Chapter 8
Kiri managed to fall asleep after leaving Mackenzie’s room but her dreams were full of smugglers and threatening knives and intoxicating kisses. Not restful.
She woke to the shrieks of the young and energetic and guessed that the school playing fields were behind the manor. Though Kiri felt neither young nor energetic, she made herself get up to face the day. She discovered that a silent maid had entered, removed her skirt and cloak, and returned them brushed and wearable.
Impulsively Kiri picked up the cloak and buried her face against the heavy, dark folds. Mackenzie’s scent was in the fabric, triggering a vivid image of broad, powerful shoulders and his impish, multicolored eyes. After she’d stopped thinking of him as a possible threat, she’d loved being in his company. Fierce desire coupled with liking was a dangerously potent combination.
Yet he had been right that they had no future, damn him. She wasn’t about to take him as either lover or husband. It might be different if circumstances allowed a proper courtship, where they would have time to further their acquaintance. Instead, she must be grateful for his restraint.
With a sigh, Kiri laid the cloak down. If it were an expensive garment, she would return it. But it was a simple wool cloak such as might be owned by any working man, and rather worn to boot. Unless Mackenzie asked for the cloak back, she would keep it as a memento of their bright, passing moment.
The maid had also left a pitcher of water that was still warm. As Kiri was washing, a young maid peeked in the door, then entered when she saw that the guest had risen. “Now that you’re awake, miss, can I help you dress?”
“I can manage my clothes, but I’d be very grateful for some breakfast.”
“Down the stairs and to the left,” the girl said promptly. “I’ll tell Lady Agnes so she can meet you in the family dining room.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and was gone before Kiri could say that she didn’t want to interrupt her hostess’s work. Reminding herself that Lady Agnes was unlikely to do anything she didn’t want to do, Kiri finished dressing and headed downstairs.
She weighed her situation. The intriguing Damian Mackenzie was gone from her life, the Honorable Godfrey Hitchcock was not to be thought of, and she hadn’t a single marital prospect that interested her. But she was alive and well and breakfast awaited. She was more fortunate than not, so she should not be in such low spirits.
Her spirits began lifting as soon as she saw the covered dishes and steaming pot of tea waiting in the family dining room. Kiri served herself eggs, bacon, beans, toast, and an extra large serving of kedgeree. She’d made a good start on her meal when Lady Agnes joined her.
“How are you this morning, Lady Kiri?” The older woman smiled. “Apart from ravenous.”
Kiri rose politely. “Ravenous indeed. Mr. Mackenzie shared some bread and cheese with me, but this is the first proper meal I’ve had since yesterday morning.” She took her seat again at Lady Agnes’s gesture. “I’m very well, and grateful that nothing worse happened to me. I assume Mr. Mackenzie has already left for London?”
“He has.” Lady Agnes poured herself tea and took the chair opposite her guest. “My question wasn’t polite small talk, Lady Kiri. Being kidnapped by a gang of smugglers had to have been terrifying.” She took a thoughtful sip of tea. “When I was traveling in India, we were attacked by a band of dacoits. Several men were badly wounded and a guard was killed. It was a very . . . unsettling experience.” Lady Agnes smiled with wry self-mockery. “I was known as the Mad Fearless Englishwoman, but for some months after the attack, I was rather less fearless than my reputation.”
Kiri looked down at her plate, remembering her fear and her fury at her helplessness. “You’re right. It was . . . unsettling.” The sort of experience that forever changed one’s view of the world. “Terrifying, in fact.”
“Terror is a rational response to danger,” the headmistress said. “But if it gives you nightmares, don’t be afraid to ask for help. I’m never more than a letter away.”
“Thank you.” Kiri studied the other woman’s face, wondering how old she was. Not really that old. In her fifties, perhaps. “I see why your lost lordlings adore you.”
Lady Agnes laughed. “I adore them, too. Most have an odd kick in their gallop, but they’re good boys. They just need extra attention and acceptance.” Her voice became businesslike. “I gather your horse must be returned somewhere?”
