SHANNONDRAKE
Reckless

To Jeanne Havens Beem,

with deepest thanks for the love she always gave Vickie,

and the encouragement she has always given me.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 1

“DEAR LORD! HE’S GONE into the water!”

Katherine Adair—Kat to her friends and beloved family—gasped and leapt to her feet. Just seconds before, she’d been sitting on the deck of her father’s vessel—sadly misnamed The Promise—reading and indulging in dreams. The day had been like many other Sundays she had spent throughout the years with her small family aboard the boat on the Thames. Often, as they’d watched the elite in their far more magical vessels, she had smiled as her sister, Eliza, mimicked the upper-crust accents, then joined her in singing old sea chanties—all the while looking to see if their father was about before adding a few of the more risqué lyrics.

But there were times, of course, when she did nothing but indulge in dreaming…about the very fellow whom a wave had just swept from the deck of the far finer leisure yacht The Inner Sanctum!

David. David Turnberry, youngest son of Baron Rothchild Turnberry, brilliant student at Oxford and avid sailor and adventurer.

“Kat! Do sit down! You’ll rock this old scow and we’ll be in the drink, too,” Eliza chastised. “Don’t worry. One of those Oxford chaps will dish him out!” she said with a sniff.

But none of them did. The river was wicked that day—fine for Kat’s father, who used the turbulence in his work—but a poor time for entertainment. The young swains who had accompanied David on the sail were clinging to the rigging, looking into the water, shouting…but not jumping in and attempting a rescue! She recognized one—Robert Stewart, handsome, landed and charming, as well, David’s best friend. Why wasn’t he in the water? And there was another of his chums…she couldn’t remember his name…Allan…something…

Oh, the fools! They hadn’t even thrown in a life preserver, and David was so far from her own vessel that any attempt on her part to do so would be useless.

They shouldn’t have been out on a day like today. They imagined themselves to be such sailors, and they were still so young, so raw. The river was far too rough, only for fishermen and fools. And, she thought ruefully, her father.

But now they’d lost David! And still, there was no one aboard heroic enough to dive in for the dear man’s salvation.

Indeed, the waves were high, and she could understand their trepidation. But her heart cried otherwise. He was beautiful, magnificent. No fellow in all of England or surely even beyond had such a smile. Nor had she ever heard a fellow of his social position speak so kindly to those who were hard put to earn their meager living from the sea. She had watched him so often.

“They’re not going for him!” she cried.

“They will.”

“But he will drown!” Kat looked around quickly. Her father had brought in their own sails; the scow was merely riding the waves now.

In fact, her dear father was not working or paying the least attention to her. Lady Daws had come with them today; and she was laughing—the sound something like that of a sea-witch cackling, Kat thought sadly, something her father simply didn’t hear—and that completely enraptured the hardworking man upon whom she had set her sights.

Kat looked back anxiously at the river. Maybe what had seemed like an eternity to her had been nothing more than a few seconds. Maybe the fellows had needed a moment to draw on their reserves of courage. But no…time ticked away, and none of those young swains aboard the richer vessel had made the slightest attempt to effect a rescue.

“Kat! Don’t look so perplexed. Come, come…he can probably swim. The beaches are still all the rage with his crowd, even though the poor can now reach our beaches by train. Of course, the elite, they say, prefer to frolic in the Mediterranean.”

Though Eliza spoke of the rich with disdain, in these moments with the sailing almost done for the day and the afternoon near its end, she always had her nose thrust into the pages of Godey’s Lady’s Book. She did love her fashion. And she could sew delightfully, creating fantastic designs from such bizarre materials as cast-off sails and canvas.

Kat paid her sister little attention. Her heart seemed to have lodged in her throat. She couldn’t even see the young man’s head bobbing in the waves.

Ah, there! And far from his own sleek vessel.

“The sea is too rough!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “He will die!”

“There is nothing you can do. You’ll but kill yourself,” Eliza warned fiercely.

“Ah, but I would die for him. I would sell my very soul for him!” Kat returned.

“Kat, what…?” Eliza began in horror.

Too late.

Being poor sometimes had its advantages. Kat shed her heavy, solid and sensible shoes and slid her cotton skirt down her hips to the floorboards. In seconds, she had also shed her secondhand jacket. She had no corset, no bustle, no darling little hat to discard, and so, despite her sister’s protests, she leapt into the filthy water in her shift.

The chill hit her viciously.

And the waves were mercilessly rough.

But she had spent her life nearly as one with the sea. So she took a big lungful of air, plunged beneath the surface and swam hard.

She bobbed up first near the sleek yacht. She could hear the fellows on deck shouting, their voices sounding desperate.

“Can you see him?”

“His head… He’s down again. Oh, God! He’s going to drown…Bring her around, bring her around, we’ve got to find David!”

“I can’t see him anymore!”

Kat took another deep breath and plunged beneath the surface again. She kept her eyes open, straining to see through the murky depths. And there…

There she saw him. To the right and a few feet below her.

Dead?

Oh, Lord, no! She prayed as fervently as she sought to reach the man. David. David the beautiful, the magnificent. Eyes closed…body sinking…

She grasped him, as her father had taught her to grasp a fisherman fallen overboard, catching him beneath the chin with the palm of her hand, allowing her to draw his head to the surface, while leaving her torso, legs and the solid strength of one arm to draw him toward shore.

Ah! The distance.

She could not make it!

But it seemed that both the luxury yacht and her father’s fishing vessel were ever farther out to sea. What other vessels were at sail or anchored seemed at even greater distances. She had to make the shore.

She kicked, trying to stay calm, to remember that she mustn’t lose her strength by using it to fight the rough water—that she must go with it, let the tempest take her until it drove her toward the shore.

She tried hard to keep David’s head above the water, tried harder to keep breathing and moving herself against the waves, white-tipped, gray and brown, like living, breathing, beings anxious to suck her into their depths. How slender the river could seem at times, but…how great its span!

And yet, chilled and desperate as she was, it occurred to her…

He was in her arms. Oh, God! He could die in her arms.

As she would gladly die in his.

“GOOD LORD! WILL YOU LOOK at those young fools!” Hunter MacDonald stared at the young swains who raced around their yacht like simpletons. They’d lost one of their number, yet none was doing a damn thing about it.

He cursed them roundly, then called out to Ethan Grayson—his mate at sea, manservant and his friend. “Bring her in! I’m going for the boy.”

“Sir Hunter!” Ethan, weathered and strong and far too sensible a fellow not to have risen far, protested strongly. “You’ll but go down yourself!”

“No, Ethan, I’ll not.” Hastily removing shoes, jacket and trousers, he offered Ethan a grimace. “My good man, I’ve escaped crocodiles in the Nile. I shall be fine in this bit of English weather.”

And so, stripped down to his drawers and shirt, he dove neatly overboard in the direction where he had last espied the young fellow’s bobbing head. As he did, he could hear Ethan scolding him angrily: “Being a ‘sir’ does not give a fellow common sense, no, it does not! He survives famine, war and the evil in the hearts of men, but then drowns himself like the young idiot he would save!”

Too late! thought Hunter. The Thames closed around him as he cut through the waves, swimming with strong exertion to bring the heat of movement to his person.

The water was bitterly cold.

It had been easier to swim in the Nile with crocodiles, he ruefully admitted to himself.

AT LAST! KAT AND HER BURDEN had nearly reached the embankment.

She was far from the docks, closer to Richmond now than the City of London. A mist of rain was falling as she struggled through the remaining few yards of water, hitting mud beneath her feet at last, mud and God knew what else, some broken crockery that cut into her sole. She barely felt it, however, for she had him to land at last. Exhausted, near crawling at the end, she dragged David’s dead weight up onto muddy sod and scraggly grasses, but not far from the road; homes and businesses and even ships at dock were visible nearby. She fell to his side at first, breathing, ah, doing nothing at all but breathing! Then as her lungs filled, she looked at his face and was roused to fear. She jerked up, then leaned on his chest, hard, pushing, determined to expel the water from his lungs. He choked, and water dribbled from his blue lips. Then he coughed and coughed…

And finally fell silent, other than the slow rasp of his breath.

She stared down at him, shaking. He lived. “Thank you, God!” she whispered fervently. And then, seeing his long lashes sweeping the contours of his noble face, she added, “You are so beautiful!”

His amber eyes opened. He stared up at her.

And she was horrified, for she was far from looking her best. Her hair was, as a rule, rich and long, if a bit glaringly red, but now it hung in sodden ropes. Her eyes—normally the oddest shade of green and hazel, sometimes almost the color of grass and at others almost gold—must be quite pinkened. And her lips were surely as blue as his. Her linen shift clung wetly to her body, and she was shaking uncontrollably. That he should see her so, when she still lived in a world of dreams, when society did not allow for the daughter of a humble, struggling artist, an Irish one at that, to so much as dare imagine a life among the elite, was the worst thing she could have imagined.

His hand moved. Fingers touched her face. For a moment, his own was dark and troubled, as if he sought an answer as to where he was, and why. “We were with the wind, listening…laughing…for there were songs on the air, as if the Sirens called to us, and then…pushed!” he murmured. “By God, I swear I was pushed! Why…”

Then his eyes focused on her. And a smile flitted over his lips. “Yes, yes, I felt hands against my back, pushing…but who the devil…and then…the cold…and the darkness. Then…you! Am I seeing things? You’re an angel!” he whispered. “A sea angel…an angel, and I love you!” Then he laughed. “No! A mermaid, and thus I am alive!”

His fingers—on her face!

And the words he had said!

Ah, she could have died then and drifted to heaven in pure bliss.

His eyes closed. Panic seized her. But she could see him breathing, his chest rising and falling, and she could feel his warmth.

Voices suddenly sounded. Looking up, she saw a group coming from the gravel road that led down to the embankment. She jumped to her feet, aware of her near-naked state, her shift plastered to her body, providing not the least bit of modesty. And she was very chilled, of course, making that immodesty all the more apparent. She wrapped bare arms around herself.

“Oh, they’re searching for him…but I saw…something!” The voice was feminine, sweet and touched with the sound of a sob.

“Now, now, our boy can swim, Margaret!” returned a male voice. “He’ll be just fine.”

Kat now saw a very pretty woman, slim and elegant in a late-summer day dress, a jaunty little hat sitting at an angle on her head, a parasol in her hands, her bustle twitching as she walked on dainty heels. Her hair was a soft ashen blond, and her eyes were as blue as the sea. Beside her was an older gentleman in a resplendent suit, cape and top hat, and they were coming closer and closer.

Kat’s heart seemed to stop. In her mind’s eye, she saw only the contrast between the elegant lady and herself, and she knew she had to escape. Quickly.

As she turned to run back into the water, a man rose from the waves not twenty yards away.

He was tall, lean and sinewy, his musculature quite evident, for he, too, but for an open shirt, was stripped down to his unmentionables. His dark hair was plastered to his head, and his classically sculpted face was frowning.

“Miss!” he called.

And that was it. She cried out softly, sprinted the few feet back to the muddy water’s edge and plunged in, diving beneath the surface as soon as she could and swimming harder than she had ever done in her life, unaware now of the cold and the aching in her lungs and limbs.

She surfaced, she knew not where, just as the rain began.

“MARGARET!”

David blinked, staring up through the mist of rain. And there she was, Lord Avery’s fair daughter, the very lovely and rich Lady Margaret, on her cheeks tears of a greater substance than the rain, staring down at him. Heedless of the mud, she sat on the embankment, his head cradled in her lap.

His heart leapt. Although she often appeared to care for him deeply, in fact, in the race for her hand, he had thought both Robert Stewart and Allan Beckensdale to be far ahead of him.

And yet now…how sweet to see her face!

For a moment, he was puzzled. There had been a fleeting moment when…he had thought he’d seen someone else. A different face. Fair and comely, with eyes a strange green fire and hair a searing flame-red. An angel? Had he come so close to death? No, then perhaps a mermaid, a sprite from the sea, or rather the river?

Had he imagined her?

And had he imagined, too, in the bluster of the day and the roll of the yacht, the hands at his back, pushing him, forcing him into the river?

“David! David, please, speak to me again, are you all right?” Margaret demanded anxiously.

