Shannon Drake - Reckless

“No!”

“Oh, Papa, please! It’s just a dream, a silly dream, to have one chance to be thanked and feted. And I know the streets, the way of people, rich and poor. You’ve taught us well. You used what you worked so hard to attain to see that Eliza and I had an education. You taught us to know right from wrong. Please…trust in me, Papa!” The last plea seemed to touch his heart, for he rose and took her hands in his.

“I do trust in you. But I’m deeply sorry that you may not have your moment of glory. I am a poor man, but I will not sell my pride, nor my responsibility.”

“But, Papa—”

“Hate me, child, rail against me. I will not let you go.”

“Papa, I can never hate you!” She was in his arms again, cherished, but dismayed.

Hunter, from his position outside the window, could see her face as she held on tight to her father. She loved him, but she was stubborn. Reckless. And she was plotting. She had come upon a dead end, and she would discover a way around it.

What would it be? Hunter wondered. He realized that, listening, he had caught and held his breath. He released it slowly, thinking.

He wondered if the wicked little redheaded vixen knew that she already had far more than money, a title, or half of the silly things considered important by members of the so-called elite, the place her beloved David inhabited.

Her father drew away. “The dress, lass, must be returned. Where did you acquire it?”

“It belongs to Francesca, Lady Hathaway,” Kat said unhappily.

“But she lives far from London!” the father said.

“Her brother’s town house is not so far.”

Eliza gasped. “You were at the town house of…Sir Hunter MacDonald?”

“Hunter MacDonald!” Papa roared.

Hunter winced. It appeared he was well known.

“Papa!” Eliza said, apparently shocked by her father’s response. “The man is a favorite of the queen!”

“Yes, and it’s because the man has a reputation for outlandish adventure, always riding into the fray. I daresay that the queen enjoys the stories of his escapades—and the flattery he doubtless showers on her.”

“But they say that he’s brilliant!” Eliza said excitedly. “And oh! Far more than charming. Why, there have been rumors of his affairs with ladies of the highest strata!”

Both her sister and father were staring at her in horror.

“No, please,” Eliza persisted. “He has sullied no reputations, he has merely…well…goodness! How do I put it delicately? Played among players?”

Hunter shook his head. Things were only getting worse. And though he hadn’t really the least idea of what he was about, he decided that the time had come to knock on the door.

He was just heading for the door when Kat spoke.

“Sir Hunter is not so much, I assure you, Father,” she said. “I promise you, there is not the least worry regarding my virtue as far as he is concerned. But…I might have met Lord Avery, Father.”

“And her precious David!” Eliza murmured.

“What?” their father demanded with a frown.

“Oh, she might have had a lovely dinner, Father, that is all,” Eliza said. “You know, Papa, rubbed elbows with the truly elite!”

“There is no sense in it,” the man said softly. “No sense at all, and you must believe me, and accept this regret rather than one far greater. Do you understand, Katherine Mary?”

Kat looked down. “I bow to your wisdom, Papa,” she replied. Then she gave a massive yawn. “Papa, I am to bed.”

“’Tis best, my girl,” he said gently. “Tomorrow, we will return the dress.”

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

She started for the narrow stairway. Then she turned. “I love you, Papa,” she said.

“Aye, child, and I love you.”

Kat smiled, hesitated and went on up the stairs.

Outside and unseen, Hunter leaned thoughtfully against the wall. Then he looked through the window again, and a frown creased his forehead. He realized that he knew of the girl’s father. His frown dissipated, to be replaced by a small smile.

At last he moved away, certain of the need to hurry home.

Kat, he knew, would soon be on the road again.

A NOTE HAD BEEN DELIVERED to the house in Hunter’s absence. Lord Avery begged pardon; the excitement of the day had been too much, and he wished to retire early that evening. He requested, however, an audience the following morning, and asked if Hunter would bring the young lady to the manor, or if they might call upon the town house.

He could have tried calling on the telephone, but Lord Avery never seemed to hear what was said, so Hunter sent Ethan off with the reply, requesting Lord Avery and his party to attend a late breakfast at his town house the following morning.

He went upstairs, obviously intent on entering the Blue Room, despite the fact that Emma pleaded he not do so. “She doesn’t want to be disturbed!” Emma said firmly.

Hunter laughed. “A quid says she isn’t in there!”

“Quid! Street language, Hunter,” Emma warned with a sniff.

“Bet me?”

“Good heavens, Hunter, a respectable matron doesn’t gamble!”

“Good thing—because the girl isn’t in there!” Hunter said, and pushed open the door. Emma frowned, looking in.

“But she was so very exhausted!”

“Well, she’s awakened now,” Hunter murmured.

Emma squared her shoulders, a frown furrowing her brow. “Has she run away?”

“I think she just needed…a little air,” Hunter said.

“I do hope she returns. Such an exquisite little creature. Why, Hunter, in all my life, I’ve never seen such eyes as hers. And she’s ever so polite. A true joy. Not that it’s my place to say, but compared to a few of the women you’ve had here… Oh, sorry. And I’ve worked so hard on a lovely supper… Oh, not that I don’t want you to enjoy a lovely supper, but—”

“Emma, I do believe she’ll be right back,” Hunter said. “You go tend to the supper.”

When Emma was gone, he saw the note on the dresser. As he read it, he was surprised by the little stirring of emotion that seized him.

And then there was the sketch. A marvelous reproduction of the Sphinx.

Her father.

Not that it had been such a natural thing that he should have realized the man’s identity by peeping through his window. But oddly enough, it had just been the week before that he had been out in the country at the home of his friends, the Earl and Countess of Carlyle, that he had first seen one of the stirring seascapes painted by William Adair. Brian hadn’t really known anything about the artist. He had simply fallen in love with the wild natural turbulence, the sense of the sea, of the wind, in the painting. “A local fellow, I was told, though the gallery owner didn’t know much about the artist personally, for he had acquired the work through an agent. I must, soon, find out where he does live. The piece is quite magnificent, but I bought it at a steal from a fellow down on Sloane Street.”

Hunter had been entranced and had studied the oil at his leisure. The signature had been small but firm, and entirely legible. William Adair. And once he had followed Kat, peeped in through the window and seen the pieces hanging within the small abode, he had realized that oils of such power and emotion could have only been created by the same artist.

And so his mermaid was the man’s daughter. And her little sketch gave proof of an amazing, if untapped and untrained, talent, as well.

He replaced the note as it had been left and slipped out of the room, leaving all as if he had never entered it.

Then he waited in the yard, determined to catch his guest in the act of trying to return undetected. He wondered how long she waited to depart her home unnoticed. It would have taken her a bit of time, since she would have had to convince her sister to be part of her subterfuge. In Kat’s mind, all she would have to do was elude her father for the evening. Her one magical evening. She couldn’t know as yet that there would be no way to see Lord Avery—or David—tonight.