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  “Brute, is he?” her uncle growled. At his nod, the footmen surged forward to grab Quentin. Kitty opened her mouth to protest, but Eugenia reached out and pinched her arm. Those emerald eyes promised retribution if Kitty should so much as speak a word. And once more Kitty was stunned.

  But not silent.

  “Uncle, stop!” she cried, pushing forward.

  They paid her no heed. The footmen forced Quentin to his knees, stripped off his coat, and pinned his arms to his sides while he glared at Kitty’s uncle.

  Uncle was in no way intimidated. “I’ll teach him to mind his manners,” he threatened. “Taughton, my riding crop.”

  Kitty closed her eyes now against the memory. While Eugenia had held Kitty in place as if determined to make her watch, Quentin Adair had said nothing while Uncle struck his back and shoulders, again and again, until the lawn was striped by red. And when it was over, the footmen had dragged Quentin home while Uncle ordered his father to take him somewhere Eugenia and her family might never lay eyes on him again.

  And Kitty had been too young and heartbroken to know how to intervene. As it was, when her parents suggested she could go back to London with Eugenia next Season, she had refused. And then fate had taken the matter from her hands.

  Now Quentin shrugged a pair of shoulders that seemed to have grown even broader over the years. “You needn’t apologize. You did me a favor.”

  Kitty stared at him. “A favor? Because of me, you were whipped and exiled to . . . to . . .”

  “Jamaica,” he put in helpfully. “Yes. And I can tell you there were many days I cursed you, your cousin, and your entire family. But toiling under the hot sun taught me to stand on my own feet, and I made a success of my family’s sugar plantation. I am convinced none of that would have happened had I continued with the life of gambling and romancing I’d led in England. I doubt even marrying the once-fair Eugenia would have changed me. No, because of that dark day, I am a better man.”

  She wanted to believe him. How wonderful that something good should come from such pain. But finding him here, now, made no sense.

  “And you have truly returned merely to see your father?” she asked.

  He nodded, boot scraping at the steps. “He is unwell, but the doctor says he should recover.”

  She was glad to hear that. His father was a quiet, unassuming man who had always seemed a little in awe that he had lent a hand in birthing so magnificent a fellow as Quentin. Uncle was forever badgering him to sell his property so the grange estate could expand. She admired anyone who would stand up to Sir Thomas.

  “I should leave you to your walk,” she said. “Welcome home, Adair.”

  She turned, then hesitated, surprised to see that Lucy and the footman had nearly reached the grange. Another moment, and Kitty would be the one who needed a chaperone.

  “Kitty.”

  Her name stopped her movement, and she glanced back at him. His eyes were narrowed, as if he studied her.

  “I’d like to speak to you further,” he said. “Would you have time to slip away in the morning, meet me here?”

  Slip away to the folly to meet Quentin Adair? How romantic!

  How ridiculous.

  “Sir Thomas is hosting a house party,” she explained. “I have responsibilities.”

  He cocked his head so that a lock of that exquisite hair caressed his forehead. “Please?”

  “Do you do that on purpose?” she demanded. “Perhaps practice in front of the mirror?”

  He straightened. “What?”

  He probably couldn’t help being so impossibly perfect. “Never mind. Suffice it to say neither of us will be well served by meeting like this. I must refuse.”

  “Of course.” He inclined his head but not before she saw something spark in those dark eyes. “Never let it be said that a Chapworth would consort with an Adair.”

  Kitty stiffened. “Oh, consorting. Is that what you had in mind? And here I thought it was merely a simple conversation. Had I known we would be consorting I would surely have given you another answer. Perhaps the cut direct?”

  He chuckled, and the sound eased the ache inside her. “Forgive me. I simply thought because of our past association . . .”

  She should be more solicitous of his wishes. She felt as if she owed him, though she had been unaware of Eugenia’s jealousy until the end. No matter his claim that she had done him a favor, justice had been denied. What was one conversation against that? Perhaps she could break away for a short time.

