Hunter Of My Heart

By claiming the filly, Sabrina felt certain she had found Hunter Sinclair, Earl of Kenilworth, the estate’s owner. His softly spoken words and gentle touch reinforced the newspaper’s accounting of him. Bless the Times. “Lord Kenilworth?”

Swinging around, he stared at her with wide green eyes. “Yes?”

“May I speak with you?”

His brow creased. As he stood, he picked up his riding crop and brushed the straw off his buff trousers. “If you’re looking for a position, speak to the housekeeper.”

The motion of his hand drew her gaze to his muscular thighs. Quickly she reversed her perusal. His towering height and broad shoulders, emphasized by the short cape layering his greatcoat, made him look formidable. She gripped her braid and finally pushed it over her shoulder.

From her reticule, she retrieved a folded paper and handed it to him. “I’m Sabrina Beaumont, from Maison du Beaumont of London. This bill explains everything.”

He snapped open the parchment and read. “I owe you six thousand pounds for women’s frippery? I pay my debts, Miss Beaumont, and this one isn’t mine.” Kenilworth flicked the paper between his fingers and held it beneath her chin. “Besides, the last time I wore a nightgown, I was a babe.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Her mouth parted and closed before she wrested her gaze from his well-shaped lips. “Your lordship, you or your man of business approved these expenditures. You’ve been in Barbados. Perhaps you’re unaware of this debt or didn’t receive my letters. Or forgot! I have something else.”

Digging into her reticule, she produced his promissory note. She cautiously held the paper close to her chest as he read. Unease prickled her skin. “Sir. How long does it take to absorb one line?” She slipped the evidence into her reticule.

Kenilworth’s green eyes narrowed, emphasizing the high bridge of his nose. He pointed a finger at her. “That’s a forgery. What deviousness are you plotting? Who sent you?”

With his accusations ringing in her ear, she stepped backward. “What are you talking about?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. This was not the man the Times described.

His eyes turned cold and hard. “I dislike surprises, Miss Beaumont, but welcome justice. I’ll give you one minute to tell me who concocted this alleged debt. Otherwise, I’ll take you to the authorities for trespassing, forgery and extortion.” From his waistcoat pocket, he retrieved his gold watch.

The set of his chiseled jaw conveyed no sign of compassion, but his hard look fueled her determination. “All I know is that you owe me six thousand pounds.”

“Thirty seconds.”

She considered a strategy but knew she couldn’t execute it. “If you won’t listen, I’ll take this issue to court!”

Exasperated, she turned as if to leave, but an iron grip caught her wrist. His touch made her heart jump. Still she raised her chin and pulled her arm from his hold.

Kenilworth slid his crop through his fingers. “Go ahead. Take me to court.”

His frigid timbre sent a chill down her spine, but from the ruffians she occasionally encountered on her errands, she had learned to show a tough demeanor. She glared at him. “The populace will think you made false promises. That you’re cheating a poor merchant. My accusations will taint your reputation, hurt your political aspirations.”

He whacked his thigh with the whip.

She winced.

Kenilworth pointed his riding crop toward the barrel next to her legs. “Sit and start talking. Don’t spin a tale.”

What happened to the gentle man who cooed to a newborn filly? Sabrina sat, but only because he granted her a chance to speak. “The debt is eight months old. As you saw for yourself, the note said to contact your man of business for payment. I couldn’t find him.”

“How did I accumulate such a debt?” His tone was very dry.

Shifting, she bunched her cloak in her hands. “The debt is for the gowns you allowed your three mistresses to purchase.”

“I doubt that I’d forget one mistress let alone three. You should have given your tale more thought. Right title, wrong man. Until recently, my grandfather on my mother’s side carried the title.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Sir, your family history is of no interest to me, only the money you owe me.”

“A lesson in my family history is exactly what you need. Seven months ago, my grandfather died. He was seventy-four years old, bedridden for the past two, and incapable of satisfying a mistress.”

The implications made her heart skip. “I’ve three letters of promise signed by Lord Kenilworth. You hold the tide and must honor the debt.”

He slipped the paper she had given him into his frock coat pocket, then patted it. “Evidence for extortion. I’ll not honor a debt that isn’t mine, but I’ll seek justice.”

“You’ll pay me, or I’ll...” What could she do?

“You will what?” Kenilworth tapped the whip against his palm. “So far, I could charge you with trespassing. Extortion. Swindling. Exploitation. Forgery. Defamation.” He paused. “Do you know what those words mean?”

Sabrina straightened and thrust her chin forward. “In four languages.” She enunciated the words. “Five if you count English!”

Kenilworth looked unimpressed. “They also mean that if you’re guilty, you’d go to prison or hang.”

Thunder boomed.

The thought sent a chill down her spine. Anger and frustration clashed. Clutching her reticule, she sought mercy in his cold eyes. They appeared like green ice chips. Afraid for the twins’ well-being, Sabrina pressed her point. “Milord, you might have reason to be suspicious, but I swear, I speak the truth. I used my savings to pay your bills. I’m in quite desperate financial straits.”

He frowned. “Would you give the money to a stranger?”

So the rumors were true. He distrusted outsiders. “No, but—”

“Nor will I. Now. Leave and I’ll forget this affair.”

At his dismissal, she heaved a frustrated breath but wouldn’t retreat. Her father, who had been a military strategist, said no one won a battle until one side stood alone. She wasn’t dead yet. She had no choice but to continue with her feigned strategy. “I’ll go straight to court.”

He pressed his face close. For a fleeting second, she noticed an emotion not spawned by arrogance. Fear?

“Really? If you’re telling the truth, who and how will you pay for a defense?”

Sabrina couldn’t seek more legal help for lack of funds and because of her false identity. According to her solicitor and the only other person who knew her secret, she would commit perjury if she used the Beaumont name. Now if she used her real name, her grandfather would find her again because of the publicity. Despite this, Kenilworth’s staunch refusal fueled her ploy.

“Maybe I’ll request that you pay the legal fees.”

“You want to use every opportunity to demand money from me, is that it?”

She pursed her lips. Perhaps he disliked the notion of settling in court. Could she goad him into paying her where honesty and reason had failed?

“Imagine the Times headline. ‘Earl of Kenilworth Cheats Poor Merchant.’ Now, that would be a scandal in these unsettled political times. Parliamentary reform has England in an uproar. The news would contrast with their recent portrayal of you.”

He stared at her hard, then rammed a hand into his trouser pocket. “An investigation should settle this matter. I’ll start with some questions and forward what I learn to my solicitor.”

Investigation?

A tremor skipped down her spine. What if he succeeded in revealing her heritage? What would happen to the twins?

Maybe answering a few questions would satisfy his curiosity. What choice did she have if she hoped to get the money? She said a quick prayer and asked forgiveness if she had to lie for the twins’ sake. “If I can answer them, I will.”