Page 61 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

The darkened windows of Devon’s townhouse had a sinister air about them at this time of night, like empty-socketed eyes peering down at Elliot in open accusation. Even the door, painted in black lacquer, made the entryway appear as a mouth hanging open in a gasp of pure, horrified outrage.

Elliot blew out a breath as he fished for the key in his pocket, half-convinced the door intended to snap him in half before he could make it through. He’d had to return to his bachelor’s lodgings to retrieve the key—there had been no need to have it with him during the ball—and that had necessitated walking several streets in the hopes of finding a hack available.

Because Kate had left him standing there on the pavement even as he had shouted her name, irrespective of who might have been listening. Without hesitation, she had left him. And in those frantic minutes that had followed as he had searched for a hack, as his mind had struggled to arrange itself into some sort of order and to cobble together the perfect, proper explanation, he had realized—it wouldn’t matter. Not this particular evening, at least.

Even if Hodges could be prevailed upon once again to grant him just five minutes, which he held very much in doubt, it wouldn’t have been nearly enough time to say all there was to say, much less to permit her the time to say her own piece.

And so instead of racing to his brother’s townhome in hot pursuit, he had instead headed to his own lodgings to retrieve his key and return beneath cover of darkness. To slip in undetected and steal the time he required right from beneath the noses of his brother’s staff.

Assuming, of course, that Kate did not immediately call the whole of the household down around his head and have him tossed out on his arse.

Elliot slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The click of the mechanism within sounded gratingly loud in the quiet of the street. He breathed a sigh as the door opened silently into the yawning darkness within.

A hand slid out, slapped over the key still within the lock, and pulled it free. A face appeared in the sliver of the open door, one disapproving eye peering out at him. “I’ll take that, thank you,” Hodges said gruffly, as he retracted his hand and the key with it.

Elliot’s mouth dropped open in mute astonishment. “Hodges,” he said. “That’s my key. Give it back!”

“You’ll have it back when you can be trusted with it,” Hodges said, with a critical sniff. “The audacity of sneaking into the house this time of night.”

Gritting his teeth against a response that would certainly not see his key returned to him with any additional alacrity, Elliot said, “You weren’t meant to know. You were meant to be asleep!”

“And I might have been,” Hodges said. “If Miss Littlefield hadn’t come back from the ball looking like she’d been run straight through the heart.”

Elliot’s heart wrenched in his chest. “We had a bit of misunderstanding,” he said. “Did she…say anything to you?”

“Not until after Mrs. Littlefield had retired,” Hodges said. “Plain as day she didn’t wish her mother to know of it, but she crept down for a cup of tea and asked if we might not admit you for breakfast as we generally do.”

Elliot reared back in offense. “It’s my brother’s house!”

“And Miss Littlefield is, in point of fact, your brother’s guest. Naturally, her wishes are paramount.” Hodges lifted his chin in haughty condescension. “I had something of a feeling, given what I know of you, my lord,” he said, “that you would be along sooner or later.”

Christ. He’d walked straight into a trap, and he hadn’t even known it. And now Hodges had his key, and Kate—Kate was tucked away up in her bedroom, safe and secure and, if Hodges had guessed only the half of it, devastated.

Elliot hunched his shoulders, guilt weighing heavily upon his chest, upon his heart. “I really do need to speak with her as soon as possible,” he said.

“Certainly, my lord,” Hodges said, in the bland, even monotone of the perfectly proper English butler he was. “Tomorrow, at a reasonable hour—that is to say, after breakfast—you may leave your card with me at the door and I will see if Miss Littlefield is receiving.”

Oh, now, really. Enough was enough! “Hodges,” Elliot ground out. “I swear to you, I have no intention of leaving this spot until you let me speak with Kate.”

“Fair enough, my lord,” Hodges replied. “It is a public street.”

He snapped the door shut in Elliot’s face. A moment later, there was the click of the lock and the faint strains of Hodges humming a merry tune as he retreated from the door. And Elliot was left alone on the street, in the dark, to stew in his misery.

Chapter Twenty Four

The day had dawned dreary, and Kate had dragged herself down to breakfast after a mostly sleepless night without much enthusiasm for the task. The cheval glass in her room had revealed a wretched and haggard appearance. The perfect curls of evening last had become knotted and tangled from a night spent tossing and turning. Her eyes were red, swollen, and bloodshot, with circles so dark beneath them that they looked bruised. She looked a fright, and felt it besides.

Mama would certainly think her to be ill. Perhaps even at death’s very door.

The dining room was empty when she arrived, but Mrs. Norris was quick to enter from the kitchen with a plate of fresh pastries, which she set upon the table alongside a selection of other breakfast dishes.

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Norris clucked kindly as she beheld Kate’s rather bedraggled appearance. “I’ll fetch you a pot of tea. You look as though you could use it.”

Yes, she certainly could. The tea, at least, had a prayer of staying down, though she doubted that much of the rest would do the same. Nevertheless, Mrs. Norris had gone to a great deal of effort to prepare a proper breakfast, and pretending to have enjoyed it was the least Kate could do. “Has Mama been down?” Kate asked as she selected a pastry to place upon her plate and set about tearing it into bite-sized pieces with her fingers.

“She took a light breakfast in her room,” Mrs. Norris replied. “Said she had a bit of the headache. The weather, you know, dear.”

Through the window, the murky grey clouds roiled above the rooftops with the threat of rain hanging heavy within them. Probably Mama would be abed for several more hours still, if indeed she felt well enough to rise today at all.