smile Alex motioned her to accompany him to his study. He leaned over the desk and pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer, scrawled a quick note on the page, and handed it to her. “There you go.”
She looked down at it, and her eyes widened. “You’re giving me your note of credit?”
He nodded and smiled, wondering whether he was about to be sent to debtors’ prison, or worse, for his generosity to the chit. “Avail yourself of whatever you’d like to take back to Paris with you.”
“But…” she stammered, looking up at him again, “but I could ruin you with this.”
“You already have, my dear,” he said softly, and touched her cheek with his palm. “I shall have to trust you.” And while she was shopping, hopefully she wouldn’t be revealing any state secrets. Some strategist had once written that distraction could be as formidable a weapon as a direct attack, and it certainly seemed less painful.
Kit studied his face for a long moment. Finally she grinned. “Thank you, Alex.” She folded the note and stuffed it into her inner coat pocket.
He raised a finger at her. “I would advise against estates or large vehicles,” he warned her, half-seriously, “and livestock.”
She laughed. “If you’d given this to me last week, you could have spent every minute in meetings plotting against Napoleon. That’s much safer for you, anyway.”
“Safer than what, Kit?”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Leading armies and such nonsense,” she said flippantly, and he knew that was not what she had meant. She lowered her gaze and turned away. “I’ll be spending your wealth on Bond Street if you need me, Croesus.”
Alex drew a ragged breath as she stepped outside. She truly didn’t sound as though she supported Bonaparte, but neither did she sound like the daughter of a man who was smuggling weapons for that very cause. For a moment he nearly gave in to the impulse that had been tugging at him all morning, to follow her out the door, damn all matters of state. He simply wanted to spend the day with her.
Reluctantly he headed upstairs for his gloves. With only a few days before she returned to France, he should be arranging to stay as far from her as possible. And he truly did have things to do, especially with muskets heading north somewhere along the coast, and Bonaparte beginning a march toward Belgium.
Kit and Ivy started at one end of Bond Street. Shopping for a gown with Mrs. Downing was very nearly as much fun as buying hats and gloves with Alex. Of course, a married lady shopping in the company of a younger man, even her cousin, was enough to elicit odd looks and even a few muttered comments, but Ivy didn’t seem to mind. And Kit was so intrigued with the clothes and fabrics and accessories that she barely noticed.
“Mr. Riley?”
Kit looked up quickly from the row of hair ribbons she was picking through. Mercia Cralling stood on the far side of the table, looking at her curiously. “Miss Cralling.” She smiled, reaching out to take the girl’s hand. “Pleased to see you again.”
“But what are you doing here?” Mercia whispered, blushing and glancing about the small shop.
“Oh, Ivy’s been kind enough to assist me in bringing some things back home for my mother,” she answered offhandedly, casually leaning sideways to see how Miss Cralling’s hair was held up in the back.
“But I thought your mother was dead,” Mercia answered, a slight scowl crossing her pale, perfect features.
“Oh, yes, she is,” Kit returned smoothly, cursing herself. Alex would be furious if he discovered she was being so careless. She shook herself—her father would be furious. “My father remarried. This is for my stepmother, of course.”
“That’s so kind of you.” Mercia smiled, putting her hand out to rest it on Kit’s.
Kit bit her tongue to keep from laughing and smoothly pulled her hand free. Mercia Cralling would be in for something of a surprise if this flirtation went on any longer. “Well, she’s a good sort, really,” she responded, turning her head to look for Ivy, who was patiently trying to explain to the shopkeeper that her aunt-in-law, Kit’s mother, was actually rather tall for a female, and quite fashionable for someone of her age.
“Kit, do you think Aunt…”
“Celia,” Kit supplied.
“Celia would prefer a blue muslin, or a green and peach one?” Ivy asked, indicating the two gowns the shopkeeper was holding.
“The green and peach, I think,” she said, eyeing the creations and shivering at the thought of actually wearing a gown.
Ivy nodded at the shopkeeper. “If you please.”
Kit cleared her throat and strode up to the counter. “And these as well,” she stated, placing a pair
of bone clips beside the dress and a pair of stockings Ivy had procured. Shoes were proving to be more difficult, as she couldn’t very well slip off her Hessian boots to try on a pair. Finally they had settled on a pair of green, or rather, true verdant, slippers at a shop down the street, in hopes that even if they were too small, they would stretch enough to be passable.
“That is for your mother, Mr. Riley?” Lady Cralling tittered, stepping up to the counter and reaching past Kit to finger the material of the gown.
“Yes, my lady,” Kit answered, her fingers twitching with the effort of not slapping the woman’s hand away.
“Far too bold, I say. Undignified, as well. I’d never be caught in such a rag. I hardly think the earl would approve.” With a twitch of her brocade skirt, the woman waddled away.
Kit looked down at the dress again. “Mother will like it excessively,” she countered stoutly, handing Alex’s note over to the shopkeeper.
As had happened at the last three shops where they had made a purchase, the attendant immediately asked if there was anything else the young master wished to take home to his dear mother. “Thank you, that will be all,” Ivy returned, and instructed the woman to box up their purchases.
Kit lifted them and followed her mentor out the door and onto the street, aiming silent curses at Eunice Cralling’s substantial backside. Another blow to her confidence was not what she needed.
“Lady Cralling,” Ivy said, apparently reading her mind “is hardly the one to criticize fashion. Don’t listen to her, my dear. It might not be the very pink, but it will do for one afternoon.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Kit returned firmly, handing the packages to the coachman as they reached the Downing carriage. “I do wonder, though, what Alex will say when he begins receiving bills from all the women’s shops on Bond Street.”
Ivy flipped her hand. “You’ll be gone before he gets them. Besides, he told you to indulge yourself.” She turned to eye Kit critically. “Now. I believe we’ve taken care of all the unmentionables, and the stockings. I can’t think of anything else. Can you?”
Lady Rogue Page 17
