Chapter Six

T horne recognized his mother's light yet rapid tapping on his study door. Rather than bellow to make himself heard, he rose from behind his desk and crossed the room to open it. "Mother—you know you may always enter unless I am with someone." Her woeful expression sent a surge of concern through him.

Tears welled in her worried eyes, and she clasped her fisted hands to her bosom. "I cannot find Hera," she said. "Not anywhere. And neither Cook nor Mrs. Hartcastle has seen her either. I fear it may be her time."

"It will be all right, Mother. We shall find her." Business could wait. Thorne could not bear seeing his mother so upset. "Where have you not yet searched?"

"Only the library and here, in your office."

Thorne nodded, knowing his mother's precious cat delighted in sneaking into his study whenever she discovered the door left ajar. "I'll wager the minx is in her favorite hiding spot. Come, let us have a look."

Lady Roslynn clasped her hands tighter to her chest and hitched in a cautious breath. "Oh, I do hope so. I just know it is her time."

"If it is, she will know what to do, Mother. Animals have instincts about these things."

"Do not speak of her as if she has no heart or soul. Hera—nor any animal—is not some mindless beast, as some would have us believe. They need our help and understanding."

Hence, the only meat Lady Roslynn ever tolerated on their table was fish or shellfish. At one time she had allowed fowl, but that was before she befriended a chicken at their estate in the country. When Thorne craved mutton, pork, or beef, he had to find it elsewhere. Thank heavens Mother still permitted eggs, but he felt sure that once she decided eating them would upset the chickens, those would be banned as well.

Accepting his mother's unusual snappishness as a result of her overwrought state, he gently led her to the cushioned bench built into the bay window that overlooked their garden. "See that panel in the shadow of the bookcase? It's pushed in again. Let me fetch the lamp, and then I shall pry open the bench so we might see if she has snuck in there like she did the last time."

He retrieved the smaller of the two oil lamps from his desk and handed it to her. After discovering the wily Hera hiding inside the built-in bench before, he felt sure the cat would be there again. With a mighty upward yank, he separated the seat from the base and raised it enough so he and his mother could peer inside.

The enormous black and white feline, beloved Hera in all her glory, lay snuggled in the folds of an old blanket. Three tiny kittens, one solid black, one solid white, and the other colored like its mother, were tucked against her belly like tiny, furry potatoes. Hera looked up at them with her great golden eyes and unleashed a haughty meow , as if to tell them to get that light out of her eyes and leave her alone.

"Three babies," his mother whispered, delight dancing in her voice. She peered closer. "How did that blanket come to be in there?"

He carefully lowered the seat without so much as a thump, took the lamp from his mother, and returned it to his desk. "Hera has always liked that spot, and I suspected she might choose to have her kittens there."

"You are such a thoughtful boy."

"I try."

"I must find Zeus now and tell him he is a father."

Thorne doubted very much if the tattered old tomcat who had shown up in their garden with a pronounced limp would care that his amorous activities had been fruitful, but he decided not to mention that to Mother. "Why not give him a saucer of cream to celebrate his new status?"

"An excellent idea." She peered up at him and arched a hopeful brow but remained silent.

Surrendering without a fight, he nodded. "Yes, Mother. Bring a saucer for Hera as well. I shall place it inside her den so she doesn't feel inclined to leave her children."

A knock at the door followed by a quiet "Lord Knightwood?" interrupted them.

"Come in, Cadwick. The feline goddess is a proud mother of three and has graced my office with her presence. The household may stop searching now."

Lady Roslynn swatted his arm. "Do not tease. As a new mother, I am sure our Hera is very sensitive."

Cadwick stood there eyeing them both as if afraid to speak.

Thorne noticed the note the man held in his hand. "You wished to deliver that, I presume?"

The butler dipped a curt bow and handed it over. "Yes, my lord. It just came. No messenger waits for a reply. Shall I wait in case you wish to post one anyway?"

