Читать книгу Reckless - Shannon Drake - Страница 5

HUNTER EYED HER LONG AND carefully, then a slow smile crept onto his lips.

“You’re a liar,” he told her quietly.

“How dare you!” she accused.

He shook his head. “I simply do not believe you struck your head that hard.”

She turned to gaze out the carriage window as the busy streets of London passed by. Then she lowered her eyes, the wealth of lashes concealing her thoughts. Her hands, which showed small signs of hard work, were resting on the fine upholstery of the carriage seat and he could see that she was enjoying the soft feel of the fabric.

“My head pains me a great deal!” she snapped, and her gaze returned to his.

Again, he had to smile. “But you are alive,” he said.

“I was doing quite well without you.”

He didn’t bother to respond.

Her frown deepened and she eyed him warily, drawing the blankets more tightly to her throat. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Hunter MacDonald.” He inclined his head in an ironic gesture. “At your service.”

He thought that he saw her eyes widen just a bit; she was quick to hide any sign that she might have recognized his name, if indeed, she had done so. Had she? His exploits were frequently in the papers, he knew, something about which he seldom gave a thought. He was equally referenced in the society pages, usually with a gleeful note—readers loved a touch of scandal.

Frankly, and certainly as of late, he did not deserve most of the more scandalous items of gossip, but he had long ago determined that no matter what one did, it was impossible to live up to the high standards set for a man such as he. He was able to be quite entertained, fortunately, by what fabrications might come along.

His passenger didn’t appear at all frightened to be in the company of such an ill-reputed fellow. Indeed, she seemed to be scheming within her own mind.

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

“Why, my town house, of course,” he told her.

At that, he was pleased to witness the slightest bit of alarm pass briefly over her countenance.

“I may not know who I am,” she said, “but I’m quite certain that I…” Her voice trailed off as if the right words failed her. “That you what?” he offered helpfully.

She lowered her head. “If you would just return me to the sea, I believe I might recognize something…someone.”

“The sea?”

She flushed. “The area by the river.”

He appraised her with both his mind and his libido, ever more fascinated. She spoke well, extremely well, as if she had been decently educated. But he suspected that, nevertheless, she belonged to the poor area of the river.

And a class of Victorian society from which she might never hope to encounter her precious David except under unusual circumstances.

He found himself looking away, feeling the oddest little ache, as if he wished that he were the object of that deep affection she most obviously felt for the youngest son of the Baron Turnberry. It didn’t matter that David would not inherit his father’s title—there wasn’t just one or two male siblings above him in line, but five!—he was surely something of a shining, glittering star to this girl.

And if she felt such an affection for himself?

Ah, well. Some of his reputation was deserved. But never had he tarried with a member of the fairer sex who was truly young and innocent, and tender of heart, as well.

Then, again, what made him believe that she was truly innocent? She had plunged into the Thames nearly naked. For a man.

“I believe that he’s about to become engaged,” Hunter said harshly.

She was good at her charade.

“Who?”

“David Turnberry, my dear.”

“And why should that concern me?”

“I beg your pardon, I forgot. You do not know yourself, so how would you know of Mr. Turnberry?”

She looked at him, red tendrils of hair, drier now, falling softly across her face. “How would you happen to know about the relationships of…this man to whom you refer?” she asked.

“We run in the same circles,” he responded. “In fact, the man you saved—I’m sure you must remember dragging a man out of the water?—is due to leave shortly for a season working the excavations in ancient Egypt. When he returns, I believe he will be married.”

“Is he officially engaged?”

“No,” Hunter admitted. “But he has been a contender in the quest for the hand of Lady Margaret for some time, and I believe that today, after such high drama and fear for his life, she may have decided that he’s the one she’ll choose to marry.”

She turned away quickly, as if she felt distressed and would prefer he not see it. Then she lowered her head and murmured, “Please…if you would take me back to the river, I would be most grateful. I’m sure I shall find out who I am and where I belong.”

He leaned forward, absently setting a hand on her knee as he spoke. “But, dear girl, Mr. Turnberry is anxious to thank you for his life. We must allow him to do so.”

She visibly winced. “As I am? I would deeply appreciate a return to the sea.”

“River.”

“River!” she snapped.

She moved. He realized that his hand touched her still—and that it was far more disturbing to him than to her. He withdrew.