“I…oh, dear, dear Margaret! Yes, I…I’m fine!” Not true. In fact, he was quite cold, but that mattered not in the least, not when this much-sought, beautiful lady was so gently tending to him.

Those eyes, so brilliantly blue, so studded with tears!

But…

“You saved me,” he said, still confused.

“Well,” she murmured, “I did drag you up the bank, hold you here, so dearly, in my lap.”

“He will live!” These words, dry, rough and impatient. And a spray of icy water falling on him.

“Sir Hunter?” David gasped, looking toward the voice. And, indeed, he was there, the renowned sailor, soldier, excavator and all-round adventurer; the toast of London society, standing above him, furious and frowning.

And dripping.

“He’s safely in your hands now, Lord Avery,” Hunter said dryly to Margaret’s father, who stood, David saw then, anxiously watching just a few feet away. “I must find the girl.”

“The girl?” David echoed, blinking again.

“The one who saved your life,” Sir Hunter said curtly, and David could hear the unspoken “You fool.”

“Good God, Sir Hunter, you cannot mean to plunge back in—” Lord Avery began.

“Oh, but I do,” Hunter said. “Lest she drown.”

“You’ll drown yourself!” Lord Avery argued. “If there is a girl out there, the boatsmen or fishermen will find her surely.”

Lord Avery’s protests were apparently insufficient for Hunter turned and strode back into the water.

“Father, he’ll be all right!” Margaret called, adding with a touch of admiration that sent a pang through David’s heart, “Sir Hunter MacDonald can withstand any hardship.”

Sir Hunter, David thought, ever the hero, strong and brave and invincible. And I myself here on the muddy shore, gasping, barely alive…

But in her arms!

“I hope you’re right, my dear,” Lord Avery said, kneeling down beside David as well and, slipping his fine jacket from his shoulders, placed it around David. “Thank God you survived, my boy! Can you rise? We’ll get you to the road and then to the town house before you catch your death of cold.”

David, trying to fathom what was real and what lay in the soul of his imagination asked, “There really was a girl?” He looked at Margaret.

“Yes…that or, truly, a sea creature!” Margaret said.

“We’ll see that she’s rewarded for the act, assuming that Sir Hunter can indeed find her. How very odd that she ran back into the river. She must be quite mad. Or perhaps she’s a lady of some fine family, afraid to be seen!” Lord Avery said gruffly. “One can only speculate, however, David. Right now, we must get you warm. That blasted river! Rarely is it anything less than wretched!”

“Yes, of course,” David murmured, “Thank you. But if there was a girl…a strong girl, rich or poor, we must indeed see that she is rewarded.”

Again he remembered—imagined?—being pushed into the river. It had been an act of pure malice and evil intent.

Whoever had done it had meant for him to die.

But why?

Margaret? To eliminate the competition for her hand?

Or was it something else entirely?

Suddenly he was afraid, deeply afraid, though he dared not show it. The thoughts tore through his mind. He and his friends had simply gone out for a day of sport and fun. Alfred Daws, Robert Stewart, Allan Beckensdale, Sydney Myers, all fellows he knew well. He’d studied with them, played cricket with them, trusted them….

He had to be mistaken!

And yet, if it hadn’t been for the girl who’d—

“David?”

His name was said with such anxiety! And Margaret smelled of roses, so delicious, and her arms were around him as she helped him to his feet.

“The girl saved your life,” Margaret agreed. “Your precious life.”

He forgot Lord Avery, forgot his fear regarding his friends, everything, as he stared into the sky-blue of her eyes. He needed his future secured. As the son-in-law of Lord Avery, it would be.

“Ah, but we know the real truth! You saved my life,” he declared. “You, with your gentle caring. You have brought me back. Even here, upon this shore, I might have died. Indeed, I would have died had I not opened my eyes to see your beautiful face!”

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and he dared to mouth “I love you so!”

She did not reply, but the pink suffused to a darker shade as she reminded him softly, “My father, David!”

Yes, he thought, Margaret was indeed beautiful. And sweet. And very rich. For him, she would be the perfect wife.

He vowed then and there that he would be her husband.

SAVING THE OBJECT OF HER deepest desire had been difficult, but never in the long, cold struggle to bring him to shore had Kat feared for her own life.

Now, suddenly, she did so.

What a fool she had been to plunge back into the water! True, her sad state of undress might have brought about a few snickers and she’d certainly be considered rather scandalous. But what was scandalous compared to being dead!

Tired, cold and disoriented, she fought to retain her strength, to rise enough within the growing fury of the river to find either the shore or one of the vessels—fine or misbegotten—that braved the Thames no matter the weather. But though the rain had not come in heavy sheets as the sky had seemed to warn, it had formed a thick, blinding mist atop the churning waves. She was adrift in a cold sea of gray in which she seemed entirely alone.

She treaded water, turning this way and that, trying to see something through the haze. She knew she had to keep moving, lest the chill enshroud her. The euphoria she had felt after her rescue had faded completely, along with her strength. She was not sorry she had saved him—was his life not worth far more than her own?—but only sorry that she had been so foolish to run—or swim!—away. She struggled to give herself the impetus to go forward. She was her father’s daughter, after all. A creature of the sea, a part of this wet, murky world.

At last, she calmed herself and rolled onto her back, then frog-kicked sideways into the current. But as she relaxed, a new fear—that of the darkness, of knowing that the Thames was little more than a sewer pit, seized her as she saw something move. Ridiculous notions shot into her mind. Snakes! No, none in the waters here, surely. Serpents—just as silly. Sharks—in from the sea? Here? In the Thames? Heavens, no, but still… Oh, God, there was something in the water!

She let out a scream, then choked on water from the wave that splashed over her, gagged. Desperate, choking, barely able to breathe, she started her frog kick again.

Something touched her!

Something…against her bare leg, and then on her hip. She kicked harder, to propel herself away. Then she felt it again. Something smooth, strong, slippery…

“No!” she shrieked. She would not die so—definitely not on the day he had told her he loved her! She would not die in the water. Water was her home, it was what she knew, and she would not, could not, give in.

When the thing rose near her, she lashed out with a fist as hard as she could.

“Good God, girl! What on earth ails you? I am doing my best to save your life.”

It was a man. Just a man. She could make out little of him against the waves, but his voice was deep and rich and commanding. And then she remembered that a man had come out of the water when she’d been at David’s side, that his appearance, along with that of the elegant young woman, had been the impetus to send her back into the dreadful river.

“Save my life! You’re the reason that I’m threatened with the end of it!” she shouted back.

“Child, my craft is but a hundred yards south!”

A wave crested and washed over her. She had not been prepared, and she chocked in water, coughing, gasping.

And he was there, a wall of steel, an arm coming beneath her breasts, sliding most immodestly against her. She struggled.

“Damn you, be still! How on earth will I save you?”

“I don’t need to be saved!”

“Indeed, you do!”

“If you’d cease trying to drown me, I’d be doing quite well!”

But she was lying, she realized. She was truly spent. Staying on the surface and fighting the waves was becoming ever more difficult.

Naturally, however, as she cried out her accusation, he released her.

And just as naturally, another wave smacked over her just as she was still recovering from the last. And she went under.

A mighty kick brought her back to the surface and into his arms.

“Be still!” he snapped. “Else I shall slap you into unconsciousness so that I can save your wretched life!” The sting of his words was far worse than a slap.

“I’m telling you—”

“Don’t tell me!”

“But—”

“Dear God, woman, will you shut up!”

She had to then, for once again her mouth filled with river water, and she choked. She felt that steely power wind around her again, and despite the cold, his arms were warm, and despite her fury, exhaustion was winning. She felt a blackness creeping over the gray and brown of the day and the river, and suddenly it seemed right to close her eyes, give in….

His strength was great, for she was no longer moving on her own, yet felt as if she had been lifted, as if she were skimming over the water. Her head and nose remained above the surface.

Then there were voices, men’s voices, and she realized that they had come to a sailing vessel, a very fine one.

“Ethan!”

The shout startled her and she jerked violently away. Her head slammed against the bow of the yacht, making her gasp with pain.

Stars burst brilliantly before her eyes.

And then…blackness.

“SWEET MARY!” ETHAN exclaimed, his powerful arms capturing the slender being Hunter had salvaged from the sea, lifting her as if she were no more than a toy. And holding her tenderly, he stared at Hunter for the briefest moment before hurrying with his bundle down to the cabin.

The yacht yawed, and Hunter stumbled to the helm, grasping control as the wind ripped around them. Ignoring the fact that he was soaking wet and chilled to the bone, he swore as he struggled with a wicked shift in the wind, furled the sails on his own and brought the craft around. Ah, well, he was a sportsman, was he not? Still, he had not intended such sport today.

Ethan returned topside bringing a blanket and a cup of warm brandy. With a nod of thanks, Hunter took the latter first, drained it and felt the heat seep back into his body. He took the blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders, while Ethan took the helm.

“She’s all right?” Hunter asked, shouting to be heard.

“Nasty crack on her head!” Ethan shouted back. “But she opened her eyes. I’ve wrapped her in several blankets and given her a sip of brandy. She’ll be warm enough, and well enough, I imagine, while we make for shore. Where do we take her? To hospital?”

Hunter frowned and shook his head. “They say such places are improving, but I’d not take even a dog there. We’ll go to the town house. You’re sure she’s all right? She fought me like an insane woman….”

“Begging your pardon, Sir Hunter, but when you reached the yacht, I believe her head might have struck the hull.”

Ethan had seen a number of injuries, since he’d served alongside Hunter in battle and across several continents. He was a fine man when it came to setting bones, and he was equally adept at dispensing medications. He knew a mortal injury when he saw one, and this one certainly didn’t qualify.

“Who is she?” he demanded.

“I haven’t the faintest notion,” Hunter replied. “She apparently dived in to save young David, but from where, I do not know.” He paused, thinking. Had he seen her before? She was not among last season’s display of coming-of-age young society beauties, of that he was certain. He would have remembered her. Even wet and bedraggled, she was striking.

She had the abilities of a fish in water, so it seemed, and had been quite positive she didn’t need rescuing. Her hair…what color! Even wet, it was like fire. And her eyes, when opened, flashed fire to match that hair.

Then, of course, only a blind man could miss the perfection of her form. She was no hothouse flower, but all lean muscle and sinew, long legs, trim hips and…beautiful breasts. Firm, full, straining against the taut fabric.

He winced at his lascivious thoughts. But he wasn’t a blind man. He couldn’t have missed them.

“Brave little thing!” Ethan said. “Diving in when none of his fine, hearty companions could manage to do so.”

That, too, was true.

But then again, Hunter had seen the way she had looked at David on the embankment. Utterly rapt. She hadn’t dived in for someone who was a stranger to her. There had been something about that look, something that any man or woman living seldom achieved, yet might crave with all the heart. Indeed, she would have gladly given her life for David.

She’s in love, he thought.

“You think she’s a friend of the chap?” Ethan asked now.

“I’ve never seen her before,” Hunter said. “But then, I’m certainly not privy to all of young David’s acquaintances. Indeed, I’ve only come to know him because he is due to take part in the upcoming excavations along the Nile. And because, of course, his father is interested in financing such work.”

“Good Lord! You don’t think she’s a…”

“Doxy?” Hunter cocked his head, musing. “No,” he said after a moment. “She hasn’t the look. No hardness in her eyes. Not yet, anyway. But whoever she is, she will be a bit richer than she was, for Lord Avery is determined she be rewarded. Meanwhile, let’s just see to her welfare, eh?”

In another thirty minutes, the yacht was in and duly berthed. Hunter held the girl in his arms, wrapped warmly in the blankets Ethan had provided her, while Ethan brought round the carriage. Though the area at the docks had been much busier early in the day, the fair-weather sailors had come to realize that such a day was not for sport. Now there was no one about.

Certainly not young David, or any of his party. Though Hunter knew that Lord Avery would be true to his word and reward the girl, the man would not be overly concerned about her welfare. David would be his first concern.

And, of course, Margaret.

Ethan reined in the handsome carriage horses, and the two stood still, awaiting their burden. Hunter entered the carriage with the girl in his arms, needing little assistance.

