Destined To Last Part 10

"Andrew," she repeated, a line forming in her brow. "Andrew."

"Does it not meet with your approval?"

"I don't think it's a matter of approving," she mumbled absently and just as absently sacrificed a p.a.w.n to his bishop. Her mouth formed his name again, as if she were tasting it, and hadn't decided yet if she cared for the flavor. "It's a matter of becoming accustomed to it."

"I see." He took her p.a.w.n and watched her quietly say his name again. "And how long might that take, do you think?"

"I'm not sure," she said before silently repeating his name.

He hoped it would take a few moments more at least, because watching Kate mouth his name was nothing short of an erotic delight. Particularly the way she drew out the "rew" so that her perfect rosebud mouth remained puckered even after she was done sounding the word. He imagined covering that mouth with his own. He imagined her lips forming his name on a whisper as he lowered her to the floor. He imagined her whispering it again and again as he stripped away the layers of clothes to stroke the heated skin beneath. He imagined taking his time, all the time he wanted, all the time he needed. He imagined tasting, and touching, and teasing until the whisper became a moan. Until the moan became a plea. Only then, when she was begging, when she was writhing beneath him in tortured ecstasy would he give her what she wanted- "No, I don't think I like it."

It actually took him a moment to realize she was referring to his name, and not his s.e.xual prowess.

"What do you mean you don't like it?" he demanded, s.h.i.+fting a little in his seat. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, how long had it been since he'd had such a powerfully erotic daydream, in public no less? Ten years? More? Not since he'd been a green boy, surely. He couldn't decide if he was more amused or embarra.s.sed. He s.h.i.+fted again and decided he was mostly just uncomfortable.

"It doesn't fit you," Kate explained, clearly unaware of his current line of thought. "Not as well as Mr. Hunter does, at any rate."

"Call me Hunter, then." It made very little difference to him, as long as he could get her to moan it.

"Hunter," she murmured, then gave a decisive nod. "Yes, I believe that will do."

Pity she didn't want to try it out a little longer. "Certain you wouldn't care to practice-?"

"Kate, dear, it is growing late."

The sound of the dowager Lady Thurston's voice as she rose from her seat across the room had them both looking up.

Kate glanced at the clock. "It's not yet midnight."

"Quite late enough." Lady Thurston replied as she arrived at their side. She gave him a pleasant smile. "You understand, Mr. Hunter."

"Of course." He understood the lady didn't care to have her only daughter too long in his company. He wondered how much of that was a result of her preferring someone else as a possible son-in-law, and how much of it was her preference for anyone anyone else as a possible son-in-law. More the former, he guessed. She had, after all, agreed to his looking out for her niece, Evie. else as a possible son-in-law. More the former, he guessed. She had, after all, agreed to his looking out for her niece, Evie.

Kate rose from her chair with a sigh. "I trust I'll see you at breakfast?"

He'd be seeing her all day. "You will."

Lady Thurston ran her eyes over the chessboard. "You might as well finish the game, dear."

Kate glanced at the board. "Oh, yes."

Finish the game? "I thought you were-" "I thought you were-"

He broke off as she leaned over to push her queen halfway across the board.

"Checkmate. Good night, Hunter."

It had been a very long time since Hunter had gaped at a woman as she left a room. About as long as it had been since he'd lost himself in an erotic daydream in public, and just as long since he'd been put into checkmate within eight moves. Or had it been nine? He hoped it had been nine.

Whatever the number, it left him gaping at her as she left, then smiling as their footsteps echoed down the hall.

And then he was grinning. Oh, yes, Lady Kate Cole was, indeed, the finest life had to offer.

CHAPTER Nine

By two o'clock on her first full day as an agent of the crown, Kate was forced to admit that it was probably best she wasn't asked to fill the role with any regularity. She was, as it turned out, demonstrably bad at waiting and watching.

She'd tried her hardest, she truly had. It was just that her task turned out to be rather unengaging and the presence of Hunter much too distracting. She had a.s.sumed that after breakfast he would spend the day fis.h.i.+ng with Lord Martin and the other gentlemen. Instead, he had spent the day in the house, making it all too tempting for her to go seek him out. It was absurd that she should do so, but she couldn't seem to stem her curiosity. Was he searching the house? Questioning the staff? Counting the floorboards?

Desperate to know what he was about, she had ever ever so casually tracked him to the veranda after breakfast, where they had sat speaking to other people. And then she had trailed him at a so casually tracked him to the veranda after breakfast, where they had sat speaking to other people. And then she had trailed him at a very very respectable distance to the library where he had read a book and she had pretended to. And finally she had followed him, after a respectable distance to the library where he had read a book and she had pretended to. And finally she had followed him, after a perfectly perfectly suitable amount of time had pa.s.sed, to the parlor where he was now looking over a paper in a chair some distance from where she sat writing an imaginary letter to the d.u.c.h.ess of Rockeforte. suitable amount of time had pa.s.sed, to the parlor where he was now looking over a paper in a chair some distance from where she sat writing an imaginary letter to the d.u.c.h.ess of Rockeforte.