“We are nearly at my town house. My sister often spends time there—I’m quite sure we will find something appropriate for you to wear.”

“Sir! I cannot go with you to your town house alone.”

“Fear not,” he said, smiling. “I have the most proper housekeeper one might ever hope to have. You’ll be in the best of hands.”

They came at last to the town house with its elegant wrought-iron gates and handsomely manicured lawn. He wondered if she had not caught his attention before because, in a very strange way, she reminded him of himself. In his younger years, he’d seen what he was and what he was not. And he’d realized he must improve his own lot, which he had managed to do quite nicely, first in the military, then by charming the queen, and then with his very real fascination for all things Egyptian. He had written a number of books on his experiences, and therefore earned a fair penny from his publishers, and if his own efforts had not seen him to financial success, the death of his beloved and landed godmother had increased his position most pleasantly. The boon had not been expected, because the old girl, who had been a true adventurer herself and had always engaged him in tart conversation, had always pretended poverty and gratefully accepted his many gifts.

The carriage passed through the gates to the porte cochere at the side door. It opened as Hunter jumped down from the carriage, reaching back to assist his unwilling guest. She hesitated, but at last accepted his hand, apparently deciding that it would be churlish to refuse it.

“Dear me, dear me!” This from Mrs. Emma Johnson, his housekeeper. She gave Hunter a scathing look, as if he had committed a crime. “Sir Hunter! What in heaven’s name? Dear child, do come in and I will see to you! Do your parents know where you are? Hunter, did you take this young lady sailing on such a day and lose her in the river? Oh, child, thank the Lord you’re all right. I shall see to you immediately.” She slipped an arm around his red-haired sea vixen, staring him down. “Now, Hunter, it’s none of my business, but—”

“No, Emma, it’s not!” he said, but smiled. She was very dear to him. When he was quite young and struggling, she had even suffered many a week without pay, assuring him that he could pay her when…well, when he could. He had done his best to reward her for those days of service when her work had been based on loyalty alone.

She narrowed her gray eyes in a severe warning, and again he had to smile. “Emma, I did nothing terrible, I assure you. She was drowning—”

“It was not until he tried to help me that I was drowning!” the girl protested.

“It’s amazing what you do seem to remember,” Hunter murmured.

“Good heavens! What did happen?” Emma demanded.

“I suppose we must let the young woman explain,” Hunter said.

“Young woman? What is your name, dear?” Emma asked.

“Yes, dear, what is your name?” Hunter repeated. He watched her face heat with color. “Ah! Dear me, how could I forget so quickly? She suffered a bump on the head and has forgotten everything. Can you imagine, Emma?”

The housekeeper looked horrified. “Hunter, what did you do?”

“I’m innocent, I swear!” he said.

“Aye, mum, he’s innocent this time, I can vouch for that,” Ethan said, coming round from having led the horses and conveyance on to the carriage house and the groom. “Sir Hunter saw a friend swept clean off the deck of another yacht, and he dived to rescue the fellow. Seems that, wherever she came from, the girl had the same idea.”

Emma stared her. “Child! You went into the Thames? Why, ’tis filthy with the rot of thousands, no matter what they say has been done for sanitation in the reign of our good Queen Victoria!”

“I’ve been in it before,” the girl murmured. She flushed again, catching Hunter’s glance, “I…uh…think I’ve been in it before! I mean…perhaps I’ve been in water quite frequently…at least, I believe that I have….”

Emma glared at Hunter once more. “Well, and look at you, in just your drawers and a blanket! Humph!” She wagged a finger at Hunter. “You, sir, have your reputation, but it shall not sully mine. I’ll see to it that our poor dear guest has a bath and is set right up. Ethan! You must go for the doctor immediately—”

“Doctor!” the girl protested.

“Of course! You’ve lost your memory. And with the master of the house around, dear, we wouldn’t want to add to that the fact that you’ve lost your senses! No, no, this must be handled in all proper haste!”

“Emma, I’m hardly likely to seduce the girl beneath my own roof,” Hunter murmured wryly.

“Indeed, hardly likely,” the girl muttered.