  With Lucy and a footman or two in tow.

  “Very well,” she allowed. “I will endeavor to be here at nine tomorrow morning. You will have to be satisfied with that.”

  Satisfied, she said. Quentin shook his head as he started back toward Rose Cottage, his family’s estate. Since that day when Eugenia had turned on him, the only thing that had satisfied him was the success of the plantation in Jamaica. Now that was in jeopardy, and all because of Kitty’s uncle.

  The moon turned the stone blocks of the two-story house silver as he approached. Surrounded by roses, his ancestral home could only be called a cottage compared to Mallery Manor on the north and Chapworth Grange on the south. Still, no matter how lovely the sight, he found himself missing the brilliant sun, the balmy breezes of the island.

  If only he could convince his father to leave England and join him.

  In deference to the old man, he slipped in through the terrace doors, knowing the Aubusson carpet would swallow the sound of his footsteps. Still, he hadn’t even crossed the withdrawing room before a flint was struck, illuminating the face of the man sitting in the armchair by the empty grate.

  “Still keeping your own counsel, I see,” his father mused.

  His voice was more sad than condemning, as if he had somehow failed in his duty to raise Quentin properly. Quentin took a seat in the wingback chair opposite his father’s.

  Alastair Adair had always been a slight fellow, sure of nothing save his love for the son his dear wife had died birthing late in their marriage. Now his hair was nearly white, his slender frame beginning to bend. Years of worrying about Quentin had taken its toll.

  “I am done with midnight assignations,” he assured his father. “I merely wanted one last look at the grange before retiring.”

  “Ah.” His father smiled as he turned to light the lamp beside him, brightening their corner of the simple withdrawing room. “No more secret trysts with lovely ladies?”

  Kitty came immediately to mind, though their meeting could hardly be called a tryst. Of all the young ladies he’d met over the years, she was the most memorable, and not because she’d been the one to bring her uncle’s wrath down upon him. No, Katherine Chapworth had been different.

  Oh, she’d had the same wide-eyed excitement about her Season as any young lady making her debut. But where they flitted and fluttered from one beau and ball to the next, Katherine had been calmer, deliberate. It was as if she considered the worth of each person she met, then either cherished or dismissed them, depending on the goodness of their character. Her head might have been in the clouds, but her feet had been solidly planted on the ground. Small wonder Sir Thomas had asked her to chaperone one of his girls.

  A shame Quentin had not understood her worth then. Eugenia had played him well, determined as she was to show up her cousin and keep her undisputed place as reigning belle. Still, he could not lay all the blame on her. He’d been the one to flit from one lady to another. She’d merely taken advantage of a nature he had now outgrown. He was glad that when he had encountered one of the denizens of the grange, it had been Kitty.

  “She must be special to put that smile on your face,” his father commented.

  Quentin leaned back. “Kitty Chapworth was at the folly, foiling an elopement.”

  “Miss Lucy’s,” his father said with a nod. “Chapworth’s youngest seems to have attracted quite a following, much like her older sister.”

  But without the calculation. Lucy Chapwo
rth seemed to have been sincerely attached to her swain, so much so that she’d needed Kitty’s sharper eye to see the fortune hunter within.

  “It would do my heart good to see you settled, Quentin,” his father said. Now his voice sounded weaker, and he added a cough for good measure.

  “You fool no one,” Quentin told him. “You are not dying, Father.”

  “Yet,” his father predicted, hitching his crimson dressing gown closer.

  “Not for some time, if I have anything to say in the matter.”

  His father sighed. “Sir Winston and Sir Thomas think otherwise. In the last fortnight, they have both renewed their offers to buy Rose Cottage.”

  “Sir Winston will understand when you refuse,” Quentin answered. “And as for Sir Thomas, I believe I have found a way to circumvent his plans to ruin us.”