She snuck a quick glance at him. His clothes, she noted, were as tidy now as they had been first thing that morning. Her white muslin gown, on the other hand, was a mite wrinkled, had a brown smudge of unknown origin on the hem, and a small black ink stain near her waist. She scowled at the spot, then scowled at the pen in her hand. How ridiculous did one have to be to acquire a very real ink stain as a result of writing an imaginary letter? She set her pen down, brushed at a wayward lock of blonde hair, and once again glanced at Hunter.

How fastidious did one have to be, she wondered, to always look a veritable fas.h.i.+on plate?

Well, no, that wasn't quite right. Hunter's clothes were stylish, yes, but they were too subdued in color and cut to be considered the fas.h.i.+on du jour. du jour. There were no brightly colored or outrageously patterned waistcoats for him. She knew for a fact he didn't pad his shoulders, and he seemed to avoid the impossibly high and stiff collars favored by some other gentlemen. There was nothing about Hunter that marked him as a dandy or a fop. He was simply...polished. There were no brightly colored or outrageously patterned waistcoats for him. She knew for a fact he didn't pad his shoulders, and he seemed to avoid the impossibly high and stiff collars favored by some other gentlemen. There was nothing about Hunter that marked him as a dandy or a fop. He was simply...polished.

She recalled that her brother, Whit, had once remarked in pa.s.sing that Hunter was a man who possessed an inordinate amount of self-control. Perhaps that was what drove him to keep his appearance so well ordered-a desire to be, and look to be, in absolute control.

A simple enough appearance for one to obtain-provided it was someone other than herself-when one did nothing more than go from breakfast room, to library, to parlor. Clearly, the man was not about searching the house or questioning the staff. He didn't look to be about anything at all, not even counting the floorboards. Her curiosity got the better of her. She pushed away from the desk and rose from her chair.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter," she chimed loudly for the benefit of several ladies gathered at the far side of the room. "Can I interest you in another game of chess before tea?"

He waited for her to reach him before giving her a wan smile and a simple, "No, thank you."

She opened her mouth to respond to that, then changed her mind when she noted he was still sitting. She gave him an inquisitive look. "Are you aware that it's rude of you to still be seated while I'm standing?"

"It won't be when you sit down."

Apparently, he was aware. As the question had been mostly an academic one, she shrugged, unoffended, and took her seat. "Why won't you play chess?"

"I don't think my pride could take it."

She fought back a smile. "Yes. That's understandable."

A corner of his mouth hooked up. "Evie told me that the two of you are the most evenly matched players at Haldon."

"We are."

He closed his book. "You bested me in nine moves."

"Eight," she corrected. "You shouldn't have brought your queen out so early."

"Eight," he conceded. "My point is, she wasn't able to do the same."

"Yes, well, the most most evenly matched, and evenly matched evenly matched, and evenly matched in truth in truth, aren't the same thing, are they?"

"Clearly not." He set his book aside. "Did you come all the way over here to discuss chess?"

"It was less than twenty feet. But no, I did not." She glanced warily at the other guests before lowering her voice even further. "Isn't there something you should be doing?"

"I'm speaking with you."

She rolled her eyes. "I meant in regards to the investigation."

"Perhaps I'm doing both, as you are. You're watching the staff and talking to me at the same time, aren't you?"

She could barely walk and breathe at the same time. She gave him a sheepish smile. "No, to be honest, I'm not. With very few exceptions, I'm rarely at my best when trying to perform simultaneous tasks."

"You played chess and spoke last night."

"As I said, there are a few exceptions." She looked down to the ink stain on her gown. "You may count yourself fortunate that I didn't upend the table midway through the game."

"Wouldn't have bothered me in the least. I find your lack of coordination to be one of the most charming things about you."

She looked up and laughed. "Oh, you do not."

"I do, in fact."

"I..." Good heavens, he was serious. She couldn't fathom why he should be. Gentlemen often liked her despite despite her clumsiness, not because of it. She shook her head at him, baffled. "Why?" her clumsiness, not because of it. She shook her head at him, baffled. "Why?"

"Because you've been gifted with extraordinary beauty, wealth, position, and talent. If it weren't for your ungainliness, you'd be insufferable." He smiled at her. "Everyone should have at least one flaw."

"I..." She had difficulty responding to that, which really ought to have kept her from responding at all. "I have loads loads of flaws." of flaws."

The inability to recognize when I ought to keep my mouth firmly shut, for instance.