“In fact, Ethan will help me out of this river sop I wear, Emma, and you see to the young lady here. They’ll be wanting to know about this at Lord Avery’s manor—it was David Turnberry who went into the drink, and he’ll want to thank our mystery girl properly. I’ll give a call to the manor—assuming the blasted telephone decides to work—let them know that I’ve got the girl.”

“But I do think we should have the doctor—” Emma began to protest.

“I’m fine!” the girl assured her.

“Humph!” Emma said.

“Let’s see…perhaps we should give her until the morning, see how she is faring then. Emma, I’m sure you will have a delightful room ready somewhere in this place?” Hunter said.

“A bath…and a bit of rest. Alone. If I may. That would be lovely,” the girl said. “And if I feel at all ill in the morning, I swear I’ll see a doctor!”

“All right, then, Hunter, be gone up the stairs. Young woman, I’ll get a good deep bath going, and you’ll be warm and cozy in no time. Now, Hunter, you must stay away.”

“Good Lord, trust me, I intend to!” he assured Emma. He couldn’t help winking at his less-than-gracious guest before he passed her by. His fine deck shoes squeaked and he was beginning to feel more than a chill, despite the blanket around his shoulders.

Ethan followed him to his room, dragging out the hip bath, ready to be of service. “Stop, my friend,” said Hunter. “I’ll heat my own bath. See to it that there are coins left on the dresser in the blue room—which is surely where Emma will take our guest. Oh, and see that there are enough coins for transport in the pocket of whatever piece of clothing Emma chooses for our guest.”

Ethan arched a brow.

“Believe me, my friend,” said Hunter. “It is for the girl’s benefit.”

“You want her to run away?”

“She’s going to run back to the river. You mark my words. Besides, don’t worry. I intend to run after her. Ah, Ethan! Please, just do as I say!”

Ethan grunted but left to do as bidden.

KAT, HER MEMORY QUITE INTACT, found being and talking with Mrs. Johnson—Emma, as she preferred to be called—easy and comfortable. The woman was so warm and caring! Kat didn’t think that she’d ever had such a delightful bath, the water so deliciously warm. The house and furnishings were exquisite. Kat had never been in such luxury!

Emma chatted about the neighborhood—charming, she adored it, they’d been there almost a decade. Then there was the amazing way one could now get about—on a train in a tube underground! “Oh, that it had been there when I was a young girl!” she declared. She mostly talked about Sir Hunter MacDonald, the love of her life, it seemed.

Kat wished desperately that she’d been taken to the home of David Turnberry, instead, for she was certain that there she’d have heard from his housekeeper and might have learned all kinds of delicious little nuggets about his life. But it wasn’t to be. She had to remember where she was. And why.

And remember to be grateful. So she listened. Sir Hunter had been an impressive soldier, and it had been for his gallant service to his country that he had been knighted. Why, Emma gushed, he was called upon often to play the diplomat for the queen! And, well, of course, he did have his reputation, but only because there were so many widows and even a few divorcées who did not understand mourning as did their dear queen. And Americans! Well…they were a breed of their own, adventurers-adventuresses, all. And then, of course, there was his obsession with Egyptian antiquities. Yes, there had been quite a hullabaloo at the museum just a year ago. Dastardly going-ons, but all settled in the end, the evil ones out of the picture, and those involved would be sailing off again, learning more and more, and adding to the grandeur of the British Empire!

Yes, yes, yes, Kat thought. But how much could a girl listen to, especially about a fellow who had almost drowned her? All right, it was true that that had not been his intention, and he had made her a guest in his very beautiful home. So she held her tongue while his housekeeper worked her hair with sweet-smelling suds and prattled on. She didn’t have much of a choice.

“But, of course, you’ve read about him, I’m certain,” Emma continued. “He has been the idol of the country many a time. Oh, I forgot! Poor thing. Your memory is gone. But if anything stirs in the darkness, let me assure you, despite his wretched reputation as a ladies’ man, Sir Hunter is a gentleman, a true gentleman.” Emma seemed determined that Kat should understand that.

The woman added ruefully, “I’m certain that many of the rumors are fact, I’m sorry to say, but as I told you, he tarries only with divorcées and widows, women who are quite adult and mature, and responsible for their own actions. I don’t believe he frequents houses of ill repute—well, not the lower sort, anyway. But surely, you must be aware that he has a kind heart. And courage! Why, he has fought again and again in the queen’s service, held his own, even when he didn’t think we had the right to be where we were—Good Lord, child, you mustn’t ever repeat that! He is a loyal subject of our good queen, right down to the toes! And then, of course, there is his constant hunt for Egyptian antiquities.”

