Shannon Drake - Reckless

“Their equal?” he suggested. “Oh, indeed. Since you feel you must.”

A flush betrayed the edge of shame she was feeling. “My father is a fine man.”

“Of that, I’m quite certain. And a talented one.”

“He is talented! Don’t you dare mock him!”

“I am not mocking him.”

“Then don’t patronize me. You don’t know anything about him.”

“Oddly enough, I do know a bit. I sincerely believe that he is an incredibly talented artist and that his light, as they say, has been hidden under a bushel for too long. And it was quite evident that he cares for you a great deal. He is a good man. And there is nothing wrong with your home or with your father’s being an artist. So why this charade?”

She was instantly defensive. “Everyone must lead a slightly different life at times.”

“If you say so.”

“Well, you do!”

“Do I?”

“Traveling the globe, gadding about,” she said. “Digging into other peoples’ live! Ancient lives.”

“There’s a difference.”

“There is not.”

“I do it as myself.”

“Well…you, sir, have more opportunity than most,” she argued weakly.

He shook his head. “Who are you trying to be? And why? You’re playing a dangerous game, Kat.”

She shook her head. “I’m not! I just want—”

He sighed. “Good God, do you think that silly boy, your dear David, will see you and simply forget his very rich and titled lady? Do you really believe that you two will somehow live happily ever after?”

She did not reply but sat back stubbornly silent. He shook his head. “The man leaves for Egypt in a week. I suppose there is no harm in seeing that you are somehow properly introduced.”

She let out a soft sigh.

“Thank you,” she said with amazing dignity.

She toyed with the meat on her plate, then ate in earnest, then apparently feared that she was eating too quickly and slowed down. She caught his eye, and her fork froze in mid-position. “Tell me,” she inquired. “Will David’s lady be going to Egypt with him? Does Mrs. Johnson accompany you?”

“Cairo can be a delightful place and many women do come. But the digs are hard, most difficult on women, and few do attend, though there are those who are remarkable scholars and eager for the digs. They are equally willing to accept the rugged accommodations one must abide in the desert. I believe that Lady Margaret will make the trip, but not that she’ll attend the dig. There’s a wonderful hotel the English frequent each season. Shepheard’s. We all start off there before heading off in various directions. Arthur Doyle is heading down, if he’s not there already. His wife is ailing. The dry climate down there is excellent for her condition.”

“Arthur Doyle?” she repeated.

“Indeed. The writer.”

“You know him?”

Hunter arched a brow. “I’ve written quite a bit myself, and so have spent some time in literary circles.”

She didn’t seem at all impressed. “The man who gave us Sherlock Holmes?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“And then killed off his hero?” she demanded.

He laughed. “Look, the last time he wrote, it was to complain about the way people are so disturbed over Holmes—who is nothing but a product of his imagination—when his dear wife is fighting for her life. The hotel, as I said, is wonderful. So while your David digs in the desert sands, Lady Margaret will comfortably await him. And the others, and her father, of course.”

“And so many people go every year!” she murmured. “What about Mrs. Johnson?”

“Emma prefers London,” he explained. “Or the coast of France. Sometimes she comes, but usually she begs out.”

Kat sighed again. “I’m really not at all in that world,” she murmured. And for a moment, there was no guile in her eyes, no cunning, and her hair, catching the light from the fire, shimmered, and she was so beautiful, yet so lost and forlorn, that he longed to touch her, was tempted to rise and go put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

But this cat, he knew, had claws.

However, she rose once again to her feet, this time with impeccable dignity. “Since you followed me and are well aware of my home and family, you’ll understand that I must return tonight. I had hoped that tonight… Well, it wasn’t to be. I will go home and give my father no more reason for concern. I can find my own way, but would be grateful if you would have your man escort me.”

“I’ll see to it,” he assured her.

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps…” he began, then paused, for he wondered why he was willing to go to any trouble to see that this urchin met the object of her ridiculous desire.

He inhaled and exhaled. “Perhaps there is still something that I can do.”

“You don’t know my father, sir.” Her shoulders squared. “Though he possesses great talent, he…well, we are usually behind in our rent. Oh, he is a good parent, but…he loves the sea, and so we keep something of an excuse for a boat. He does wondrous oils, but he sells those for almost nothing and makes a living doing portraits. More often than not, he finds an old woman sitting on a step to be intriguing and…well, those works simply haven’t sold. Still, he is fiercely proud, and he will allow for no reward. As perhaps you’re aware, his family was a good one, and as a strong believer in education, he saw to it that my sister and I were schooled. But he will not allow me out tomorrow morning, for he believes that it is a disgrace to reward someone for saving a life, since human life is precious, not something to be bought or sold.”

Hunter was again moved in a way that made him long to touch her. He shrugged instead. In her simple pride and honesty, she had a rare appeal.

“Still…well, we shall see.”

A flush rose to her cheeks. And hope flickered in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and the words sounded sincere. Then a rueful smile curled her lips. “Why are you being so kind?”

He nodded gravely. “Perhaps I am doing you no favor,” he said.

“But you are.”

“Icarus wanted to fly…and the sun melted his wings,” he reminded her. “It’s a hard crash back to earth,” he said.

“I do not intend to crash land,” she assured him.

He kept staring at her as he reached for the bell at the side of the table and rang it lightly. A moment later, Ethan was there. “This young woman needs a ride home, my friend.”

“Yes, Sir Hunter,” Ethan said, his expression impassive.

“Thank you very much,” Kat said to Ethan, then she turned back to Hunter. “Good night, Sir Hunter.” Her smile deepened, became soft, tender and whimsical. “And whatever may come, thank you. Truly. From the bottom of my heart.”

She turned and moved gracefully from the room, and he felt his breath catch.

Ethan stared at Hunter, waiting. Hunter gave a nod and Ethan disappeared after the girl.

Hunter’s every muscle seemed to twitch and burn.

Insane!

He rose, took a small cigar from the cedar-lined box on the mantel, and lit it.

Good Lord, he was Hunter MacDonald, not some besotted young twit.

He lit the cigar and paced the room. Let it go, he told himself. She would be safely back with her family. There was no need for her to see with her own eyes that what she craved would never be. And yet…

She appealed to him on such a strange level! In many ways, she seemed so naive, and in many other ways, she was as clever as a fox. When she meant no seduction or sensuality, her eyes spoke otherwise.

And, he reminded himself ruefully, she found him so…well, so nothing!

He grinned at the fire, shaking his head, and he knew what had so intrigued him. She was a lot like him. An adventurer, willing to take chances, centered on a quest. She was fresh and bright and so different from any other woman he knew.