Page 9 of The Trouble with Tigers
A woman’s low humming came from the end of the hall. A chambermaid approaching. Kitty didn’t dare get caught eavesdropping.
She hastened forward, bowing stiffly. “Good morning, my lords.”
“Good morning to you, Kit,” the earl said in a cheerful tone.
Lord Thurgood gave a curt nod and fixed her with a suspicion-laced stare.
He stood before the tall, multi-paned windows lining the breakfast hall. The morning sun spilling in illuminated the magnificent, bottomless blue of his eyes. Not cornflower or powder, but a deep, smoky blue with the richness of crushed velvet.
“Are you quite ready, lad?” The earl’s words penetrated her Zeke-induced stupor.
She peeled her gaze off the man. “Yes, my lord, quite ready.” She’d even skip breakfast if it meant getting out of this house and away fromhim.
The earl furrowed his fluffy white brows and aimed an accusatory look at his grandson, though he addressed Kitty. “Have you eaten anything this morning, Kit?”
She hesitated, not wanting to delay their departure. “No, my lord.”
The earl’s expression turned peevish. “I thought not.”
Lord Thurgood snorted.
“Run along, Kit, and fetch something from Cook. Then meet me at the stables.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”
She swung around prepared to flee the room. She halted at Lord Thurgood’s, “Stables?”
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.
“That’s right, Zeke. Kit and I visit the country every Tuesday.”
“Do you, now? Sounds like fun.”
***
There was definitely something strange going on here. The earl knew it, Kit knew it, and Zeke knew it. Only, unlike the two conspirators, Zeke didn’t know whatitwas. And he didn’t like being left in the dark. Not one bit. He sat atop the jostling buggy, sandwiching his grandfather between his hulking form and that of young Kit.
Not long after they’d left London proper, the old man put Kit in the driver’s seat. He was giving the lad driving lessons, no less, and from the looks of it had been for some time. That was a job for the head groom. When Zeke said as much, the earl laughed, as if he had made some sort of joke. No explanation was offered.
Was Kit a long lost brother? A by-blow of his late father? A result of one of Caden’s liaisons? Zeke quickly did the math. Caden was a mere five and twenty. If he were Kit’s father, Kit could only be eight, at the oldest.
Kit was well past nursery age. But precisely how old was he? Zeke tried once more to get a clear look at the boy’s face, and once more his grandfather’s frame somehow managed to block his view.
No matter, he thought with a glare at his grandfather’s too-innocent profile. He closed his eyes and summoned a vision of Kit from this morning, in the dining hall, when the scamp had stared unblinking at him with the brazenness of a peer.
He’d hazard to guess Kit was at least in his late teens. Though he had no facial hair to speak of, the boy’s pronounced cheekbones attested any baby fat being long gone.
He supposed the boy could be his grandfather’s accident. He contemplated the notion—and promptly came up against a wall. The men in Zeke’s family were all fair-haired, especially as youths, with vital complexions. They were also larger than the average Brit owing to their Nordic lineage. In addition, they invariably had blue colored eyes.
Kit’s pale skinned complexion looked as if his face had never seen the sun. As opposed to being blond with blue eyes, he had ink-black hair and eyes the color of ice-covered moss. As for his build, Zeke snorted to himself, he was far from Viking material.
Ruling out the possibility of Kit being related to his family by blood left two possibilities, neither of which appealed to Zeke. Either the earl was becoming eccentric as Zeke often joked, or Kit had somehow bamboozled the old man into special treatment.
If the latter was the case, as Zeke suspected, it was a good thing he’d come home when he did. No one took advantage of his family. He’d handle the situation.
Resolved, he settled back, arms crossed over his chest, and allowed himself to enjoy the passing scenery with its increasing degree of foliage and decreasing populace. The air smelled sweeter here than in London. Not to mention he’d spent the past several months cooped up on a ship, unable to walk two feet without running into a fellow passenger or crewman.
“That’s it, talk to them a bit, Kit. It puts the horses at ease.”
