Garrett stood on Lady Kitson’s front steps and crushed the brim of his hat in his hands almost as hard as she had. She not only stirred his passions, she stirred his desire to protect her. He didn’t like the idea of Mr. Pratt trying to teach Lady Kitson’s little boy, either. And when to hire a tutor should be her decision. Not the duke’s. Garrett was tempted to turn around and walk back into the house and insist she tell him what was going on. Why was the duke forcing this tutor on Chatwyn? What kind of documents was she trying to hide, and what did an explosion have to do with any of it? And what had her so frightened at the thought of asking him for help?
Lady Kitson wasn’t a lady who lacked courage or resolve. Something vital was at stake for her and he wanted to know what it was. The problem was that she wasn’t ready to confide in him and trust him to help her. He could understand that. Maybe. She was cautious. He could appreciate that, but surely she couldn’t consider him a stranger anymore. Something kept her from confiding in him.
Placing his hat on his head, Garrett walked down the steps to the street. He untied his horse, climbed onto the saddle, and headed toward St. James Park. He hadn’t expected to arrive in London and be immediately and totally consumed by thoughts of an alluring lady and her intriguing state of affairs. He was used to planting his feet on dry soil and immediately taking his pick from a number of women willing to satisfy a seafarer.
After his encounter with Lady Kitson, he hadn’t wanted to pay a visit to a mistress. He’d only wanted to retrieve the widow’s butterfly net. She was the only lady on his mind.
He’d settled into the Holcott-Fortney Inn and had sent a message to Wiley that he’d arrived in London, asking him to meet at their usual place for a ride through the park. After that, he bought a bottle of the inn’s finest brandy and found an empty chair at one of the tables in their card room. That’s where he’d spent most of the night.
At first awakening this morning, his head pounded and his body ached with unfulfilled desire. He cursed himself for deciding to pursue gaming and an over-indulgence of brandy instead of the comforts of a soft, willing woman. He’d planned to rectify that mistake today. Now, after seeing Lady Kitson again, he knew why he’d come to that surprising conclusion yesterday. And difficult as it was to endure, it was still the right one for him. Strange as it was to admit, Lady Kitson was the only one he desired. And for now, he was going to have to live with the pain that caused.
Bright sunlight made the sky blue as a sparkling gem, but it also made the air still and hot as Hades. He passed a man in a rumbling wagon filled with rattling milk cans, baskets of vegetables and firewood as he entered the park. Garrett tipped his hat to the farmer, and then nudged his horse to go faster. Obviously, the midday heat hadn’t kept anyone inside. The park was bustling with people strolling about, sitting on blankets, and riding in their carriages.
Garrett had never returned to London to win favors or to reacquaint himself with anyone in the ton other than Wiley Calder, though oddly enough, Garrett was usually in Town less than twenty-four hours before the first invitations to dinners and parties started arriving. He always assumed Wiley was responsible for making it known the sea adventurer was back. Interest in him was always the same. There were those who sought him out to hear about his travels and those who questioned his right to continue to be a part of Society’s small circle.
His friend since childhood, Wiley had always understood Garrett’s desire to make his own way in life, and his fascination with the world that lay beyond England’s tight shores. But Wiley never had the inclination to visit any of the places Garrett had been. A third son himself, Wiley was content to live in London, enjoy the fringes of the lifestyle that befitted an untitled son, and stay a gentleman—living off the allowance his older brother handed out to family members who had no lands or other income-producing properties to sustain them.
Garrett’s father, Alfred Stockton, had been that way. Alfred had no problem accepting the pittance of allowance and a house to live in from his second cousin, an earl and the patriarch of the family. To Garrett’s father, it wasn’t money that counted; it was lineage, upbringing, and family standards that were important. He’d been happy to live in the small house where the two Stockton men had been granted a home. Alfred never understood why his son didn’t feel the same way.
For Alfred, gambling had always been a dependable source of extra income. Not only was he good with a deck of cards, the roll of dice, and at the billiards tables, but he also had an uncanny ability to read people and know if they truly had a winning hand. Luck always seemed to follow him, no matter what game he chose, but he had no desire to even think about using his skills to start a business. He was affronted when Garrett had suggested it.
That was for tradesmen. Not gentlemen.
Garrett’s horse galloped up and over a gentle slope in the terrain. In the distance he saw Wiley waiting under the elm where he’d rescued Lady Kitson. The old tree had been his favorite to climb when he was a youngster. Its low branches were wide and sturdy. It amazed Garrett that she’d managed to climb high enough to reach the spindlier limbs.
Wiley was a tall, lanky man with thin brown hair as straight as a board. For as long as Garrett had known him, he had worn it longer than fashionable and was often seen brushing the front length of it away from his forehead. The almond shape of his eyes, long bridge of his nose, and generous, big-toothed smile made him look as friendly as he was.
When Wiley caught sight of Garrett, he mounted and rode out to meet him. He maneuvered his horse to fall in beside Garrett’s. They shook hands firmly and then hugged briefly across the horses. The skittish mare snorted and sidestepped, tossing her head, not wanting the other animal to crowd her.