“Do you mean treasures?”

Emma Johnson sniffed. “Treasures? Not as we think of them, dear. Treasures to Sir Hunter are relics of the past, the older, and so it seems, the nastier, the better! But then again, it is such a thing among almost all of the British aristocracy and elite these days. That, and mesmerism!” she said with a snort. “Still, he might have chosen a season by the Riviera or in Italy. Oh, he enjoys his stops in Rome and such, but it’s Egypt he goes for, Egypt he loves. He works with the museum, you know. And he always manages to wrangle the best dig for himself or be granted the best location, through our own embassies and the Egyptians, who are in charge. Well, we say that Egyptians are in charge, but it’s still our influence that guides it all. And glad they are of English intervention.”

“English money, I would think,” Kat murmured softly.

Emma laughed delightedly. “Well, now, and there’s the truth. But the Turks were there for a quite a long time, as well, and the Egyptians are glad of our protection, you mark my words. And, of course, the French are forever around. But…I do so wish Sir Hunter would settle for an autumn in a lovely European city!”

“But…it sounds fascinating. Really.” Kat leaned back. “I’ve only ever dreamed of Ancient Egypt!” She jerked back up. “David Turnberry is going for this season in Egypt, as well, isn’t he?”

“Many go, as I said. And you must understand, this is when the season for archeology begins—summer is far too hot! Fall into winter…well, they’re all about to set sail for the mysteries of the past as it is…next week!”

A week! Kat thought. A week. A week in this country, and then…

David Turnberry would go to Egypt. When he returned, he would marry?

Kat sighed softly. It was insane to think, just because he looked up at her after she had saved his life and said I love you, that anything in the world could bring her to his true attention. He was about to become engaged to be married. To an elegant creature of his own class.

He can’t love his presumed fiancée! Not when he said those words to me!

But she had panicked and run away. In part because of Hunter MacDonald. But now…he meant to introduce her to the man. She would have a formal introduction to David Turnberry.

“All right, step out now, child,” Emma was saying. “I’ve a fine set of clothing for you. The Lady Francesca—she’s Sir Hunter’s sister, married Lord Hathaway—leaves ample here, and she’ll be more than pleased that she could help out with a girl pulled from the river, one willing to risk her own life to save another!”

Kat suddenly felt terribly uncomfortable, hearing the words of praise. She had to wonder if she would have attempted the rescue if it had been anyone other than David Turnberry. The thought troubled her, and she barely noticed the silk of the drawers she stepped into, or the simple elegance of the gown Emma slipped over her head, with exquisite lace on the bodice.

“And, oh dear! If a night’s sleep doesn’t help your memory, we must do something,” Emma said suddenly. “There is bound to be some young fellow somewhere, terribly worried about you. No ring on your finger, though.”

Kat’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. No, there was no young fellow worried about her. But her father would be. And her sister, and so many dear friends…

How far had she come? How was she going to get back? If she had to walk…

She lowered her head, biting her lower lip. Surely, a man such as Hunter MacDonald would have left a few coins somewhere about. She would not steal! She would see that they were returned. Public transport was getting very good indeed, and she knew London well.

Like the poor man’s daughter, the urchin, that she was!

“Yes, indeed,” she managed to say somberly. “By tomorrow, I’m sure I shall be fine. I do believe that when I wake up, everything will rush back,” she lied. Then she yawned. “Forgive me. I’m exhausted.” She lifted her hands with her words, then let them fall. She heard a soft tinkle within the folds of the dress. Her fingers moved dexterously over the pockets. The relief that swept through her almost caused her to faint in reality. Coins!

“As well you might be after such a day! Now, just sit before the fire while I brush out your hair. I’ll have you upstairs napping in no time.”

Kat could barely sit still while the kindly woman dried her hair before the fire, brushing all the snarls from the long tresses. When she was done, her hair was as soft as silk, far softer than it had ever been. But she was so riddled with guilt about the hasty departure she planned that she had to force herself to stop fretting long enough to voice a sincere thank-you for the housekeeper’s help.