  His father leaned forward, eyes dark in his pale face. “Be careful, son. You know what happened last time Sir Thomas considered you a threat.”

  “I will never forget,” Quentin replied. “But this time, I will get the better of him, Father. I promise you that.” And it might just be that Kitty Chapworth could help.

  Chapter Three

  Of course, slipping away the next morning to meet Quentin was not as easy as Kitty had hoped. Lucy, having lost her current love, slept late in consolation. And Kitty was needed to mediate ever so many squabbles.

  Somehow, over the last ten years, she had slipped into the role of chatelaine to her uncle—directing staff, ordering his schedule, managing his correspondence—all while chaperoning her cousins. She was rarely thanked for her efforts. Indeed, most of the family assumed it her duty. That morning, she had to confirm the meal plans for the next two days, see about switching Mr. Cadberry to another room because he claimed the northern exposure left him bilious, and send to the village for more chocolate because Miss Gaffney could not start the morning without at least three cups of the melted sweet. So, it was shortly after nine before she could return to the folly, and then only with Bollers as company.

  The youngest and least experienced of her uncle’s footmen, the newly hired Bollers tended to act before thinking. That was all right with Kitty. She preferred to do the thinking herself.

  Quentin was waiting at the folly, prowling back and forth among the columns like a leopard in a cage. His black coat and buff pantaloons only added to the illusion.

  “Forgive me for being late,” Kitty said, lifting her gray lutestring skirts to climb to his side. “Duty.”

  He eyed the footman, who took up residence at the foot of the stairs as if prepared to defend the folly from all comers. “And I see you brought reinforcements.”

  “Only to preserve propriety,” Kitty assured him.

  He lifted a dark brow. “I thought you were serving as matron chaperone to your cousin—Lucinda, if memory serves.”

  Kitty nodded. “She is the youngest of Eugenia’s sisters. She was only a child in the nursery when you left. But I am hardly a matron. I never married.”

  She thought he might comment on the justice of that—the woman who had denied him marriage to his true love was denied it as well. But he merely smiled.

  “Ah, that explains things. I had a suspicion that the intelligence of English gentlemen had plummeted since I left.”

  He was being kind. She knew her worth on the marriage mart. “They were intelligent enough to know an impoverished orphan would not suit.”

  “Orphan?” The teasing tone left his deep voice. “Your parents passed on?”

  She could only nod. “Shortly after you left. Carriage accident. I was an invalid for months, one leg terribly twisted. What funds they left me went to pay for doctors and treatments. Even now, my leg aches when it is cold. I was fortunate Uncle gave me a place.”

  “A place, or a position as a servant?”

  Was that anger she heard now? She chanced a glance up at him. He was frowning, but she couldn’t be sure of the reason.

  “I have a home and a role in the family,” she told him. “If it seems at times I have ceased to be visible, I find I cannot mind. Indeed, in light of Sir Thomas’s temper, some might consider being a nonentity a blessing.”

  His frown only deepened. “And have you no thought you might be meant for more?”

  Her temper flared. “Easily said, sir, when you have freedom, funds to travel, a father awaiting your return. As it is, Sir Thomas has determined that when Lucy weds, I shall be sent to live with an elderly cousin who resides in Dartmoor. No more Society, no more helping young ladies avoid despicable cads—just gentle snores and bleating sheep.” Oh, but she would say something vile next. She clamped her mouth shut to prevent the bitter words from spilling out.

  He offered her a commiserating smile. “Perhaps she will leave you a fortune.”

  “As she too lives on Sir Thomas’s mercy, doubtful. No, he is congratulating himself on saving the cost of a nurse, you may be sure of it. I replied to some ads for governesses and companions in The Times, but no one has responded.”

  From the grange came the sound of laughter. Kitty glanced out of the folly to see that some of the gentlemen staying for the house party had ventured out onto the lawn. Very likely they were preparing for the bowling she had arranged for later that morning. But she could not chance that one might stroll close enough to see Quentin.

