Chapter 7

Buoyant in spirit, Kate closed the door to her favorite receiving room, moved swiftly to the pretty little Queen Anne writing desk, lowered the front flap that became the writing surface, then pulled out all the myriad drawers. She wanted to make sure everything was in its place to assist her in recording every horrible trait Lord Haversham had inflicted on her over the years. She sat on the comfortably cushioned chair that matched the dainty walnut desk and drew out several sheets of foolscap from the drawer—she planned to be thorough lest Nathan accuse her of cheating—pen, pen knife, ink, and sand. She mended the pen, creating a good point, then carefully wrote across the top of the page in her best copperplate, "Ten Things I Hate about the Earl of Haversham."

She settled down in the chair to decide which detestable trait she wished to begin with. Well, that was easy. Straightening her back, Kate wrote a bold number 1 then penned the first thing that came to her mind when she thought of Lord Haversham.

" Arrogance ," she said aloud as she wrote the word. "And a haughtier man never existed." Continuing with her pen, she detailed Haversham's primary fault. The gentleman has ever looked and spoken to me as though he were my superior in every way, although whether this is because I am a woman or because he simply sees himself as superior to everyone else, I am not certain. Kate smiled, satisfaction at having an official say about the odious Haversham seeming very sweet.

What next? Oh, but that was easy too.

Hypocrite . Her pen raced to put the word down. That might've been better as the first foul characteristic, but too late now. It would do just as well as the second. Lord Haversham's insistence on denying his sister permission to dance a waltz while he blatantly dances it with other unmarried young ladies makes him the epitome of hypocrisy. Either he should allow Lady Letitia to enjoy the pleasure of dancing a waltz or he should refrain from dancing it himself . At least she could understand why the earl danced the waltz. A better partner than he she had never had, though she truly hated to admit it. Still, one good trait in him could not erase all the bad.

Which brought her to the third thing she hated about him.

Kate paused, tapping the feather quill against her cheek, musing about what should come next. An idea came mind—related to the previous one, to be sure, but loathsome enough that it would stand on its own merit.

Unkind . He certainly was to both her and his sister. Lord Haversham is unkind in his dealings with his sister, forbidding her to dance the waltz and who knows what else. He has also been unkind to me since the moment we met, deviling me in both word and deed . She could leave it at that… "But Nathan should know how ill he has treated me," she murmured, and continued writing. For instance, at Lady Hamilton's ball, he gave me a glass of lemonade so brimful it could've ruined my favorite dress.

That truly would've been a disaster had the drink spilled on her. Wretched man. Although it had been a brilliant ploy. Haversham was simply too intelligent by far.

What else did she hate about him? The words should be coming more quickly. He could be insufferably rude. She wrote this down more slowly, trying to remember a specific incident of that. Of course, his manners were impeccable most of the time. He wouldn't want to bring censure down on his head by flouting the ton 's expectations of correct behavior.

The recollection of Lord Haversham pulling her close to him on the dance floor last evening popped into her mind, making her face heat and her body tingle. Oh, but that had been scandalous. If Nathan had seen it, he might've forced Haversham to marry her then and there. So she certainly couldn't put that down, although it was a prime example of his rudeness to her. Of course there was rudeness to others to be considered as well. Quickly, she dipped her quill into the inkpot and wrote, Lord Haversham has been rude not only to me, but to others such as our cousin Celinda. He said he would not ask her to dance as he did not wish to have his toes stepped on any further, insinuating that I had stepped on his feet. To be honest, she had done so, but only in self-defense. Nathan needn't know that. And it was rude of the earl to remark on it, nonetheless.

How many things did that make? Kate sighed as she looked over the short list. Only four? The task of enumerating the things she hated about Haversham was becoming more difficult than she could've ever suspected.

Much as she hated to admit it, there were things about him she couldn't criticize if she wanted to maintain her honesty. He danced well, he was always elegantly attired, he did have witty conversation—even if the two of them always seemed bent on acting out scenes from Shakespeare's comedies. As Celinda had pointed out. Apparently, she didn't hate everything about the earl. But there must be something more. She wasn't even halfway through. Oh, why did her brother always have to be right? He really wasn't such a superior being…

And neither was Haversham, although he certainly acted that way a lot of the time.

