Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (17 page)

“Hopefully knocking some sense into it,” Kate said. “Because we really don’t have any time to waste, Simon. We have to take advantage of every second we have.”

Still with the serviette to his mouth, he said, “Although, in future, I believe we can safely sacrifice the minutes I’m in my bath.”

So that was it. He was paying her back for his interrupted bath time. It seemed fair enough. “That probably wasn’t my most overwhelmingly brilliant idea,” Kate conceded, unconsciously touching her fingers to the slight lump on the back of her head. They both looked down the length of the table, just in time to see a platter of what had to be half a turbot being deposited in front of Consuela.

“Consuela favors fish?” Simon asked quietly.

Kate sighed. “Consuela favors food, in most any form. But yes, sadly, yes, fish is her favorite. She won’t get up from the table until that platter’s clean, which means neither can we, since I’m to go nowhere in this house without her.” Then she turned to Simon. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Because it would present her with quite the conundrum if you and I were to adjourn, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re evil, and I applaud you,” Simon said, putting down the serviette.
“Senorita,”
he called out even as he was rising from his chair, “Lady Katherine and I have important matters to discuss in the main drawing room. If you’ll accompany us? Now, please.”

Consuela had paused with a fork loaded with buttery turbot halfway to her mouth. She shifted her eyes to Kate. Her confused, pleading eyes.

“Oh, the poor thing,” Kate lamented quietly.

“Now is not the time for one of your admittedly few scruples to rear its head,” Simon whispered as he waved away a footman and pulled back Kate’s chair for her. “Get. Up.”

“It’s all right, Consuela,” Kate assured the woman as she got to her feet. “You simply take your time and enjoy your meal. I’ll be safe as houses. After all, I am in my own house.” She shot a quick look at Simon before adding facetiously, “and you’re only a scream away.”

She then slipped her arm through Simon’s and allowed him to lead her to the drawing room, wondering how long it would take before he could no longer hold in whatever he was dying to say.

How long
was answered the moment he shut the double doors of the drawing room behind them. “A scream away? Thank you
so
much, Kate.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a wink. “I wanted you to rest assured you’re safe with me.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I could adore you, if you didn’t scare me down to my boots.”

“Thank you.” Feeling smug, and for a reason he didn’t yet know, she then suggested they speak while also passing the time with a few hands at cards, since eventually Consuela would be joining them and the last thing they wished to do is appear suspicious. It wasn’t enough that she had allowed Sally to pile her hair up in curls, or that she’d chosen an ivory gown with delicate pink ribbons running around its fairly daring
décolletage—
that Simon hadn’t yet dared to comment on. She wouldn’t be content until she’d driven him completely insane. After all, other priorities or not, there was still a wager to be won.

And a kiss she really, really, longed to experience, if only the idiot would be a gentleman and lose the wager. Since he wasn’t, she felt it only fair she give him some help.

They sat down at the card table and Kate unearthed a deck of cards from the small drawer beneath it. She politely pushed them toward him for the shuffle. “Two-handed whist?”

“German or Norwegian?”

“German, of course,” she answered, just so he’d know she was no novice. “Stakes?”

But Simon was looking at the card backs. Intently looking at the card backs.

“I said—stakes?”

“Uh...um...a penny a point?”

“That seems reasonable. I’ll just keep a tally for now. You can pay me later. Have you given any more thought to the idea there may be caves on the property?”

“No, and I won’t, not until I’ve had a chance to see what’s behind the hidden opening on the beach. I’d rather we got back to our main problem, locating the journals.”

Kate tapped one of her cards against her chin for some moments, before playing it. “You’re right. I can be so distracted sometimes, especially with the thought of an adventure. You know, exploring, as it could be said, virgin territory. Loathe as I am to admit it, you and I have made precious little progress so far.”

He looked at her, she blinked in innocence (she’d had much more practice in appearing innocent than he did in attempting to be devious), and after a moment he shook his head as if shaking away an idea, and played a card.

In five more quick plays, she got to tally a win on her side of the line.

Simon eased a finger inside his collar, as if it had suddenly grown too tight. He gathered up the cards for another shuffle.

They were lovely cards. French, she believed. The backs of the cards were decorated in pastoral scenes, rife with twining vines and small flowers, and each with hand-painted cherubs and young couples in their French finery. Works of art, really; every single card was different. Subtle. Extremely subtle.

The sort of pretty deception an innocent young woman might easily fail to notice.

But while not overly explicit, still fairly instructive. Trixie had actually employed them when she’d sat Kate down to explain what she wasn’t to let anyone allow with her until she was wed. She’d unearthed the deck in her grandmother’s rooms earlier and slipped it into the card table drawer.