  “You should go,” she said. “My uncle tenderly nurses his grudges. I couldn’t bear it if you were whipped again on my account.”

  “If you are invisible, what danger can there be?” he asked.

  Oh, that smile would be her undoing. He still wielded it as deftly as a sword.

  “You never know,” she threatened. “My uncle might surprise us both and insist that we wed to protect my reputation.”

  He started. “Kitty, you’re brilliant!”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “So go, while you can.”

  “No, no.” He reached for her hand and held it against the wool of his coat. “Don’t you see? It would serve them all right if you agreed to marry me.”

  Even in the shadows of the folly, Quentin could see that Kitty was staring at him. “Marry you? You’re mad!”

  Perhaps. He’d been told that often enough over the years. But this time he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Think about it,” he urged. “You say your uncle intends to remove you from Society, that the others no longer see you. Engage yourself to me, and I guarantee they will wake up and take notice.”

  “But not in a way I would like,” she protested. “Uncle may well call for his crop again.”

  “He called for his crop because Eugenia claimed I had attempted to harm her. It will be a different matter when your uncle sees how devoted we are. And your good opinion of me could sway him to see me in a more favorable light.”

  She was shaking her head so violently he knew he had blundered. He cocked his head. “Unless you think it would upset Eugenia.”

  She waved her free hand. “Eugenia is married and living in the north of England with her baronet husband and nine children.”

  “Nine!” Whatever he’d imagined for his perfidious former love, it was hardly that.

  “And she still managed to keep her face and figure,” Kitty said with a sigh. “There is no justice.”

  “Rarely,” he agreed. “But we have a chance to make our own. Your uncle has not been the best neighbor to my father. I’m sure the animosity stems from that day with Eugenia. It troubles my father deeply. A friendship between our houses would surely ease his mind.”

  She regarded him, auburn brows tight. He kept his look eager, compassionate. She had no need to know that something more drove his suggestion.

  “Being engaged to you, I will be able to join the house party,” he pressed. “In such proximity, I can win your uncle’s favor, and I’ll help them see the vibrant woman they’re overlooking. Or do you wish to die an unlamented spinster?”

  She raised her chin. “I wish to die an old lady with no regrets of wasting
my life. And I was on the way to achieving that. I have been fruitful, sir, since you left. Every lady in my family has married well and married for love.”

  Except her. She seemed to have convinced herself her infirmity and lack of funds would prevent her from making a match. Or perhaps her uncle and his not-so-charming daughters had drummed that opinion into her. Eugenia was likely as determined as her father to hold a grudge.

  “As you said,” he murmured, “there is no justice. Help me make it just for us both, Kitty, at least for a little while. Think of how much fun it would be to be part of Society again instead of living in the shadows.”

  She made a face as she pulled back her hand. “You may think your words honeyed, sir, but I can see through the treacle to the hard truth within.”

  He stilled. Kitty Chapworth had always seemed quiet, but the first time he’d looked into those wide brown eyes, he’d known she had depths few appreciated. Had that clever mind seen through him now?

  “And what truth is that?” he asked as if the answer meant little to him.

  “Do you think nothing of my reputation?” she challenged.

  Her reputation. Of course. The chaperone would consider that above all else.

  “Jilt me as it pleases you,” he told her. “That is the lady’s prerogative, after all. Who knows? Perhaps another man will step in to take my place.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “And what if I hold you to your word?”

  He grimaced. “There’s always Jamaica.”

  She dropped her hands and stepped back. “Rogue. You know how to tempt, I can see that. Can you imagine the look on Uncle’s face if I introduced you as my betrothed?” Her laugh was bright and pure, like sunlight piercing the clouds.

  Quentin smiled. “Then you’ll do it?”

  “I don’t know.” Her fingers twisted around each other as if they were as tangled as her thoughts. “You’d have to be convincing. Very convincing. Can you truly make them think you love me, of all people?”