it. Instead he leaned down and brushed a light kiss on her cheek. She stood like a statue. He lifted his head and looked at her in growing despair.
“Good luck,” was all she said, her expression unchanged.
He managed to nod before turning and striding back to his horse. Damn it. Damn Nollworth and his spectacularly bad timing. Damn Howe for bruising Kate’s spirit so badly she wouldn’t just have a blazing fit of temper and throw a pitcher at his head. Damn him for not once anticipating, even in the midst of the most glorious tupping imaginable, that his wife might fall even a little bit in love with him. “Let’s be done with this,” he muttered to Carter as he swung into the saddle and kicked the horse onward.
Chapter 23
Nollworth hadn’t lied; he kept everything, not just of Ogilvie’s. What he called his storeroom was really an old stable with sagging walls, filled almost to the rafters with old trunks and crates, broken furniture, rusty farm tools, and piles of other items that looked like pure rubbish. “His things’ll be in there,” said the old man, dragging aside a large piece of canvas covering some of the mess. “All of them.”
“Where are the books?” Gerard coughed, waving aside the dust and straw bits stirred up.
“In there.”
“Where? In the trunks?” Carter glanced at Gerard, who knew what he meant. It would take days to unpack them, let alone look through any books to determine if they were helpful at all. “All these trunks are filled with books?”
“Not all.” Nollworth swabbed his face with a dirty handkerchief. “Some, though.”
An angry screeching from outside sliced through the room. “Mr. Nollworth, what are you about? You, sirrah, are at your last prayers! I’ll have an answer this time—you’ll not be taking off for Bath for two days again and leaving the chores to me without so much as a by-your-leave—”
Nollworth could move with surprising speed when he wished. He was in the doorway in a flash. “Quiet, woman,” he barked. “This is my business!”
“Those are my father’s things!” the woman’s voice raged, coming closer. “What are you plotting? If you think to sell them for scrap, I’ve a mind to—”
“Hush,” ordered Nollworth. He flung wide the door, kicking up a fresh cloud of dust. “Hush, Mrs. Nollworth. We’ve guests.” He flourished one arm toward Gerard and Carter. “See? Gentlemen, my wife, Mrs. Nollworth. My dear, this is Lord Captain de Lacey and Lieutenant Carter.”
Mrs. Nollworth’s mouth had dropped open at the sight of them. She was a stout, sturdy woman with a florid face and arms like a butcher’s. She was clutching a large wooden ladle in a menacing manner but quickly hid it behind her back when she saw them. “Sirs,” she said, dipping into an off-balance curtsey. “Er . . . Welcome to our home.”
Carter’s eyes drifted upward, over the rough shed. A chicken strutted through the open door and darted into the pile of cast-off furniture, clucking loudly. Gerard cleared his throat. “Thank you, madam. I hope we’re not intruding.”
She looked torn between the desire to maintain appearances and the urge to ask who the devil they were and why they were in her shed. “No,” she said, looking to her husband for a moment. “Of course not.”
“We’ll leave you to it,” said Nollworth quickly. “Come, Mrs. Nollworth.”
“What—you’re giving away Father’s things?” protested his wife, resisting his efforts to push her out the door. “What’s this about, Mr. Nollworth?”
“They just want to have a look,” he said. “Come along with me, I’ll explain . . .”
“Your father may have had some connection to my family many years ago,” said Gerard. As much as he was enjoying the sight of Nollworth getting bullied, he had to look in those crates. “Your husband has agreed to allow me to look through his books.”
“But you’ll not be taking anything?” Mrs. Nollworth had her ladle up again and gave her husband a furious glance when he tried to urge her out the door.
Gerard gave her his most charming smile. “I wouldn’t dream of doing so without your permission.” So much for his hope of buying everything and carting it back to Bath to examine in more comfortable surroundings. “But if I should find something relevant to my family, I would very much like to take it back to show my brothers, who are just as curious as I. We would be suitably grateful, naturally.”
Mrs. Nollworth’s grip on her ladle eased. Her eyes went to