“Home then, and quickly,” Ethan said, closing the doors and climbing up top to take the reins.

And as they rode, Hunter looked down at her face. It was truly beautiful. Skin, though ever so slightly tanned, as smooth as alabaster. Straight nose, lips perhaps a bit too wide and full for the current accepted state of fashion. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes large, lashes long and dark.

She stirred. Frowned.

A smile creased her lips, so sweetly.

She seemed to doze and to dream, and whatever she dreamed, it was sweet.

The dark lashes twitched and then rose.

Her eyes focused upon his, and she frowned.

“You’re with us,” he said softly.

Her lips moved. She seemed to have lost her voice.

“What?” he coaxed.

Something about her at that moment awoke a deep tenderness in him. He wanted to protect her. To bring all that was warm and gentle around her.

Her lips moved again.

He leaned close to catch the least whisper.

“You!” she breathed.

He heard the intense dismay. He clenched his teeth, forced a smile. And remembered the way she had looked at young David.

“Indeed, dear girl, ’tis I. And I do apologize. I should have left you in the water!”

Her eyes closed again. Apparently she still hadn’t realized where she was.

He was tempted to throw her off his lap, but he held his temper. Even in his most wretched moments, he had never been that bad a scoundrel.

“All right, then, who are you? And when we return you safely to your home, just where would that be?”

Once again, her eyes flew open and assessed him with what appeared to be anger. By all the gods, they were truly magnificent eyes, blazing with their unusual color. At this close range, he could truly inspect them. Blue-green along the outer rims, fading to green, then to gold. Extraordinary. Hmm, she was definitely a redhead, but it wasn’t a carroty color, rather like a deep, rich flame. And those dark lashes…

Wherever she came from, she was probably pure temper, and some poor father, brother or lover might well be glad of a holiday from her tongue!

She continued to stare at him, her expression becoming perplexed.

“Well? Who are you?” he demanded.

Her lashes fell. “I…”

“Good God, answer me!”

“I don’t know!” she snapped.

And so saying, she pushed from his hold, righting herself most regally—until she realized that she’d lost her blankets. She flushed, cast him a furious glance, and dragged the blankets back up to sit in noble silence.

Chapter 2

HUNTER EYED HER LONG AND carefully, then a slow smile crept onto his lips.

“You’re a liar,” he told her quietly.

“How dare you!” she accused.

He shook his head. “I simply do not believe you struck your head that hard.”

She turned to gaze out the carriage window as the busy streets of London passed by. Then she lowered her eyes, the wealth of lashes concealing her thoughts. Her hands, which showed small signs of hard work, were resting on the fine upholstery of the carriage seat and he could see that she was enjoying the soft feel of the fabric.

“My head pains me a great deal!” she snapped, and her gaze returned to his.

Again, he had to smile. “But you are alive,” he said.

“I was doing quite well without you.”

He didn’t bother to respond.

Her frown deepened and she eyed him warily, drawing the blankets more tightly to her throat. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Hunter MacDonald.” He inclined his head in an ironic gesture. “At your service.”

He thought that he saw her eyes widen just a bit; she was quick to hide any sign that she might have recognized his name, if indeed, she had done so. Had she? His exploits were frequently in the papers, he knew, something about which he seldom gave a thought. He was equally referenced in the society pages, usually with a gleeful note—readers loved a touch of scandal.

Frankly, and certainly as of late, he did not deserve most of the more scandalous items of gossip, but he had long ago determined that no matter what one did, it was impossible to live up to the high standards set for a man such as he. He was able to be quite entertained, fortunately, by what fabrications might come along.

His passenger didn’t appear at all frightened to be in the company of such an ill-reputed fellow. Indeed, she seemed to be scheming within her own mind.

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

“Why, my town house, of course,” he told her.

At that, he was pleased to witness the slightest bit of alarm pass briefly over her countenance.

“I may not know who I am,” she said, “but I’m quite certain that I…” Her voice trailed off as if the right words failed her. “That you what?” he offered helpfully.

She lowered her head. “If you would just return me to the sea, I believe I might recognize something…someone.”

“The sea?”

She flushed. “The area by the river.”

He appraised her with both his mind and his libido, ever more fascinated. She spoke well, extremely well, as if she had been decently educated. But he suspected that, nevertheless, she belonged to the poor area of the river.

And a class of Victorian society from which she might never hope to encounter her precious David except under unusual circumstances.

He found himself looking away, feeling the oddest little ache, as if he wished that he were the object of that deep affection she most obviously felt for the youngest son of the Baron Turnberry. It didn’t matter that David would not inherit his father’s title—there wasn’t just one or two male siblings above him in line, but five!—he was surely something of a shining, glittering star to this girl.

And if she felt such an affection for himself?

Ah, well. Some of his reputation was deserved. But never had he tarried with a member of the fairer sex who was truly young and innocent, and tender of heart, as well.

Then, again, what made him believe that she was truly innocent? She had plunged into the Thames nearly naked. For a man.

“I believe that he’s about to become engaged,” Hunter said harshly.

She was good at her charade.

“Who?”

“David Turnberry, my dear.”

“And why should that concern me?”

“I beg your pardon, I forgot. You do not know yourself, so how would you know of Mr. Turnberry?”

She looked at him, red tendrils of hair, drier now, falling softly across her face. “How would you happen to know about the relationships of…this man to whom you refer?” she asked.

“We run in the same circles,” he responded. “In fact, the man you saved—I’m sure you must remember dragging a man out of the water?—is due to leave shortly for a season working the excavations in ancient Egypt. When he returns, I believe he will be married.”

“Is he officially engaged?”

“No,” Hunter admitted. “But he has been a contender in the quest for the hand of Lady Margaret for some time, and I believe that today, after such high drama and fear for his life, she may have decided that he’s the one she’ll choose to marry.”

She turned away quickly, as if she felt distressed and would prefer he not see it. Then she lowered her head and murmured, “Please…if you would take me back to the river, I would be most grateful. I’m sure I shall find out who I am and where I belong.”

He leaned forward, absently setting a hand on her knee as he spoke. “But, dear girl, Mr. Turnberry is anxious to thank you for his life. We must allow him to do so.”

She visibly winced. “As I am? I would deeply appreciate a return to the sea.”

“River.”

“River!” she snapped.

She moved. He realized that his hand touched her still—and that it was far more disturbing to him than to her. He withdrew.

“We are nearly at my town house. My sister often spends time there—I’m quite sure we will find something appropriate for you to wear.”

“Sir! I cannot go with you to your town house alone.”

“Fear not,” he said, smiling. “I have the most proper housekeeper one might ever hope to have. You’ll be in the best of hands.”

They came at last to the town house with its elegant wrought-iron gates and handsomely manicured lawn. He wondered if she had not caught his attention before because, in a very strange way, she reminded him of himself. In his younger years, he’d seen what he was and what he was not. And he’d realized he must improve his own lot, which he had managed to do quite nicely, first in the military, then by charming the queen, and then with his very real fascination for all things Egyptian. He had written a number of books on his experiences, and therefore earned a fair penny from his publishers, and if his own efforts had not seen him to financial success, the death of his beloved and landed godmother had increased his position most pleasantly. The boon had not been expected, because the old girl, who had been a true adventurer herself and had always engaged him in tart conversation, had always pretended poverty and gratefully accepted his many gifts.

The carriage passed through the gates to the porte cochere at the side door. It opened as Hunter jumped down from the carriage, reaching back to assist his unwilling guest. She hesitated, but at last accepted his hand, apparently deciding that it would be churlish to refuse it.

“Dear me, dear me!” This from Mrs. Emma Johnson, his housekeeper. She gave Hunter a scathing look, as if he had committed a crime. “Sir Hunter! What in heaven’s name? Dear child, do come in and I will see to you! Do your parents know where you are? Hunter, did you take this young lady sailing on such a day and lose her in the river? Oh, child, thank the Lord you’re all right. I shall see to you immediately.” She slipped an arm around his red-haired sea vixen, staring him down. “Now, Hunter, it’s none of my business, but—”

“No, Emma, it’s not!” he said, but smiled. She was very dear to him. When he was quite young and struggling, she had even suffered many a week without pay, assuring him that he could pay her when…well, when he could. He had done his best to reward her for those days of service when her work had been based on loyalty alone.

She narrowed her gray eyes in a severe warning, and again he had to smile. “Emma, I did nothing terrible, I assure you. She was drowning—”

“It was not until he tried to help me that I was drowning!” the girl protested.

“It’s amazing what you do seem to remember,” Hunter murmured.

“Good heavens! What did happen?” Emma demanded.

“I suppose we must let the young woman explain,” Hunter said.

“Young woman? What is your name, dear?” Emma asked.

“Yes, dear, what is your name?” Hunter repeated. He watched her face heat with color. “Ah! Dear me, how could I forget so quickly? She suffered a bump on the head and has forgotten everything. Can you imagine, Emma?”

The housekeeper looked horrified. “Hunter, what did you do?”

“I’m innocent, I swear!” he said.

“Aye, mum, he’s innocent this time, I can vouch for that,” Ethan said, coming round from having led the horses and conveyance on to the carriage house and the groom. “Sir Hunter saw a friend swept clean off the deck of another yacht, and he dived to rescue the fellow. Seems that, wherever she came from, the girl had the same idea.”

Emma stared her. “Child! You went into the Thames? Why, ’tis filthy with the rot of thousands, no matter what they say has been done for sanitation in the reign of our good Queen Victoria!”

“I’ve been in it before,” the girl murmured. She flushed again, catching Hunter’s glance, “I…uh…think I’ve been in it before! I mean…perhaps I’ve been in water quite frequently…at least, I believe that I have….”

Emma glared at Hunter once more. “Well, and look at you, in just your drawers and a blanket! Humph!” She wagged a finger at Hunter. “You, sir, have your reputation, but it shall not sully mine. I’ll see to it that our poor dear guest has a bath and is set right up. Ethan! You must go for the doctor immediately—”

“Doctor!” the girl protested.

“Of course! You’ve lost your memory. And with the master of the house around, dear, we wouldn’t want to add to that the fact that you’ve lost your senses! No, no, this must be handled in all proper haste!”

“Emma, I’m hardly likely to seduce the girl beneath my own roof,” Hunter murmured wryly.

“Indeed, hardly likely,” the girl muttered.

“In fact, Ethan will help me out of this river sop I wear, Emma, and you see to the young lady here. They’ll be wanting to know about this at Lord Avery’s manor—it was David Turnberry who went into the drink, and he’ll want to thank our mystery girl properly. I’ll give a call to the manor—assuming the blasted telephone decides to work—let them know that I’ve got the girl.”

“But I do think we should have the doctor—” Emma began to protest.

“I’m fine!” the girl assured her.

“Humph!” Emma said.

“Let’s see…perhaps we should give her until the morning, see how she is faring then. Emma, I’m sure you will have a delightful room ready somewhere in this place?” Hunter said.

“A bath…and a bit of rest. Alone. If I may. That would be lovely,” the girl said. “And if I feel at all ill in the morning, I swear I’ll see a doctor!”

“All right, then, Hunter, be gone up the stairs. Young woman, I’ll get a good deep bath going, and you’ll be warm and cozy in no time. Now, Hunter, you must stay away.”

“Good Lord, trust me, I intend to!” he assured Emma. He couldn’t help winking at his less-than-gracious guest before he passed her by. His fine deck shoes squeaked and he was beginning to feel more than a chill, despite the blanket around his shoulders.

Ethan followed him to his room, dragging out the hip bath, ready to be of service. “Stop, my friend,” said Hunter. “I’ll heat my own bath. See to it that there are coins left on the dresser in the blue room—which is surely where Emma will take our guest. Oh, and see that there are enough coins for transport in the pocket of whatever piece of clothing Emma chooses for our guest.”

Ethan arched a brow.

“Believe me, my friend,” said Hunter. “It is for the girl’s benefit.”

“You want her to run away?”

“She’s going to run back to the river. You mark my words. Besides, don’t worry. I intend to run after her. Ah, Ethan! Please, just do as I say!”

Ethan grunted but left to do as bidden.