"That won't be necessary. Thank you, Cadwick. That will be all—Oh, wait. Would you be good enough to send in a saucer of cream for the new mother?" Thorne smiled to himself. The butler hated the cat, because if she wasn't tripping him by darting between his feet when he walked on the stairs, she was leaping down from her secret perches to startle him.

Cadwick's expression never changed. He knew better than to say or do anything against Lady Roslynn's beloved cat. "I shall see to it immediately, my lord."

As soon as the door closed behind him, Lady Roslynn giggled. "You know how he feels about Hera."

"Yes." Thorne grinned. "I am well aware."

She got on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I shall leave you to your correspondence." But she failed to hide her angling to peek at the seal on the letter in his hand. "That is the Broadmere crest."

"So it is." He didn't volunteer any information, curious to see if any of her spies had informed her of his recent visit to the Broadmere townhouse.

She arched a brow and waited, her dark eyes not only the mirror image of his but also quite revealing. She did, in fact, know of his calling on the lovely Broadmere daughter who adored the stars.

"Lady Blessing received me, but you will be pleased to know that she declined my invitation for a ride in the park."

"I assume there was a chaperone during your call upon her?" His mother's glare sharpened.

"But of course. I am dismayed you would even suggest such an insult to Lady Blessing's character. Her sister, Lady Fortuity, joined us in the observatory, where we studied the moon in such detail that it was quite amazing."

"Studied the moon," Lady Roslynn repeated in a dubious tone. "During the daytime?"

"Yes."

"In detail."

"Yes."

"Even though you have reached the ripe old age of four and thirty, lying to your mother is still quite unacceptable and will not be tolerated."

"I am not lying, and if you doubt me, speak with Thompson, who will tell you that my time at the Broadmere residence could not have possibly been longer than a quarter of an hour." He struggled not to smile, waiting to see if her inquisitiveness about the note would get the better of her.

"Are you not going to open your letter?" She folded her hands and propped them atop the plumpness of her stomach—a sure sign that she was not about to leave the room until she discovered what the note contained.

He snapped the wax seal, then slid his finger under the flap and removed the letter from its envelope. The flowing script on the expensive notepaper was as delicate and beautiful as a piece of art:

My dear Lord Knightwood,

I wish to thank you for the lovely bouquet that arrived in the even lovelier vase. The depiction of a midnight sky filled with stars was most pleasing both in appearance and its symbolism for my love of astronomy. Perhaps even more treasured was the scroll that related one of the many legends of the goddess Astraea. While I found it truly touching, I should warn you that your reputation is not unknown to me.

I am sure you will find this note unusually blunt and perhaps not one Society would deem fitting for a young lady to send to a gentleman, but I am the sort who considers honesty to be of the utmost importance. Since I am an honorable and virtuous type, I am in a quandary as to what you hope to accomplish in an acquaintance with me. I pray you do not take insult at such a statement, but you must admit your reputation begs the question be asked: since you do not wish to marry—what do you want with me?

While I enjoy your company very much, I would rather not become accustomed to your presence if your intentions are nefarious. Alas, as I warned, I am blunt and honest to a fault. Please accept this letter of thanks in the genuine spirit of friendship and inquiry that is intended.

Yours in kindness,

Lady Blessing Abarough

Indeed, what did he want from dear Lady Blessing? Thorne stared down at the letter, reading it a second time, slower, savoring her turn of phrase. He could hear her saying the words inside his head and took no insult at her question. After all, the lady spoke the truth. He had a reputation. But what hit him the hardest, charging him full of anticipation and hope, was that she had said she enjoyed his company. Very much, she'd said. A dangerous warmth surged through him as his heart lurched with the thrill of an almost successful chase. But was it a successful chase? And what did he intend to do if he caught her?

"Well?" his mother prompted him.

Thorne lifted his gaze from the letter and blinked. He had been so enraptured by Lady Blessing's voice in his mind, and the intent behind her words, that he had as good as forgotten his mother was there.

