Wexcombe was right about one thing: when the dowager duchess got a notion into her head, trying to reason with her was like arguing with the wind-it went its own direction, no matter what you said. "Very well, Aunt Jo."
The dowager nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now pour yourself a glass of brandy, Nicholas, and tell me what other nasty surprises are in store for me this week."
Chapter Four
Kit set down her pen with an aggravated sigh and massaged her cramped fingers. So much for trying to distract herself. At this rate, she would never finish translating Tulss's Ramayana. She stared at her handwriting, which was uncharacteristically halting and uneven and almost illegible, then at the smudges of ink on her fingertips. What a mess she'd made. Of everything.
Propping her chin on the heel of one hand, Kit stared morosely out the windows at the clouds gathering on the horizon until her vision blurred at the edges. Why had she goaded the marquess like that? How foolish of her to think that she could give a rake a disgust of her through plain speaking. She'd been playing with fire; she should not have been surprised when the marquess gave her that scorching kiss.
Her lips still tingled. She rubbed her mouth to dispel the sensation. Why her? Because she was a widow, a woman of experience? Kit snorted. That was a misnomer. George had been an indifferent husband; he had wanted a high-born wife who would lend credibility and panache to his business, and who would ornament his home. Ornament, indeed. She might as well have been one of the trophies mounted on the wall. When she protested, he had not cared a whit for her feelings. And he had been indifferent to her in their marital bed, as well. It was just as well that they'd never had children. Kit rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms. For seven years she had convinced herself that she was undesirable, and now…
The marquess had to be trifling with her. A family house party must seem quite dull to a Corinthian such as he, so he must be looking for a diversion. That was the only way she could explain that amazing kiss. She could still feel the insistent pressure of his mouth against hers, still smell his lingering scent on her skin…
She shook herself. No. She must not be tempted by this forbidden fruit. She would not subject herself to another man's whims. First her father, then her husband-twice was quite enough, thank you very much.
Kit returned her pen to its stand, closed the cap on the inkwell, and rose from the escritoire. Conversation with the dowager would ease her mind. She gave her hair a quick pat, then left her bedchamber and made her way to Her Grace's rooms.
As she approached, the marquess emerged from the dowager's rooms and closed the door behind him. She came to an abrupt halt, turned, and was about to retreat back the way she'd come when his voice stopped her.
"Mrs. Mallory. I had not thought to see you again so soon."
Kit scowled at the teasing challenge in his voice. She swiveled to face him. "Good afternoon, my lord," she replied in clipped tones. "I shall not trouble you; I am on my way to see the dowager duchess."
"You are too late, I fear," he replied with a slight smile. "She has just retired for a brief rest."
"Oh." Kit tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. "Then I shall not disturb her. If you will excuse me-"
"A moment." He drew near with long-legged strides. "I wish to speak with you."
Kit's shoulders stiffened. "If you wish to apologize, my lord, I am willing to listen. Otherwise, I must bid you good day."
"Apologize?" His smile broadened. "Why would I do that, when I am not sorry for a moment about what passed between us?"
She stared at him, her mouth rounded in a perfect O. "Why do you persist in mocking me?"
"I am not mocking you."
"Then why did you kiss me?"
"Because, my dear Mrs. Mallory, you need kissing. Passionately, thoroughly, and as often as possible."
"Of all the-!" she sputtered. "Impudent-"
"-insolent, impertinent, impolite… Rest assured, ma'am, I have heard the entire litany." An impatient expression erased his smile. "Now, will you kindly forgo your maidenly protestations and listen to me for a moment?"
Kit closed her mouth with a snap. If the marquess continued to bait her like this, she would sound like a Billingsgate fishwife before the end of the week. "Very well, my lord."
"Thank you." Raised voices rang from the vestibule: the duke and duchess. Lord Bainbridge gestured toward the other end of the hall. "Let us walk a while together; the gallery might afford us more privacy."
Kit's heart did a strange flip at the thought of being alone with him, but her head did not forget so easily. "No more of your games, my lord."
He spread his hands. "No games; you have my word. I only wish to discuss the welfare of the dowager duchess."
Every instinct told her not to go, but the quiet concern in his voice overrode her better judgment. She flicked an alarmed glance to the dowager's door. "Is anything wrong?"
He shook his head. "Not at the moment, no. She is merely a trifle fatigued. That is, however, what I wish to discuss with you."
"Then you have my complete attention, sir."
The marquess clasped his hands behind his back and began to wander down the hall toward the gallery. Kit fell into step a few paces to one side.
"Apparently," began Lord Bainbridge, "the duke used today's outing as an opportunity to ask his grandmother to retire from society and move into the dower house at Wexcombe Hall. No, not ask. Demand. Such an approach did not sit well with Her Grace."
"No, I imagine not," Kit replied tightly. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "She suspected that the duke might try something like this; she told me he has been after her for months. Did he upset her very much?"
The marquess shook his head. "She will recover, but she remains stubbornly opposed to the idea of giving up her adventures."
"Of course she does. She is hardly in her dotage, after all."
"But she is not getting any younger, either. And I know my cousin-he will keep at her until she consents."
"Why do you tell me this?" She shot him a distrustful look.
"Because my great-aunt considers you a friend. A very great friend. And I know she will listen to your counsel."
Kit held up a warning hand. "If you are thinking of asking me to help you in this endeavor, I can tell you that I will have no part of it."
The marquess frowned. "I must beg you to reconsider. The dowager duchess is a formidable lady, but I worry for her. She seems determined to prove to everyone just how independent she is, and she will go to any length to do so."
"What makes you think that?" Kit demanded. They had reached the gallery, a long, wide hall that housed portraits of obscure ancestors dating back several centuries. Trying to ignore all the eyes that seemed to stare down at her from the walls, she halted, her hands on her hips. "If that is truly what you believe, then you are mistaken, my lord."
He cocked his head to one side. "Am I?"
She bit her lip. "I believe she behaves the way she does because she enjoys it. She wants to meet new people, travel to new places. Everything she was denied during her marriage to that stuffy old duke."
He folded his arms across his chest. "You appear to have learned a great deal about her during your lengthy acquaintance."
His sarcasm brought scalding heat to her cheeks. "On board ship, my lord, there is little to do but converse with one another and play chess to pass the time."
"For six months? A rather dull prospect."
"Not when one is speaking with the dowager duchess. She told me enough to know that we have much in common. Her only misfortune is that she was not widowed at an earlier age."
"You astound me, ma'am," he drawled, clearly amused. "No more of this roundaboutation; I pray you speak your mind."
She flushed. "What I am trying to say is that I have never known anyone else with such joie de vivre," she continued. "Her Grace delights in life, my lord, despite her advanced years. Every day is a new adventure."