“Grimes Hall.”
“I’ll see to it. My carriage is waiting to take you back to London. I’ll send a maid with you for propriety’s sake.”
“Thank you! I was expecting to travel back to London on a public coach,” Kiri said. “You’re very generous to an uninvited guest.”
“Any friend of Mackenzie’s is welcome here,” the older woman said.
“I’m not his friend,” Kiri said wryly. “I’m a damsel in distress who was lucky enough to be rescued by him.”
“Friendship grows swiftly in dramatic circumstances,” Lady Agnes observed.
Kiri wondered if that was a quiet warning not to become overattached to Damian Mackenzie. Lord, had Mackenzie told his old headmistress that Kiri had invaded his bedroom? Surely not. Better to talk about the horse. “After I say good-bye to Chieftain, I’ll be ready to leave. He’s a fine mount.”
“He’ll be home by the end of the day,” Lady Agnes promised as she stood and offered her hand. “I’m glad we’ve had a chance to become better acquainted, Lady Kiri. We’ll meet again in London, I’m sure.”
Since she had virtually nothing to pack except the pouch that held her jewelry, she walked out to the stables when she finished her breakfast. Chieftain looked content, if tired. He delicately lapped sugar from her palm when she offered a chunk, then nuzzled her shoulder in hopes of more.
As she stroked the horse’s glossy neck, she thought about her unexpected adventure. Running away from Grimes Hall might have been reckless, but it made sense given what she’d overheard. If she’d stayed, she might have broken someone’s neck. She had a history of being reckless, with the saving grace that she was as good at getting out of trouble as she was at getting into it.
But recklessness had dissolved into pure madness once Mackenzie kissed her. What had she been
thinking?
By the cold light of day, her behavior with Mackenzie had moved beyond reckless into mad folly.
She hadn’t been thinking at all, simply reveling in that bright, fierce passion. Consequences be damned, she’d cared only for the moment. If not for Mackenzie’s hard-won restraint, they would have become lovers. Which might have been wonderful, but the potential for disaster had been very, very high.
She gave Chieftain a last pat, then pivoted and headed out to where the coach waited in front of Westerfield Manor. Under normal circumstances, she and Mackenzie would never have met. The likelihood was that they’d never meet again.
But if they did meet—well, next time she would think through what consequences she was willing to face before she behaved like a damned fool.
Within half an hour, Kiri was on the road home in Lady Agnes’s plush carriage. The maid who accompanied her was a quiet older woman who worked on mending when the roads were smooth enough. Kiri spent much of the journey gazing out the carriage window at the vividly green landscape.
The events of the previous day seemed almost dreamlike. Lady Norland’s sneering words still stung, but not as much. Kiri guessed that the Hitchcock family would be more upset at losing a horse than a mixed-blood heiress.
She was lucky to be going home with no damage to her person or her reputation. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Mackenzie. If he wasn’t owner of a scandalous gambling club, perhaps courtship would be possible.
But given his business, any kind of involvement with him would risk not only her own reputation, but that of her family. Her younger half brother and sister, Thomas and Lucia Stillwell, were mixed blood, like her, and Lucia was close to marriageable age. Anything Kiri did would reflect on them, and on her mother.
Why could logic be so compelling, yet leave her feeling so empty?
By the time Mac arrived home in London, he was weary to the bone. He’d been unable to sleep after Kiri Lawford visited him, so he’d left Westerfield Manor at dawn. He wrote Lady Agnes a quick note thanking her for taking them in, saying he must return to London immediately and that he knew she would take good care of Lady Kiri. All true, if cowardly. He wondered if Kiri had slept any better than he.
Mac checked in with his manager, Jean-Claude Baptiste, to be sure no disaster had occurred at Damian’s during his absence. Baptiste laughed and sent him home, which was easy since Mac lived next door to the club.