That same guilt made it difficult for her to appreciate the subdued elegance of the house or the little touches that made it so uniquely Sir Hunter MacDonald’s residence—the relics sitting atop the newel posts, the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls. The fine oil paintings, some of English country sites and some of ancient Egypt. One was of the Sphinx at sunset, and it was so breathtaking that her steps did falter.

“I can show you more of the house, dear,” Emma offered.

“Thank you, I shall so enjoy that…later. But I beg of you, I must have a few hours of undisturbed rest.”

“Of course!”

And so she was led up the grand staircase to a room. It was planned for female guests, or so it appeared, for the furniture was a light and lovely wood, and the canopy and spread of the four-poster bed were blue and white, enhanced by the shades of an Oriental rug.

“Rest well, my dear. I will see to it that you’re not disturbed,” Emma vowed.

“Thank you again, ever so much!”

The door closed. Kat moved to the bed and lay atop the spread, keeping herself still for several long seconds.

Then she rose. She started for the door, then noticed the coins sitting on the dresser. She placed them in her pocket with the others and took the time to look in the lovely little Oriental bedside table for paper and a pen.

“I will return the dress and the coins,” she wrote. The words looked cold and rude. She hesitated, then added, “Thank you ever so much.” No, it wasn’t enough. But time was ticking away. She sketched herself as a Sphinx, with a smiling face, and as the caricaturists did, she added a little balloon at the side of the lips, writing in, “I do thank you!”

Enough. She had to leave, make her way home, then return here before anyone was the wiser and be ready to allow David Turnberry to thank her for his life.

She hurried for the door and out into the hall. There, she listened. There was no sound other than that of the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.

She fled down the stairway to the front entry. There was no lock on the front door. Not now. What would she do when she returned? Perhaps it would be locked by then; dusk would surely be coming on.

Well, that was a worry she would have to contend with when she returned. Right now, she had to go to her father and sister.

And worry that she would be able to return at all!

On the street and down the block, she paused to draw a breath.

She was out. She had gotten out very easily.

Now the great problem—was she going to be able to get back in?

“THE BIRD HAS FLOWN!” Hunter noted.

He sat astride Alexander, his riding mount, hidden against a small field of trees in the narrow side yard of the town house. Ethan, at his side on Anthony, glanced his way, his features wrinkling in a silent question.

“We shall follow,” Hunter said.

She obviously knew where she was going. She quickly made her way through the streets by Hyde Park, finding a station for the omnibus.

There, she boarded.

Following the bus, which was pulled by heavy draft horses, was quite easy. The streets were busy, and the pedestrians often careless, so the going was somewhat slow.

His redhead changed vehicles and headed, as he had suspected, for the river. And, there, of course, his concealing themselves became a bit more difficult. Hunter dismounted, handing Alexander’s reins to Ethan, and bidding the man to wait with the horses.

“I don’t know what either of you is about!” Ethan grumbled.

Hunter laughed. “I’m not at all sure I know myself!”

He hurried then, for once the girl had departed the vehicle, she began to move quickly through the streets, the rows of tightly packed houses, the people milling in the walkways and alleys. He assessed the neighborhood.

It wasn’t the poorest section of the city, but rather the old City of London itself, where some of the architecture of the late sixteen hundreds remained, simple homes built soon after the Great Fire had ravished the city. Most of the inhabitants were hardworking tradesmen, though the area attracted students, musicians and artists. The streets, if not grand, were clean.

“Why, core and blimey!” an old woman who’d been sweeping called out. “It’s Kat!”

“Shh, Mrs. Mahoney, please!” the girl cried, and she raced past the woman. “Is Papa in the house?”

“Frettin’ and wailin’, he is!” the woman said. “Why, he has some of his friends in the police out looking for you, child! There was a rumor that you had been rescued from the water, but…well, no one knew just who had done the rescuing and where you’d gotten to!”

“Oh, no!” the girl cried.

“And what is that you be wearing, Mistress Kat?” the woman demanded.

“I must see Papa,” the girl said, and rushed by the woman, heading into a small house that was painted and finely detailed with new gingerbread trim. The place surely dated back to the days of the Flemish weavers, Hunter thought.

Determined to avoid a conversation with the old woman, Hunter slid quickly against a wall. There was a narrow alley leading to a rear courtyard, and he sidled down the length of it. He did not need to go far.

