Page 44 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

“No. Not so long as nobody gets hurt.”

“Is that what happened? Did someone get hurt?”

“A great many people,” he said. “And not only those who signed up to fight.”

Kate couldn’t pretend to imagine the things he must have experienced during his years in the Royal Navy. “It doesn’t make your service any less heroic. You fought on the side of good. The British side.”

“You assume they’re one and the same.”

She frowned. “Weren’t they?”

“Not always,” he said. “Regrettably.”

The rest of Kate’s attempts at conversation were met with monosyllabic replies. Charles was no longer disposed to encourage her. Indeed, he didn’t seem interested in her at all except as a problem he must solve.

Approaching Gold Street, he was once again somber, dignified, and—rather aggravatingly—overtly focused on minimizing the damage to her reputation.

“You can’t ride back to Beasley Park,” he said when they disembarked outside of the White Horse. “You can’t return alone in a hired chaise either. We’ll have to find a maidservant to accompany you.”

She nearly came to a halt. “We don’t have to do anything. I shall sort things out on my own.”

Mr. Arbogast’s carriage rolled away behind them, kicking up a cloud of grit in the street as it clattered off, returning to Satterthwaite Court to collect its owner.

“I’ll sort them out,” Charles said. “The less attention you bring to yourself the better.”

“I don’t mind bringing attention to myself. If anyone recognizes me, they’ll merely chalk it up to the Beresford recklessness. I’m always—”

He cocked a brow. “Out in company, unchaperoned, with a gentleman?”

“No,” she admitted, temporarily chastened. “You’re not to think I make a habit of doing this.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” He opened the door of the inn for her. Loud voices drifted out, punctuated by harsh laughter and the clatter of tableware from the dining room. “Though, as you’ve said, it’s no concern of mine.”

“No indeed. All the same…” She passed by him to enter the smoke-filled front passage. Her voice was very small. “I shouldn’t like you to think ill of me.”

“I don’t,” he said.

The deep timbre of his words brushed her ear, sending a thrill down her spine.

She would have liked to respond, but there was no opportunity to do so. The moment they entered the busy coaching inn, Charles summoned the innkeeper and set about making arrangements for her departure. He promptly hired a carriage and engaged a serving maid to act as Kate’s companion, his manner as brusque and efficient as an aged guardian dispensing with his obligation to a troublesome ward.

A lowering comparison, but an apt one, Kate feared.

It wasn’t until they were back on the street and he was handing her into the carriage that Kate managed to convey another private word. “You will keep me apprised of developments, won’t you?”

“If you wish,” he said.

“When?” she asked, still standing on the carriage step.

The young maidservant he’d hired gawped at them from inside the cab.

Charles didn’t seem to notice the girl’s indecorous curiosity. His attention was wholly fixed on Kate. “When next I see you,” he answered.

She squeezed his hand. “Yes, but…when?”

His fingers curved gently around hers. A glimmer of humor softened his stern expression. “You tell me, ma’am.”

Kate’s heart beat hard, understanding his meaning.