Rather than try to explain the contents, he held it out to her. "You are welcome to read it."

She snatched it from him and read it, her lips moving in silence as her gaze swept back and forth across the page. Her smile slowly stretched wider. By the time she looked up at him, she was fairly beaming.

"Well?" she asked again.

"Well, what?"

"What answer do you have for the lady's very warranted question?" She handed the letter back to him and primly folded her hands onto the shelf of her middle once again. "At least she extended you the courtesy of asking rather than trying to piece together everything through gossip." She eyed him as if daring him to answer incorrectly. "What are your intentions as far as Lady Blessing is concerned?"

"I fear I do not know," he admitted quietly, noting a disturbing heaviness in his chest. "She is—" He deflated with a groaning sigh, then frowned when his mother's expression brightened. "And what, pray tell, does that look mean?"

Lady Roslynn lightly touched his arm. "I find promise in your response."

"How so? I admitted that I didn't know and could not find the words to describe her."

"Exactly." She turned and wrinkled her nose at the door. "Cadwick has either forgotten or chosen not to fetch Hera's cream. I must see to it now. Mothering is thirsty work." Before exiting the room, she turned back and shook a finger at him. "Two things, my son."

"Yes?"

"Go carefully with Lady Blessing."

"And the other?"

"Help Cadwick understand that if he wishes to remain employed in this household, he would do well to remember my love of cats and dislike of people who treat any animal poorly—including ignoring a request to fetch them a special treat."

"I shall give proper attention to the matter, Mother." He returned to his desk and sank into the leather sumptuousness of his chair.

He stared at the door for a long while after his mother left. Warning Cadwick about his treatment of the cats was most definitely the easier of the two, because he had no idea what to do about Lady Blessing. As he saw it, he had three choices. Cut off all association with the lady? That would be a no . The mere thought of never speaking with her, dancing with her, or enjoying another visit with her made his chest tighten. Seduce her? Another no. While parts of him would heartily enjoy the pleasure, neither his heart nor his conscience would allow him to debauch her. And not simply because of the rage his mother would rain down upon him if he did such a thing. No. He couldn't do it because he honestly didn't think he could bear being responsible for putting hurt and disappointment in Lady Blessing's lovely blue eyes. The final choice, the only choice he had yet to yay or nay , was to court her in earnest. Seek her hand in marriage. He swallowed hard at the thought, nearly choking on the unspoken words.

Another knock on the door spared him from having to answer.

"What is it?" he asked a bit more sharply than he intended.

The door opened, and Cadwick stepped inside and said in a lowered voice, "Lady Myrtlebourne wishes to see you, my lord. I took the liberty of placing her in the smaller parlor."

"Lady Myrtlebourne?" Thorne repeated. "With her husband, I presume?" Although surely Cadwick would have announced the earl rather than his wife.

"No, my lord," Cadwick said just as quietly. "She is quite alone. Shall I inform the lady you are not in?"

"No, she must be dealt with." Thorne pushed himself up from his desk and moved to the door. "I shall join her in the small parlor, but the doors will remain open as wide as I can push them. I also wish to be interrupted at five-minute intervals. By you, the maids, the footmen, whoever. Just see that someone comes to that parlor every five minutes during this unwanted visit. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord." Cadwick stepped back into the hall.

"And Cadwick—"

"Yes, my lord?" The butler watched him as though ready to spring into action.

"If you do not treat the cats like the gods and goddesses my mother believes them to be, you value your position here very little. Am I understood?"

The man's mouth tightened before he had the good sense to bow his head and lock his gaze on his shoes. "Understood quite clearly, my lord. I shall see to it that the new mother is provided with a saucer of kippers to go along with her cream."

"A fine idea, Cadwick. Make certain Mother knows that it was yours."

"Thank you, my lord."

As the butler headed toward the kitchens, Thorne braced himself as if he were going to battle. Which, in essence, he was. It was unheard of for a married woman, a countess, no less, to call upon a man at his residence without a companion in tow. This visit smacked of danger, deceit, and quite possibly a prelude to blackmail.