An open window and drawn draperies allowed him an excellent view of the show within. There she was, the girl whom the old woman had called Kat, wrapped tightly in the arms of a tall, bewhiskered fellow. Another girl, also red-haired, though of a lighter shade, stood by. She embraced Kat next, then stepped away as the dignified older fellow wrapped Kat in his arms again.

When at last the embracing ended, the second girl—her sister?—demanded, “Katherine Mary! What on earth are you wearing? Goodness! Where did you get such an elegant dress?”

“I shall explain,” Kat said.

“Indeed, you shall!” the old fellow responded gruffly. “I have been out of my head with fear and grief. Eliza told me of this insane thing you felt you must do, and I was left to convince myself that you would return, that you had not gone down to the bottom of the Thames! There are police officers out looking for you, young woman. Eliza, send Maggie to inform the police that my child has been found, that we will not need to dredge the river!”

The man was truly furious, and yet obviously greatly relieved. Hunter felt guilty, as he knew the girl must. She appeared stricken, as if she had not realized till now just how painfully her absence had been experienced.

The girl Eliza hurried from the room to summon this Maggie—a servant of some sort, Hunter assumed—despite the fact that this household seemed rather poor—but was very quickly back, not about to miss an instant of what was going on.

“Papa,” Kat said, apparently in an effort to soothe. “Poor Papa, I am so sorry, I hadn’t imagined such a fuss. Why would you send the police after me? You know that I swim better than a fish.”

“Aye, that I know,” her father said proudly. “But you’d gone after a university bloke, and then disappeared from sight! What will I do with you, what will I do? If only your dear sainted mother were still alive!”

“Kat, where did you get the dress?” her sister demanded again.

“It is borrowed… Papa, please, all will be well. You see, I was helped by another gentleman after I helped the first gentleman. I have been at a safe and truly gentle place, I swear it! You see, I am to meet with David Turnberry, the first gentleman, who is soon to be affianced to Lord Avery’s daughter, and I must—”

“Lord Avery!” Eliza exclaimed. She looked across the room. “Papa, she will get a reward. A good reward!”

“I needed no reward,” Kat said.

“Well, I’d be happy for it!” Eliza exclaimed. “Scrimping and saving for something other than fish on the table.”

“Eliza!” the father said sadly, shaking his head.

Eliza apologized quickly. “Papa, Papa, you do so well, I am truly sorry for my words of complaint. But…Kat! That gown! It’s exquisite—where did it come from? Oh, my God! I should get dressed. I must go back with you and—”

“No,” the man said firmly. “No one is going anywhere.”

“But we must give this serious consideration,” Eliza pleaded.

“Katherine Mary, you are my child. My daughter. And you’ll not go off among young men, whether they’re poor as paupers or rich as Midas, without proper escort. Without me!” he bellowed.

“Oh, Papa, please! I must go to Lord Avery’s on my own. I swear to you, I am safe. There is a wonderful woman named Emma Johnson, and she is like my guardian angel.”

“You were at the grand house of a woman?” her father inquired. “Why have these people not escorted you home?”

“Papa…forgive me, but I’m pretending to have lost my memory. I’ve told them I don’t know who I am.”

The man sank into a chair. “You are ashamed,” he said softly.

“Oh, Papa, never!” she cried.

He looked up at her sadly. “We do not need the charity of others. I work hard, we work hard. And we earn our living. Meager, that it is. But I’m an honest man, and I do an honest day’s work. You will take no reward.”

“Papa!” Eliza protested. “Papa, in truth, you are a great artist! You are simply too quick to work for those who promise to pay, but cannot pay.”

“They are the interesting subjects,” the father murmured.

“And then, when there is a rich man about, you refuse to charge what your work is worth! I would say that many a rich man owes you. And if the truth of your service were ever known, you, Papa, would be knighted! Therefore, nothing coming our way would be charity, but rather your due,” Eliza stated.

He shook his head again. “A man’s life is far greater than any sum of money. Kat will take no reward.”

Eliza groaned, turning away.

Kat lowered herself to her knees, setting her hands upon her father’s knees. “Papa, I will take no reward. But may I go back to Mrs. Johnson just to meet these people? I swear to you, I shall refuse the reward. But I would like…I would dearly love…just this time…to meet these people, to let them thank me. Oh, please, Papa!”

