What a Lady Needs. Kasey Michaels
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do you think you can do it?”
“Do what?” Simon asked, finding it difficult to believe the beautiful creature had just winked at him.
“You know, Singleton, I don’t think I thought this new twist on our little game through as well as I could have, and should have just let Kate be Kate,” Valentine said on a sigh. “Because this is beginning to show all the hallmarks of a bad, bad idea.”
* * *
KATE HAD ALREADY lifted her right leg to cross over her left before she caught herself in time and carefully placed her foot back down on the carpet. Five minutes into the thing, and she had almost proved Valentine correct—she didn’t know how to behave as a lady. It would have been thirty seconds into the thing, if her brother had seen her wink at the marquis, but he hadn’t, so that didn’t count.
But she hadn’t been able to resist. The marquis had looked so adorably flustered as he watched her descend the staircase, yes, like a lady. It was just as Trixie had promised: men were lamentably easy, as they rarely thought with their brains. She probably should have asked her what they used instead, but Trixie had seemed to think she understood, and she hadn’t wanted to appear blockheaded. Still, she believed she was beginning to get an idea.
Now here they were, all cozy in the enormous main drawing room, the introductions behind them, and she was wondering why she continued to find his lordship so appealing.
Perhaps it was his coloring. Her brothers were dark-haired, and none of them had such startlingly green eyes. Perhaps that was it—the marquis was a new experience for her. Not that she hadn’t seen her share of light-eyed, blond-haired men. It’s just that none of them had looked anything like Simon Ravenbill, or dressed half so well. In fact, although his clothing was more than two decades out of date, the man the marquis put her in mind of most was her father, and the portrait that hung in the long gallery.
Maybe it was fate, sending her a warning. Was there something hidden beneath the appealing surface of the marquis, as there had been evil lurking behind the smiling face depicted in that portrait? It still didn’t seem sensible to her that Valentine would have invited a guest to Redgrave Manor now, of all times. Was her brother playing her for a fool? Why?
“Kate?”
She shook herself back to attention. It wasn’t like her to allow her mind to drift. The marquis must think her rude, or shallow...or simple. “A thousand apologies, Val,” she cooed sweetly; she’d learned at Trixie’s feet how to deliver a cutting line with an accompanying smile. “Did you say something of interest, and I missed it?”
The marquis, just then in the midst of taking a sip of wine, gave a short cough and then swallowed, seemingly with some difficulty.
Kate could like this man. If she wasn’t so suspicious of him.
“I was saying, Kate,” Valentine pressed on, ignoring the jab, “I think Simon would enjoy joining us in our small treasure hunt. You know, the jewels supposedly hidden somewhere on the estate by that band of smugglers who then set out on another run, only to drown to the last man in a storm.”
Oh, that was fairly good. Valentine must have put some thought into that fib; to mention the golden rose by name would have been a mistake. Still, it was a lengthy explanation of his lie, and he probably should have kept it shorter. And probably would have, if she’d been paying him the least attention when he first uttered it.
“Really?” she asked, turning to the marquis. “I doubt there’s any truth to the legend, but I will admit to being intrigued ever since I heard the tale a few weeks ago. My brother Gideon thinks it all a great hum, but Val here has promised to help. You don’t think us incredibly silly?”
“Not at all. There isn’t a little boy in all of England who hasn’t dreamt of finding buried treasure. I don’t see why it should be so different for the fairer sex.”
She smiled at him, careful to bat her eyelids, just the once. “La, my lord, how forward-thinking of you. Many would suggest we of the fairer sex are too fragile for such undertakings.”
“Not true. But I would be remiss if I didn’t add joining you and Val here will also afford me an excuse to spend more time in your fair company.”
Oh, now I know I’m being led by the nose! Such stuff and nonsense, and laid on with a trowel, it’s so thick! “You put me to the blush, my lord.”
She sensed Valentine looking from the marquis, to her, and then back again. He then got to his feet, rubbing his palms together. “Good! That’s settled, then. Kate, isn’t it soon time for some afternoon refreshment? I’m sure Simon is hungry for a little something before dinner.”
“Yes, of course. A poor hostess I’d be, indeed, if I hadn’t thought of that myself.” Don’t ask me to be perfect and then continually test me, Val, or you’ll be sorry you ever began this farce. Although I suspect you already are!
As if he’d been hovering outside the door awaiting his cue to enter, Dearborn stepped into the room to announce the arrival of refreshments, “as requested by Lady Katherine” (she’d asked him to add that last part). In marched a trio of maids, all carrying silver trays laden with sandwiches, cakes and a large pitcher of lemonade. They could have fed a half-dozen ravenous men with this display of food, but then, the Redgraves did nothing in a small way...and the servants would enjoy the remnants that returned to the kitchens.
The marquis surprised Kate by taking on the role of mother, pouring them each a tall tumbler of lemonade. “So you don’t have to strain to lift such a heavy pitcher,” he told her, handing her one of the glasses.
“Oh, too kind, too kind,” she purred, smiling around gritted teeth, mentally exchanging that trowel for a shovel. “We’re quite informal here, my lord. Please feel free to help yourself to anything you’d like.”
“Yes,” the marquis said slowly, his back to Valentine, looking at her rather than the trays of sandwiches and decorative cakes. “I’ll do that.”
Kate felt herself being put to the blush, an occurrence so rare in her experience she couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. “Val? Aren’t you hungry?” she asked quickly.
Valentine was looking at his own glass with barely veiled horror. Kate believed she could read his mind: Lemonade? Is the man mad? What in bloody hell am I supposed to do with lemonade?
“Not anymore,” he grumbled, eyeing the drinks table.
Kate had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She didn’t know how long she could last with this ridiculousness, but she was certain she could hang on longer than her brother. Besides, it was rather fun being flirted with, even if the man was doing it on orders from his new friend—because that had to be the answer, it was the only answer that fit. Val had told both of them to flirt, his lordship in order to do his friend a favor, and Kate in order to play at being somebody other than herself. Or could her brother actually have brought them both together, spinning lies for both of them, all in order to matchmake? Clearly her brother had no head for intrigue. No matter what, Valentine was in trouble!
Kate reached for one of the plates holding a cake iced with some lovely pink confection. It was time to learn more about their guest. “Valentine tells me London is very flat this season, my lord. Is that true?”
“London is London, my lady, and in the end, I suppose what you make of it,” he answered, having somehow already downed half his sandwich, rather like a person who has learned to feed his belly as quickly and efficiently as possible. Someone like a soldier, perhaps?
“Yes, and I made a shambles of it last year. It was really quite enjoyable.”
“Kate,” Valentine said warningly.
“There’s no sense in pretending it didn’t happen, Valentine. Now is there, my lord?”
“I’m certain you were quite justified in your actions, my lady.”
“No,