London Times from the side table in the hallway.
Alex tucked the paper under his arm and raised an eyebrow. “Another one?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The earl gave a slight smile. Dirty as Kit Brantley had been when she arrived, it would likely take a month of baths to wash away the layers of grime. It was a pity she didn’t wish her back scrubbed. “Come along, Mr. Lewis.”
“Yes, my lord,” his companion replied, hefting the satchel he carried with him.
Just outside his study door, Alex stopped. A small flake of white, highly visible against the dark mahogany floor, lay close to the wall. With a glance at Mr. Lewis, he squatted and picked up the speck. It was paint, though he couldn’t see a scuff on the wall where someone might have bumped into it. “Wenton,” he asked, and heard the butler come up behind him. “Was someone moving furniture?”
“No, my lord.”
Alex straightened, then noticed the slight mark on his doorframe at the level of the handle. “And how did my cousin spend his morning?” he queried offhandedly.
“He rose rather late, my lord, and then came downstairs for breakfast.”
“And yesterday morning?”
“Reading, I believe, my lord.” The butler paused. “Do you wish me to make a daily report, my lord?”
Alex shook his head and set the paint flake into the butler’s gloved hand. Apparently the waif hadn’t been able to resist the challenge of a locked door. He wondered what she might have been looking for, and whether she’d found anything of interest. It seemed his first hunch had been correct—she wasn’t staying at Cale House for protection. Which meant that he was going to have to find out what, exactly, she was doing in London. And until he did, he would have Wenton keep the silver closet locked. With a glance at Mr. Lewis, he proceeded up the curving staircase and rapped at her bedchamber door.
“Yes?” her sleepy reply came.
“Kit,” he called softly, “may I come in?”
“No!” Inside the room, water splashed wildly about, and naked skin slid against the brass tub. Alex grinned. Wet feet scrambled about the room, to the accompaniment of several muffled curses. “What do you want?” the girl’s breathless voice came after a moment.
“I’d like a word with you,” he responded. The mental image conjured by all the noise was very interesting indeed.
“Well, just a moment,” she snapped. More rustling sounds followed, and finally the latch rattled. “Yes?” she said, yanking the door open.
Alex opened his mouth to comment on her sloth, but stopped. Kit was out of breath, her lips parted a little in a half scowl. Her hair was loose, hanging in damp, golden waves down to her shoulders, and she had neglected to tuck in her shirt. Her cheeks, flushed from the heat of the bath, were a soft rose, and Alex’s breathstilled as he met her eyes. After a long moment she blinked and looked down at herself.
“Oh, blast,” she grumbled, and quickly walked to the dressing table to grab a strip of cloth and tie her hair back in its customary fashion. Then she turned away, abruptly bashful, and shoved the tail of her stained shirt into her breeches. “I thought you were abandoning me again today,” she said over her shoulder.
“Simply because I choose to continue my regular routine doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned you,” he countered, stepping into the room and continuing to watch as she finished dressing. He’d seen women dress and undress a hundred times, but nothing like the waif fastening her breeches before him. It was quite…fascinating.
“I rather thought that not going out of one’s way was one of the def—” Kit turned around and stopped. She blanched, her eyes seeking Alex’s and then flicking to the second figure in the doorway again. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“This is Mr. Lewis,” Alex offered, wishing he’d left the man downstairs. “He is my tailor. He is also quite discreet, for it is his business to disguise the
Alex tucked the paper under his arm and raised an eyebrow. “Another one?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The earl gave a slight smile. Dirty as Kit Brantley had been when she arrived, it would likely take a month of baths to wash away the layers of grime. It was a pity she didn’t wish her back scrubbed. “Come along, Mr. Lewis.”
“Yes, my lord,” his companion replied, hefting the satchel he carried with him.
Just outside his study door, Alex stopped. A small flake of white, highly visible against the dark mahogany floor, lay close to the wall. With a glance at Mr. Lewis, he squatted and picked up the speck. It was paint, though he couldn’t see a scuff on the wall where someone might have bumped into it. “Wenton,” he asked, and heard the butler come up behind him. “Was someone moving furniture?”
“No, my lord.”
Alex straightened, then noticed the slight mark on his doorframe at the level of the handle. “And how did my cousin spend his morning?” he queried offhandedly.
“He rose rather late, my lord, and then came downstairs for breakfast.”
“And yesterday morning?”
“Reading, I believe, my lord.” The butler paused. “Do you wish me to make a daily report, my lord?”
Alex shook his head and set the paint flake into the butler’s gloved hand. Apparently the waif hadn’t been able to resist the challenge of a locked door. He wondered what she might have been looking for, and whether she’d found anything of interest. It seemed his first hunch had been correct—she wasn’t staying at Cale House for protection. Which meant that he was going to have to find out what, exactly, she was doing in London. And until he did, he would have Wenton keep the silver closet locked. With a glance at Mr. Lewis, he proceeded up the curving staircase and rapped at her bedchamber door.
“Yes?” her sleepy reply came.
“Kit,” he called softly, “may I come in?”
“No!” Inside the room, water splashed wildly about, and naked skin slid against the brass tub. Alex grinned. Wet feet scrambled about the room, to the accompaniment of several muffled curses. “What do you want?” the girl’s breathless voice came after a moment.
“I’d like a word with you,” he responded. The mental image conjured by all the noise was very interesting indeed.
“Well, just a moment,” she snapped. More rustling sounds followed, and finally the latch rattled. “Yes?” she said, yanking the door open.
Alex opened his mouth to comment on her sloth, but stopped. Kit was out of breath, her lips parted a little in a half scowl. Her hair was loose, hanging in damp, golden waves down to her shoulders, and she had neglected to tuck in her shirt. Her cheeks, flushed from the heat of the bath, were a soft rose, and Alex’s breathstilled as he met her eyes. After a long moment she blinked and looked down at herself.
“Oh, blast,” she grumbled, and quickly walked to the dressing table to grab a strip of cloth and tie her hair back in its customary fashion. Then she turned away, abruptly bashful, and shoved the tail of her stained shirt into her breeches. “I thought you were abandoning me again today,” she said over her shoulder.
“Simply because I choose to continue my regular routine doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned you,” he countered, stepping into the room and continuing to watch as she finished dressing. He’d seen women dress and undress a hundred times, but nothing like the waif fastening her breeches before him. It was quite…fascinating.
“I rather thought that not going out of one’s way was one of the def—” Kit turned around and stopped. She blanched, her eyes seeking Alex’s and then flicking to the second figure in the doorway again. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“This is Mr. Lewis,” Alex offered, wishing he’d left the man downstairs. “He is my tailor. He is also quite discreet, for it is his business to disguise the
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