Simon swallowed with some effort, and dealt the cards. Wasn’t that sweet? He would ignore the card backs so as to not embarrass her. What a gentleman! What a slowtop—he should be kissing her by now, and singing by Sunday.

She really had to give him a nudge.

This time she made rather a fan of her cards, slowly waving them in front of her as she frowned, biting her bottom lip as if contemplating her discard, lifting one halfway out of the fan, replacing it, lifting and considering another.

“For the love of God, Kate, pick one and play it.”

“There’s no need to shout, Simon.” He was wiping at his brow with his handkerchief. The deck was only educational, for pity’s sakes. And who said he had to look if he was embarrassed by what he saw?

Instead of obeying him, with one of the cards still held up clear of the rest of her hand, rather using it for emphasis, she told him her latest idea. He’d undoubtedly agree; the man looked as if he’d agree to anything, if she’d just play her card.

“Since it would be dangerous to go back to the area—don’t you think?—I thought, at least for tomorrow morning—and only if you think it might prove successful—we could walk the area around the greenhouse, using long poles to penetrate the ground, just to see if the pole suddenly breaks through, into another part of the tunnel. Then we could repeat the action until we reach the end of the tunnel. Thanks to the rain again tonight, the ground should be soft and moist enough. What do you think? Simon? Simon, where are you going?”

He’d thrown down the cards and pushed back his chair, and was already heading toward the French doors leading to the stone terrace. “I need some air.”

“But you didn’t tell me what you think of my plan. Besides, it’s raining,” she reminded him. “You’ll get all wet and your clothes will be ruined.”

“Good point,” he said, returning to the table to grab the cards from Kate’s hand, gather up the remainder of the deck. “So will these. I’ll see you at midnight.”

As the door banged shut behind him—and it certainly hadn’t closed quietly—Consuela walked into the drawing room, still patting at her lips with her serviette.

“He’s leaving? Are we so frightening to him?”

Kate’s smile was wide as she propped her chin in her hand. She hadn’t thought the mere sight of her touching the cards would work so quickly. But that was men for you, she supposed. He probably hadn’t even heard her question. “It would appear so, Consuela, it certainly would appear so. Isn’t that wonderful?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

S
IMON
HAD
EXCHANGED
his sodden evening wear for breeches and a flowing white shirt, and arrived in the library a half hour before midnight. The room was huge, with many dark corners it would take a gross of candles to fully illuminate, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was attempting to keep himself in check after Kate had so thoroughly scrambled his brains.

Pole. Penetrate. Break through. Tunnel. Soft and moist.
He’d give her
virgin territory.
She’d flung that one at him on purpose.

But the rest? Bloody hell! She had no idea how she was killing him. All she’d wanted was to keep flashing those damn cards in his face. His imagination had taken care of the rest all by itself.

There was no possible way he was going to win their wager. He didn’t want to win their wager. Wait out the days until the wager was null and void? Pray for one of the other Redgraves to show up to
save
him from something he didn’t want to be saved from in the first place? It would be less painful to poke sticks in his eyes.

He was going to marry Kate. He knew he was going to marry her. She knew he was going to marry her. They might kill each other within six months of the marriage, but the marriage itself was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east. The bedding of her even more inevitable...and twice as urgent.

He’d made promises to Valentine. He’d given his word as a gentleman. Val was probably dancing around London, pleased as punch at the hell he’d plunged his new friend into, knowing how irresistible Kate could be whether she put her mind to it or not.

She was twenty. By next spring, she might even have reached her majority. That was fairly ancient for a debutante. Not to mention her first infamous Season, which would be raked up by the gossips the moment she arrived in town. She’d be invited everywhere, just in case she provided the
ton
with another delicious scandal when she got there, although there’d be no voucher for Almacks, as those stickler patronesses had probably blackballed her for life.

She was free and easy, which was another way of saying she was damn near uncontrollable thanks to her outrageous grandmother, a mixture of innocence and knowledge that was going to get her into deep trouble some day, if she ever met a man who wasn’t a gentleman like him (a reluctant gentleman in this case).

Yes, the Redgraves needed Kate safely married, and if he were a betting man, he’d say the affable, smiling, quite clever Valentine had looked around at their dilemma and their prospects and settled on Simon Ravenbill as the answer to their prayers. He had the title, he had the money, he knew the family history and yet had not gone running for the hills of Scotland, and perhaps most important of all, he’d clearly shown the interest...and so had Kate, if repeatedly protesting she didn’t want him was a sure sign she really did. And who would know that best but her brothers?

He’d walked into a trap, that’s what he’d done. Val had said he’d made a mistake, a spur-of-the-moment idea of a contrived courtship that had almost immediately proved unworkable. The next time Val told him anything, it might be wise to have a ceiling-high stack of Bibles handy, for him to swear on...and even then Simon would have to make certain the man didn’t have his free hand behind his back, his fingers crossed.

