Page 4

Chapter Two

“ T urn around and face me, boy.”

Kitty did as commanded, her eyes locked on the brown tips of her boots. She forced herself not to ball her hands into fists at her sides even as her belly fluttered with trepidation.

The still air of the guest wing corridor swirled as he strode toward her.

“You’re the earl’s helper, are you not? Don’t nod dumbly, lad, speak up. What’s your name? And look at me when I address you.”

She lifted her eyes to his cravat and cleared her throat. “My name is Kit, my lord.”

He said nothing.

Curiosity pulled her gaze higher. Her eyes widened in awe before she could catch herself.

He was breathtaking, even more so than she realized last night.

His aristocratic features did nothing to detract from the rugged, slightly menacing air about him.

Perhaps it was his burnished skin from days spent on the open sea, or his strong, square jaw, now set in unmistakable irritation.

Toward her. She flicked a glance behind her toward the stairs. How far would she get if she ran?

He took a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest. The crisp, male scent of his cologne flowed over her like a summer breeze.

Her urge to run vanished, replaced by the oddest desire to lean forward and inhale deeply to capture more of his intriguing scent.

“Kit,” he said as if trying out her name on his tongue. “What are you doing on this floor, Kit?”

Her gaze dropped again to her boots. If he thought it odd to find her roaming the halls, he would definitely take issue with her reason for doing so. There was nothing for it.

“My chamber is at the end of the hall.” She gulped, then hastened to add, “My lord.”

He rocked back on his heels. “The hell you say? Show me.”

Her head snapped up. “My lord?”

“Lead the way.”

With no alternative but to do his bidding, Kitty skirted past him, retracing her steps. He stalked at her heels.

The earl’s heir was turning out to be a regular curmudgeon. No matter. He could bark at her till the cows came home so long as he never discovered her secret and sent her back to Garrick.

It always came back to that. Should she simply confess to Lord Thurgood and beg for mercy? But then, the earl hadn’t opted to go that route. He must have his reasons.

Evidently her hesitation lasted beyond Lord Thurgood’s patience because his hand darted past her to twist the brass knob. The paneled mahogany door swung inward.

At least the brute had the decency to wait to enter until she crossed the threshold and turned to face him.

He stepped into the small chamber, hands clasped behind his back, and cast a critical eye over the interior of the room, starting with her neatly made bed.

Kitty gave the familiar surroundings a cursory scan. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Nothing to let on he was she. She smiled inwardly.

Her triumphant feeling faded when the odious man wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something foul. Oh Lord, he was heading for the chest of drawers. Leaning forward, he sniffed the basin like a bloodhound.

She closed her eyes briefly in horror, as he picked up her still damp soap, and held it to his nose.

He shot her a glance, brows arched. “I thought I smelled rosemary.”

She glowered at him, and resisted the urge to tell him the soap was infused with both rosemary and lavender.

His deep blue eyes sparkled with amusement, and he placed the soap back on its porcelain dish with exaggerated care.

“It’s medicinal,” she burst out, hoping he would accept her statement without question since she had no notion what malady the herb might alleviate.

When he didn’t immediately scoff, she forged ahead. “May I go now, my lord?”

He gestured with overstated politeness toward the open door.

She stepped into the hall and waited.

A moment later he emerged, shaking his head. “Allow me.” He closed the door. “After you?”

“Tha—” She broke off when his sarcasm registered. “After you, my lord, of course .” Two could play the sarcasm game.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She blanked her expression and held her breath.

He moved forward at a brisk pace, leaving her to stare after him. Two divergent thoughts sprang to mind. One—he hadn’t questioned her disguise. And two—had she really found the arrogant ass handsome?

She waited for his footsteps to recede down the stairs before following.

She really did have to hurry now, she thought, irritated.

Lord Thurgood’s curiosity had eaten into her breakfast time.

Instead of heading for the kitchen to grab an apple and some porridge with the rest of the servants, she’d have to go straight to the breakfast hall or risk being late.

Thurgood’s booming voice spilled out the open doorway, reaching her before she reached the hall. “…mind telling me why the devil you have a servant staying in guest quarters?”

She held utterly still, awaiting the earl’s reply.

“I thought it best. This way, I can call on Kit whenever I need him. He’s close at hand, so to speak.”