KAT, HER MEMORY QUITE INTACT, found being and talking with Mrs. Johnson—Emma, as she preferred to be called—easy and comfortable. The woman was so warm and caring! Kat didn’t think that she’d ever had such a delightful bath, the water so deliciously warm. The house and furnishings were exquisite. Kat had never been in such luxury!

Emma chatted about the neighborhood—charming, she adored it, they’d been there almost a decade. Then there was the amazing way one could now get about—on a train in a tube underground! “Oh, that it had been there when I was a young girl!” she declared. She mostly talked about Sir Hunter MacDonald, the love of her life, it seemed.

Kat wished desperately that she’d been taken to the home of David Turnberry, instead, for she was certain that there she’d have heard from his housekeeper and might have learned all kinds of delicious little nuggets about his life. But it wasn’t to be. She had to remember where she was. And why.

And remember to be grateful. So she listened. Sir Hunter had been an impressive soldier, and it had been for his gallant service to his country that he had been knighted. Why, Emma gushed, he was called upon often to play the diplomat for the queen! And, well, of course, he did have his reputation, but only because there were so many widows and even a few divorcées who did not understand mourning as did their dear queen. And Americans! Well…they were a breed of their own, adventurers-adventuresses, all. And then, of course, there was his obsession with Egyptian antiquities. Yes, there had been quite a hullabaloo at the museum just a year ago. Dastardly going-ons, but all settled in the end, the evil ones out of the picture, and those involved would be sailing off again, learning more and more, and adding to the grandeur of the British Empire!

Yes, yes, yes, Kat thought. But how much could a girl listen to, especially about a fellow who had almost drowned her? All right, it was true that that had not been his intention, and he had made her a guest in his very beautiful home. So she held her tongue while his housekeeper worked her hair with sweet-smelling suds and prattled on. She didn’t have much of a choice.

“But, of course, you’ve read about him, I’m certain,” Emma continued. “He has been the idol of the country many a time. Oh, I forgot! Poor thing. Your memory is gone. But if anything stirs in the darkness, let me assure you, despite his wretched reputation as a ladies’ man, Sir Hunter is a gentleman, a true gentleman.” Emma seemed determined that Kat should understand that.

The woman added ruefully, “I’m certain that many of the rumors are fact, I’m sorry to say, but as I told you, he tarries only with divorcées and widows, women who are quite adult and mature, and responsible for their own actions. I don’t believe he frequents houses of ill repute—well, not the lower sort, anyway. But surely, you must be aware that he has a kind heart. And courage! Why, he has fought again and again in the queen’s service, held his own, even when he didn’t think we had the right to be where we were—Good Lord, child, you mustn’t ever repeat that! He is a loyal subject of our good queen, right down to the toes! And then, of course, there is his constant hunt for Egyptian antiquities.”

“Do you mean treasures?”

Emma Johnson sniffed. “Treasures? Not as we think of them, dear. Treasures to Sir Hunter are relics of the past, the older, and so it seems, the nastier, the better! But then again, it is such a thing among almost all of the British aristocracy and elite these days. That, and mesmerism!” she said with a snort. “Still, he might have chosen a season by the Riviera or in Italy. Oh, he enjoys his stops in Rome and such, but it’s Egypt he goes for, Egypt he loves. He works with the museum, you know. And he always manages to wrangle the best dig for himself or be granted the best location, through our own embassies and the Egyptians, who are in charge. Well, we say that Egyptians are in charge, but it’s still our influence that guides it all. And glad they are of English intervention.”

“English money, I would think,” Kat murmured softly.

Emma laughed delightedly. “Well, now, and there’s the truth. But the Turks were there for a quite a long time, as well, and the Egyptians are glad of our protection, you mark my words. And, of course, the French are forever around. But…I do so wish Sir Hunter would settle for an autumn in a lovely European city!”

“But…it sounds fascinating. Really.” Kat leaned back. “I’ve only ever dreamed of Ancient Egypt!” She jerked back up. “David Turnberry is going for this season in Egypt, as well, isn’t he?”

“Many go, as I said. And you must understand, this is when the season for archeology begins—summer is far too hot! Fall into winter…well, they’re all about to set sail for the mysteries of the past as it is…next week!”

A week! Kat thought. A week. A week in this country, and then…

David Turnberry would go to Egypt. When he returned, he would marry?

Kat sighed softly. It was insane to think, just because he looked up at her after she had saved his life and said I love you, that anything in the world could bring her to his true attention. He was about to become engaged to be married. To an elegant creature of his own class.

He can’t love his presumed fiancée! Not when he said those words to me!

But she had panicked and run away. In part because of Hunter MacDonald. But now…he meant to introduce her to the man. She would have a formal introduction to David Turnberry.

“All right, step out now, child,” Emma was saying. “I’ve a fine set of clothing for you. The Lady Francesca—she’s Sir Hunter’s sister, married Lord Hathaway—leaves ample here, and she’ll be more than pleased that she could help out with a girl pulled from the river, one willing to risk her own life to save another!”

Kat suddenly felt terribly uncomfortable, hearing the words of praise. She had to wonder if she would have attempted the rescue if it had been anyone other than David Turnberry. The thought troubled her, and she barely noticed the silk of the drawers she stepped into, or the simple elegance of the gown Emma slipped over her head, with exquisite lace on the bodice.

“And, oh dear! If a night’s sleep doesn’t help your memory, we must do something,” Emma said suddenly. “There is bound to be some young fellow somewhere, terribly worried about you. No ring on your finger, though.”

Kat’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. No, there was no young fellow worried about her. But her father would be. And her sister, and so many dear friends…

How far had she come? How was she going to get back? If she had to walk…

She lowered her head, biting her lower lip. Surely, a man such as Hunter MacDonald would have left a few coins somewhere about. She would not steal! She would see that they were returned. Public transport was getting very good indeed, and she knew London well.

Like the poor man’s daughter, the urchin, that she was!

“Yes, indeed,” she managed to say somberly. “By tomorrow, I’m sure I shall be fine. I do believe that when I wake up, everything will rush back,” she lied. Then she yawned. “Forgive me. I’m exhausted.” She lifted her hands with her words, then let them fall. She heard a soft tinkle within the folds of the dress. Her fingers moved dexterously over the pockets. The relief that swept through her almost caused her to faint in reality. Coins!

“As well you might be after such a day! Now, just sit before the fire while I brush out your hair. I’ll have you upstairs napping in no time.”

Kat could barely sit still while the kindly woman dried her hair before the fire, brushing all the snarls from the long tresses. When she was done, her hair was as soft as silk, far softer than it had ever been. But she was so riddled with guilt about the hasty departure she planned that she had to force herself to stop fretting long enough to voice a sincere thank-you for the housekeeper’s help.

That same guilt made it difficult for her to appreciate the subdued elegance of the house or the little touches that made it so uniquely Sir Hunter MacDonald’s residence—the relics sitting atop the newel posts, the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls. The fine oil paintings, some of English country sites and some of ancient Egypt. One was of the Sphinx at sunset, and it was so breathtaking that her steps did falter.

“I can show you more of the house, dear,” Emma offered.

“Thank you, I shall so enjoy that…later. But I beg of you, I must have a few hours of undisturbed rest.”

“Of course!”

And so she was led up the grand staircase to a room. It was planned for female guests, or so it appeared, for the furniture was a light and lovely wood, and the canopy and spread of the four-poster bed were blue and white, enhanced by the shades of an Oriental rug.

“Rest well, my dear. I will see to it that you’re not disturbed,” Emma vowed.

“Thank you again, ever so much!”

The door closed. Kat moved to the bed and lay atop the spread, keeping herself still for several long seconds.

Then she rose. She started for the door, then noticed the coins sitting on the dresser. She placed them in her pocket with the others and took the time to look in the lovely little Oriental bedside table for paper and a pen.

“I will return the dress and the coins,” she wrote. The words looked cold and rude. She hesitated, then added, “Thank you ever so much.” No, it wasn’t enough. But time was ticking away. She sketched herself as a Sphinx, with a smiling face, and as the caricaturists did, she added a little balloon at the side of the lips, writing in, “I do thank you!”

Enough. She had to leave, make her way home, then return here before anyone was the wiser and be ready to allow David Turnberry to thank her for his life.

She hurried for the door and out into the hall. There, she listened. There was no sound other than that of the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.

She fled down the stairway to the front entry. There was no lock on the front door. Not now. What would she do when she returned? Perhaps it would be locked by then; dusk would surely be coming on.

Well, that was a worry she would have to contend with when she returned. Right now, she had to go to her father and sister.

And worry that she would be able to return at all!

On the street and down the block, she paused to draw a breath.

She was out. She had gotten out very easily.

Now the great problem—was she going to be able to get back in?

“THE BIRD HAS FLOWN!” Hunter noted.

He sat astride Alexander, his riding mount, hidden against a small field of trees in the narrow side yard of the town house. Ethan, at his side on Anthony, glanced his way, his features wrinkling in a silent question.

“We shall follow,” Hunter said.

She obviously knew where she was going. She quickly made her way through the streets by Hyde Park, finding a station for the omnibus.

There, she boarded.

Following the bus, which was pulled by heavy draft horses, was quite easy. The streets were busy, and the pedestrians often careless, so the going was somewhat slow.

His redhead changed vehicles and headed, as he had suspected, for the river. And, there, of course, his concealing themselves became a bit more difficult. Hunter dismounted, handing Alexander’s reins to Ethan, and bidding the man to wait with the horses.

“I don’t know what either of you is about!” Ethan grumbled.

Hunter laughed. “I’m not at all sure I know myself!”

He hurried then, for once the girl had departed the vehicle, she began to move quickly through the streets, the rows of tightly packed houses, the people milling in the walkways and alleys. He assessed the neighborhood.

It wasn’t the poorest section of the city, but rather the old City of London itself, where some of the architecture of the late sixteen hundreds remained, simple homes built soon after the Great Fire had ravished the city. Most of the inhabitants were hardworking tradesmen, though the area attracted students, musicians and artists. The streets, if not grand, were clean.

“Why, core and blimey!” an old woman who’d been sweeping called out. “It’s Kat!”

“Shh, Mrs. Mahoney, please!” the girl cried, and she raced past the woman. “Is Papa in the house?”

“Frettin’ and wailin’, he is!” the woman said. “Why, he has some of his friends in the police out looking for you, child! There was a rumor that you had been rescued from the water, but…well, no one knew just who had done the rescuing and where you’d gotten to!”

“Oh, no!” the girl cried.

“And what is that you be wearing, Mistress Kat?” the woman demanded.

“I must see Papa,” the girl said, and rushed by the woman, heading into a small house that was painted and finely detailed with new gingerbread trim. The place surely dated back to the days of the Flemish weavers, Hunter thought.

Determined to avoid a conversation with the old woman, Hunter slid quickly against a wall. There was a narrow alley leading to a rear courtyard, and he sidled down the length of it. He did not need to go far.

An open window and drawn draperies allowed him an excellent view of the show within. There she was, the girl whom the old woman had called Kat, wrapped tightly in the arms of a tall, bewhiskered fellow. Another girl, also red-haired, though of a lighter shade, stood by. She embraced Kat next, then stepped away as the dignified older fellow wrapped Kat in his arms again.

When at last the embracing ended, the second girl—her sister?—demanded, “Katherine Mary! What on earth are you wearing? Goodness! Where did you get such an elegant dress?”

“I shall explain,” Kat said.

“Indeed, you shall!” the old fellow responded gruffly. “I have been out of my head with fear and grief. Eliza told me of this insane thing you felt you must do, and I was left to convince myself that you would return, that you had not gone down to the bottom of the Thames! There are police officers out looking for you, young woman. Eliza, send Maggie to inform the police that my child has been found, that we will not need to dredge the river!”

The man was truly furious, and yet obviously greatly relieved. Hunter felt guilty, as he knew the girl must. She appeared stricken, as if she had not realized till now just how painfully her absence had been experienced.

The girl Eliza hurried from the room to summon this Maggie—a servant of some sort, Hunter assumed—despite the fact that this household seemed rather poor—but was very quickly back, not about to miss an instant of what was going on.

“Papa,” Kat said, apparently in an effort to soothe. “Poor Papa, I am so sorry, I hadn’t imagined such a fuss. Why would you send the police after me? You know that I swim better than a fish.”