Excited, Kate wrote Superior down, the example coming swiftly behind the word. Lord Haversham believes, as he is older and her brother, that he is right to deny his sister the waltz. This superior attitude has been noted by me on many occasions throughout our all-too-long history. He has, over the years, been smug and condescending toward me, and I'm sure toward other people as well. Not the strongest argument without anything more specific, but it would have to do.

At least now she was halfway through the list. Kate sat staring at what she had written, thinking hard about what else she might put down. Drat the man. He must have other qualities she detested. What else had she complained about to Nathan? She cast her mind again over their most recent conversations, and one thing did stand out, although she was rather ashamed to write it. Still, it was true, and it would add to her items.

Kate took up the pen but hesitated. Perhaps the nib needed mending. She busied herself with sharpening the quill, taking more time than usual to do so, but at last was ready to dip it in the ink once more. Slowly she wrote the word Lazy . Well, from everything she'd heard, it was true. Even the gossip at the ball had said so. Nathan might be furious at her for mentioning it, but no more than he'd been last evening. Besides, no one else would see this list.

Drawing a deep breath, she wrote quickly. According to reports in the ton , Lord Haversham's finances have been in disarray since he inherited the earldom, and he has not lifted a finger to put them to rights. Such irresponsible behavior is reprehensible, especially considering that he must provide support for his sisters and any tenants who depend upon him for their livelihood.

Slumping in her chair, Kate looked at the list with something akin to loathing. She didn't like spewing such vitriol, after all. Somehow, Haversham had managed to even take the joy out of hating him. And the dratted list wasn't finished. She still only had six items written down. Surely there was something else she disliked about the man? Their animosity had been going on ever since her brother brought him home from university, looking like a great big frog.

Kate grinned at the memory. He hadn't really looked like a frog, but he did monopolize her brother's time when he was there. Precious time Nathan should've spent with her. So she'd said the first thing that had come into her head to disparage the then-Lord Cranfield. "I told Nathan his friend looked like a frog and would obviously try to give me warts." Still smiling, she picked up the quill and added the word Frog . Will try to give me warts—whether he can actually do it or not.

Chuckling, Kate sanded the list then put her writing materials away. What she needed now was a walk to restore her humor and blow some of these vexing thoughts out of her head. She'd have to think more about what she disliked about Lord Haversham and come back to finish the list later this afternoon. She'd told Nathan she'd have it done by teatime, which was still several hours away. Surely she could come up with three more things about the man that irritated her. Perhaps she'd call on Celinda to help her. That might be quite entertaining.

Kate lifted the drop-down flap to shut the desk then tucked the partial list into the drawer where the paper was kept. Her spirits lifting now the list was out of sight, she began humming one of the waltz tunes from last night's ball and sped out of the receiving room to find her maid and make ready to visit her cousin. She felt so much better already.

****

Marcus hurried down the corridor to the receiving room Ainsley had directed him to. The door was ajar, so he cocked his head, trying to discern if anyone was already inhabiting the chamber. After a moment of complete silence, Marcus pushed the door open to reveal an empty room. He strode over to the dainty writing desk, obviously an object that had belonged to Ainsley's mother—and now, likely, his sister. A faint hint of lavender assailed his nose, and a sudden chill raced down his spine, making him shiver. That scent belonged to Miss Locke. He'd noticed it when they were dancing last evening, when they'd been pressed against each other. Had she been here not long ago? The shiver returned, and Marcus jerked around to look toward the door. He'd need to stop such demonstrations when Miss Locke was present if Ainsley's plan was even to have a chance.

Not that Marcus had much hope of that. The woman detested him. Why her brother thought Marcus could overcome that in mere weeks when their feuding had been going on for years was unfathomable. And a thought for another time. He must write to Letitia and Aunt Alexandra then hurry off to visit King and begin that dangerous transaction. He truly didn't know which choice would be more painful—King's threat for a pound of flesh or Miss Locke's barbed tongue. If only a third option would present itself. Marcus sent a prayer up for Lord Finley and his investment.

