Page 3 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

The moon shone overhead, lighting his path well enough to see the horses lined up, awaiting their owners at the inn.

Another yawn overtook Samuel’s entire body. He had reached the end of the row of buildings when a small animal darted into the middle of the road. His horse tossed his head, rearing away.

“Down, Valentine!” The horse did not listen, rearing again as the creature on the road hissed .

Good gads, was that a cat ?

Valentine’s front hooves hit the ground with a jarring thud.

Samuel leaned to the right, hoping to balance the horse’s landing, but chose the wrong direction and slid to the side.

He grappled for the reins, but they slipped through his fingers—where had he left his gloves?

—and he continued to slide until his back was moving through the air, then colliding with the packed dirt road.

Oof . All his breath left him in a whoosh. The ground shook in a steady rhythm, and it occurred to Samuel that he was hearing the sound of his horse running away.

Well, blast. That wasn’t the sort of shock he’d had in mind.

Samuel was rather a decent rider. Perhaps he’d had more to drink tonight than he’d thought. He turned his head and found the cat sitting there, watching him without a care. Little devil.

A door closed roughly down the street, and the cat scampered across the road. It climbed up a window casing, disappearing behind the eaves. Samuel ought to move before he became a bump beneath someone’s hooves. He rolled to his stomach and pushed up, getting to his knees.

“Claude?” a woman called softly. “Claude!”

Samuel looked behind him for this Claude person, but he didn’t see anyone. He didn’t know anyone by that name, and this was a small town. He would even go so far as to call it a hamlet.

“Claude!” Her voice grew closer, and he could finally make out the form of a woman in a cloak approaching.

Samuel stepped away from the shadows of the building and cleared his throat. “I have not seen?—”

She squealed, jumping away from him.

“Forgive me.” Samuel really ought to have introduced himself before speaking.

He bowed, glad he still seemed capable of doing that with grace.

“Samuel Harding, madam. I have not seen anyone pass by in the last few minutes. Or minute . Singular. I’m uncertain how long I have been standing here, but it hasn’t been long.

Your friend is unlikely to be in this direction. ”

“Mr. Harding,” she said, a lilt of French accent in her words, her fright having left her. She stepped closer, and he could see it was Madame Perreau, their local modiste. “Claude is my cat.”

“I see. That dastardly creature—ah, excuse me.” Should he inform her Claude was the reason he stood before her without a horse and would likely have a sore back in the morning?

She blinked at him, her pale blue eyes wide in the moonlight, and he decided against it.

“He is hiding above a window. I can show you.”

“That would be wonderful.”

Samuel debated offering the woman his arm, as they were about to cross the street. But it was well past midnight, the road deserted, and he suspected she’d drawn her dark cloak over her hair to avoid being seen out at this hour. The faster she completed her errand, the better.

“You do not allow Claude out in the evenings?” he asked.

She frowned. “It is a long explanation.”

“Ah.” Samuel waited, but Madame Perreau didn’t continue. They reached the chandler’s shop, where Claude’s gray face peered out from above the green eave above the window.

“Come down this moment, Claude,” she hissed.

The cat did not move.

“You may have milk.”

Nothing.

“I’m not sure he’s interested in milk,” Samuel mused.

“Yes, well, she doesn’t have much of a choice. If she does not come with me now, she will not be welcome in my home again.”

She? Samuel was not so far into his cups to mistake that. Claude was a man’s name. He lifted an eyebrow. “That’s not very motherly.”

“I cannot manage another litter of kittens, Mr. Harding. I don’t have the time for it. ”

His brain was tired and, he would admit, a little fuzzy, but he could piece the bits together. “You once believed your cat was male.”

“Yes.” She huffed, looking up at Claude. “But then she brought home a litter of kittens, and I learned my error. It was too late to change her name, though. She would not answer to anything else. Not even Claudette.”

Samuel bit back his amusement. Madame Perreau clearly wanted the cat indoors to avoid needing to care for more kittens. There was really nothing else for it. Samuel would need to climb the window ledge.

He shrugged out of his jacket and folded it neatly before holding it out. “Here, take this.”

“Whatever for?”

“It’s new, madame. I cannot risk a tear. You, of all people, should understand that.”

She did not argue but took the jacket and stepped back, allowing him room to take hold of the window ledge.

He gripped the eaves with both hands, put one boot up on the window, and swung himself up.

One more step, and he was eye level with the cat.

“Come here, Claude. Your Madame Perreau would like to take?—”

Before he could reach for the cat, something in the eaves came loose. He heard the crack before he felt them give way. For the second time that evening, Samuel found himself tumbling to the ground. He hit the earth, his arms rising to protect his face from falling lumber, but nothing came.

A moment of silence followed Madame Perreau’s gasp. Samuel looked up at her from his position on the ground while he waited for his lungs to fill with air again. “Were you hit?”

“No. Are you hurt?”

“Not mortally. My ego has taken a beating, however.” He pushed to his feet, the strain and soreness tugging him already in different places. “Nothing fell on you? ”

Madame Perreau looked up at the swinging eaves. “It’s only come loose on the one side.”

The eaves were hanging, cracked and broken, in front of the entrance to the shop.

Samuel would need to return in the morning and repair it, or pay the proper person to do a proper job of it.

Right now, he imagined Mr. Moran would not appreciate being awakened with the news when the work could not begin until the sun was up as it was.

“I will take care of that tomorrow.” Samuel rubbed the back of his neck and reached for his coat. “Where did your cat go?”

Madame Perreau gestured down the street with a weary sigh. Moonlight shone over her pale eyes, highlighting her frustration. “She ran off. I’ll never find her now. I suppose I have no choice but to surrender.”

“Then I will bid you a good night.”

“Thank you for your attempt to help me,” she said, dipping a quick curtsy before hurrying back down the road toward her shop, where she also lived. Samuel stood in front of the chandler’s shop, waiting until the modiste was inside and her door closed, before he started the walk home.

The night sky was bright, lighting his way.

He was well over halfway home, wondering if he should have remained on the High Street and taken a room at the inn, when a pair of eyes flashed in the moonlight on the edge of the road.

Samuel stopped, noting the familiar gray fur.

Surely it could not be—but it had the same penetrating gaze.

“You’ve caused a lot of trouble this evening, Claude. ”

The cat didn’t so much as blink.

He neared the bank, crouching in his ruined trousers. “Will you come to me, you little rascal? Shall I have to speak to you in French? That would be troublesome, since I do not remember very much.”

To Samuel’s immense surprise, the cat didn’t move away as he neared. He reached forward and picked her up, as he had done with his cousin’s cat many times in their youth. Claude allowed him to hold her. He stroked her head, speaking soothing words, and she seemed to nestle into his chest.

Pausing, he stood up, alone, in the dark, on a quiet road…holding a cat.

Well, what the deuce was he meant to do now ?