Hemmings swallowed. “Master Geoffrey’s out to dinner, miss, along with Master Julian.”
“Julian’s home?”
When Hemmings nodded, Kit’s spirits lurched upward for the first time that day. Julian must be home on furlough; seeing him would be an unlooked-for bonus in this thus-far-sorry affair.
She’d left Castle Hendon on Sunday afternoon, more than twenty-four hours ago, dressed as Lady Hendon with no incriminating luggage beyond a small black bag. She’d told Lovis she’d been called to visit a sick friend whose brother would meet her in Lynn. The note she’d left for her husband would, she’d assured him, explain all. She’d had Josh drive her into Lynn and leave her at the King’s Arms. When the night stage had left for London at eight that evening, a slim, elegant youth muffled to the ears had been on it.
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.”