Destined to Last (9 page)

B
y two o’clock on her first full day as an agent of the crown, Kate was forced to admit that it was probably best she wasn’t asked to fill the role with any regularity. She was, as it turned out, demonstrably bad at waiting and watching.

She’d tried her hardest, she truly had. It was just that her task turned out to be rather unengaging and the presence of Hunter much too distracting. She had assumed that after breakfast he would spend the day fishing with Lord Martin and the other gentlemen. Instead, he had spent the day in the house, making it all too tempting for her to go seek him out. It was absurd that she should do so, but she couldn’t seem to stem her curiosity. Was he searching the house? Questioning the staff? Counting the floorboards?

Desperate to know what he was about, she had
ever
so casually tracked him to the veranda after breakfast, where they had sat speaking to other people. And then she had trailed him at a
very
respectable distance to the library where he had read a book and she had pretended to. And finally she had followed him, after a
perfectly
suitable amount of time had passed, to the parlor where he was now looking over a paper in a chair some distance from where she sat writing an imaginary letter to the Duchess of Rockeforte.

She snuck a quick glance at him. His clothes, she noted, were as tidy now as they had been first thing that morning. Her white muslin gown, on the other hand, was a mite wrinkled, had a brown smudge of unknown origin on the hem, and a small black ink stain near her waist. She scowled at the spot, then scowled at the pen in her hand. How ridiculous did one
have to be to acquire a very real ink stain as a result of writing an imaginary letter? She set her pen down, brushed at a wayward lock of blonde hair, and once again glanced at Hunter.

How fastidious did one have to be, she wondered, to always look a veritable fashion plate?

Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. Hunter’s clothes were stylish, yes, but they were too subdued in color and cut to be considered the fashion
du jour.
There were no brightly colored or outrageously patterned waistcoats for him. She knew for a fact he didn’t pad his shoulders, and he seemed to avoid the impossibly high and stiff collars favored by some other gentlemen. There was nothing about Hunter that marked him as a dandy or a fop. He was simply…polished.

She recalled that her brother, Whit, had once remarked in passing that Hunter was a man who possessed an inordinate amount of self-control. Perhaps that was what drove him to keep his appearance so well ordered—a desire to be, and look to be, in absolute control.

A simple enough appearance for one to obtain—provided it was someone other than herself—when one did nothing more than go from breakfast room, to library, to parlor. Clearly, the man was not about searching the house or questioning the staff. He didn’t look to be about anything at all, not even counting the floorboards. Her curiosity got the better of her. She pushed away from the desk and rose from her chair.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter,” she chimed loudly for the benefit of several ladies gathered at the far side of the room. “Can I interest you in another game of chess before tea?”

He waited for her to reach him before giving her a wan smile and a simple, “No, thank you.”

She opened her mouth to respond to that, then changed her mind when she noted he was still sitting. She gave him an inquisitive look. “Are you aware that it’s rude of you to still be seated while I’m standing?”

“It won’t be when you sit down.”

Apparently, he was aware. As the question had been mostly an academic one, she shrugged, unoffended, and took her seat. “Why won’t you play chess?”

“I don’t think my pride could take it.”

She fought back a smile. “Yes. That’s understandable.”

A corner of his mouth hooked up. “Evie told me that the two of you are the most evenly matched players at Haldon.”

“We are.”

He closed his book. “You bested me in nine moves.”

“Eight,” she corrected. “You shouldn’t have brought your queen out so early.”

“Eight,” he conceded. “My point is, she wasn’t able to do the same.”

“Yes, well, the
most
evenly matched, and evenly matched
in truth
, aren’t the same thing, are they?”

“Clearly not.” He set his book aside. “Did you come all the way over here to discuss chess?”

“It was less than twenty feet. But no, I did not.” She glanced warily at the other guests before lowering her voice even further. “Isn’t there something you should be doing?”

“I’m speaking with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I meant in regards to the investigation.”

“Perhaps I’m doing both, as you are. You’re watching the staff and talking to me at the same time, aren’t you?”

She could barely walk and breathe at the same time. She gave him a sheepish smile. “No, to be honest, I’m not. With very few exceptions, I’m rarely at my best when trying to perform simultaneous tasks.”

