James moved away from the snifter and toward Holliswell, deliberately failing to extend an invitation to drink. “You will be relieved as well to learn that your cousin the countess of Dunscore has also returned,” he said, and fixed his eyes on the hard lines of Holliswell’s face. “As it happens, it was she who pulled my half-drowned corpse from the sea. It’s no understatement to say I owe her my life.”
Holliswell’s expression barely flickered. “What happy news. A miracle, no less.”
James set his glass on the desk and looked Holliswell in the eye. “You will not return to Lady Dunscore’s house tonight.” In fact, he would send a footman to follow them and make sure. “Tomorrow, you will send your people to collect your things. And in the future, you will remember that you are not the Earl of Dunscore, and you will act accordingly.”
Holliswell smiled pleasantly. “Given Lady Dunscore’s lengthy absence, I never expected she would return, nor did I expect she would care about the house. Naturally, my daughter and I will find other accommodations until everything has been settled.”
“Naturally,” James said coldly.
Holliswell turned to Nick. “You’ll understand, of course, if my daughter and I take our leave early. You...didn’t have anything you wished to discuss, did you?”
Nick’s jaw flexed. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”
“No doubt we will.” Holliswell smiled. “No doubt at all.”
* * *
THE MANTEL CLOCK in the yellow guest apartment made a tiny chime as Katherine scratched out a list for tomorrow. Half past eleven, and still no word from Captain Warre.
Mrs. Hibbard quietly slipped in with a tray. “I brought you a fresh pot,” she whispered, and replaced the tea service on the cart next to the writing desk. Katherine leaned forward to look through the door into the bedroom. Anne stirred a little in the big bed, not quite settled after being moved from the blue rooms.
“And I brought a few slices of Cook’s raisin bread. And some butter.” Mrs. Hibbard poured Katherine a fresh, steaming cup of tea and stood there with the teapot cradled in her hands, staring at Katherine through brown eyes filled with emotion. “It’s such a joy to have you home, Lady Katherine.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hibbard.” But this was not home, and she was Captain Kinloch, not Lady Katherine anymore, and if she ate anything now, she would probably throw it back up. “Please go to bed—there’s no need to trouble yourself further.”
Mrs. Hibbard frowned, and her plump fingers tightened on the teapot. “I intend to stay at your service as long as you need.”
“I’ll be retiring shortly.”
The old housekeeper looked a little distressed. “I’ll order the blue rooms cleaned top to bottom tomorrow, Lady Katherine. I assure you, they’ll be fit and proper before you’re up and about, and your things will be moved first thing in the morning.” She glanced at Katherine’s outfit. “You’ll need a lady’s maid—”
“No. I won’t. That will be all.”
Mrs. Hibbard stepped back. Damnation—this was not a ship, and Mrs. Hibbard was not one of her crew. Katherine softened her tone. “My apologies. I shall occupy these rooms while I’m here. Anne shall take the pink rooms as soon as they are free.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Hibbard bobbed an awkward curtsy. “Everything as you wish.” She set the teapot on the tray and folded her hands in front of her. “If you need anything in the night, just ring.”
When she was gone, Katherine inhaled deeply. Exhaled. She did not want to feel sixteen again. Being in London did not mean she had to fall helplessly back into her old life—as if that would even be possible. She’d seen too much of the world since then.
She reached for her tea and took a sip. The aroma was a physical assault from the past—black tea, not the mint she favored now. Turning back to her list, she stared at what she’d already written. Bed. Fireplace screen. Window latch. It was unlikely Anne’s small fingers could budge it, but better safe than sorry.
She dipped her pen. Small metal pitcher and bowl. Something that wouldn’t break if dropped. And— Good God. Staircase. Someone would need to stay with Anne at all times, and they would need the same rule about Anne leaving her rooms as they’d had about her going on deck alone.
Furiously she added to the list, keeping her attention squarely on the task at hand, but still old emotions slowly strangled her.
When you are countess of Dunscore, Katie, the sun will shine on this gloomy manse all the year round. Come—I’ve learned a new trick at cards to show you. It will take our minds off this dreadful weather.
Her hand stilled, and she looked up. The weather at Dunscore was fairer than London, but once Father had met Lady White they hardly left London at all.
As soon as possible, she would take Anne to Dunscore. Anne would like it there. She would be able to hear the waves and smell the surf. She would be able to run her hands across old, craggy walls, and—with help—explore the gardens.
A light knock sounded at the door, and Dodd came in with a note on a silver tray. “This just arrived, your ladyship.”
Finally. Katherine shot to her feet and snatched the note off the tray, tearing it open.
Holliswell will not disturb you tonight. All is not resolved—need more time.
JW
Her lungs and throat constricted. “Thank you, Mr. Dodd,” she managed. “That will be all for tonight.”
Dodd bowed and left, and Katherine stared at Captain Warre’s tight, neat writing. Clearly a few words with his brother and Holliswell had not been enough. The note trembled in her fingers. What if nothing he did was enough?
She shoved the thought away, but still she sank back in her chair, blinking back tears. Damn Holliswell, and damn Nicholas Warre. They had no right. No right.
She crushed the note in her fist.
All the Lords would see was a shockingly wayward woman who had spurned her father and taken to the sea. They would not understand about captivity, about the finality of fate. About Mejdan’s sudden death and what life might have been like if Riuza had not helped her escape the household, or how few choices were available to a slave with a child in her belly. They would not understand about the power of the sea and how powerless she would have been if she had simply come home. None of them had ever tasted true powerlessness. Not one.
She tasted it now, even more bitter and pungent than she remembered.
Slowly she unfolded the note and read it once more. “JW.” The scrawled initials taunted her with their informality. Not Captain, not Lord Croston. Just JW. James Warre.
The memory of his kiss scorched across her lips and through her belly.
She forced it away. He was not JW to her. And if he did not find a way to resolve everything very shortly, she would begin taking advantage of her role as his rescuer and dare him to object.
“I DON’T CARE where you put them,” she told Dodd the next morning, surveying the gilt-and-floral tangle piling up in the entrance hall. “Just so long as they’re loaded into the cart within the hour and returned to the seller.”
“Of course, your ladyship.” He cast an uncertain eye over her outfit as two servants carried yet another flamboyant chair from the sitting room into the entry.
She cocked her head and looked him in the eye, satisfied when