"Is that so?" He tilted his head at her a little. "Care to share what they might be?"

"Um..."

"Oh, Mr. Hunter!"

For the first, and what Kate was certain would prove to be the only, time in her life, she was happy to see Miss Willory enter a room. Even if Miss Willory was wearing a peach gown with a neckline cut almost, but not quite, low enough to be considered vulgar. Kate strongly felt it to be a case of revealing more than the view warranted.

Miss Willory reached them and sighed heavily. "I vow, I have been looking for you everywhere. That is..." She t.i.ttered, then blushed. The latter was something Kate knew the woman could do entirely at will. Which was, in her estimation, a perfectly stupid talent. "Well not everywhere. everywhere. That would be silly of me, wouldn't it? I would never...Goodness, I'm making a terrible ninny of myself." That would be silly of me, wouldn't it? I would never...Goodness, I'm making a terrible ninny of myself."

Hunter waited for the wave of t.i.ttering to pa.s.s before asking, "Is there something I can a.s.sist you with, Miss Willory?"

"Oh, yes, please." She blushed again. "There is a book I should like in the library, but I'm afraid I simply cannot reach it. I thought, perhaps, as the tallest gentleman in residence, I might trouble you to reach it for me."

Kate blinked at her. "Isn't there a stepladder?"

Miss Willory barely spared her a glance. "It's broken. Mr. Hunter-"

"Odd," Kate remarked. "It was intact when I used it."

"You used it recently? Well then, that would explain..." She cleared her throat delicately. "I'm sure I've no idea how it might have come to be broken." used it recently? Well then, that would explain..." She cleared her throat delicately. "I'm sure I've no idea how it might have come to be broken."

Kate swallowed down a retort. Arguing that she'd had nothing to do with whatever had happened to the stepladder would likely only give her a headache. When it came to Miss Willory, the best course of action was to get rid of the girl as quickly as possible, not drag the conversation out. "Would you like me to ask one of the footmen to a.s.sist-?"

"Oh, no, Lady Kate. I'm sure it would be best for all if you kept your seat."

Inevitable headache or not, Kate would have responded to that if Hunter hadn't spoken first.

"Show me the book, Miss Willory," he said coolly, rising from his seat.

"Oh, you are too kind," Miss Willory simpered.

"You really are," Kate muttered, but neither seemed to hear.

Kate didn't glower at Miss Willory's back as she left the room with Hunter, but only because there were others in the parlor who might see. Perhaps, that that was why Miss Willory had come to Pallton House, she thought. Not for Mr. Potsbottom or Lord Comrie, or even Lord Martin, but for Hunter. Unable to hold back any longer, Kate looked down at her ink stain once more and glowered at it. She should have guessed earlier, she fumed. She should have realized it might be Hunter Miss Willory was after. True, he hadn't a t.i.tle-it was possible he hadn't even a traceable lineage-but he did have the fortune to buy half of England. And wouldn't Miss Mary Jane Willory just was why Miss Willory had come to Pallton House, she thought. Not for Mr. Potsbottom or Lord Comrie, or even Lord Martin, but for Hunter. Unable to hold back any longer, Kate looked down at her ink stain once more and glowered at it. She should have guessed earlier, she fumed. She should have realized it might be Hunter Miss Willory was after. True, he hadn't a t.i.tle-it was possible he hadn't even a traceable lineage-but he did have the fortune to buy half of England. And wouldn't Miss Mary Jane Willory just adore adore owning half of England? owning half of England?

Irritated, and unaccountably nervous, she stood to pull a small nearby table between their chairs, and fetch the chessboard.

Ten minutes later-which was five minutes longer than Kate felt was necessary-Hunter returned from his task and eyed the table dubiously. "Didn't I mention I'd rather not play chess?"

"I can't sit here talking to you while you read a book," she informed him. And she had every intention of talking to him, just not on the topic she'd originally planned. "But if your vanity is so easily bruised that you tremble in fear at the mere thought thought of-" of-"

"I'll play."

"Excellent." She pushed a p.a.w.n forward and strove for a casual tone. "Did you retrieve Miss Willory's book?"

"That is why I went," he reminded her, taking his seat.

"You were gone an awfully long time for just one book," she commented as he studied the board. "Did you run into difficulty?"

"Miss Willory had a spot of trouble remembering where the book was located."

"It's a library," she drawled. "They're arranged by author and subject according to-"

"She had a spot of trouble remembering who wrote it as well."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Of course she did."

He looked up at her with brows raised. "Beg your pardon?"

"You are are aware she's attempting to flirt with you?" She flatly refused to give Miss Willory the accolade of having accomplished the deed. aware she's attempting to flirt with you?" She flatly refused to give Miss Willory the accolade of having accomplished the deed.

"I've eyes in my head," he replied by way of answer.