“You played chess and spoke last night.”

“As I said, there are a few exceptions.” She looked down to the ink stain on her gown. “You may count yourself fortunate that I didn’t upend the table midway through the game.”

“Wouldn’t have bothered me in the least. I find your lack
of coordination to be one of the most charming things about you.”

She looked up and laughed. “Oh, you do not.”

“I do, in fact.”

“I…” Good heavens, he was serious. She couldn’t fathom why he should be. Gentlemen often liked her
despite
her clumsiness, not because of it. She shook her head at him, baffled. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been gifted with extraordinary beauty, wealth, position, and talent. If it weren’t for your ungainliness, you’d be insufferable.” He smiled at her. “Everyone should have at least one flaw.”

“I…” She had difficulty responding to that, which really ought to have kept her from responding at all. “I have
loads
of flaws.”

The inability to recognize when I ought to keep my mouth firmly shut, for instance.

“Is that so?” He tilted his head at her a little. “Care to share what they might be?”

“Um…”

“Oh, Mr. Hunter!”

For the first, and what Kate was certain would prove to be the only, time in her life, she was happy to see Miss Willory enter a room. Even if Miss Willory was wearing a peach gown with a neckline cut almost, but not quite, low enough to be considered vulgar. Kate strongly felt it to be a case of revealing more than the view warranted.

Miss Willory reached them and sighed heavily. “I vow, I have been looking for you everywhere. That is…” She tittered, then blushed. The latter was something Kate knew the woman could do entirely at will. Which was, in her estimation, a perfectly stupid talent. “Well not
everywhere.
That would be silly of me, wouldn’t it? I would never…Goodness, I’m making a terrible ninny of myself.”

Hunter waited for the wave of tittering to pass before asking, “Is there something I can assist you with, Miss Willory?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She blushed again. “There is a book I should like in the library, but I’m afraid I simply cannot reach it. I thought, perhaps, as the tallest gentleman in residence, I might trouble you to reach it for me.”

Kate blinked at her. “Isn’t there a stepladder?”

Miss Willory barely spared her a glance. “It’s broken. Mr. Hunter—”

“Odd,” Kate remarked. “It was intact when I used it.”

“
You
used it recently? Well then, that would explain…” She cleared her throat delicately. “I’m sure I’ve no idea how it might have come to be broken.”

Kate swallowed down a retort. Arguing that she’d had nothing to do with whatever had happened to the stepladder would likely only give her a headache. When it came to Miss Willory, the best course of action was to get rid of the girl as quickly as possible, not drag the conversation out. “Would you like me to ask one of the footmen to assist—?”

“Oh, no, Lady Kate. I’m sure it would be best for all if you kept your seat.”

Inevitable headache or not, Kate would have responded to that if Hunter hadn’t spoken first.

“Show me the book, Miss Willory,” he said coolly, rising from his seat.

“Oh, you are too kind,” Miss Willory simpered.

“You really are,” Kate muttered, but neither seemed to hear.

Kate didn’t glower at Miss Willory’s back as she left the room with Hunter, but only because there were others in the parlor who might see. Perhaps,
that
was why Miss Willory had come to Pallton House, she thought. Not for Mr. Potsbottom or Lord Comrie, or even Lord Martin, but for Hunter. Unable to hold back any longer, Kate looked down at her ink stain once more and glowered at it. She should have guessed earlier,
she fumed. She should have realized it might be Hunter Miss Willory was after. True, he hadn’t a title—it was possible he hadn’t even a traceable lineage—but he did have the fortune to buy half of England. And wouldn’t Miss Mary Jane Willory just
adore
owning half of England?

Irritated, and unaccountably nervous, she stood to pull a small nearby table between their chairs, and fetch the chessboard.

Ten minutes later—which was five minutes longer than Kate felt was necessary—Hunter returned from his task and eyed the table dubiously. “Didn’t I mention I’d rather not play chess?”

“I can’t sit here talking to you while you read a book,” she informed him. And she had every intention of talking to him, just not on the topic she’d originally planned. “But if your vanity is so easily bruised that you tremble in fear at the mere
thought
of—”

“I’ll play.”

