The stage had been impossibly slow, reaching the capital well after midday. From the coaching inn, she’d had to walk some distance before she’d been able to hail a sufficiently clean hackney. And the hackney had dawdled, caught in the London traffic. Now it was past six and she was exhausted.

“Master Bertrand’s away in the country for the week, miss. Should I make up his bed for you?”

Kit smiled wearily. “That would be wonderful, Hemmings. And if you could put together the most simple meal, I would be doubly grateful.”

“Naturally, miss. If you’ll just seat yourself in the parlor?”

Shown into the parlor and left blissfully alone, Kit tidied the magazines littering every piece of furniture before selecting an armchair to collapse in. She’d no idea how long she lay there, one hand over her eyes, fighting down the uncharacteristic queasines that had overcome her the instant she’d woken that morning, brought on, no doubt, by the ponderous rocking of the stage. She hadn’t eaten all day, but could barely summon sufficient appetite to do justice to the meal Hemmings eventually placed before her.

As soon as she’d finished, she went upstairs. She washed her face and stripped off her clothes, wryly wondering what it was Jack had intended to do if he found her in such attire. The thought brought a soft smile to her lips. It slowly faded.

Had she done the right thing in leaving him? Heaven only knew. Her uncomfortable trip had succeeded in dampening her temper but her determination was undimmed. Jack had to be made to take notice-her disappearance would accomplish that. And he would follow, of that she was sure. But what she wasn’t at all sure of, what she couldn’t even guess, was what he’d do then.

Somehow, in the heat of the moment, she’d not considered that vital point.

With a toss of her curls, Kit flung her clothes aside and climbed between the clean sheets. At least tonight she’d be able to sleep undisturbed by the snorts and snores of other passengers. Then, tomorrow, when she could think straight again, she’d worry about Jack and his reactions.

If the worst came to the worst, she could always explain.

She was at the breakfast table the next morning, neatly attired in Young Kit’s best, when Geoffrey pushed open the door and idly wandered in. He cut a rakish figure in a multicolored silk robe, a cravat neatly folded about his neck. One look at his stunned face told Kit that Hemmings had left her to break her own news.

“Good morning, Geoffrey.” Kit took a sip of her coffee and watched her cousin over the rim of the cup.

Geoffrey wasn’t slow. As his gaze took in her attire, his expression settled into dazed incredulity. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I decided a week or so away from Castle Hendon was in order.” Kit smiled. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

“Dash it, Kit, you know I am. But…” Geoffrey ran a harassed hand through his dark locks. “Where the hell’s your husband?”

Abruptly, Kit dropped her pose. “Coming after me, I hope.”

Geoffrey stared. Abruptly, he reached for the coffeepot. “Cut line, my girl. Start from the beginning. What kind of dangerous game are you playing?”

“It’s no game.” Kit sighed and leaned both elbows on the table. Geoffrey drew up a chair. When he waved at her to continue, Kit related her story. In the cold light of morning, it didn’t sound particularly sane. And trying to explain to Geoffrey why she felt as she did was even more futile. She wasn’t surprised when he showed every indication of taking Jack’s part.

“You’ve run mad,” was Geoffrey’s verdict. “What the hell do you suppose he’s going to do when he finds you?”

Kit shrugged, dreaming of the moment.

Geoffrey stiffened. “Did you tell him you’d be here?”

Kit’s shaking head let him breathe again. “But he’ll figure it out.”

Geoffrey stared at her. That wasn’t the assurance he’d wanted. He studied Kit, then asked: “You’re not breeding, are you?”

It was Kit’s turn to stare. “Of course not!”

“All right, all right.” Geoffrey held up both hands placatingly. “I just thought it might be a good excuse to have handy when Hendon makes his entrance. Everyone knows women do strange things at such times.”

Incensed, Kit glared at him. “That’s not the point! I want him to realize I won’t be put aside, tucked safely away in some niche, every time he decides what he’s doing is not…not suitable for me to be involved in.”

Geoffrey clapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, my God!”

The door opened to admit Julian, the youngest of the three brothers, the only one younger than Kit. Geoffrey sat, staring into his coffee while Julian and Kit exchanged joyful greetings over his head, and Kit filled Julian in on the reasons for her present excursion. When they finally turned their attention to their breakfasts, Geoffrey spoke. “Kit, you can’t stay here.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

“It’s not that I mind, personally,” Geoffrey assured her, ignoring the dark look his brother was throwing him. “But can you please try to understand how your husband is going to feel if he arrives here to find you cavorting about Jermyn Street in breeches?” Geoffrey paused, then added: “On second thought, rescind that ‘personally.’ I do mind, because it’s my hide he’ll be after.”

“I’ve got a dress with me.”

Geoffrey cast his eyes to the ceiling. “With all due respect, Kit, trotting about Jermyn Street in a dress is likely to prove even more dangerous to your reputation than the other.”

Kit grimaced, knowing he was right. She’d lived in London long enough to know the rules. Jermyn Street was the haunt of the well-to-do bachelors of the ton. Women of her standing definitely did not live in Jermyn Street. “But where can I go? And for God’s sake, don’t suggest your parents.”

“I’m a coward, not daft,” returned Geoffrey.

The three cousins sat considering their acquaintance. None of it was suitable. Then Julian bounced to life.

“Jenny-Jenny MacKillop!”

Miss Jennifer MacKillop had been governess to Frederick Cranmer’s sons and had filled in a few years more as governess-companion to Kit until the time of Kit’s first Season. Subsequently, she’d retired to look after her aging brother in Southampton.

“I had a letter from her a few months back,” said Kit. “Her brother died and left her the house. She thought she’d stay there for the rest of the year, before making up her mind what to do.”