A brief silence elapsed before the younger man’s low voiced, “Who is he?”

She closed her eyes, anticipating the earl’s confession.

Her late grandfather had been one of the earl’s closest friends, but Lord Ezekiel Thurgood was his beloved grandson.

He’d likely feel compelled to tell him everything, and that would be fine unless—unless Lord Thurgood decided to send her back.

“He’s my helper and I’ll thank you to mind your own business. And do not go barging into his private chamber again. He’s”—the earl paused—“rather timid.”

Another pregnant pause ensued, then came some sort of rhythmic tapping. She risked peering around the corner into the breakfast hall. Ah, what a surprise. Lord Thornton drummed his fingers on the dining room table.

“All right, my lord. For now.”

A woman’s low humming came from the end of the hall. A chambermaid approaching. Kitty didn’t dare get caught eavesdropping.

She hastened forward, bowing stiffly. “Good morning, my lords.”

“Good morning to you, Kit,” the earl said in a cheerful tone.

Lord Thurgood gave a curt nod and fixed her with a suspicion-laced stare.

He stood before the tall, multi-paned windows lining the breakfast hall. The morning sun spilling in illuminated the magnificent, bottomless blue of his eyes. Not cornflower or powder, but a deep, smoky blue with the richness of crushed velvet.

“Are you quite ready, lad?” The earl’s words penetrated her Zeke-induced stupor.

She peeled her gaze off the man. “Yes, my lord, quite ready.” She’d even skip breakfast if it meant getting out of this house and away from him .

The earl furrowed his fluffy white brows and aimed an accusatory look at his grandson, though he addressed Kitty. “Have you eaten anything this morning, Kit?”

She hesitated, not wanting to delay their departure. “No, my lord.”

The earl’s expression turned peevish. “I thought not.”

Lord Thurgood snorted.

“Run along, Kit, and fetch something from Cook. Then meet me at the stables.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

She swung around prepared to flee the room. She halted at Lord Thurgood’s, “Stables?”

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

“That’s right, Zeke. Kit and I visit the country every Tuesday.”

“Do you, now? Sounds like fun.”

***

There was definitely something strange going on here.

The earl knew it, Kit knew it, and Zeke knew it.

Only, unlike the two conspirators, Zeke didn’t know what it was.

And he didn’t like being left in the dark.

Not one bit. He sat atop the jostling buggy, sandwiching his grandfather between his hulking form and that of young Kit.

Not long after they’d left London proper, the old man put Kit in the driver’s seat.

He was giving the lad driving lessons, no less, and from the looks of it had been for some time.

That was a job for the head groom. When Zeke said as much, the earl laughed, as if he had made some sort of joke. No explanation was offered.

Was Kit a long lost brother? A by-blow of his late father? A result of one of Caden’s liaisons? Zeke quickly did the math. Caden was a mere five and twenty. If he were Kit’s father, Kit could only be eight, at the oldest.

Kit was well past nursery age. But precisely how old was he? Zeke tried once more to get a clear look at the boy’s face, and once more his grandfather’s frame somehow managed to block his view.

No matter, he thought with a glare at his grandfather’s too-innocent profile. He closed his eyes and summoned a vision of Kit from this morning, in the dining hall, when the scamp had stared unblinking at him with the brazenness of a peer.

He’d hazard to guess Kit was at least in his late teens. Though he had no facial hair to speak of, the boy’s pronounced cheekbones attested any baby fat being long gone.

He supposed the boy could be his grandfather’s accident.

He contemplated the notion—and promptly came up against a wall.

The men in Zeke’s family were all fair-haired, especially as youths, with vital complexions.

They were also larger than the average Brit owing to their Nordic lineage.

In addition, they invariably had blue colored eyes.

Kit’s pale skinned complexion looked as if his face had never seen the sun. As opposed to being blond with blue eyes, he had ink-black hair and eyes the color of ice-covered moss. As for his build, Zeke snorted to himself, he was far from Viking material.

Ruling out the possibility of Kit being related to his family by blood left two possibilities, neither of which appealed to Zeke. Either the earl was becoming eccentric as Zeke often joked, or Kit had somehow bamboozled the old man into special treatment.

If the latter was the case, as Zeke suspected, it was a good thing he’d come home when he did. No one took advantage of his family. He’d handle the situation.