quite well aware, the shipment shall arrive within a fortnight. Please do attempt a show of patience.
Hunter turned the note over in his hand. It was neither signed nor dated. Clearly, it had been hand delivered, but whether that delivery had occurred at the house party or prior to Lord Martin’s arrival was impossible to determine. What was clear, was that Lord Martin knew the sender well. The tone was chiding and that implied familiarity.
Hunter studied the note until he was confident he would recognize the handwriting if he saw it again, then tucked the note back into the drawer and made his way to Mr. Kepford’s chambers. He searched that room and Mr. Woodruff’s in under fifteen minutes and found nothing of interest. To his frustration, samples of both gentlemen’s handwriting failed to match the note addressed to Lord Martin. The second party remained an unknown. He hated unknowns. A man couldn’t strategize properly without knowing all the variables, all the players. As a thief, he’d studied his marks for weeks before making a move. As a businessman, he knew the personal and professional lives of each and every one of his competitors. As an agent, he was left studying cryptic, unsigned notes, penned by an unknown individual who may, or may not, be a threat to Kate.
He left Mr. Woodruff’s room with a scowl, and headed for the parlor. It had been easier being a thief.
Thirteen
Despite her distaste for moping, Kate spent the next morning in her room doing mostly that. She would have much preferred to have spent her time doing something a little less disheartening, or at least a little more imaginative, like devising ways to make Hunter pay for his high-handedness, but she just couldn’t drum up an interest in it.
Most of her anger had burned away the night before—after she’d stormed down the halls, painfully aware that Hunter was following her at a distance, and gone to her room to pace, fume, and kick at her bed a few times. When the latter had prompted Lizzy to hesitantly knock on the connecting door between their rooms, Kate had claimed clumsiness and pretended as if nothing was amiss. She’d allowed Lizzy to help her change her gown for a night rail, and then she’d gone to bed.
Though her sleep had been restless, what was left of her anger had melted away during the night, and now at midday she felt only weary, heartsick, and a strong desire to avoid Hunter for as long as possible. She also felt rather guilty for having told Lizzy and Mirabelle she wanted to spend the day composing. Guilty enough, in fact, that she’d been trying for the past three hours to put aside her foul mood and work on her symphony.
She hadn’t managed to put two notes together. For some reason, her mind kept going back to a silly little tune she’d made up as a child, and she couldn’t open her windows and let the sound of the waves silence it because it was raining outside.
“I don’t even like that song,” she grumbled to herself. Nor did she like that she had misled her friends so she could mope about her room instead of facing Hunter.
“I’m not afraid of him,” she grumbled again and rose from her small writing desk. She was going downstairs to find Mirabelle and Lizzy, and if she ran into Hunter, so be it. There was no reason for her to feel ashamed. She hadn’t been the one to toss about asinine orders and heartless insults. Remembering, she felt a small revival of anger. She latched on to it greedily. It was so much better than despondency.
“See what’s to be done with me,” she muttered as she walked down the hall, her steps unconsciously matching the beat of the silly tune.
“Untrustworthy,” she said under her breath as she made her way down a back staircase. That specific memory prompted the return of disappointment and hurt. Did he really think so little of her? Did he truly believe her so capricious as to give her word one day and break it the next? Or the day after the next…which was neither an improvement nor the point.
Had he always thought so little of her? Had she given him cause to? She could admit to being impulsive—occasionally—and she knew her distracted and romantic nature sometimes got the better of her common sense. But she wasn’t an idiot, and she wasn’t dishonorable. That Hunter should think her both—