She took an unconscious step back from the edge. “You’ll have no argument from me.”
Mirabelle nodded and looked up the coastline. “It’s tempting to go a bit farther, but I suppose we should return before Whit comes looking for us. We’ve been snooping for the better part of the day.”
“Exploring,” Kate countered automatically and glanced back in the general direction of the house. “I’m rather surprised he hasn’t come looking for us all ready.”
Mirabelle shrugged and took Kate’s arm to lead her away from the bluff. “He had business to attend to with Lord Brentworth. It must have taken longer than expected, or he would have come by now.”
Kate glanced at her friend. “Are you going to tell him how we spent the day?”
Whether or not Whit was aware of the investigation, he’d be less than pleased with the news that she and Mirabelle had spent part of the day trying to open locked doors.
Mirabelle shrugged. “Only if he asks.”
“Of course he’ll ask.” Hadn’t they just been discussing how long they’d been gone?
“Allow me to rephrase that. Only if it becomes necessary that I answer him.”
“Why wouldn’t it be necessary—?”
Mirabelle smiled coyly. “He’s easily distracted.”
“How…” Kate made a face. “Never mind, I don’t wish to know.”
She might have—in fact, she would have demanded to know, in explicit detail, how one went about distracting a man—but not when that man was her brother. “I’ll tell Mother you’ll not be joining us for tea.”
Twelve
Hunter considered himself a patient man—a very patient man, in fact, taking into account the very determined, very methodical way he’d built his fortune over the years—but twelve hours in the company of Lord Martin and his two obnoxious friends, Mr. Woodruff and Mr. Kepford, was enough to try even the patience of a saint. And he was no more saint than prince.
He took the side steps to Pallton House two at a time, eager to put some distance between himself and the drunken lot of idiots trailing behind him from the stables.
No wonder Whit had found the idea of trading missions for the day so damn amusing. Lord Martin wasn’t merely irritating, he was an endurance, a trial, a plague among men. Very well, that last may have been overstating things a bit, but after twelve bloody hours of following the man about as he shopped for fripperies, drank to excess, and talked incessantly without saying anything of value, Hunter felt he was entitled to a little exaggeration.
To make the day even more aggravating, he’d learned nothing more substantial than that Lord Martin knew how to get his hands on some very fine brandy. Even after he’d made certain to get the man well and truly foxed, Lord Martin hadn’t let anything else slip. How the hell did a man that stupid, that enamored with talking about himself, and that drunk, find the fortitude to keep a secret?
“Hunder!” One of Lord Martin’s friends called out from behind him. “Hunder, good man! Where are you—?”
“To the library for more drink!” he shouted over his shoulder.
He entered the house, closed the door behind him, and turned his steps away from the library. No doubt Lord Martin and his friends would reach that room, wonder a moment where he’d gone off to, and then promptly forget him as they poured another round of drinks.
Hunter wanted to forget them just as quickly. It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, but he was officially declaring the day over. Lord Martin and his pack of giggling friends were once again Whit’s responsibility, and he meant to inform Whit of that just as soon as he washed off the dust from the road. Probably, he should change his coat as well, as Whit was likely in the parlor with the rest of the guests. No doubt there wasn’t one among those guests who would think twice about a man looking a little disheveled after riding in from town…if that man happened to be one of their own. In his case, at least half of them would consider it evidence of his inherent inferiority and—
“Mr. Potsbottom, you will cease at once!”
The sound of Kate’s angry and slightly muffled voice coming from around a turn in the hall had him starting in surprise, then sprinting forward.
“Honestly, Mr. Potsbottom…what do you think…Enough!”
He turned the corner in time to see young Mr. Potsbottom attempting to wrap his arms around a struggling Kate, who was caught against the wall.
Hunter lunged forward, but before he could take more than two steps,