Reckless. Shannon Drake
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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