Page 8 of Against the Wind

Chapter 4

Kit woke before dawn. There was a misty quality to the room, a soft glow, a gray light, an unreal twilight. Then, instantly, she was fully awake.

Where was she?

Abby’s.

The heavy arm draped over her and the hand caressing her breast almost caused her to panic until she remembered the night before. Remembered him. Feeling the warm wall of his chest behind her, she turned her head on the pillow and looked into his sleeping face framed by thick dark hair. The memory of their lovemaking flowed into her mind bringing heat to her cheeks.

Happiness followed by shame. Oh God. What have I done? I’ve made love to a stranger in a brothel. Gripped by the reality of her situation, Kit was suddenly desperate to leave. She must escape before he awoke. She could not face him. She could not face Abby!

Carefully she lifted his arm from her chest. Lost to Morpheus, the stranger did not move, and Kit slipped from the bed and crept silently to the armoire where she had hung the new gown and underthings Abby gave her. She dressed hurriedly, thankful for the front-lacing corset Abby provided. Then, anxious to be away, she took her cloak and reticule and tiptoed from the room—and from Willow House.

It was the warm sun hitting his face that woke Martin from the deepest sleep he had experienced in a very long while, the first time in a fortnight he’d not had nightmares. He could still smell her scent of spring roses on the pillow, but he quickly realized the enchantress he’d held in his arms was no longer lying beside him.

Quelle beauté!

He sat up, letting his legs fall over the side of the bed and dragged his fingers through his hair. As he thought of having the beautiful redhead again, his body responded, but where was she? Perhaps downstairs having breakfast.

Hurriedly he dressed and descended, anxious to see her. He had already begun to think of the enticing woman as his. He had not forgotten his plan of the night before. If anything, the need to possess her had grown stronger.

At the base of the stairs, a young woman with dark hair and wearing a yellow gown lingered briefly in the entry hall, giving him a long perusal before smiling and gliding away. Martin barely noticed. The big bruiser was missing, so no one stopped him as he hurried down the corridor where he’d first met the proprietress, searching until he found a room that appeared to be a study. Through the open door he saw Miss Abby sitting behind a desk poring over papers.

“Where is she?” he blurted, forgetting his manners and not bothering to greet her.

Raising her head, Miss Abby looked surprised. “Who, Sir Martin?”

“The woman I was with last night. She said her name was Kit.”

A look of horror crossed the proprietress’s face. “Did you say Kit?”

“Why, yes. The girl with the auburn hair. I liked her very well and want to discuss terms of having her become my mistress. Taking her off the rolls, so to speak. I wanted to speak to her again before I did so.”

Miss Abby rose and covered her mouth with her hand, eyes frozen in shock. Without a word, she ran past him and out the door. Puzzled, Martin followed. He had to hurry to keep up. Miss Abby moved fleetly down the corridor, up the stairs and then into the last bedchamber on the right. Martin was intrigued to discover what she was about. Kit could not have returned so fast, could she? What necessitated this rush?

Kit had not returned. In the empty room, the proprietress did a full circle then dropped into a chair at the side of the fireplace, letting her face fall into her hands. “Oh, no. No, no.”

Martin remained puzzled but his instincts were on alert. Something was terribly wrong. “Miss Abby?”

She raised her head to stare pointedly at him, eyes still full of horror. “This was not the room I sent you to! It was the next to the last door on the right.” Her head fell back into her hands and she sobbed.

Martin shook his head. “I do not understand why you are so upset. It matters little to me which girl you intended. I like the one I had. Where is she, Miss Abby? Where is Kit?”

The proprietress sat up, straightened her back and let out a ragged sigh. “Not Kit, Sir Martin. She’s…”

Martin felt frustration well up inside, for the proprietress was clearly reticent to continue. “You can trust me, Miss Abby. I’ve kept the Crown’s secrets for many years. I can certainly keep yours.”

Miss Abby’s gaze was full of hopeful trust. “She’s Katherine, Lady Egerton.”

What had befallen her beloved Kit? Abby was indeed horrified. As if the girl had not suffered enough, now this? But she would not seek answers from Sir Martin. He was only a man after all. No, he would never understand why a young, gently-bred widow whose dreams were destroyed and who had just survived an attempted rape would give herself to a stranger she did not know. Abby did not understand it herself. She could only surmise there was something very special about this man who had been entrusted with the Crown’s secrets, something that had spoken to deep longings in the young woman’s aching heart.

Abby had liked Sir Martin when she’d greeted him the evening before. She considered herself a good judge of character and she believed him a man of honor. Lord Eustace had spoken highly of him. Still, how much could she safely tell him? How much could she reveal without betraying Kit’s trust? She supposed limited information would do no harm. Perhaps it might even help.

She spent some minutes telling him Kit’s story and what brought her to Willow House. She did not want him to think ill of the young woman or believe Kit to be one of the courtesans who worked there should he ever encounter her again.

“The girls’ mother died of consumption, you see. Their father, a dear man, slowly succumbed to a broken heart. Of course, the world just saw another reckless member of the ton lost to drink and gambling. When he finally passed away, he left his two daughters near penniless. In the middle of Kit’s first Season, their guardian hastily arranged marriages for both her and her older sister. Anne to Lord Rutledge and Kit to old Lord Egerton.”

“To be torn from such a life of privilege…” Martin reflected, incredulous.