“Aye, that I know,” her father said proudly. “But you’d gone after a university bloke, and then disappeared from sight! What will I do with you, what will I do? If only your dear sainted mother were still alive!”

“Kat, where did you get the dress?” her sister demanded again.

“It is borrowed… Papa, please, all will be well. You see, I was helped by another gentleman after I helped the first gentleman. I have been at a safe and truly gentle place, I swear it! You see, I am to meet with David Turnberry, the first gentleman, who is soon to be affianced to Lord Avery’s daughter, and I must—”

“Lord Avery!” Eliza exclaimed. She looked across the room. “Papa, she will get a reward. A good reward!”

“I needed no reward,” Kat said.

“Well, I’d be happy for it!” Eliza exclaimed. “Scrimping and saving for something other than fish on the table.”

“Eliza!” the father said sadly, shaking his head.

Eliza apologized quickly. “Papa, Papa, you do so well, I am truly sorry for my words of complaint. But…Kat! That gown! It’s exquisite—where did it come from? Oh, my God! I should get dressed. I must go back with you and—”

“No,” the man said firmly. “No one is going anywhere.”

“But we must give this serious consideration,” Eliza pleaded.

“Katherine Mary, you are my child. My daughter. And you’ll not go off among young men, whether they’re poor as paupers or rich as Midas, without proper escort. Without me!” he bellowed.

“Oh, Papa, please! I must go to Lord Avery’s on my own. I swear to you, I am safe. There is a wonderful woman named Emma Johnson, and she is like my guardian angel.”

“You were at the grand house of a woman?” her father inquired. “Why have these people not escorted you home?”

“Papa…forgive me, but I’m pretending to have lost my memory. I’ve told them I don’t know who I am.”

The man sank into a chair. “You are ashamed,” he said softly.

“Oh, Papa, never!” she cried.

He looked up at her sadly. “We do not need the charity of others. I work hard, we work hard. And we earn our living. Meager, that it is. But I’m an honest man, and I do an honest day’s work. You will take no reward.”

“Papa!” Eliza protested. “Papa, in truth, you are a great artist! You are simply too quick to work for those who promise to pay, but cannot pay.”

“They are the interesting subjects,” the father murmured.

“And then, when there is a rich man about, you refuse to charge what your work is worth! I would say that many a rich man owes you. And if the truth of your service were ever known, you, Papa, would be knighted! Therefore, nothing coming our way would be charity, but rather your due,” Eliza stated.

He shook his head again. “A man’s life is far greater than any sum of money. Kat will take no reward.”

Eliza groaned, turning away.

Kat lowered herself to her knees, setting her hands upon her father’s knees. “Papa, I will take no reward. But may I go back to Mrs. Johnson just to meet these people? I swear to you, I shall refuse the reward. But I would like…I would dearly love…just this time…to meet these people, to let them thank me. Oh, please, Papa!”

“It is a hard world out there, lass! We haven’t money, but again, we’ve pride. And you’ve no great dowry, but again, lass, you have your virtue.”

“It is not at stake, Papa,” she vowed levelly, not offended, her promise earnest.

“I fear to let you from my sight!” he said.

“She is in lo—” Eliza began, but Kat flew to her feet and whirled on her sister.

“Perhaps, since it is a castoff, Papa will allow me to keep the dress, and you may have it!” she said, her eyes offering both a plea and a warning.

“What kind of a father would I be to let you go?”

“A kind and trusting one?” Kat suggested.

“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.

Chapter 3

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.

At last, he saw her. Behind a pillar on the porch, he watched as she made her way down the street. She slowed before reaching the house, and must have been dismayed to realize that he was outside. She hovered by a mulberry bush, certain that he must give up soon and go into the house.

He did not.

At last she wandered by, twirling a piece of impossibly brilliant hair between her fingers. “Sir Hunter!” she said, sounding politely surprised.

“My dear girl,” he replied just as pleasantly. “Wherever have you been?”

“Oh, not far,” she lied sweetly. “I just slipped out for…some air.”

“Ah. And did the air help any?” he inquired.

“Help with what?”

“The return of your memory, of course!”

“Oh! Well, no…I’m so sorry. Yes, yes, of course, I had thought that a walk might bring much more to mind regarding my identity, but…alas, I’m afraid that it hasn’t been so.”

“Oh, dear,” Hunter sympathized.

“Will…will I be seeing Lord Avery and David Turnberry this evening?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Oh?” She sounded startled, certainly. And, actually, quite cross.

Understandable, given her circumstances.

He smiled. “Lord Avery has an old ticker, my dear. Heart, that is. He must rest tonight. He will come tomorrow.”

“I see.” She lowered her head quickly, hiding her disappointment. And trying to come up with a new plan, he imagined.

“I’m so sorry that you’re disappointed. However, we’ve a lovely dinner awaiting us, at your convenience.”

“How very kind of you. I… Would it be possible to dine in my room? I do believe the excitement of the day has made me quite tired.”

“But have you been out walking so very long? I was under the impression that you’d had a nice long nap this afternoon after we returned.”

“Well, I did, yes, of course, but near drowning can be so very tiring!”

“Mrs. Johnson has a meal prepared. We were only waiting for you to wake up. Imagine! We didn’t want to disturb you, but you were already awake and wandering about.”

“Right. Imagine,” she murmured. “But I am so very exhausted…”

“You must join me for a meal.”

She lifted her hand, smiled—her teeth grating beneath the facade, surely—but not at all certain how to escape his insistence. “As you wish.”

“As you wish,” he returned, but his tone gave evidence that they would, indeed, dine together. He walked to the door, opened it and indicated that she precede him. She did so, the sweet smell of rosewater drifting to his nostrils.

He followed her, showing her the elegant dining room to the right of the main entry, adjacent to the kitchen. A fire burned brightly and the table was beautifully set. He pulled out her chair, seating her with all propriety. Her head was lowered. When he took his own chair, she looked up and murmured, “This is all quite lovely. Thank you.”

He noted that she was looking at the clock on the mantel. Was her intent to slip back to her own home this evening? Or had she thought that she could sleep the night and be back before her father noticed her bed empty in the morning?

He waved a hand negligently. “Emma loves to cook. She doesn’t get the opportunity all that often.”

“You don’t eat?” she inquired with fake courtesy.

“I’m usually at my club, arguing with someone,” he admitted. “When I am in London.”

“Ah, yes. You are seldom in the country.”

“You knew that?” he asked.

“Of course. Your name is quite often in the papers.”

“Ah. So you remember reading the newspapers.”

She flushed but rebounded admirably. “Indeed, I do.”

Emma swept in then, bearing a large silver tray with delicate slices of beef and pheasant, generous servings of au gratin potatoes and greens. Ethan—handsomely attired in livery—was at her side, ready to serve.

Hunter noted that his guest sat up, savoring the aromas. He wondered then when she had last eaten.

“Child?” Emma said. “Oh, this is so difficult! We must call you something!”

“Mmm, true,” Hunter murmured. “It does seem rude to keep referring to you as ‘girl’ or ‘child.’” He watched as they were both served, and thanked both Emma and Ethan, then sat back in his chair, surveying his guest.

“Ah, well, soon enough, we must discover your real name!” he said. He smiled up at Emma. “But for the moment, well…”

“Perhaps she is a Jane,” Emma suggested.

“Possibly. Or Eleanor,” Hunter said.

Ethan poured glasses of wine, then looked up. “Anne, perhaps. It’s a popular name.”

“A lovely name,” he agreed, lifting his glass, and politely waiting as the girl realized that she must lift hers, as well. She did so; he took a sip of wine, and mused once again. “A name…a name…Adriana, for she so comes from the sea! But then again, into the sea, out of the sea…like a creature with many lives. I know—Kat!”

As he had expected, she choked on her sip of wine.

But then again, she recovered splendidly.

“Kat?” she inquired. She stared straight at him. “Why, sir, how amazing. It does have a most familiar ring.”

“Kat?” Emma said.

“Kat, Kathy…Katherine,” Hunter said. “At any rate, my dear, you will always be our little Kat, then. And like the creature, the cat, may you have nine lives!”

She lifted her glass, coolly observing him.

“Cat!” he repeated. “Ah, yes, the most clever of creatures. Yet one known for the danger of its curiosity. And, hmm, cat…a sweet lovely creature that curls on the sofa at night, and then again, the kind of creature that prowls the jungle, ever searching for prey.”

The coolness in her eyes turned to fire. How they blazed at him!

“Mistress Kat,” Emma murmured. “Will that be all right, my dear? Until we learn otherwise?”

“It will be lovely,” Kat assured her.

Emma nodded, pleased, and absented herself from the dining room with a swish of her petticoats. Ethan shrugged and followed in her wake.

“Lovely,” Hunter murmured, ready to address his meal.

“Lovely!” she repeated, her voice low, sweetly dangerous. And he looked up to see that her expression was one of fury. “You wretched—bastard!” she cried.

“Good heavens!” Hunter’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What language from such a gentle maiden.”

“You should rot in hell,” she declared heatedly. “You followed me!”

“I did,” he informed her flatly.

“You’d no right!” she cried in dismay.

“Indeed, I had every night. I might well have been nurturing a viper at my bosom.”

She started to rise. “Sir Hunter, I’m sure you’ve nurtured many a viper at your bosom, and with the greatest pleasure! I did not ask you to ‘rescue’ me from the sea—you chose to do so. You’ll remember that I awoke in your carriage and that it was you who caused me to bump my head! And now it will be you who…who…”

She seemed at a loss for words.

“Who what?” he demanded, suddenly angry. “Who will betray you? No, what I need to know for myself is not necessarily information I will share. Play your little charade tomorrow for Lord Avery and your precious David Turnberry. I’ll not give you away.”

“Why not?” she asked warily, still tense, half risen, half seated.

“Sit down, Kat. That is what they call you, correct?”

“Kat…Katherine. I’m sure your hearing is excellent,” she muttered.

“Sit down. Emma worked hard on this meal. For her sake, you will enjoy it.”

Rigidly, she took her position once again.

Then she winced. “You will really let me meet with David and Lord Avery as if…as if I were…”

“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.

And so…

He realized that he was now the one plotting.

He glanced at the clock, ticking away in the corner. The hour was growing late. Still, he strode through the house, anxious to saddle Alexander and ride out into the night.

No help for the hour.

Lord Avery would have to understand. And he would. He was a good fellow.

ETHAN HAD NO DIFFICULTY understanding that Kat was sneaking back into her own home. “I shall be watching for your safety, miss, and that is all.”

She smiled at him from the street. “Thank you. But I’m afraid your carriage will be quite evident here, in this street.”

He nodded somberly. “Then, miss, you should hurry.” He nodded his head toward the east. “It wasn’t so long ago that Jack the Ripper was at work, and his haunts are not so terribly far from here, and Lord knows, they never did catch that bloke, not that anyone will admit, so…please get on in, miss. I’ll not be leaving until you do so.”

“Thank you again, Ethan!” she said, and waving, hurried around to the side of the house and the trellis she could climb to her upstairs room. As she did so, she feared that she would emerge through her window into her room to find her father waiting in fury.

She crawled through the window into the darkened room and then nearly screamed as a form rose from the bed.

“Kat!”

“Eliza!”

Kat grasped her throat, then exhaled in a rush. Her heart was beating loudly enough to wake the dead, she thought. It slowed as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Eliza was sitting up now, staring at her, wide-eyed, excited and full of questions.

“Did you see him? Lord Avery?” she demanded.

Kat shook her head, sitting on the bed next to her sister. “I’m afraid not. The day’s excitement was far too much for him.” She sighed deeply and hopelessly. “At least I wasn’t discovered sneaking out of the house. And as for Lord Avery—and David—I would have met them both tomorrow.”

“Where have you been, then?”

“Oh. Sir Hunter had a meal laid out,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Sir Hunter! You had a private dinner with the fellow? A tête-a-tête?”

“No! I ate, and that is all. It was…I suppose…a lovely meal. His housekeeper enjoys cooking.”

Eliza climbed off the bed and danced elegantly around the room. “A private dinner—with Sir Hunter MacDonald!”

“There was nothing all that private about it!” Kat protested.

