What a Lady Needs. Kasey Michaels
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right, I’ll stop teasing you now. Yes, quite imposing, like everything else at Redgrave Manor. The pillars make for a nice touch. Do you come up here often?”
“Never.” Kate shook her head. If she visited her father’s grave, it would only remind her of her mother’s probably unmarked grave in France. But she wouldn’t tell him that. “Trixie always says the dead can keep each other company well enough. It’s not as if they’re really here, you know.” She shook her head again. “Well, Barry isn’t, that’s for certain, not unless he’s haunting the place, looking for his body. Do you believe in ghosts, and talking to the dead?”
Simon had tied Daisy’s reins to a tree branch on the opposite side of the mausoleum from his stallion, and now stood beside Kate once more as they both stared at the family tomb. “I don’t think I’ve given the subject much thought. I would like to speak to my brother, though. A lot of questions could be answered if we had the chance of hearing a voice from beyond one last time.”
Once again Kate thought about her mother. Had Maribel lingered long enough to kiss her infant daughter goodbye, or had she just run off with her French lover? She sighed and turned away. “But we might not like the answers.”
Simon put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Look, Kate...every family has its share of scandal of one sort or another. I’m not judging, and I wish to God I didn’t need to know what I need to know. But I am here to help. Not to be overly dramatic, but lives depend on us finding those journals, that supposed bible. So, can we forget yesterday ever happened, and begin again? With you being you and me being me, and all three of us dedicated to the search.”
“I don’t know,” Kate answered, avoiding his mesmerizing green eyes, his open and honest green eyes. She felt so...drawn to him. The idea that had seemed brilliant not ten minutes earlier was now hastily discarded as she remembered swords cut both ways. Trapping him, she could end up trapping herself. Trixie had never mentioned that possibility. Her grandmother could snap her fingers and walk away from anyone except her adored grandchildren, whom she’d kill for if necessary, and without a blink. Love was a game she played well, but Kate was surprised and dismayed to realize perhaps she didn’t share Trixie’s prowess.
She took a deep breath and turned to look at him, determined to face him down. “In other words, no more outrageous comments such as the one you made about helping me dismount?” And felt her knees melt as he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief once more.
“Ask me not to breathe. It would be simpler.”
Oh, enough of this! Kate willed her knees to stiffen and then rolled her eyes at such blatant nonsense. She didn’t know if she was impressing him, but her defensive actions hadn’t done much for her still slightly wobbly knees. Compliments, sweet words, made her nervous, that’s all it was; she never knew how to respond. “So, you being you means you’re prone to spouting ridiculousness like that at the drop of a handkerchief—not that I’m dropping mine, let’s be clear about that. If so, you could stop now, because I know you don’t mean it.”
“I don’t? Are you certain of that?”
“I’m certain you’re nothing like anyone I met in London.” She rocked on the heels of her riding boots, every nerve in her body tingling with an awareness the two of them were quite alone at the top of this dratted hill and out of sight of the house. Next thing she knew, Simon would start waxing poetic about her fetching smile, or some such rot—and how would she respond to that? When one was complimented, did that make one beholden to send a compliment winging back? And where would that lead? At the rate Simon was moving, she’d soon find out what step four is! Oh, where was Valentine? What was taking him so long? It was only a stupid key.
“That’s probably because I was never meant to be the marquis.”
“What?” Kate realized her mind was wandering, perhaps even running in panicked circles.
“You said I wasn’t like any men you met in London, and I offered that this might be because I wasn’t raised to be the marquis. I happily chose a more rough and tumble life, as suited my embarrassingly plebeian nature. Or so my late father said as he happily agreed to buy me a commission and pack me off to sea. London truly does bore me. In the Royal Navy, the chain of command has a reason. In society, it’s all a bunch of self-important people deciding who should bow lower to whom because of who their father was.”
Exactly as she felt about the patronesses of Almacks. How strange. “People bow to my brother Gideon because they’d be fools not to,” Kate pointed out, not without pride. “It certainly can’t be because of who our father was. Gideon is his own man.”
“And you are very much your own woman, if you’d let yourself realize that, and not allow Val or Gideon or your grandmother or anyone else to tell you to change. The last thing you aren’t, however, is either of your parents. Or am I wrong, and the fact I’ve learned certain things about your family isn’t what’s standing between the two of us getting to know each other better?”
Kate tilted her head to one side, rhythmically tapping her small riding crop against her thigh. Too close, he was getting too close. “You know, Simon, just when I think I can begin to like you, you go and say something like that. What makes you think you can presume to peek inside my head?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s because we’re more alike, you and I, than you know. We feel...responsible.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
Simon looked past her, down the hill. “It means you’re not the only one who would like all of this to disappear, have never happened. Can I trust you?”
Kate could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. For the first time, she knew he was being deadly serious. “I don’t know. Should I trust you?”
“I won’t presume to answer that for you, Kate. Make up your own mind. I’ll be waiting with Henry and his hound at midnight. Some things are easier said in the dark.”
“Henry? Who told you about Hen—?”
But Simon was walking away from her, his right hand already extended to grab the bridle of Valentine’s horse. “Did you get lost along the way?”
Valentine dismounted, looking somewhat harassed. “Nothing that simple. It seems Adam got himself locked in a linen cupboard.”
Kate looked at Simon, who was a distinct distraction and puzzle, and then to the doors of the mausoleum, which were both beckoning her and repelling her, and decided, for the moment at least, she’d much rather hear about Adam.
“How did he get locked in a cupboard?” she asked, joining the men. “More important, whatever possessed you to let him out again?”
“It wasn’t an easy decision, believe me. Then again, listening to him bleat about there possibly being spiders sharing the dark with him was equally embarrassing as the reason he was in there. When nobody seemed able to locate the key, I suggested a hatchet, but Adam screamed I was trying to kill him, so we gave that up as a bad idea. As to the why of the thing, it would seem our new relative woke early today, feeling amorous, and spied out a maid bending over the fireplace grate. Needless to say, Adam needed no further invitation.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” Kate said in dismay. “Who is she?”
“I didn’t ask, but I’m told by Mrs. Justis the girl is fine. I sent her my compliments and gave her the rest of the day off. Now, let me get on with the story, which I’ll relate quickly. The nameless but brilliant maid suggested they postpone their liaison until she quickly did something Mrs. Justis asked her to do. Adam was to await her in the large linen cupboard on the third floor, as Adam’s valet was just in the other room, because, and I quote, ‘I gets noisy sometimes, you know?’ All of which he agreed to, of course, because he’s a bumble-brained idiot. She waited in the shadows until he was inside, then snuck up and locked the door before disposing of the key. She threw it from the nearest window. It took six of us to locate it.”
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