Emmagene bristled. “I hope it bites you.”
The grass rustled just to the left of the fence, drawing their attention. Huntly raised a brow. “Are you sure it isn’t some sort of unusual bird?”
“How would I know?” She followed and watched from a few feet away. “He’s your cousin.”
“I don’t see any feathers on the ground though. Or anything resembling a nest. I suppose that’s what the house is for.”
A black-and-white ball of fur streaked across the grass, in Huntly’s direction. She couldn’t see it clearly, of course, but it appeared to be vicious. “My lord, perhaps we should leave whatever it is undisturbed.”
But Huntly had slowed his steps to approach a quivering patch of grass. “Come now, I won’t hurt you,” he crooned in his rough voice to something at his feet.
A tingle ran between Emmagene’s thighs at the soft, coaxing rumble of his voice. For only a moment, she imagined he was talking to her. Which of course he wasn’t. He was talking to whatever was creeping about in Southwell’s woods.
“What the bloody hell are you?” she heard Huntly say right before the most appalling, rank odor filled the air. “No, stop!” he yelped, jumping up into the air, backing away as fast as he could in Emmagene’s direction.
A small rodent-like animal with a fanned tail and a white streak down its back scurried away into the undergrowth and disappeared. The most noxious stench hung over the entire area, like a gigantic cloud of rottenness.
Huntly moved forward, the cloud of stink firmly fixed to him.
Emmagene held up a hand to stop him. “That’s close enough, my lord.”
Huntly gave her a wide-eyed look before sniffing at his coat. “Good God. What horrible creature do you think that was? Certainly not a cat. Very unlike anything else I’ve ever seen. Itsprayedme.”
She pinched her nose. “I’ve no idea what it is.” Waving a hand to dispel the scent, she backed up further. “Oh, it’s quite horrid.” Emmagene bit her lip to keep from giggling at the look of shock on Huntly’s face. “Sprayed you?”
“There’s no need to repeat me. Yes, it”—he thrust a large forefinger in the direction of the grass—“sprayed me.” Stepping forward, he winced as a breeze blew the smell into his nose. “Christ. The thing pointed itsassat me. Wiggled its tail.Sprayedme. Now I stink to high heaven.”
“You certainly do.” Emmagene waved her hand in the air, hoping to dispel some of the scent. “Just don’t get too close.” A snort followed by muffled laughter came from her as she gave up her struggle to contain her amusement. “Walk behind me. Please, I beg you, my lord.”
A grunt of displeasure was the only reply.
After half an hour—in which Huntly took off his coat, sniffed, and then flung the garment onto a tree stump in disgust—of marching back to the house, the odor hadn’t abated. He cursed loudly, uncaring that Emmagene heard every word. “The smell isn’t going away.”
“No, my lord. It is not.” Another giggle left her.
“Looked like a cat, but no feline has ever pointed their ass at me and shot such a stench in the air. Stop laughing,” he growled as his gaze fell to her mouth. “No, don’t. It’s a lovely sound even if it’s at my expense. You should make it more often, Miss Stitch.”
“I’ll consider doing so.”
“I suppose Lady Trent will use this as an excuse to set a table for me on the other side of the estate.” He pushed back the tangle of his hair, frowning as he caught a whiff of himself. “I smell as if I’ve been mucking out the stables.”
The sun lit along Huntly’s hair, the mop of tarnished gold atop his head sparkling, and Emmagene found herself glancing anywhere but at him. It definitely hadn’t been Geoffrey she’d dreamed of last night.
“Stay downwind of me, if you don’t mind, my lord.” Emmagene quickened her steps.
The garden came into view as the path gently wound out of the woods and onto the lawn. There was no sign of the other guests or any indication anyone else was out taking an early-morning walk. A good thing considering Huntly’s smell.
“Find Southwell’s butler, Dunst. He’ll know what to do to sneak me back upstairs. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone not enjoying their eggs this morning.”
Emmagene nodded, for once not arguing, and hurried toward the terrace. Once inside, she searched the corridor for Dunst, finding him directing servants, who were rushing about preparing to serve breakfast.
Dunst was an interesting choice for a butler, as with his build and somewhat menacing demeanor, he looked more suited for employ as a dockworker. Perhaps that was why Southwell had chosen him, for he could certainly frighten off anyone who might not belong at Longwood. She approached him, discreetly relaying the predicament Lord Huntly found himself in.
Dunst’s mustache twitched in alarm, but he displayed not an ounce of surprise at the description of the hideous creature. “Most unfortunate.” After making some whispered instructions to the head footman, the butler followed her out of the house, to the gardens.
Huntly was attempting to hide beneath a spray of wisteria. Not only was he clearly visible, but the fragrant blooms did nothing to mask the scent. He immediately launched into a description of the horrid creature for Dunst, complete with Emmagene’s screams for aid. “It was some sort of—”
“Rodent,” Emmagene finished. “Or a very ugly cat possibly.”