“But…well, the man is exceptionally fine looking!”

“He is?”

Eliza paused, staring at her. “Are you daft, Kat? I’ve seen the sketches of him—and the photographs that have been in the journals. Furthermore, he is…pure legend! On the queen’s business in India! Cruising down the Nile, joining up with his old military friends on some great excursion! Sailing in one race or another and taking the cup! Oh, Kat!”

“Eliza, stop! Oh, he’s been quite decent, it’s just that I had to listen to his housekeeper rave on and on about him all day, and…don’t you see? In my heart, my mind, David is the perfect man,” Kat said. She looked woefully at her sister. “And now I never will meet him properly. Unless I can think of…something.” Her expression changed. “Papa really has no idea that I slipped out of the house?”

“None,” Eliza said a little sharply.

“What’s wrong?”

Eliza wrinkled her nose. “Lady Daws was here again! I was very afraid for a few minutes that you would be caught, because the wretched woman was insisting that she see you and give you a piece of her mind. Be warned—according to her, you are the basest of creatures, causing such a commotion, bringing the police out and, of course, worrying poor Papa. Luckily, he was firm when he insisted that you be allowed to rest. Why, I could hear her! The woman was actually halfway up the stairs when our father stopped her!”

“A close call indeed,” Kat murmured. “But…she didn’t come up. And I thank you, Eliza, for keeping my secret.”

Eliza laughed, “Little sister, it’s as if it’s the two of us against the world, at times. With that wretched woman to make life ever more miserable.”

“Well,” Kat said, “she does bring him a certain happiness.”

This time, Eliza let out an incredibly unladylike snort. “She flatters him! Then she takes his work and he gets a few shillings, and—”

“And what?” Kat said.

“She’s after him,” Eliza said.

“After him? Papa is a poor artist.”

“And a very handsome man. An extremely talented one, as we both know…but so often, artists are long dead before their genius is realized. Kat, I don’t know what it is, but I don’t trust the woman. She did not come with us once we moored the boat today, but then she returned tonight—acting as if she were so concerned about you! I stayed up here, of course, eavesdropping and pretending that we had both gone straight to sleep. I think she really wants the two of us out of the way! I’m telling you, she is looking to marry him.”

“That truly makes no sense,” Kat said. “She is, after all, Lady Daws. And Papa is a poor artist. A great one, but a poor one.”

“Sometimes men of great artistic talent do become known during their lives and are rewarded for it,” Eliza said. “And I can guarantee you that Lady Daws sees that in Papa, and the fact that she is Lady Daws does not mean that she is not in need of support. I think she only pretends that she has money of her own.”

“I’ve thought sometimes that she must make much more selling Papa’s art than what she gives to him,” Kat said worriedly. “She tells him, of course, that she works for a pittance, a small commission….”

“My thought exactly. She has been robbing him blind.”

“She cannot be in such sorry shape. I mean, she is Lady Daws. And she was married to Lord Daws.”

“But Lord Daws had a son by his first wife. The son inherited, and I think he probably despises his stepmother. I would!”

“Do you know that to be true?” Kat asked.

“No, I’m just willing to wager that it’s true. The son, Byron Daws, goes to university with your young swain, you know.”

“Does he, now.”

“Yes. But I never see him out sailing,” Eliza mused.

“Maybe he hates the water.”

“Maybe. Or has other interests,” Eliza said, shrugging. “There’s just so much about that woman that’s…well, frightening. It didn’t matter at first. At first, it seemed she was only being kind. At first, we all saw her as someone admirable. But then…well, to me, her designs on Papa became all the more evident. And, do you know what I heard?”

“No, what?”

“That there was some scandal in her past. That Lord Daws himself was nearly cast out of the family when he married her. But his father died before he could be cut out of the will.”

“Where did you hear this?”

“In one of the fabric shops,” Eliza said.

“Gossip!” Kat protested.

“Ah, but where there is smoke…”

“My dear sister, I think we must face the fact that we don’t like her, she doesn’t like us, but that we must all pretend that everything is fine—for Papa. And whatever the past, she is not an artist herself, but knows art. She finds and sells the work of others,” Kat said. “She makes a living, and we are doing better now than we were when Papa had to go out and sell his work himself.”

“I do not believe she is satisfied with what she is making. She will rob unknown artists like Papa blind,” Eliza said.

“Well,” Kat said very practically, “I don’t care much for her, either. But we’re both grown. And soon enough, we’ll both be gone, either to find a means of support ourselves or to be married. So even if we don’t trust her and don’t like her, if she makes Papa happy…”

“She’s evil,” Eliza insisted.

“Evil!” Kat said with a laugh.

“Yes, evil.” Eliza was truly upset. “Papa will not recognize his own talent. He will not go out and insist that the galleries recognize his work…but she makes him believe that only she can turn him into a true artist. Which is utter nonsense. Furthermore she is ever on about how he can afford to send us to schools elsewhere…in France, in Germany. Places where the daughters of men such as himself can work to earn their tutors and their board. Kat, quite honestly, I believe that she wants to be rid of the both of us. Just tonight, she was talking about a school for young women in Switzerland where Papa could afford to send you because the students earn their keep by cleaning and scrubbing and so forth! She hates us both, I think, but you more, for I have always been the more dutiful one. Quieter, less likely to make a fuss. You must be careful, Kat, because she wants you gone.” Eliza sighed. “If only…”

“If only I were far more pleasant and pliable with her—or about to marry a man of her choosing?” Kat asked dryly. She sighed, as well, and shook her head. “It’s only a dream if and when…never mind. And never fear. I’m not afraid of Lady Daws. She will not get her hands on me! And as to the other…I’ll just keep dreaming,” Kat said. Eliza still stared at her with such concern that she fiercely hugged her sister. “I’m all right. But now, truly exhausted. Let’s go to sleep, shall we?”

“But, Kat, don’t you see?” Eliza said. “Tonight, your dream was shattered. Papa is furious. We don’t live in the same world as the David Turnberrys.”

Kat sniffed. “Lady Daws borders on it!”

“Not in a good way, I don’t believe,” Eliza murmured. “Ah, dear sister! You’re still dreaming away while I…” She laughed. “I would have lived a dream already, having had dinner with such an eminent fellow as Hunter MacDonald!”

“Eminent also in scandal!”

“In a way, but he does nothing underhand. He isn’t secretive, unless he is protecting the honor of a woman. While Lady Daws—”

“We all see and hear, and even believe, what we choose,” Kat said sadly. “Anyway, it is time to go to sleep. And I’m sure you’ll get to go with Papa to return this dress. I mean, you must go with Papa! I don’t think that Hunter would betray me, but…you need to be there to protect me regarding this little episode tonight, and that is all there is to it.”

Eliza laughed. “Well, indeed! I will meet the man of such intrigue and fascination!”

“And I will…stay home. And dream some more,” Kat said.

“Will you?” Eliza said. “If I know you, you will be thinking up another way to get close to your David!”

“Such a dream is hardly likely. We must go to sleep!”

But trying to sleep and actually falling asleep were two different things.

First, Kat allowed herself a few silent tears into her pillow. She’d come so close…

And then, she tossed over, staring at the ceiling.

Eliza was right. She knew her well. She could not just forget.

She wouldn’t be beaten. She simply wouldn’t be beaten. David was going to take a ship and go on a long, long journey, and then spend a season in the ancient sands of the Sahara. His dainty fiancée would not be around all the time. He wouldn’t be married until he returned.

Scores of things could happen before then!

When she slept at last, she had determined that, come what may, when David left England, she would not be far behind.

Chapter 4

KAT WAS AWARE OF DISCOMFORT and did not know why. As she opened her eyes, blinking from sleep, the room was first a blur. It came into focus and then she knew why the discomfort.

Isabella, Lady Daws, was staring down at her.

“You are an incredibly cruel and uncaring young woman, Katherine Adair!” Lady Daws stated, her voice low and ever cultured, but carrying with it such malice that Kat was chilled. She was shamed, thinking that she had so worried her father. But it was not this woman’s concern.

“Why, good morning, Lady Daws.” She sat up, keeping the coverlet hugged close to her bosom. She looked around. “How strange, dear lady, for this does appear to be my bedroom. My private quarters within our home, however humble.”

“Get up, Kat!” There was now a snap to her voice.

“I’ve discussed my actions yesterday with my father, Lady Daws. And I expressed my sorrow for the anxiety I caused him. I owe you no explanations.”

The woman smiled. “Of course not, dear.” Her smile was icy. “Not yet,” she added sweetly. Then she lowered her face close to Kat’s. “But I do find your behavior totally reprehensible. In my opinion, you should be sent far away, to a school where they teach girls like you how to obey and to be grateful—and to learn your place in life.”

“My place is in this house,” Kat returned lightly.

Lady Daws straightened and crossed her arms. Kat was certain that, beneath her skirts, her foot was tapping furiously.

“Ah, but you were rather anxious to leave it yesterday, weren’t you?”

Kat stared at her. To be quite honest, the woman was attractive. Her face was narrow and fine-featured, and her eyes were large and deep brown, a color that matched the thick waves of her hair. Her bearing was so upright and regal that Kat liked to imagine she wore a broomstick beneath her petticoats.

“Dear Lady Daws, please, say whatever it is you wish to say. And then, if you’d be so kind to allow me the privacy of my own room, I will be happy to rise.”

“Yes, you’ll rise, and you’ll rise quickly. We’ve company.”

“We’ve company?”

Either Isabella Daws ignored the bite in Kat’s query or simply couldn’t even entertain the notion that Kat didn’t consider the place also her home.

“Your mad dash into the sea has made the papers. Apparently, Sir Hunter extolled your…brave deed to a reporter and now your poor dear papa is both proud and concerned.”

“I made the papers?” Kat repeated, and mentally she realized that she had to thank Sir Hunter once again, no matter how difficult and condescending the man might be. “And Papa is…pleased? Who is it that is here?”

She started to rise. To her amazement, Isabella pushed her back.

“Not so fast.”

Kat let out a sound of irritation. “You were just telling me to get up!”

“Careful, girl. I may hold your future in my hands.”

Kat stared at her warily, eyes narrowing. Perhaps the woman truly was evil. Regardless, it was certainly true that she held great sway with her father.

“Really?” she queried carefully.

Isabella gave her a tight smile. “I personally think that you should be sent to a strict school, a very strict school—”

“Yes, Lady Daws, I know all about it. Eliza told me of your concern for us both last night.”

“Further education in such a place would do you very well. There’s no place for a young woman such as yourself other than in gainful employment or as the wife of a working man. But to be quite honest, you are a terrible drain on your poor father. You exhaust him, drain his talent.”

“I beg your pardon—”

“I am not finished.”

“I am!” Kat started to rise.

But this time, Lady Daws stopped her with words.

“Then you’ll never properly meet Lord Avery—or young David Turnberry.”

Startled, Kat went still.

Again, Isabella Daws lowered her face to Kat’s. “Sir Hunter MacDonald has come to your father with an offer from Lord Avery. The man will fund and provide a chaperone for you if you accompany his group as an art student and assistant to Sir Hunter on his expedition to Egypt next week. Apparently, you doodled some of your silly sketches when you were at Sir Hunter’s house. After Sir Hunter convinced the man that your father would not allow you to accept a monetary reward, Lord Avery was anxious that at least something be done. And he agreed that your sketch showed promise. There is no accounting for taste.”

Kat controlled her temper and said nothing.

“Your father is against the idea. One word from me, and he will refuse, no matter how eloquent Sir Hunter may be. And yet, one word from me, and…well, you just may be allowed to go.”

Kat stared at her then, chagrined, and in silence.

“And there we have it. Plain and simple. Let’s see. I do believe the ‘cat’ has now got your tongue.”

She thought she was so clever! Still, Kat did hold her tongue.

“Well, my dear?” Lady Daws demanded.

“Why would you help me?” Kat asked.

“Because you’ll have just so long on that excursion, Kat. And perhaps, just perhaps, you will gain something of what you’re seeking—though I doubt it. You see, I know that crowd. My stepson is one of those foolish youths, and they are so arrogant that they believe that those not within their elite circles exist merely for their amusement. I believe that you will no longer see them through such rose-tinted spectacles once you know them. And so, you will discover the truth of who and what you are.”

