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Bah. It hardly signified. Just an odd coincidence, really. Not worth mentioning.

“Never mind, that. The safari I went on, I could talk about for hours, if someone was so inclined to refill a man’s drink.”

His grandfather gave him peeved look that didn’t reach his eyes and headed for the credenza.

Zeke stretched out his legs and laughed. “Remember this moment the next time your young servant disappears on you.”

***

How had Kitty wound up hunkered under the desk, stuck for the duration of the earl and his grandson’s reunion? Oh, yes, she’d bolted like a scared rabbit the moment the earl’s heir had so unexpectedly appeared.

At least their conversation was entertaining. Talk of mines filled with sparkling gems large enough to require names, and plains crawling with all manner of exotic creatures. Kitty enjoyed a good geography lesson. Still.

She inched from under the earl’s desk to stretch her neck, confident Lord Ezekiel Thurgood hadn’t an inkling of her presence in the room. Did she dare peer around the earl’s desk? She ought not. But how else would she see the face accompanying the man’s rich baritone and hearty laugh?

She’d barely caught a glimpse before scampering across the carpet in search of cover, much to the earl’s horror, though he seemed to recover quickly enough. Tall, blond and tanned, if her eyes hadn’t played tricks.

She inched around, moving at a snail’s pace until she could just see him. She sucked in a breath.

He was like a golden Greek god from the fables. Wavy, sun-streaked hair, long enough to brush his collar. Wide-set eyes. Sculpted jawline. Sun-kissed skin. And those shoulders. They practically tested the wingback of the chair that swallowed her alive.

He yawned, and she gave a silent prayer he’d take himself off to bed soon. Enjoyable anecdotes aside, crouching beneath the desk had pins and needles pricking her legs, and her already itchy scalp was becoming unbearable. It was past time to remove the dastardly wig.

She had only herself to blame, of course.

She shouldn’t have panicked when the earl’s long absent grandson arrived.

She should’ve stuck to the plan. She was Kit, the earl’s personal errand boy, and sometimes-groom should anyone asked.

So far no one had. Of course, she hadn’t actually had to face anyone other than the household servants.

If they thought it strange she, a servant herself, spent countless hours with the earl, with no specific duties to speak of, they wisely kept it to themselves. Nor did they comment on the fact she had use of a small bedchamber in the guest wing of the manse.

She wasn’t completely naive. Their lack of gossip in her presence undoubtedly meant they thought Kit was a by-blow of either the earl, or one of his grandsons. Much as the thought rankled, it served her purpose.

But what would Lord Thurgood think? Would he mutely accept the unusual master-servant arrangement?

“I take it you won’t remain in London long, Zeke?”

Kitty’s ear’s pricked at the earl’s query, so closely linked with her current vein of thought. It would be far simpler for her if Zeke took himself off immediately, even if her eyes reveled in the sight of him.

“Actually I thought I’d stay, a short while at least. I have some business matters to attend.”

So much for the easy route.

“I see. Taking a break from your wanderlust? How long?”

“You sound almost as if you want me to leave,” Zeke accused with a laugh.

The earl chuckled. “Don’t be silly.”

“Good. I’d rather hoped you could put me up for a—Now I’m really getting concerned.”

“What do you mean?”

“You made a face.”

“I did not.”

“You most certainly did. What is it? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. You have a particular lady friend, and don’t want me to cramp your style.”

Kitty grinned. Something like that.

“Something like that,” the earl said.

Half a snort escaped her. She clapped a hand over her mouth—and held her breath.

“Did you hear that?” Zeke asked.

“Hear what?” The earl sounded far too innocent. She’d been playing chess with the old shark long enough to spot the tell. The question was, would Zeke?

A few heart-stopping beats of silence passed. Finally Zeke went on. “Travel fatigue must be playing tricks on my mind. Where were we?”

“We were discussing your upcoming travel plans.”

Zeke hooted with laughter. “So you do have a particular friend. Never fear. I promise to be as unobtrusive as a mouse.”

The earl cleared his throat. “Just out of curiosity, what’s wrong with your townhouse?”

