“I would be surprised to find that were the case.”
She watched Max’s face as he thought about her question. He was giving it due consideration, she guessed, because it was a logical assumption from what they’d been told.
“I’m quite sure I’ve made a few enemies throughout my life, but to the best of my recollection, I don’t owe anyone money, I’ve never rendered anyone penniless, nor have I killed anyone.”
“Seduced any prominent wives lately?” Kitty managed a grin.
“I don’t seduce wives, Kitty. They try to seduce me.”
“God, you’re arrogant.”
He inclined his head in agreement. “Only if you view honesty as arrogance.”
“In some things, yes. In others, no. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment,” she waved the philosophical discussion aside. “So you can’t think of anyone who might be out to do you harm?”
He slowly shrugged. “Not a soul.”
“Any staff difficulties here? Or at any of your other properties?”
He blinked, and took a moment to think about that possibility. “Not that I’m aware of. I have many servants that have been with the family for years, and I’m sure if there had been trouble, I’d have been informed immediately. We Seton-Mowbrays value good service and we’re not shy about making that known.”
“Definitely arrogant,” she muttered.
“I heard that.” He glanced at her. “I don’t have a lot of properties, actually. Besides Mowbray House, there’s a small estate just outside Southampton, that I visit in the summer sometimes. Then there’s Seton’s Folly for the hunting, and the family burden—Oakhall Manor. M’sister likes the place, but it’s always seemed more of a mausoleum to me.”
“Sister? That would be the lady whose clothes I’ve been borrowing?”
“Yes, Grace. She doesn’t care for town life. Prefers the quiet of the country. Oakhall is on the south coast, so she has the forests and the ocean near, which seems to make her happy. In the winter she moves closer to London. There’s a small hunting box she inherited, about twenty miles or so from here.”
Kitty was about to pursue her questioning, when the gentlemen returned.
Edmund’s face was dark with anger. “He’s right. Dal is accurate when he says the spokes were sawn—at least two, maybe more. Just enough, I would guess a good bump would do it.” His eyes met Max’s. “Someone’s trying to kill you, sir. And they’ve damn near killed my sister instead.”
Kitty saw Max’s nostrils flare, and quickly put her hand on his arm as she turned to her brother. “Hecate should not have been in that carriage, Edmund. It was borrowed—if you can call using someone else’s carriage without their permissionborrowing—by Miller-James. If anyone should be lying on that couch, it should be me instead of Hecate. And Max would be…” She couldn’t say it, but the worddeadhung in the air like a shadow. “And we don’t know yet that Max was definitely the target. Coaches look similar in the dark, don’t they?”
Simon sighed. “You have a point, Kitty. We don’t know enough to make assumptions.” He looked at Edmund. “I completely share your feelings, brother. But we must temper them with logic.”
Edmund ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. No offense, Max.”
“None taken. I’d feel the same if it were my sister.”
Kitty felt it was safe enough to remove her hand. She was tired, so tired. Scared half to death by Hecate’s injuries, and now the burden of Max being a potential target—it was all taking its toll on a woman who was more accustomed to choosing gowns than dealing with disasters. “We need to plan what to do now,” she said.
Max glanced down at her. “Sit, Kitty.”
She sat and he brought her a brandy. “Thank you.” She sipped, the warming liquid bolstering the little strength she had left. Aware of the disapproving gaze of her brothers, she defiantly took another sip.
Edmund sighed. “Right then.” He turned to James. “You’ll be coming with us, James?”
“Yes, absolutely.” He narrowed his eyes. “I would think Hecate will need most of the space in the carriage, so it’s a good thing we have our mounts.”
“Should someone attend her? A maid? Kitty?” Simon looked at his sister.
She shook her head. “Simon, I love my sister to the ends of the earth. But I am not good at tending to the sick. I would spend half the journey sick myself with worry, and when we got to Ridlington any aspirations I might still have about nursing would be completely overrun by Rosaline, you know that. She’s so much better at organization than I am. Within a day I’d be back to the old pattern of doing nothing and trying to make it look like I was doing something.”
“You’re right, Kitty,” acknowledged Edmund. “But Ridlington is, and always will be, your home. You know that, don’t you? You are welcome there at any time, no matter the situation.” He cast a pointed look at Max.
“Understood, Baron.”