“It is a hard world out there, lass! We haven’t money, but again, we’ve pride. And you’ve no great dowry, but again, lass, you have your virtue.”

“It is not at stake, Papa,” she vowed levelly, not offended, her promise earnest.

“I fear to let you from my sight!” he said.

“She is in lo—” Eliza began, but Kat flew to her feet and whirled on her sister.

“Perhaps, since it is a castoff, Papa will allow me to keep the dress, and you may have it!” she said, her eyes offering both a plea and a warning.

“What kind of a father would I be to let you go?”

“A kind and trusting one?” Kat suggested.

“No!”

“Oh, Papa, please! It’s just a dream, a silly dream, to have one chance to be thanked and feted. And I know the streets, the way of people, rich and poor. You’ve taught us well. You used what you worked so hard to attain to see that Eliza and I had an education. You taught us to know right from wrong. Please…trust in me, Papa!” The last plea seemed to touch his heart, for he rose and took her hands in his.

“I do trust in you. But I’m deeply sorry that you may not have your moment of glory. I am a poor man, but I will not sell my pride, nor my responsibility.”

“But, Papa—”

“Hate me, child, rail against me. I will not let you go.”

“Papa, I can never hate you!” She was in his arms again, cherished, but dismayed.

Hunter, from his position outside the window, could see her face as she held on tight to her father. She loved him, but she was stubborn. Reckless. And she was plotting. She had come upon a dead end, and she would discover a way around it.

What would it be? Hunter wondered. He realized that, listening, he had caught and held his breath. He released it slowly, thinking.

He wondered if the wicked little redheaded vixen knew that she already had far more than money, a title, or half of the silly things considered important by members of the so-called elite, the place her beloved David inhabited.

Her father drew away. “The dress, lass, must be returned. Where did you acquire it?”

“It belongs to Francesca, Lady Hathaway,” Kat said unhappily.

“But she lives far from London!” the father said.

“Her brother’s town house is not so far.”

Eliza gasped. “You were at the town house of…Sir Hunter MacDonald?”

“Hunter MacDonald!” Papa roared.

Hunter winced. It appeared he was well known.

“Papa!” Eliza said, apparently shocked by her father’s response. “The man is a favorite of the queen!”

“Yes, and it’s because the man has a reputation for outlandish adventure, always riding into the fray. I daresay that the queen enjoys the stories of his escapades—and the flattery he doubtless showers on her.”

“But they say that he’s brilliant!” Eliza said excitedly. “And oh! Far more than charming. Why, there have been rumors of his affairs with ladies of the highest strata!”

Both her sister and father were staring at her in horror.

“No, please,” Eliza persisted. “He has sullied no reputations, he has merely…well…goodness! How do I put it delicately? Played among players?”

Hunter shook his head. Things were only getting worse. And though he hadn’t really the least idea of what he was about, he decided that the time had come to knock on the door.

He was just heading for the door when Kat spoke.

“Sir Hunter is not so much, I assure you, Father,” she said. “I promise you, there is not the least worry regarding my virtue as far as he is concerned. But…I might have met Lord Avery, Father.”

“And her precious David!” Eliza murmured.

“What?” their father demanded with a frown.

“Oh, she might have had a lovely dinner, Father, that is all,” Eliza said. “You know, Papa, rubbed elbows with the truly elite!”

“There is no sense in it,” the man said softly. “No sense at all, and you must believe me, and accept this regret rather than one far greater. Do you understand, Katherine Mary?”

Kat looked down. “I bow to your wisdom, Papa,” she replied. Then she gave a massive yawn. “Papa, I am to bed.”

“’Tis best, my girl,” he said gently. “Tomorrow, we will return the dress.”

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

She started for the narrow stairway. Then she turned. “I love you, Papa,” she said.

“Aye, child, and I love you.”

Kat smiled, hesitated and went on up the stairs.

Outside and unseen, Hunter leaned thoughtfully against the wall. Then he looked through the window again, and a frown creased his forehead. He realized that he knew of the girl’s father. His frown dissipated, to be replaced by a small smile.

At last he moved away, certain of the need to hurry home.

Kat, he knew, would soon be on the road again.