He opened the sliding doors to the small parlor as wide as possible and left them that way. "Lady Myrtlebourne. What an unexpected visit."

"I notice you did not say what a pleasant surprise ," the countess retorted as she turned from the window and glared at him. Her gaze slid past him to the open doors, and her mouth tightened into a moue of distaste. "I never thought you the heartless sort, Thorne. Nor so obtuse. Does nothing about my appearance seem different to you?"

It was then he realized she was enrobed in layers of black bombazine and crepe. Even the black ostrich plumes sprouting up from her ridiculous hat with its black veil streaming down her back shouted that the woman was in deep mourning. He promptly bowed. "My condolences, Lady Myrtlebourne. Forgive me for not noticing sooner. Whom, might I ask, have you lost? A parent or sibling, perhaps?"

Her glare turned even icier. "Do not play the innocent, Thorne. It does not suit you. My husband is dead. A mere three days ago. Did you not see the announcement in today's paper?"

"I have yet to get to it." He angled his head to one side, unable to fathom why she stood in his parlor when she should be sequestered in her home. "Your husband, you say? The man was a picture of good health but a week ago. Was there a tragic accident of which I am unaware?"

She twitched an uncaring shrug. "His valet found him dead when he went in to dress him. Apparently he died in his sleep."

While he knew the lady's marriage had never been anything more than a union to a man she despised, Thorne still found her cold disregard for the earl's death disturbing. "Should you not be at home, Lady Myrtlebourne? In the comforting care of friends and family?"

The woman laughed, shocking him even more. "Surely you jest? If not for my husband's brother, Lord Agnew Montagne, threatening to turn me out even before the proper mourning period was up, I'd be wearing my brightest red dress and dancing at Vauxhall Gardens in celebration of Arthur's death." Her eyes narrowed as she pointed at him. "That is why I am here, my love . I need to get with child—male issue, of course—but also have a husband-to-be waiting in the wings in case a daughter is born. You owe me."

"I owe you?" The woman was mad. Neither of them owed the other a thing. "And why, my lady, would I owe you?"

"Because I made it known to Lord Montagne that the earl had sought your advice about several business schemes and benefited from them greatly. Our tête-à-têtes were meetings to forward financial information to my husband while he was abroad."

"And why did you feel the need to invent such a lie?" Thorne had a pretty good idea but needed the time to get a handle on the outrageousness of what she had suggested.

She twitched another snappish shrug but turned aside to avoid looking him in the eye. "Arthur was aware you cuckolded him."

"How?"

Plucking at the black glass beads dangling from her reticule, she edged away, increasing the distance between them. "I might have told him."

Thorne strode forward, took her by the shoulders, and forced her to face him. "Why the devil would you do such a foolish thing?"

"I hated him," she growled through her bared teeth. "Tell me you have never spoken out of turn when infuriated beyond belief."

He set her aside and moved as far from her as the room allowed. "And I assume the earl told Montagne?"

"And his solicitor. He intended to bring a criminal conversation against you in a civil trial, then planned to request a legal separation that would leave me with nothing while he divorced me." She sneered at him while tipping her head from side to side like a taunting child. "So, you see? You owe me. Montagne intended to carry on the suit against you in the name of his brother and possibly even insinuate you caused Arthur's death by making his temper flare too hot. My lie has caused him to at least pause and think about what the suit would do to his brother's memory. I told him I had lied to Arthur about the nature of our acquaintance because Arthur threw his indiscretions in my face."

"You forget, Lady Myrtlebourne, that I am not the only man you invited to your bed while your husband was away." Thorne raked a hand through his hair, wondering when the devil his servants would interrupt him as instructed. "At least three others found their names linked to yours in several of the gossip sheets. Is Montagne aware of them? Was the earl?"

"You cannot abandon me in this." She rushed toward him but halted when he dodged her. "How could you be so cruel?"