So, if he’d played the dupe, and he knew it, why wasn’t he already halfway back to London?

Because he wasn’t a total idiot, that’s why.

“Now I’m patting myself on the back for only being a half-wit rather than completely witless, as if that’s better?” Simon asked himself as he paced the carpet.

“Ah. Whatever I’ve been enjoying watching you debate these past few minutes clearly concerns a woman. Complex, aren’t they, these feelings we need to sort out before we run eagerly for the cliff we always knew we’d choose. Thank you for being early, Commander, and yes, she’ll be late. They don’t care to appear too eager, bless them.”

Simon whirled about in the direction of the voice, knowing he was defenseless against whomever was in the dark. So he bowed in acknowledgment, and said, “And clearly I am now addressing a gentleman of some wisdom and experience. May I ask the courtesy of your name?”

“The name Jacko will suffice as my introduction for the moment. I compliment you both on noticing the bent branch, Commander, and tamping down your natural curiosity, then as now.”

Ah. Jacko’s employer. “I’m a patient man in most things. You’ll tell me what you want me to know, or else why would you be here? How did you get into the Manor by the way, as I do admit to some natural curiosity. At last count, there were five dogs in the house.”

“True enough. One too fat and old to care, and four out hunting rabbits in the rain. They found them.” Simon could hear the slight rustle of expensive silk and imagined his nocturnal guest to be shrugging his shoulders.

“It would take more than diverting the dogs. Someone must have overheard Kate and me making plans to meet here at midnight. Someone must have summoned you, then directed you here and let you in through the French doors. One someone, probably more than one.”

“A man must have friends.”

“Meaning at least two of the Redgrave servants are also in your employ. Why?”

“For a patient man, you ask a lot of questions. But I will indulge this one. At the beginning of all this odd nocturnal activity on Manor land, I felt it necessary to assure myself of the Redgraves’ place in it. As did you.”

That last shocked Simon, but he managed to suppress a reaction, other than to say, “I’ve also been under your looking glass.”

“For some time, yes. My condolences on the loss of your brother, which I’m convinced has much to do with both your connection to Perceval and your presence here at Redgrave Manor, although I’ve chosen not to satisfy my curiosity. However, clearly there’s some serious game afoot, one that could bring renewed Preventive Service attention to the entire southern coast, and that very much concerns me. As I quite enjoy my private and peaceful existence these past years, I much prefer whatever is to happen to play itself out elsewhere, and have already been taking steps to be sure that it does. In plain language, Commander, you’re very much in my way.”

Simon was both surprised and angered. “How much do you know?”

“I know only what I hear, Commander, and my own conclusions. Much as you try to be otherwise, and laudably brave and daring, you—and I admit, a few of my sons—lack a certain finesse, probably as a result of your youth and natural belief in your own prowess. You would have been fierce in battle, and I’m sorry to not have been privileged to observe your tactics at sea. However, I once paid a heavy price, as did those dear to me, thinking myself invulnerable. A bit of advice, Commander. If you believe yourself invulnerable, it serves only to make you and those around you vulnerable. Your shipmates, your family...Lady Katherine. Because, you see, when attacked, your mind denies what’s happening, and you don’t react quickly enough to prevent disaster.”

Simon, at the moment lacking anything to say, kept his response to a slight bow of acknowledgment.
Lack a certain finesse.
First Valentine, and now this mystery man. It must be true. Perhaps he was more like Kate than he thought.

“We live and learn, Commander, if we’re lucky. Bonaparte, for all his brilliance and easy successes, refuses to correct that fatal failing of perceived invulnerability, and it will cost him dearly one day, as well as those around him. I personally predict the beginning of his fall will occur if he ever turns his ambitious eyes toward Moscow. As our chalk cliffs protect us, Russia’s winters protect them, two forces of nature Bonaparte does not believe apply to him. But we’ll leave intellectual discourse for another time. Tonight we’ll discuss what happens, to quote you,
when the moon dies.
You have no idea how close you came to disaster the moment you uttered those words in front of another force of nature.”

“I believe I do,” Simon said, smiling toward the dark corner. He was beginning to be able to make out a shape, sitting in one of the chairs. But it was only a black outline, a shadow within the shadows, nothing more. “Luckily for me, I can also be charming.”

Now his visitor laughed, a disarming chuckle that rose with him as he stood, advancing toward Simon, and the candlelight. “Jacko is immune to charm. He didn’t wish to alarm Lady Katherine. More important, we don’t need the earl and his brothers here, causing us no end of trouble as we monitor the coast from Dungeness to Hythe, which we consider our domain. Otherwise, Commander, you would have been tossed over his shoulder and dunked headfirst in the Channel. Repeatedly. Jacko has no love of the English Royal Navy.”

