Page 13 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

“Mother and Father can never know.” James stood by the window, his voice as implacable as his posture. “Do you hear me, Jack?”

“I’m not going to tell them,” Jack said defensively. “But they’re bound to discover it for themselves if Ivo continues in this manner.”

“I’m taking care of it.” James moved to leave. “In the meanwhile”—he gave Kate and Jack the sternest of looks before departing the room— “try not to cause any other scandals.”

Kate arched a brow at Jack. “Where are Mama and Papa today?” she asked after James had taken his leave. “I’ve not seen either of them.”

“Still in their room,” Jack said.

Unlike most fashionable married couples, Kate’s mother and father didn’t hold with separate bedrooms. They shared a room; a place they retreated to often. Indeed, they were always slipping away together somewhere, whether to their bedchamber or off riding, driving, or strolling the grounds.

In warmer weather, when in residence at Beasley, they could often be found stretched out on the forget-me-not covered banks of the stream that ran through the park. Once, Kate had unexpectedly found them there embracing.

An awkward encounter.

She’d quietly slipped away before they could remark her presence.

“I heard them laughing as I came through the hall,” Jack said. “We won’t see them for another hour or two at least. Plenty of time to go riding.” He gave an impatient kick to the leg of the sofa, rattling Kate in her seat. “Enough of your ridiculous needlework! Whatever scheme you’re brewing can wait. Let’s have a gallop across the park. I’ll wager you ten pounds I can beat you to the gnarled oak.”

Kate was up from the sofa before she could think, her every instinct primed for the challenge. The spirit of competition was in her blood. She couldn’t have refused even if she’d wanted to. “I accept your wager. But not for a meager ten pounds.”

“How much, then?”

She hesitated a split second before fixing on a way to turn the challenge to her advantage. “I want a forfeit. After Christmas, I want you to take me somewhere.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “Where?”

“To call on a friend of mine. It’s not far. Only twenty miles each way, by my calculation.”

“Twenty miles each way? Good Lord, Kate. Where is this friend of yours? In Devonshire?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, but—”

“Unless, of course, you’re afraid I’ll win? We both know I’m likely to do so.”

Jack immediately took the bait. “Very well. On the remote chance you prevail—and you must concede it’s very remote—I shall accompany you to see this friend of yours. But you won’t beat me, Kate. Not this time.”

She smiled. “We shall see about that.”

Chapter Four

Charles rose early the next morning, well before the sun had risen and the household had come to life. Lighting a lantern, he donned his clothes, collected a warm coat, and made his way downstairs for a quick cup of tea before heading out to the stables.

Flurry, Twig, and Ignatius stirred from the hearthrug to accompany him. Their nails clicked softly as they crossed the brick-and-mortar stable yard in Charles’s wake.

The wind bit at his face. He paid it no heed. He was accustomed to rising before dawn, regardless of the weather. It was a time of rare peace and quiet. One he’d always relished, whether far out at sea or camped on the fringes of some remote battlefield.

As a boy he’d often awakened before sunrise to gallop his stallion, Nero, through the rolling mist that blanketed the grounds of the estate. It was Nero that Charles had now come to see.

He found the old dark bay stallion much as he’d left him, safe and snug in the warmth of the stable. He stood in a loose box not far from the ones that held the riding horses belonging to Charles’s parents and sister.

Nero was the son of Charles’s father’s late and much-mourned stallion, Hyperion. Large, hot-tempered, and mercurial, Nero had once been something of a handful.

At the ripe old age of two and twenty, he was all but retired now. A well-deserved retirement. He’d been a faithful mount in his time and an equally faithful friend. Catching sight of Charles, he swung his head over the door of the loose box, giving a low whicker of greeting.

Charles crossed the hay-strewn floor of the stable. “Nero. You old devil.” He stroked the stallion’s muscular neck. “You haven’t forgotten me, have you?”