He was making up for two-and-a-half days without sleep when stealthy footsteps jarred him out of blessed unconsciousness. Mac came awake with a dagger in his hand, his gaze scanning the room for possible threat. He relaxed back into his pillows. “Oh, it’s you, Kirkland. You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”
His old friend Kirkland said with mild indignation, “I sneak very well and didn’t think I’d wake you. But since I did, where is my most precious tobacco?”
Mac covered a yawn. By the light, it was nearing dusk and he’d have to be up soon anyhow. “Upper inside right pocket of my greatcoat.”
Kirkland found the coat where Mac had dropped it over a chair and located the fat pouch of French tobacco. He opened the packet and sifted through the fragrant dried leaves. After a minute, he said, “Eureka.”
He pulled a small tube the same brown as the tobacco from the pouch. A quick twist removed one end and he extracted a whisper-thin piece of paper. Kirkland scanned the precise, tiny lettering with a frown.
“Bad news?” Mac swung his legs from the bed, feeling like a rumpled mess.
“About as expected. I’ll read through this more carefully later.” Kirkland wrapped tube and paper in a handkerchief and tucked it away.
“Anything on Wyndham?” Mac always asked about their long-lost schoolmate, who’d been in France when the Peace of Amiens ended and hadn’t been heard of since.
Mac always asked, and Kirkland, as always, said, “No. Though my informant said he’d heard a rumor of a captive Englishman who might fit Wyndham’s description. More information is being sought.”
Mac refused to let himself feel hope. There had been other false trails over the years. “If one of these leads ever turns out to be real, what then?”
“We get him out,” Kirkland said flatly. “Rescue from France would be difficult, but it’s a challenge I’d take in a heartbeat.”
“You’d have plenty of help.” Mac crossed to his washstand and splashed water in his face to clear his head. Energetic and wickedly funny, Wyndham had been popular with the other Westerfield students. His disappearance ached even all these years later.
It would be easier if his fate was certain. Realistically, Mac knew Wyndham must be dead. The Peace of Amiens had ended abruptly and every Englishman in France between eighteen and sixty had been interned. Wyndham would have fought that, and probably resistance had cost him his life. Yet without confirmation of his death, hope never quite died.
“I trust your visit to the smugglers was uneventful?” Kirkland asked.
“Actually, no. They’d captured a young lady who had the bad luck to ride into one of their pack trains.” Mac felt his raspy chin and reached for his shaving kit. The owner of Damian’s must always look elegant and impeccably groomed. “The captive turned out to be Lady Kiri Lawford.”
“Good God!” Kirkland sat bolt upright. “Is she all right?”
“Lady Kiri is fine.” Mac lathered the shaving brush and smoothed the lather over his lower face. “She was well on her way to escaping on her own when I appeared on the scene. With modest help from me, she got away and I escorted her to Lady Agnes.”
Kirkland relaxed. “That’s good news. If Lady Agnes is involved, I assume the matter can be covered up. Kiri doesn’t need more social black marks against her name.”
“Does she have some now?” Mac asked, more interested than he should be. “I’d not met her before, so I have no idea how she’s regarded.”
“Duke’s daughter, good. Dowry, excellent. Hindu blood, regrettable,” Kirkland said succinctly. “The male half of society appreciates that she’s a beauty, while many women, especially mothers of girls who are also seeking husbands, think there’s something distinctly vulgar about being
quite
so beautiful.”
Mac laughed. “She doesn’t seem the sort to hide her light under a barrel.”
“She isn’t.” Kirkland filled his pipe with some of the newly smuggled French tobacco. “Not only is she as intelligent as she is lovely, but she’s more outgoing than Ashton. Though her manners are lovely and entirely British, she’s considered very forward in some circles.” He frowned. “I suspect there are also men who regard her as a dark-haired temptress who will welcome their attentions.”
Mac tugged four times at the bellpull, his signal for a pot of coffee and sandwiches, then opened his straight razor and set to work. “I assume she’s looking for a husband. Or has she found one already?”
“Not yet. It would help if she was as soft-spoken and self-effacing as her mother, but that’s not Lady Kiri.” Kirkland grinned. “Any man with half a brain in his head will realize that she is a high holy handful.”