Meanwhile, he needed to get on with this. Pulling out the Queen Anne chair, Marcus surveyed the desk before sitting down at it. He lowered the flap then went about the business of rummaging in the drawers of various cubby holes, searching for quills and ink. Those implements presented themselves quickly, but the other important element evaded him. They must keep paper here somewhere. Why else would they need a desk at all?

Marcus groped under the pull-down leaf, and his fingers brushed the metal handle of a wide drawer. With an exasperated grunt, he tugged the drawer open and fumbled among the sheets, grasping several and withdrawing them. He slipped them onto the desk and shut the drawer before sliding a piece of paper toward him. After grabbing a quill, Marcus glanced down at the sheet before him and stopped, the pen hovering above the inkpot.

"Ten Things I Hate about the Earl of Haversham." Marcus read the words aloud, slowly lowering the pen to the polished walnut surface. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had written that title. He clenched his jaw as he skimmed the list. Miss Locke seemed to have outdone herself, although the document was incomplete. Still, the vitriol on the page was enough to make him swallow hard. Even when they'd bantered at their worst, Marcus hadn't realized Miss Locke had harbored such loathing for him as this.

His eyes returned to the first characteristic on the list. " Arrogance . Huh." Hardly original, but perhaps the first thing that had come to her mind. Ladies always accused gentlemen of being arrogant. He perused the description and shook his head. "Miss Locke, you flatter yourself. I am toward you as I am toward everyone. Aloof sometimes, perhaps, but not arrogant. But that will lead quite naturally to Hypocrite ." Well, that was understandable. She'd accused him of that to his face last night. And on its heels Unkind .

"The little wretch!" Marcus gripped the piece of foolscap until it was close to tearing. "I am not unkind. I am the kindest person I know." Fuming, he read on, but soon his grip slackened, and a smile crept over his lips. Who would've thought Miss Locke to be such a champion for Letitia? That might be the woman's most endearing quality. He continued perusing the list and a chuckle escaped him. He'd thought the overfull glass of lemonade an excellent jape to devil Miss Locke, although he'd not thought about the possible consequences to her wardrobe.

More interested now in the lady's rationales for her dislikes, Marcus read on. The rudeness he shrugged off as part and parcel of their sparring, as was its neighbor Superior . The sixth characteristic, however, gave Marcus pause again. While Lazy did not actually describe his attitude toward the earldom's financial difficulties, his inattention and inexperience certainly had been factors. And Miss Locke was correct, the ton did have this perception of him. He'd heard this whispered about himself. At least he might begin to combat the rumors if he could get in on the venture with Lord Finley.

Or marry Miss Locke. He believed he could speak for the lady when he said that a successful venture would be the more pleasing of the two choices to them both.

His gaze came to rest on the final word, Frog . Marcus's lips puckered into a smile in spite of himself. So his frog-like traits were not pleasing to the lady either? Miss Locke was a most demanding woman. Imagine what would've happened in The Frog Prince had the princess not kissed the frog in the end?

A sudden image of him kissing Miss Locke rose to mind so vividly he could feel her soft mouth, smell the lavender in her hair, taste the sweetness of her lips. Staring straight ahead, as if in the grip of a waking dream, Marcus clenched his fists as his cock sprang to life forcefully enough it hit his small clothes with an almost audible thump . He grunted, shook his head to dispel the disturbing image, and swiftly rose from the chair. Quickly, he stuffed all the writing accoutrements back into their cubbies, slid Miss Locke's list back into the drawer with the other papers, banged the desk closed, and hurried out of the reception room.

He'd have to call at home to tell Letitia and his aunt about the invitation as he couldn't remain in this room long enough to scribble the necessary lines. He didn't trust himself not to continue these bizarre thoughts about Miss Locke—and if he didn't stop, he'd need to return home at any rate to change his soiled clothing.