Page 19 of Gone With the Rogue
The corners of his mouth tightened. “I think you need my help in some way, Lady Kitson, and you are afraid to ask me.”
His words stole over her like a warm shawl on a chilly night. Once again she had an overpowering need to reach out to him. He would only be in London for a short time and then be on his way to another country. Surely her secrets would be safe with him.
While she contemplated a way to respond to him, his eyes continued to search her face, encouraging her to trust him. But how could she? Mr. Pratt wouldn’t stay away just because Mr. Stockton asked him to. She was sure the duke was paying the tutor a handsome sum. In fact, he probably wasn’t just a tutor but also a spy sent to watch her every move each day.
No, as much as she would like to see Mr. Stockton again, confide in him, it was best she not be seen with the sojourner.
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Stockton, but I am fine. I must bid you good day.”
Chapter 6
Garrett stood on Lady Kitson’s front steps and crushed the brim of his hat in his hands almost as hard as she had. She not only stirred his passions, she stirred his desire to protect her. He didn’t like the idea of Mr. Pratt trying to teach Lady Kitson’s little boy, either. And when to hire a tutor should be her decision. Not the duke’s. Garrett was tempted to turn around and walk back into the house and insist she tell him what was going on. Why was the duke forcing this tutor on Chatwyn? What kind of documents was she trying to hide, and what did an explosion have to do with any of it? And what had her so frightened at the thought of asking him for help?
Lady Kitson wasn’t a lady who lacked courage or resolve. Something vital was at stake for her and he wanted to know what it was. The problem was that shewasn’t ready to confide in him and trust him to help her. He could understand that. Maybe. She was cautious. He could appreciate that, but surely she couldn’t consider him a stranger anymore. Something kept her from confiding in him.
Placing his hat on his head, Garrett walked down the steps to the street. He untied his horse, climbed onto the saddle, and headed toward St. James Park. He hadn’t expected to arrive in London and be immediately and totally consumed by thoughts of an alluring lady and her intriguing state of affairs. He was used to planting his feet on dry soil and immediately taking his pick from a number of women willing to satisfy a seafarer.
After his encounter with Lady Kitson, he hadn’t wanted to pay a visit to a mistress. He’d only wanted to retrieve the widow’s butterfly net. She was the only lady on his mind.
He’d settled into the Holcott-Fortney Inn and had sent a message to Wiley that he’d arrived in London, asking him to meet at their usual place for a ride through the park. After that, he bought a bottle of the inn’s finest brandy and found an empty chair at one of the tables in their card room. That’s where he’d spent most of the night.
At first awakening this morning, his head pounded and his body ached with unfulfilled desire. He cursed himself for deciding to pursue gaming and an over-indulgence of brandy instead of the comforts of a soft, willing woman. He’d planned to rectify that mistake today. Now, after seeing Lady Kitson again, he knew why he’d come to that surprising conclusion yesterday. And difficult as it was to endure, it was still the right one for him. Strange as it was to admit, Lady Kitsonwas the only one he desired. And for now, he was going to have to live with the pain that caused.
Bright sunlight made the sky blue as a sparkling gem, but it also made the air still and hot as Hades. He passed a man in a rumbling wagon filled with rattling milk cans, baskets of vegetables and firewood as he entered the park. Garrett tipped his hat to the farmer, and then nudged his horse to go faster. Obviously, the midday heat hadn’t kept anyone inside. The park was bustling with people strolling about, sitting on blankets, and riding in their carriages.
Garrett had never returned to London to win favors or to reacquaint himself with anyone in the ton other than Wiley Calder, though oddly enough, Garrett was usually in Town less than twenty-four hours before the first invitations to dinners and parties started arriving. He always assumed Wiley was responsible for making it known the sea adventurer was back. Interest in him was always the same. There were those who sought him out to hear about his travels and those who questioned his right to continue to be a part of Society’s small circle.
His friend since childhood, Wiley had always understood Garrett’s desire to make his own way in life, and his fascination with the world that lay beyond England’s tight shores. But Wiley never had the inclination to visit any of the places Garrett had been. A third son himself, Wiley was content to live in London, enjoy the fringes of the lifestyle that befitted an untitled son, and stay a gentleman—living off the allowance his older brother handed out to family members who had no lands or other income-producing properties to sustain them.
Garrett’s father, Alfred Stockton, had been that way.Alfred had no problem accepting the pittance of allowance and a house to live in from his second cousin, an earl and the patriarch of the family. To Garrett’s father, it wasn’t money that counted; it was lineage, upbringing, and family standards that were important. He’d been happy to live in the small house where the two Stockton men had been granted a home. Alfred never understood why his son didn’t feel the same way.
For Alfred, gambling had always been a dependable source of extra income. Not only was he good with a deck of cards, the roll of dice, and at the billiards tables, but he also had an uncanny ability to read people and know if they truly had a winning hand. Luck always seemed to follow him, no matter what game he chose, but he had no desire to even think about using his skills to start a business. He was affronted when Garrett had suggested it.
That was for tradesmen. Not gentlemen.
Garrett’s horse galloped up and over a gentle slope in the terrain. In the distance he saw Wiley waiting under the elm where he’d rescued Lady Kitson. The old tree had been his favorite to climb when he was a youngster. Its low branches were wide and sturdy. It amazed Garrett that she’d managed to climb high enough to reach the spindlier limbs.
Wiley was a tall, lanky man with thin brown hair as straight as a board. For as long as Garrett had known him, he had worn it longer than fashionable and was often seen brushing the front length of it away from his forehead. The almond shape of his eyes, long bridge of his nose, and generous, big-toothed smile made him look as friendly as he was.
When Wiley caught sight of Garrett, he mounted and rode out to meet him. He maneuvered his horseto fall in beside Garrett’s. They shook hands firmly and then hugged briefly across the horses. The skittish mare snorted and sidestepped, tossing her head, not wanting the other animal to crowd her.
“I was beginning to think you hadn’t received my answer that I’d be here,” Wiley said in his calm, good-natured way.
“Something came up that delayed me. It’s good to see you, my friend. You’re looking fit. Obviously, life’s been good to you.”
“Better than I deserve,” Wiley said with a wide smile.
“I have no doubt of that.”
His friend wasn’t a man who wanted much more out of life than what he already had. That kind of contentment was difficult for Garrett to understand. He’d asked Wiley to sail with him and be his partner, but Wiley had no interest in the life Garrett wanted.
To Garrett’s knowledge, Wiley had never traveled much farther than a day’s ride from London. He was occasionally asked to spend a week or two in the summer or at Christmastide with his oldest brother, who was a viscount. The greater portion of the year he spent in London, doing the same things most gentlemen of leisure did each day: reading the newsprint in the morning and then discussing all that was of interest with the gentlemen at one of his clubs.
On any given day, if news and gossip were scant, the gentlemen would play cards or billiards. They would attend weekly fencing matches, horse races, and cock fights, or pay a visit to their mistresses. If it was a busy day, a gentleman could manage an appearance at more than one or two events. Late afternoons and evenings would more or less be a repeat of the day,unless someone was hosting a dinner party in their home. Only then might their routines change. Garrett wasn’t interested in such a sedate life.
“I know you usually find your way back to London in the spring,” Wiley offered. “I’m glad you made an exception this time, but you realize there won’t be as much trouble for us to get into with most of our debauched friends off to their summer homes and the clubs and gaming halls empty of their best card and billiards players.”
“Chances are we’ll find someone who wants to start a row.” The two men laughed. Garrett hugged the mare with his knees, urging the lazy animal to keep going.