“I’ve nothing against either who or what I am, Lady Daws,” Kat said tautly.

“Really?” Lady Daws hiked an elegant brow. “Then it’s quite amazing how you disappeared…and then reappeared. Sir Hunter surely would have seen you home immediately, had he known where your home was. But the truth is you didn’t want to show him.”

“I had a nasty blow to the head—”

“Oh, Kat, lie to others. I know what you are.”

“How dare—”

“Spare me the indignity. You didn’t want your background known. As it has happened, your father’s talent is an unexpected asset in this little farce of yours. But here it is, on the line. You will go. You will have just the months while you are gone…and then, when you return, you will not stay. You’ll go away to school. The school of my choice. You will be sent away. And you will agree to this.”

Kat gritted her teeth. She’d had no idea just how much Lady Daws wanted her gone. Eliza was right.

“You’re not afraid for me?” Kat asked sweetly.

“Well, you are going into the desert, aren’t you? And there’s always a measure of danger on an expedition. Gold and riches tend to make men covetous. Are you afraid for yourself?”

Kat felt the slightest chill. She remembered David’s disjointed words when he had come to consciousness on the embankment. He thought he had been pushed into the river….

But if he had been in danger, that danger had been here, right here, in London. And afraid or not, she could not miss this incredible opportunity.

“I am not afraid at all,” she said coolly.

“If you get into trouble, my dear,” Isabella warned, “I will see to it that you are dealt with most seriously. In fact, your lovely face will never so much as be seen around here. Do you understand? Besides, I will have friends aboard the ship, and on the expedition, and I will know about your progress—or lack thereof—day after day!”

Now Kat was afraid. But then, once she was gone, Lady Daws couldn’t really touch her. The woman might bear the title “Lady,” but she was not at all on a social par with men as noble as Baron Turnberry and Lord Avery—nor, even, with men of renown such as Sir Hunter MacDonald.

Still…

For a moment, she wavered. She’d be leaving her father and Eliza.

Her head was suddenly spinning. The offer was astounding.

Eliza would be with their father, and though she hadn’t Kat’s spine—or sharpness of tongue—she was not in the least a weakling. She would be safe until she returned, and that was what mattered.

Nor could she prevent Papa from…forming whatever liaison he chose to form with this woman. Her mother had been gone since she’d been a child. If Papa craved feminine attention, even from this wretched woman, there was little she could do. No one could choose where another would look to find affection and solace.

Certainly, she knew all that herself.

She lifted her chin. Somehow, Lady Daws knew about her obsession with David Turnberry. Yet Kat had only ever spoken of it to Eliza, and her sister would have never betrayed her.

She must have given herself away, she thought. And it was true, coveting David was like coveting a star in the heavens.

And yet…

If only he had time to be with her, time to get to know her! Stranger marriages had come about. They were living in an enlightened age, and—

“What will it be, Kat?” Isabella asked.

Kat felt as if she were selling her soul.

“I would love to go on the season’s expedition,” she said pleasantly.

Isabella smiled smugly. “You will remember our bargain,” she said softly.

“Oh, yes. Though I feel I’ve signed my soul to the devil,” Kat said.

“There will be no more comments like that!”

“Of course not, Lady Daws.”

“Then I will leave, and you must arise. We are all invited to breakfast at Sir Hunter’s.”

With that, Lady Daws swept out of the room.

And for a panicked moment, Kat thought that she really had sold her soul to the devil.

AS KAT CAME DOWN THE STAIRS, Hunter wondered if he hadn’t somehow lost his mind. Just what was it that he was doing?

I should have just let it all go.

She was no longer wearing his sister’s day dress, but she was every bit as beautifully attired, perhaps even more so. The neckline had a most unusual design that rose fashionably against the neck, yet had a small, flattering V right at the throat. The skirt was in elegant layers. With the bustle in serious decline, there was just a small rise at the rear, and the skirts seemed to flow grandly with her every movement. The color was also something that must have been selected with her in mind, for it was an amber color that made her hair seem even more like fire, her eyes more the color of gold. That hair today was respectably pinned in a loose chignon in the back, allowing small tendrils to escape.

When her eyes touched his, they were alight with a question. He knew she was wondering why he was doing this for her.

He offered her the slightest grin, and a shrug. I haven’t the foggiest notion! he might have responded.

Or maybe he did. Was it just petty annoyance that such a young woman would so blindly covet such a young fool as David Turnberry? Was he annoyed that her fixation was not on him? Ridiculous, of course, because she might not be from his customary social circles, but neither was she a woman to be taken lightly. He didn’t dare take a closer look at his emotions.

“Good morning, Katherine,” he said. He realized that her father was staring at her with a strange look in his eyes, a mix of worry, concern. Lady Daws had a look of annoyance. Eliza gazed at her sister with anxiety, as well. Was she, too, seeking something from all this?

“Good morning,” Katherine replied, and her eyes moved to light upon her father. Was he concerned that their home had been thus invaded? He must know everything that Lady Daws had said to her.

William Adair stretched his hands out. Kat, her head at a curious angle, a small smile curling her lips, took his hands as she reached the landing. “My princess of the sea,” William murmured softly as she stood in front of him. He turned to look at Hunter. “A man’s riches, you see, Sir Hunter, are not in gold or coin. My daughters are my treasure.”

Hunter decided that he not only liked the man, but admired him greatly. But he felt a slight ripple of unease. His intentions, if not entirely honorable, were at the least to teach his “treasure” a sad lesson in life—that such men as David Turnberry were not worth the seeking. And he felt a strange excitement, as well, because he had discovered a treasure himself. Those who had seen William Adair’s work referred to him as the “king of the sea,” for his paintings of great ships at sail were exquisite.

That he made most of his income doing individual and family portraits was not a waste, for he was excellent at such work, as well; it was evident in the oils he had done of his daughters, framing either side of the firelight. Just as he caught the wind and the fury of the waves in his seascapes, he had caught something special in his subjects in his portraits. There, in Eliza, was the pride, and in Kat’s face the recklessness in the eyes, the dreams in the slight upturn of the lips.

And, of course, it was true, absolutely, that his daughter showed hints of his talent in her quickly dashed-off sketch.

“My dear, Sir Hunter has come to ask the family to breakfast. It seems that Lord Avery is most insistent on meeting you, and seeing that you receive his patronage, as well. I have explained that no thanks of any kind is necessary, but it seems that Sir Hunter and Lord Avery wish what they consider a favor from me in return.”

“A favor?” Kat said. She smiled, but her eyes narrowed slightly, letting Hunter know that she was wary of this “favor.”

“I’m a tremendous fan of your father’s work,” Hunter said.

“Yes, and…” William began, still looking a bit uncertain.

“Oh, Father!” Eliza cried. “You mustn’t be so stunned.” Eliza spun on Kat with a brilliant smile. “Sir Hunter, did you know, is close friends with the Earl of Carlyle—who has one of Papa’s paintings on his walls at his castle! So Sir Hunter knew who Papa was when they met, and he wants to commission several oils from Papa, and…and he thinks you show equal promise! Mr. Thomas Atworthy, one of the finest tutors from the college, will be accompanying the group with which Sir Hunter is associated on their dig this season, and he wants to take you on as a pupil, and in return, of course, you will be at the excavations, serving as an assistant for Sir Hunter, helping in many ways—sketching and keeping notes. Papa has assured him that you can act in the capacity of secretary with diligence and capability!”

He watched Kat spin around, look at her father, and then at Lady Daws.

Hunter had been afraid that his entire scheme—though rather clever, he thought—might still be far too overwhelming for William Adair.

But he’d discovered that he had an ally.

Lady Daws.

He’d never been overly fond of the woman himself, not that he knew her well. He had seen her on occasion at various social events. Since the death of her husband, perhaps five or six years past, she had been into a number of strange enterprises. He’d heard that her husband’s son had completely alienated himself from his stepmother, and that she had therefore been left scrambling to make a living. A sad state of affairs. Except, there had been rumor that she had married the old fellow in the hopes that he would make a quick exit from the world of the living.

Apparently, she had sometime ago befriended William Adair. Hunter knew that she had put herself forward to him as something of an art expert and had been busy selling his work.

He had a strong suspicion that her commissions were well above the artist’s take.

But at the moment, he was certain, the woman was eager to assist him. Perhaps she didn’t care for competition from the man’s rather extraordinary daughters.

Kat looked at him then, her hazel eyes burning with excitement. “So…this is all true. I would accompany your group on the voyage and during the entire season in Egypt?”

“Yes, of course,” he said pleasantly. “I know that I am asking a great deal to tear you away from your home and your family.” His sarcasm was certainly audible only to her. “And there are long days at sea. A few stops along the way…perhaps a week spent in Rome. And you will have to work, I’m afraid, but in return, you’ll have time most days with a man considered to be one of the finest art tutors in our country. Of course,” he lied, “I haven’t the least idea if such an arrangement appeals to you. You—and your father—must give the concept grave consideration.”

She glanced immediately at her father.

Lady Daws was also looking at him. He still appeared uncertain.

“Yes, well, please, think on it,” Hunter said. “In the meantime, I entreat all of you to come for breakfast at my town house. And there, Mr. Adair, should you have more questions or concerns, you can speak with Lord Avery himself. So, please, do come.”

“Oh, yes!” Eliza answered for them all.

“Papa?” Kat said.

“Sir Hunter, thank you for your kindness. It would be churlish of me, I suppose, to refuse such an invitation,” William Adair said. “But if Kat accompanies you, she will fulfill all the tasks that you have for her. I do stress that there will be no reward given or accepted.”

“I will make your wishes known to Lord Avery,” Hunter assured him. “My carriage awaits,” he reminded them.

“But we’re an entire household!” Eliza pointed out.

“I’m returning now, on my own. I rode my horse behind the carriage. I think that the four of you will find you’ve plenty of room.”

Kat’s eyes were on his again, alive with speculation. He inclined his head slightly in her direction, bid them all farewell and departed.

They would, he was certain, follow.

ELIZA, KAT KNEW, WAS NERVOUS about meeting the great Lord Avery. But she herself was in a similar state about another momentous meeting.

With David, of course. It did occur to her that Lord Avery’s lovely daughter might be there, as well. But she had watched David Turnberry from afar for so long, and she was certain in her heart that Margaret could not really love him. In fact, surely, she was being pressured into the marriage but was doubtless in love with someone else. Kat had convinced herself that if she could somehow make David fall in love with her and end his relationship with Margaret, the young woman would be entirely grateful.

The carriage pulled up under the porte cochere.

“The house is magnificent, isn’t it, Papa?” Eliza said. To Kat she whispered, “Ah, and so is Sir Hunter!”

Kat looked up. As they exited their host’s carriage, the man himself was there. Kat had to acknowledge that Hunter made quite a striking picture. He wore a gray suit, cut admirably to his lean and muscled form, a brocade waistcoat, white shirt beneath. His stance was nonchalant, yet still tall and imposing. His eyes were filled with humor, and Kat found herself resentful despite his largesse—this was all a game to him. She had amused him, and he would be further amused to watch her as the weeks wore on. Was he hoping that she would fail? Did he mock her quest, find it ridiculous?

Yes, well, the majority of the sane world would, an inner voice warned.

And yet what did it matter? He mocked her, yes, maybe was even betting with his friends on when she would realize her position in life. And whatever that might be, it wasn’t among these elite.

Still, her father could prosper from Sir Hunter’s patronage. And if Lord Avery were impressed with her father’s work, a truly decent living could be found.

Moments later, they were all inside, and Hunter was leading the way to the drawing room. Kat hadn’t realized that there were already visitors within and was at a disadvantage when Hunter instantly said, “David! I’ve brought your mermaid. Lord Avery, Margaret, may I present Miss Katherine Mary Adair, her father, William, sister, Eliza, and I believe you’ve met Lady Daws.”

Whatever other introductions went round, Kat did not know. She was completely unaware of all else, because David Turnberry was standing and looking at her, his smile deep and full of admiration. He walked to her, taking her hands—touching her!—and she was aware of nothing but the force of his eyes.