"We ended our affair months ago. Mutually agreed on it. You had already taken up another entanglement by the time your husband returned." He edged closer to the open doors until he stood partway in the hall. "Why the blazes did you give your husband my name?"

"Because I love you."

"You do not, my lady," Thorne snapped, suddenly realizing how he had left himself vulnerable to the calculating Lady Myrtlebourne. "You used my name because I am the only fool you took to your bed that didn't already have a wife. Admit it. I am the easiest solution to your predicament because I fit the requirement of a husband-to-be waiting in the wings."

Her expression hardened with an ugliness he had never seen in her before. She raised her voice to a shrill, shrewish pitch. "A bit late for you to realize the dangers of your nasty little game. Is it not, my lord?"

Cadwick appeared at his side as if stepping out of the shadows. "My lord—an urgent matter of utmost importance requires your presence."

"Thank you, Cadwick." Thorne forced a stiff bow in Lady Myrtlebourne's direction. "Good day, Lady Myrtlebourne, and again, my condolences."

"I will not be dismissed," she said, drawing herself up as though ready to scream.

"Yes, my lady, you are most certainly dismissed," Thorne said, allowing every ounce of revulsion he felt for the woman to seep into his tone. "There is nothing more to say that cannot be handled through my solicitor."

"Your solicitor?" She stared at him in disbelief. "Are you saying you care nothing for your reputation?"

"If you had bothered to check, my lady," he growled, "you would have found that my reputation as a man of the town, a rake, a debauchee, is quite alive and well without further input from you. Now, good day!" He stormed away, knowing that Cadwick would assist Lady Myrtlebourne in finding the front door and making good use of it.

By the time he reached his office, the need to rage and roar had the blood pounding in his ears. If not for his mother's cat standing in the center of his desk, lapping cream from a small bowl and nibbling at the kippers on a fine china saucer beside it, he would have surely slammed the door shut and given in to the urge to bellow. But out of respect for the new feline mother, he closed the door softly, rounded his desk, and dropped into his chair.

Hera paused in her dining, gave him a disinterested stare, then flicked an ear his way as if acknowledging his presence and allowing it.

Something about the cat's reaction empowered him to pull in a deep breath and regain control.

While he understood Lady Myrtlebourne's desperation, a great many of her problems were of her own doing. Her selfish penchant for trouble had been one of the many reasons, along with her annoying clinginess, that had convinced him without a doubt that their association needed to end. The woman simply did not do discretion, and had a vile temper and a cruel streak toward anyone she deemed as lesser than herself. Beauty only went so far, and hers had quickly run its course. Thus, his dalliance with her hadn't lasted longer than a fortnight and ended months ago.

"Or so I thought," he said with a heavy sigh. "I should not have dabbled with that one, Hera."

The cat lifted her head from the bowl of cream, licking her chops as though thoroughly enjoying the richness of her drink. She sat there and stared at him, not blinking her large golden eyes, as if weighing the worthiness of his soul. After a large, toothy yawn, she rose onto all fours, stretched, then stuck her behind in his face as if giving him the cut direct. Then she jumped down and disappeared back into her den inside the window seat.

Thorne started to lean forward and rest his head in his hands, but a whiff of the kippers pushed him back into the depths of the wingback chair. What the devil was he going to do? He was far from innocent in this debacle, but he would be damned if he took the brunt of Lord Montagne's ire about his brother's death.

The note on the corner of his desk caught his gaze—the note from Lady Blessing. His chest tightened and a knot of dread weighed heavy in the pit of his stomach. She already knew him to be a rake. When word of the Myrtlebourne mess went public—and he had no doubt that it would—would she think even worse of him? Shun him from her presence?

"I cannot lose the opportunity to know her better," he muttered aloud.

But why? his usually dormant conscience whispered.

"I am not ready to address that as yet," he answered. But soon, very soon, after more time spent enjoying Lady Blessing's company, he most definitely would.