“I was beginning to think you hadn’t received my answer that I’d be here,” Wiley said in his calm, good-natured way.
“Something came up that delayed me. It’s good to see you, my friend. You’re looking fit. Obviously, life’s been good to you.”
“Better than I deserve,” Wiley said with a wide smile.
“I have no doubt of that.”
His friend wasn’t a man who wanted much more out of life than what he already had. That kind of contentment was difficult for Garrett to understand. He’d asked Wiley to sail with him and be his partner, but Wiley had no interest in the life Garrett wanted.
To Garrett’s knowledge, Wiley had never traveled much farther than a day’s ride from London. He was occasionally asked to spend a week or two in the summer or at Christmastide with his oldest brother, who was a viscount. The greater portion of the year he spent in London, doing the same things most gentlemen of leisure did each day: reading the newsprint in the morning and then discussing all that was of interest with the gentlemen at one of his clubs.
On any given day, if news and gossip were scant, the gentlemen would play cards or billiards. They would attend weekly fencing matches, horse races, and cock fights, or pay a visit to their mistresses. If it was a busy day, a gentleman could manage an appearance at more than one or two events. Late afternoons and evenings would more or less be a repeat of the day, unless someone was hosting a dinner party in their home. Only then might their routines change. Garrett wasn’t interested in such a sedate life.
“I know you usually find your way back to London in the spring,” Wiley offered. “I’m glad you made an exception this time, but you realize there won’t be as much trouble for us to get into with most of our debauched friends off to their summer homes and the clubs and gaming halls empty of their best card and billiards players.”
“Chances are we’ll find someone who wants to start a row.” The two men laughed. Garrett hugged the mare with his knees, urging the lazy animal to keep going.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not going to the clubs as much as I used to,” Wiley admitted. “I want to take care of Miss Osborne properly after we wed, and if I have to give up wagers on daily card games and drinking until dawn, I’m willing.”
“That’s probably a good way to keep her happy.”
“So, if we’re going to get into a little trouble while you’re in Town, we should make it soon. I doubt Miss Osborne wants me to be wearing a black eye when she returns to London.”
Garrett chuckled. “I remember the days when both of us would wear them quite often. I promise not to lead you astray. One of the reasons I’m here is to make her acquaintance and to see you are wed. That includes making sure you look your best on that day and with your pockets plump.”
“I think you’ll like Miss Osborne,” Wiley said with an innocence in his voice that seldom showed.
“I already do. She had the good sense to see through all your faults and decide to marry you anyway.”
Wiley snorted a laugh and nodded a greeting as they passed an older gentleman who was also riding. “That she did. Some days I still can’t believe she agreed. I’m not sure when she’ll be back in London. How long are you staying this time?”
That question made Garrett think. He didn’t usually stay in London more than a couple of weeks. A month at the most. He didn’t want to think about leaving right now. He knew Lady Kitson needed him whether or not she was ready to admit that. “As long as it takes to see you wed.”
“Good. She’ll write once her parents have decided when they’ll be returning.”
“But before Christmastide?” Garrett asked with a grin.
“You can be sure of that.”
They rode in silence for a few moments before Garrett said, “There’s another reason I came to London.”
“My wedding wasn’t reason enough?”
“Of course, but I want to buy a house.”
“Really?” Wiley’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked over at Garrett. “In London?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
“Why wouldn’t it? You’ve never wanted to stay in London long enough to have a home. Does this mean you’re finally ready to put your traveling boots under just one bed and keep them there?”
For now? Yes. Forever? Garrett didn’t know. He couldn’t explain it to himself and he wasn’t going to try to make Wiley understand. Garrett was all right with that uncertainty for now. Buying the house where he grew up was what mattered. Not what brought him to that reasoning. Lady Kitson crossed his mind. Yes, right now he only wanted his boots under her bed. He didn’t know when that would happen, but he was willing to wait for her.
He gave Wiley the only answer he could. “I don’t know.”
“Fair enough. It’s always good to have you in London no matter how long you stay.”
“I want to buy the house on Poppinbrook Street from my cousin.”
Wiley brushed his hair from his forehead and tucked it under the brim of his hat. “You look serious about this.”
The sun beat down on the back of Garrett’s neck. “I am.”
“You can buy any house in London you want, but believe me, you don’t want that house.”
“I do want to buy that house.”
“Then you’ll need to talk to someone other than your cousin. The house was sold to Mr. Peter Moorshavan over a year ago.”
Garrett took in that information. It hadn’t crossed his mind that the house might now be owned by someone else. That could be a wrinkle he hadn’t expected but he hoped not. “I don’t know of the man, but it might be easier to buy from him than from the old earl.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
Wiley pulled his horse up short and stopped him so Garrett stopped, too. Both horses nickered and pulled against their bridles.