This time, Zeke’s laughter bellowed out of him, warming Kitty from the inside out. “It’s not properly staffed. But if my presence is that much of an inconvenience—”

It was the earl’s turn to chuckle. “We’ll manage. Now, let’s off to bed. It’s much too late for an old codger like you to be up, you know.”

The men abandoned their chairs and strode from the room. Still she remained in place, counting the seconds till she reached five hundred and one.

She unfurled her stiff body from beneath the desk and lay flat on the floor. Now for the hard part. She not only had to tiptoe up the stairs undetected, but she had to pass the chamber she’d learned Lord Thurgood typically used to get to her own.

An easy enough feat, she supposed. After all, the man was clearly bone tired. Tomorrow, however, would be another matter entirely.

***

Kitty jolted awake, heart racing like the hounds of hell were after her. Bad enough, she’d tossed and turned all night. Now this—a dastardly nightmare about the earl’s grandson.

She could still see the handsome lord snarling at her and—she rubbed a palm over the crown of her head—could feel the sting as he snatched the wig off her head, pins and all. Only one other nightmare, featuring an entirely different lord, had ever felt so real.

She had no reason to fear Lord Thurgood. He wouldn’t actually reach out and de-wig her. He was the earl’s heir. He’d be a true gentleman, unlike her cousin, Garrick.

She curled into a ball beneath her covers.

The truth was, Lord Thurgood’s arrival stirred the winds of change.

Although her life as Kit was just temporary, the mad plan had given her more comfort than she’d realized.

Still, she couldn’t hide out at Claybourne Manor indefinitely.

Nor could she huddle in her room all day without raising some eyebrows.

Besides, today was Tuesday.

Throwing back the bedcovers, she forced herself from the warm bed and padded over the cool wooden planks to the window. Parting the heavy drapes, she peered at the dawn sky and smiled. Crystal clear blue skies.

No rain and Tuesday equaled a day trip to the country—assuming the earl wouldn’t alter their weekly ritual as a result of his grandson’s return.

She practically danced back to her bed. She made it up, neat as a pin, then moved to the chest of drawers to perform her daily dressing ritual.

Off came her nightshirt, which she quickly folded and put away. Naked, she braced and splashed tepid water from the basin over her face and body. She shivered as goose flesh bloomed over her. Oh, for a long soak in a steaming bath. But such a luxury was impossible for months yet to come.

She picked up the remaining sliver of her precious rosemary and lavender soap, and held it to her nose, inhaling long and deep before soaping-up. She could be forgiven this one small extravagance, couldn’t she? It wasn’t as if anyone would draw near enough to notice the feminine scent on her skin.

Now to don her servant’s garments. She didn’t mind the rough-hewn mud-brown trousers, jacket, and plain white shirt. The boy’s garb represented freedom, and she gave thanks every time she dressed.

The hated wrap was another story. Grimacing, she unfurled it and bound her breasts till her torso resembled a prepubescent lad’s.

She eyed the wig. When she and the earl conceived their plan, she’d thought wearing one might be fun. Certainly—if one’s idea of fun included denying the mad urge to scratch one’s scalp. All. Day. Long.

Still. The disguise, the wrap, the wig were all small prices to pay. She could be married to Garrick, living her own personal hell.

Regarding herself in the mirror, she braided, knotted, and pinned her mass of dark curls.

A vision of her grandfather formed in her mind, when he was still spry, his face lit with a fond grin. “How you remind me of your grandmother, Kitty, love. She had the same mane of raven black hair and frosty green cat’s eyes. One look and she had me. Just like you.”

A lump formed in her throat, and she pushed the memory from her mind. She must not give in to her grief. Not now. Not till she was free.

Using both hands, she tugged on the wig and studied her reflection. Regardless of the fact the jet black coloring matched her eyebrows, the bowl shaped cut looked ridiculous. A bad do was a bad do.

She beetled her brows and toughened her jaw, wiping away all traces of her gender. Hello there, Kit. She saluted herself, let herself into the corridor, and started for the stairs.

Behind her a chamber door opened with a whisper. The hair on the back of her neck bristled. She picked up her pace.

“You, there.” The whip-crack voice of Lord Ezekiel Thurgood.

She halted, inwardly cursing her bad luck. A few more seconds, and she would have been out of eye shot. Measly seconds.