“Excellent.” She pushed a pawn forward and strove for a casual tone. “Did you retrieve Miss Willory’s book?”

“That is why I went,” he reminded her, taking his seat.

“You were gone an awfully long time for just one book,” she commented as he studied the board. “Did you run into difficulty?”

“Miss Willory had a spot of trouble remembering where the book was located.”

“It’s a library,” she drawled. “They’re arranged by author and subject according to—”

“She had a spot of trouble remembering who wrote it as well.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Of course she did.”

He looked up at her with brows raised. “Beg your pardon?”

“You
are
aware she’s attempting to flirt with you?” She flatly refused to give Miss Willory the accolade of having accomplished the deed.

“I’ve eyes in my head,” he replied by way of answer.

She waited for him to expand on that. He didn’t. “Do you
like
her attempting to flirt with you?”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms, his expression one of smug amusement. “Are you jealous, Kate?”

Rather
, was her initial and entirely unwelcome thought. “Curious,” is what she told him.

Hunter idly shrugged one shoulder. “I might like it, were she a different sort of woman. It’s no compliment to receive the attentions of someone like Miss Willory.”

“Oh.” She stifled a sigh of relief. “Good.”

He grinned at her. “You
were
jealous.”

“I certainly wasn’t,” she countered, smoothing one of the many wrinkles in her gown. “I was merely worried you couldn’t see past her charms.”

“And that you’d lose me to them?”

Do I have you to lose?
That unbidden thought was even more unwelcome than the last. Uncomfortable with both, she strove to steer the conversation in another direction. “You’ll twist any comment to suit your purposes.”

“
I’ll
twist any comment?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Lady Kate, I have never met another human being so adept at modifying a comment for her own benefit than you.”

“I—”

“Yes,” he cut in with a patronizing smile and nod, “that was a compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” she countered. “And I was going to say that you obviously haven’t spent enough time in the company of those who are so
clearly
in the right.”

“I’ve spent considerable time in my own company.”

“I do so hate to repeat myself,” she said smartly, “but you obviously haven’t spent enough time in—”

“Oh, Mr. Hunter!” Miss Willory once more sailed into the room blushing and giggling. “I’m
dreadfully
sorry to trouble
you again, but I’m afraid I must ask on behalf of Mrs. Ifill if you would be so kind as to assist in the library one more time.”

Having been an unwilling witness to Miss Willory’s brand of flirting on numerous occasions, Kate knew, without a doubt, that it would not be merely one more time.

“Perhaps it would be wise to fetch a footman instead,” she suggested, “and have him repair the ladder.”

“What a clever idea,” Miss Willory said sweetly. “And how generous of you to offer.”

“I’ll fetch the footman,” Hunter said quickly, rising from his chair. He headed for the door once more. Miss Willory followed, but not before throwing a disgustingly self-satisfied smile at Kate.

She’d stall him for the next twenty minutes at least, Kate fumed. With a sigh, she left to search out one of her own books with the idea that by the time she found something appropriate for reading in the parlor, Hunter would have returned. Considering that the only other appropriate book in her possession, besides the volume of poetry she’d had on the veranda, was a book on musical theory Lizzy may, or may not, have unpacked and placed on the vanity, it was possible she would return to the parlor to find him waiting for her.

She made a point of not finding her book until twenty minutes later, even though Lizzy had, as it turned out, placed it on the vanity. With the volume tucked under her arm, she made the return trip whilst pondering Miss Willory’s sudden campaign for Hunter’s hand.

How desperately did she want that hand? Kate wondered. And how far would she go to obtain it? Would she attempt to maneuver him into a trap? Feign being compromised? It was a dangerous game to play with someone like Hunter, but Miss Willory was conceited, conniving, and possibly just desperate enough to try.

It seemed the staff at Pallton House were not the only
people she would need to keep an eye on. Resolved to keep a close eye on Hunter as well, lest he not recognize a marital trap when he saw it, she reached the bottom of the stairs just as a maid opened the front door to admit, of all people, her brother.