“I cannot convey what a pleasure this is,” he said, and his voice was such a tremulous tenor, so full of emotion, she was afraid that her knees would give up. “You saved my life. And I am eternally grateful.”

Perhaps her adoration, despite the fact that she had been quite certain she could hide it, was far more apparent than she would have wished, because he quickly stepped back, releasing her hand. “You risked your own life. Truly, I will never thank you enough.”

She, who was usually so quick with words, found herself speechless.

“My God, and what a beautiful mermaid from the sea!” Another voice extolled, and then a second man, tall, lean and dark with deep blue eyes, stepped between her and David. She recognized him as one of David’s regular companions. “Robert Stewart, at your service. And may I say, should I ever so sadly fall into the drink, as well, Miss Adair, that you would be there to do me like service?”

“Miss Adair!” And now, it was Margaret who spoke, her voice as soft as the touch of her hand. “I’m Margaret Avery, and I, too, must express my deepest appreciation. Were it not for you being there, being so capable, brave, poor David might not… Oh, how easily he might have drowned!”

Kat felt her cheeks color; the young woman sounded so sincere, so sweet and so very admiring. The praise was beginning to make her uncomfortable. She had thought that she would revel in this moment, glory in it, and instead, she felt the need to protest.

“Please…it was…I swim very well,” she said simply.

She felt a touch on her shoulder. Hunter was behind her. She longed to shake him off, but he murmured, “Ah, but the thing of it is, you did not save just any life. You saved David’s! So here, we are all grateful—as would be the friends and loved ones of any man’s—or woman’s—life that was saved.”

Then Kat realized that Hunter was directing her toward an older man. “Miss Katherine Mary Adair, Lord Avery,” Hunter said.

She managed to offer her hand. “My Lord.”

“Jagger to my friends, my dear,” the fellow said, smiling. She liked him instantly. He was tall and gaunt, white-haired, and with a gentle smile that reminded her of his daughter’s. She felt her cheeks flame slightly as she realized that both these people, who were being so kind to her, would be appalled if they were aware that her humble sights were set on David.

Who would be affianced to Lady Margaret.

And still…

They were rich. Titled. The world was theirs. They could have anything.

She wanted only one thing in the world.

And she could not give up her quest.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you…Jagger,” Kat said softly.

“No, no, my dear, the pleasure is mine. In so many ways! We were eager to offer a reward, but it seems, according to Sir Hunter, that none will be accepted. And it is not, I’m afraid, with any thought of reward that I have championed Hunter’s suggestion that you must accompany us, both to work and to learn. We would have had to find an assistant somewhere, and Professor Atworthy will be pleased to have a student such as you. And I am quite in awe to meet your father. Mr. Adair!” he said, addressing William. “Your ships at sea entrance me. There is one on the wall in a castle belonging to a good friend, and I have long coveted it. He did not know where the artist was to be found. And now, I have made your acquaintance!” He chuckled. “The Earl of Carlyle has not yet had that pleasure, so I have one-upped the man, you see.”

Her father looked rather flushed, as she was sure she herself was. But he did stand straight and proud, as well. “Lord Avery, I must tell you, I am not a man who needs or feeds on flattery. You need not feel that you must purchase any of my pieces because of what has occurred. Your words are kind. And your sponsorship of my daughter is an incredible piece of fortune for her.”

“The apple does not fall far from the tree, dear fellow. I try to think of myself as a patron of the arts. She is so young…Sir Hunter showed me the little sketch that she did and I was instantly enchanted. Mr. Adair, you are doing us the favor.”

Lord Avery could not be judged as anything other than sincere. William Adair ceased any protest. “Lord Avery, I thank you.”

Emma appeared at the entryway. “Breakfast is served,” she said cheerfully.

Kat was still in pure bliss as they filed into the dining room.

Hunter, however, had made the seating arrangements, and she found herself not beside David, but between Lord Avery and his daughter. Lady Daws was between David and Robert Stewart—good heavens, she had managed to completely forget the woman!—and Eliza was seated next to David’s other close friend, Allan…Allan something. He was fair-haired and pleasant, and he smiled with approval when he looked at her, and naturally, she smiled when she looked back.

“What a lovely breakfast, Emma!” Margaret said cheerfully, helping herself to a slice of ham as the plate went round the table. “Ah, muffins, eggs, ham…bacon! And soon we’ll be on a ship, and off to foreign parts—we’ll miss your cooking, Emma!”

Emma nodded, pleased with the compliment, but said, “My lady, there will be fine fare aboard the ship, and in the company of such prestigious folk, I daresay, none of us will suffer.”

“But nothing will be so fine as your creations,” Robert Stewart said, and catching Kat’s eye, he winked.

Margaret shivered. “This is such an adventure for all of you! I’m not at all sure why we can’t remain right here where we are, in London. After all, London is the heart of civilization!”

Margaret’s words made Kat forget any sense of shyness, or that she was not among the company she usually kept. “But London is the heart of civilization because we English have explored so vastly, in such faraway places!”

“Bravo, Miss Adair!” David said, delighting Kat.

Margaret did not seem to take offense. She laughed. “That’s because you haven’t been wretchedly seasick for days on end. Or felt the desert sands in your mouth when you breathe! You’ll see.”

“I’ve never gotten seasick,” Kat murmured.

“Because you’re a mermaid!” Robert Stewart teased.

“No, because she has a sense of adventure,” Hunter murmured.

Lord Avery cleared his throat. “Indeed, a joie de vivre. We’ve forgotten, Hunter, I believe. I am, dear friend, sorry that I neglected to mention that we owe you a debt, as well. You, too, went diving in for David and wound up rescuing the rescuer.”

“Oh, but you see, she didn’t really need rescuing,” Hunter said, looking at Kat. Then he looked at her father apologetically. “In my fear that she should drown, I believe I caused her injury.”

“But ‘all’s well that ends well!’” Eliza quoted cheerfully.

“Indeed,” Lady Daws said, staring at Kat with narrowed eyes. “Yes, now the dear girl will have excellent opportunities, and, gentlemen,” she added, her gaze sliding from Sir Hunter to Lord Avery, “you will have works of sheer passion and genius to hang on your walls.”

“Here, here!” Lord Avery said. “When will we see some of your work, Mr. Adair?” he added.

“I…I…”

“There is a great deal of it hanging in my apartments,” Lady Daws said. “After breakfast, perhaps, we will all take a very small expedition and go see them.”

“Oh, I’m afraid not,” Hunter said. “I’m due at the museum to tie up a few loose ends with Brian. And Miss Adair must accompany me.”

“But dear Lord Avery!” Lady Daws persisted. “There is so little time left before you leave the country!”

“Hunter, you and Miss Adair go on to the museum,” Lord Avery said. “If you will forgive me, Hunter, the rest of us will go on Lady Daws’s art expedition! She is quite right. Time is a precious commodity right now.”

“Indeed, Lord Avery, I wouldn’t deny you such a pleasure.”

“I should accompany the crowd,” Kat murmured. “I know my father’s work so well—”

“But I shall be there! And you must learn your duties, Katherine,” Lady Daws said.

“I will be there, as well,” Eliza said firmly.

“Yes, you do need to become aware of what the future will bring,” Hunter said, staring at her. His eyes were hard. She didn’t know if he was referring to all that she needed to know regarding ancient Egypt—or if she needed to learn that, despite the charm and camaraderie they were all enjoying today, her place among them was slightly below the rest.

“But surely,” Kat murmured, “one afternoon will not matter so much?”

“One afternoon matters greatly when so few are left,” Hunter said.

“I insist you accompany us!” Robert Stewart protested gallantly.

“She must not,” Lady Daws said firmly. “Such an excellent offer for learning does not come to every…young woman.”

Kat bit her tongue, wondering just what adjectives Lady Daws really intended to use.

She looked at her father, who was smiling at her with assurance. She realized that he believed her protests were because she was worried about him. “It’s all right, Kat. If you need to see the museum, then you must do so.”

“We are agreed, then,” Hunter said, rising. Kat refrained from giving him a baleful stare and rose, as well, politely excusing herself.

“You do ride?” Hunter said. “I will send Ethan and the carriage with your family.”

“Of course I ride,” Kat lied. She could, indeed, swim like a fish. She’d grown up, however, in the City of London where public transportation was excellent and there was no need to ride a horse.

She saw her father frown.

He, like the other men, had risen when she had.

Forgetting David for one moment as she saw her father’s concerned face, she turned to Lord Avery. “Truly, my lord, my father is a genius,” she said proudly. “As you will see.”

“I have seen!” Lord Avery assured her. He turned to her and clasped her hands in his. “All will be well, my child. You will see.”

She thanked him.

Hunter was at her side. His hand was on her elbow. She bid the others farewell.

“Oh, but it isn’t goodbye! We will have a lovely time together for weeks and weeks…months!” Lady Margaret assured her.

Guilt rippled through Kat. She smiled. “Of course. And thank you.”

“Good heavens, this is more like an Italian goodbye,” Hunter said impatiently. “We are merely headed in opposite directions for the afternoon.”

“I shall call you this evening,” Lord Avery told Hunter, “if the blasted telephone works.”

“Now and then,” Hunter agreed wryly. “If not, we’ll talk soon enough.”

Kat looked back as they departed the room. She thought that David was studying her pensively.

And with admiration.

Her heart thundered.

But soon they were at the carriage entrance to the house. Ethan was there with Hunter’s massive mount and a smaller animal—one fitted out with a sidesaddle.

“You don’t ride, do you?” Hunter said, studying her face.

She shot him a glance filled with the venom that had been growing in her heart. “I will, never worry,” she said shortly, and moved toward the animal. Her skirts were cumbersome, but she was determined to get on the beast and ride.

Ethan, holding the reins, started to move forward. Hunter was there before him, his hands on her waist as he lifted her. She felt his touch as he adjusted her limbs and thrust her feet into the stirrups. The length of her burned with outrage.

“You’ll be all right,” he said. “We’re not going far.”

“Yes, it’s quite amazing that we’re going, isn’t it?”

He looked up at her where she sat. “And what does that mean?”

She leaned down, cheeks burning, not caring to have this argument with Ethan so near. “It’s amazing that it’s truly necessary that I begin learning the volumes regarding Egyptology this very afternoon.”

He studied her gravely. “Do you wish to discard the entire idea?”

“Of going to the museum?” she said hopefully.

“Of going to Egypt.”

She fell silent, staring at him, biting her lower lip. He left her side, thanking Ethan, taking the reins to his own mount. He leapt onto the beast with the agility of one who had ridden since birth. To her horror, she wavered tenuously as her own horse followed his.

Dear heaven, she thought. Would that this afternoon soon be over!

Chapter 5

ELIZA DIDN’T REALIZE THAT she’d been holding her breath until Lord Avery said, “I must have this series.”

The man had been studying one of her father’s finest collections, a set of five oils on canvas featuring different sailing vessels in different hues. Morning, with brilliant golds, yellows and oranges. Evening, with silver and shades of mauve and gray. Storm, with colors as tempestuous and moody as the title. Calm, with the softest butternuts and pinks. And finally, Against the Wind, with bright and deep blues and the whites of swirling clouds that seemed to race overhead, even in the stillness of the artwork.

Her head was spinning. This was all too good to be true.

And all because Kat was headstrong and had plunged into the Thames!

And now Kat was also going to get to go on the expedition and follow David off into the desert…

Along with Lady Margaret.

“Jagger,” Robert Stewart said, standing by the man, “I am in serious envy. I can feel the sea, looking at these. I can feel the wind, the spray of the water.” He turned to William. “Mr. Adair, I am quite seriously in awe.”

Her father appeared tongue-tied. Lady Daws was not. “Ah, then let’s pray that the awe being felt translates to serious business, shall we?”

She linked arms with Lord Avery. Eliza felt that she must protect her father, because for whatever reason, the woman frankly scared her. What would Kat do in such a circumstance?

“Oh, Lady Daws! No business just now!” Eliza was surprised at how firm she could make her voice. “Papa can talk with Lord Avery at another time. Naturally, his art is his living, but it is also a thing of beauty, just to be enjoyed, and I do know my father. He is so delighted to see you appreciate his work. Let’s savor this moment, shall we?”