“Then that’s where you’ll go.” Geoffrey sat up. He studied Kit sternly. “How far behind you do you suppose Hendon is?”

Kit looked uneasy. “I don’t know.”

Geoffrey sighed. “Very well. I’d better wait here in case he arrives, breathing fire. No!” he said, as Julian opened his lips. “From everything I’ve heard about Jonathon Hendon, he’d eat you alive before he paused to ask questions. At least I’ll have my wits to help me. You may escort our lovely cousin to Southampton.”

Julian beamed. “May I use your curricle?”

Geoffrey’s sigh was heartfelt. “If I find a scratch on it, you’ll be painting it with your eyelashes.”

Julian whooped.

Geoffrey raised his brows. “You wouldn’t think he shaves yet, would you?”

Kit giggled.

Geoffrey smiled. “That’s better. I’d started to wonder if you’d forgotten how.”

“Oh, Geoffrey.” Kit put out a hand to clasp his.

Geoffrey gripped her fingers. “Yes, well, I suggest you leave as soon as possible. You should be able to make it by nightfall if Julian keeps a proper eye on the cattle. It sounds as if Jenny will be able to put you both up.”

Her immediate future decided, Kit poured herself another cup of coffee. She didn’t want to go to Southampton. It was too far away from Castle Hendon. But she had to agree with Geoffrey’s reasoning. Jack wouldn’t be pleased to find her frequenting a bachelors’ residence. And she would enjoy seeing Jenny again. Perhaps catching up with her old mentor would distract her from the problems of her new role.

Jack woke on Friday morning feeling thoroughly disgruntled. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, his eyes devoid of expression. Life, full to brimming but short days before, had taken on a greyish hue.

He missed his wife.

Not only did he miss her, he couldn’t seem to function, knowing she wasn’t here, where she belonged. He couldn’t sleep; he couldn’t recall what he’d eaten for the last three days. His faculties were enmeshed in a constant retreading of their last encounters, of the opportunities he’d missed to read her mind and head off her startling, but characteristic action.

It had been a mistake to leave her at Cranmer Hall. He saw that now. But he hadn’t known then how much the thought of her would prey on his mind.

With a half groan, he pushed back the covers and hauled himself upright. Without more ado, he’d rectify his error. He’d ridden in from London late the previous night, his hope that Kit might have reassessed her objectives and returned home dashed by the sight of her empty bed. His empty bed had proved even less inspiring.

He dressed with unusual care, choosing a morning coat of simple elegance, determined to impress his wife with every facet of his personality. He knew exactly what he’d do. After greeting her coolly, he’d insist on seeing her alone. Then, he’d explain to her why her action in leaving him was unacceptable behavior in Lady Hendon, why no circumstance on earth could excuse her absence from the saftey of his hearth. Then he’d kiss the damned woman witless and bring her home. Simple.

He grabbed a cup of coffee and ordered Champion brought around.

“If she’s not here, where the devil is she?” Jack ran an agitated hand through his hair, dragging golden strands loose to fly in wisps about his haggard face. He paced the Gresham’s morning room like a caged and wounded tiger.

Amy watched him, sheer amazement in her face.

“Perhaps, my dear, you should get us some refreshment.” George smiled reassuringly into Amy’s eyes. Drawing her to her feet, he steered her to the door and held it for her.

Once Amy had escaped, George shut the door and fixed Jack with a stern eye. “I told you not to leave Kit alone.” His voice held a note of decided censure. “And if you left without explaining what was going on, I’m not surprised she’s left you.”

Jack paused to stare at him.

George grimaced and rummaged in his coat pocket. “Here,” he said, holding out the note Kit had sent him. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t need to show you this, but obviously your wife knows your stubbornness even better than I.”

Puzzled, Jack took the note and smoothed it out.

“Read the last sentence,” said George helpfully.

Jack did. I feel sure that you, being so much more in Jack’s confidence, will know better than I how to proceed. Crushing the note in his hand, Jack swore. “How the hell was I supposed to know she felt that strongly over it?” He glared at George.

George was unimpressed. “You knew damn well she wanted to know. Dash it-she deserved to know, after what she did that night on the beach. And as for her recent efforts in the cause-all I can say is she’s been damned understanding.”

Jack was taken aback. “You don’t even approve of her!”

“I know. She’s wild beyond excuse. But that doesn’t excuse you.”

Hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed and smoky grey, Jack glared at George. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve told Amy of our mission?”

Unaffected by Jack’s belligerence, George sat on the chaise. “No, of course not. But the point is, Kit’s not Amy.”

Jack’s lips twisted in a pained grimace. He fell to pacing once more, his brow furrowed. “If I’d told her, God knows what she’d have got up to. Our dealings were too dangerous-I couldn’t expose her to such risks.”

George sighed. “Hell, Jack-you knew, what she was like from the start. Why the devil did you marry her, if you weren’t prepared to accept those risks?”

“I married her because I love her, dammit!”

“Well, if that’s the case, then the rest should come easily.”

Jack shot him a suspicious glance. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” said George, “that you wanted her for what she was-what she is. You can’t start changing bits and pieces, expecting her to change in some ways but not in others. Would you be pleased if she turned into another Amy?”

Jack bit back his retort, his lips compressed with the effort to hold back the unflattering reply.

George grinned. “Precisely. Not your cup of tea. Thankfully, she is mine.” The door opened at that moment; George looked up, smiling warmly as Amy entered, preceding her butler, who bore a tray burdened with a variety of strong liquors in addition to the teapot. Dismissing the butler, Amy poured tea for George and herself while George poured Jack a hefty glass of brandy. “Now that we’ve resolved your differences of opinion, what exactly has happened?”