“Pirates seldom do,” Simon hazarded wildly, knowing he was once again taking a chance he didn’t need to take.

“Clever. Also long ago and quite far away.”

“Then I’m right. Pirates then, smugglers now.”

“A protector of desperate people who depend upon me now. There’s a difference.” The man was now visible, but not much of him. He wore black from head to foot, including a black silk cape, skin-hugging leather gloves, highly polished black boots and a mask that covered the top half of his face. A few raindrops still glistened on his shoulders and black-as-night hair, proving that he had ridden here from somewhere, and arrived not long ago. He wasn’t a young man, but he was tall, and extraordinarily fit. “Pardon the theatrics, but I’ve learned to never be sure of my reception.”

“Valentine Redgrave would probably have already offered you a bag of gold guineas to know the name of your tailor.” He motioned for the man to sit down in a nearby chair, which was declined with a slight shake of his head.

Simon could hear the clock in the hallway begin chiming out the hour of midnight.

“Ah, the witching hour. Although an enjoyable interlude, as I rarely communicate with outsiders, I must be going now, leaving you to your romantic conundrum. The moon will die the day after tomorrow. Our joint quarry is quite arrogant and predictable, always landing on the first night of the new moon. This will be their last run, although they don’t know that yet. As we’ve managed to infiltrate the smugglers, I would ask you to observe from a distance if you must, but not take part. You won’t recognize friend from foe, and that could be dangerous, both for us and for you.”

Simon’s answer was flat and immediate. “No.”

There was that knowing chuckle again. “My apologies. That concludes your final test, Commander, you don’t bother with lies. My man Billy will meet you at eleven in two-night’s time, on the hill just above the cottages. You will, of course, not inform the lady of your plans for the evening.”

“Oh, you can safely count on that, Mr....?”

“Lovely map of the Caribbean displayed on the wall over there, Commander. I can personally vouch for its accuracy.”

Simon instinctively turned to look at the indicated map, not realizing his error until he turned back to see...nothing. No one. Just one of the French doors open to the rain. “Damn it. Taken in like a raw halfing.”

Or was he? He picked up a nearby brace of candles and approached the large map, lowering the tapers to the bottom of the thing.
Commissioned by His Royal Majesty in the Year of Our Lord, 1803, researched and drawn by Mister Ainsley Becket, Gentleman.

What had he said when Simon tested him with the label of pirate?
Long ago and far away...

“Well, hello, Mr. Ainsley Becket, sir. It was a distinct if not unmixed pleasure,” he said quietly, stepping away from the framed map when he sensed Kate had entered the room.

He closed the French door and turned to look at her, smiling appreciatively when he saw she had let down her hair.

Then she moved into the center of the room.

“Woman, what in bloody hell are you wearing?”

“This?” she asked innocently, looking down at the overly large white linen shirt and breeches...and the shapely bare calves and feet below. “Consuela wouldn’t leave my chambers until I was properly dressed for bed. I didn’t have time to attempt buttoning myself back into a gown, and didn’t think you’d approve of my night rail and dressing gown, because Valentine certainly doesn’t. Oh, stop frowning, Simon. I’m decently covered.”

“In your opinion,” he said tightly. “I suppose your brothers have seen you like this?”

She crossed to one of the leather couches and sat down, pulling her legs up beside her and leaning her head on her palm. It remained true; nobody could relax quite like a Redgrave; how wonderful to know she feared him as much as she feared the couch she was all but bonelessly sprawled on. “Of course they have. I’ve always considered myself the fourth Redgrave brother, which seemed fine enough to them until a few years ago, when Gideon began getting starchy.”

“Shame on the man, what could he have been thinking,” Simon said, sighing. Kate was Kate, and nobody was going to change her. He was, in fact, surprised anyone ever had seen the need...which probably said more about him than it did them. Because he found her to be perfect, just the way she was.

Then he looked more closely at her feet. Her toenails were red! “Is that
paint?
”

She curled her toes. “Oh, I forgot about that. Consuela did it. She said she remembered my mother always had it done. It’s supposed to make a woman feel feminine, even if nobody ever sees— Oh, that’s right. You’re seeing it. Pretend you haven’t.”

“I’ll give that my best efforts,” Simon said as he rubbed at his forehead, almost literally dragging his gaze away from her small, perfect toes. Mentally, he amended his earlier thoughts:
If we aren’t married within six months, I’ll probably have to kill myself.

“Good. Because we’re here to discuss what you wanted to discuss the other night, remember?”

“My brother, Holbrook. Yes, I remember.”

Kate sat up, her wonderfully embellished toes now touching the floor. “Your brother? You suggested knowing about my family’s...history, keeps a wedge of sorts between us, on my end of things. Keeps us from getting to know each other better. Am I right?”