“I never met him, but from what I heard everyone thought Moorshavan was simply a wealthy man from the Americas when he moved into the house. Many of his neighbors befriended him. Until, according to rumor, it was learned the man had opened a hidden brothel in the house.”
Garrett digested that bit of information as he remembered the house where he was raised. It was small—the drawing room, the front lawn, and the back garden. All of it. But it was something that his father had said could never be his. Did it bother Garrett that the house had been turned into a brothel? No. It wouldn’t change his plans.
“I’m not one to judge any man or woman about how they choose to make their living,” Garrett said.
“Most would agree. And while many gentlemen in Society might on occasion have reason to visit such a place, none of them want to be associated with anyone who actually owns one—and they especially don’t want one on their street. I heard the Lord Mayor and a few other gentlemen paid Moorshavan a visit and he and his women were gone the next day.”
“So he should be willing to sell?”
“I don’t know. Others have asked about him, but no one has heard from him since it was discovered what he was doing.”
“Then he’s probably ready to get rid of it.” After being a sojourner for so long, needing a home wasn’t something Garrett could explain. He had stayed in inns as grand as the Holcott-Fortney, run-down taverns with rooms only big enough for a makeshift bed, and slings in the bottom of a ship. Now he wanted his own home. He wanted his first house to be the one his father could never have dreamed of owning, because of the life his father chose to live at the mercy of his wealthy relatives.
“I want the house on Poppinbrook Street,” Garrett said again.
“All right. I can ask around the clubs about the man and see if anyone has heard from him, if you want to buy it and live there.”
“I don’t want to live there,” Garrett said. “I want to tear it down.” It wasn’t something he could rationalize and he didn’t try to. Perhaps it was that in doing so he would also demolish the old guard rule that a man couldn’t be a gentleman and a tradesman. It was time for him to move beyond the past. He was committed to removing every board of it and replacing it with a house that reflected the man he was today.
Garrett nodded. “Yes. See what you can find out.”
Wiley rested his forearm on the horn of his saddle. “I’ll keep you posted.”
Garrett knew Wiley had questions but he kept them to himself. “What do you know about Lady Kitson Fairbright?”
“As much as anyone, I guess. Why are you asking?”
Garrett’s horse snorted and shuddered beneath him. He nudged the mare to start walking again. “I met her here in the park.”
“Hmm.” Wiley brushed his hair again and moved his horse alongside Garrett’s. “I didn’t know she was back in London. I haven’t seen the duke at White’s or heard about him being in Town. Usually everyone is on their best behavior when the Duke of Sprogsfield’s around.”
Garrett wasn’t interested in the duke. “What do you know about Lady Kitson?” he asked again.
Wiley looked away and seemed to ponder what Garrett asked. They passed a lady and gentleman walking and acknowledged them by lifting their hats off in greeting.
“I probably don’t know much more than you, since you saw her. She’s lovely, widowed, and has a son. She and two of her friends are benefactors of a girl’s school in St. James.”
“What else?” Garrett asked, eager to hear something about the intriguing lady that he didn’t already know.
“She’s fond of animals.” Wiley chuckled. “Why don’t you just come out and ask me if she’s available to pursue?”
Fair enough. “Is she?”
“Not from what I understand.”
Garrett’s stomach squeezed and his hands tightened on the reins. “She has a lover?”
“I haven’t heard about one if she does.”
“Then what the devil would make you say she’s unavailable?” Garrett asked, feeling a sudden rise of impatience to know all he could about Lady Kitson.
“Because she brushes off every man who’s tried to openly court her or have a secret affair with her. I’ve heard the talk. Believe me, men have tried. I mean—why wouldn’t they? She beautiful, young, and from what I understand has quite a substantial amount of property in her own right.”
“What are the rumors as to why she rejects all offers?”
Wiley shrugged. “It’s anyone’s guess. Some say it’s because the duke controls her life and forbids it.”
That comment made Garret’s stomach twist. He didn’t like the idea of anyone forbidding Lady Kitson to do anything. And he’d wager a gold coin she wouldn’t like it, either. She wanted to hide something—probably from the duke. Garrett was more determined than ever to find out what it was and to help her.
“Everyone knows how devoted the duke is about all his family following the strict dictates of Society,” Wiley continued. “He’s disowned more than one nephew for not living up to the high standard he expects. But I think most agree Lady Kitson is involved with only one male and that’s her son.”
“What about her marriage? Was she happy?”
“As far as I know.” Wiley shrugged again and gave Garrett a sideways glance. “How am I to know? I wasn’t a close friend to her husband. I only know that her uncle wanted her to marry a man twice her age, but she eloped with Lord Kitson instead.”
Nudging his horse to move, Garrett smiled at Wiley’s comment. He could see Lady Kitson having the courage to elope with the youngest son of a duke. And he could also see the duke being extremely upset about that.
“Can you get me an invitation to Lady Hallbury’s party Saturday afternoon?”
“Did Lady Kitson just happen to mention she’d be there?”
“No. Someone else did.”
Wiley laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”