A muscle twitched at the corner of the marquess's jaw. "I thought you had more sense than that, madam. I see now that I was mistaken."
The woman paled even further.
The cold, sick feeling in the pit of Kit's stomach expanded upward until it seemed to penetrate her very heart. Nicholas and Lady Elizabeth? She shuddered, then shoved the thought from her mind. "I must see Her Grace; I cannot wait any longer."
Turning her back on the others in the hall, she rushed into the elderly woman's bedchamber. What she saw stopped her dead in the middle of the room. Tears pricked her eyes; a lump welled up in her throat. Lord, the dowager looked so still and ashen in that great bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. Kit clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp of horror.
By the dowager's bedside, the duchess turned, recognized her, and was instantly wary.
"Let me sit with her a while," Kit begged.
"I think it best that she be with family," the duchess replied, her mouth set in prim lines.
"Please, Your Grace-just until the physician arrives."
Angry words resounded from the corridor, punctuated by Lady Elizabeth's sobs.
The duchess glanced toward the doorway and hesitated.
"Please," Kit repeated. "She is dearer to me than anyone else in the world."
The duchess hesitated. Another burst of hysterical sobbing from the hallway made her cringe. "Oh… very well. I must see to my sister." She departed in a swish of taffeta and closed the door behind her. Instantly, the voices in the hall dwindled to muted murmurs.
Kit drew a chair to the dowager's bedside and took the lady's hand in hers. Oh, God-her skin felt cool and clammy, and how starkly her veins stood out beneath her wrinkled skin. Ugly bruises marred her jaw and temple. She looked so very frail lying there, dwarfed by the mountain of pillows on which she rested. Tears began to overflow Kit's lashes; she wiped them away with impatient fingers. She must be strong, for the dowager's sake.
Her lower lip trembled. "Please wake up, Your Grace," she murmured. The elderly woman did not move. Another tear slipped down Kit's cheek. "I could not bear it if… Oh, God… Please do not leave me."
The noises from the hallway ceased, though Kit barely noticed. Her anxious, watery gaze remained focused on the dowager duchess, on the slight rise and fall of the lady's chest, and on her colorless, wizened visage.
She did not know how long she had been sitting there when the door opened again. She heard the shuffle of footsteps across the Aubusson carpet; then a strong pair of hands gently grasped her shoulders.
"Kit, the physician is here," Bainbridge murmured in her ear. "Let him see to Aunt Josephine. Come away."
She shook her head. "No. I want to stay with her."
"Just for a while, Kit. I promise. Come away with me."
The marquess pulled her up from her chair; her limbs felt as weak and wobbly as a foal's. With a last glance over her shoulder at the dowager, Kit allowed him to lead her from the room. Behind them, a middle-aged, portly man, his wig and spectacles askew, scurried into the room, the duke following in his wake.
Bainbridge put a supporting arm around Kit's waist and led her downstairs to the drawing room; she did not protest when he settled her on the camel-back sofa by the hearth, or when he pressed a glass into her hand. She stared numbly down at the amber liquid in the cut-crystal tumbler, then took a sip. Cognac seared a fiery trail down her throat. She coughed, spluttered, then finally swallowed. She made a face.
The marquess took the glass from her and set it aside, then sat down next to her on the sofa. "Better now?"
"A little."
"Good. Because I need to explain something to you."
"About Lady Elizabeth?" She kept her dull gaze focused on the floor.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… yes."
"Then you need explain nothing, my lord," she replied wearily. "You are a rake. Women fall prey to your charms at the drop of a hat. I suppose I should learn to expect things like this."
"No. What happened between Lady Elizabeth and me is not what you think."
"It does not matter."
"It does," he snapped, then sat back and took a deep breath. He shoved a hand through his hair. "Please let me explain."
She gave a listless shrug. "As you wish. I do not have the energy to stop you."
"All right, then." He shifted on the sofa and turned to face her. "When Lady Elizabeth made her debut, Wexcombe asked me to dance with her; he is my cousin, and I never thought to refuse."
"You flirted with her," Kit said flatly.
The marquess spread his hands. "She was a young girl just out of the schoolroom, full of nervous jitters. I tried to put her more at ease. But I never thought about the potential consequences until today. Lady Elizabeth took those attentions seriously. She has had four Seasons, and turned down quite a number of offers. I now know the reason: she fancies herself in love with me."
Kit's heart knifed sideways in her chest. "I see."
"No, you do not. Just because she imagines herself in love with me does not mean I return her feelings."
"Of course," Kit replied with a humorless smile. "Love is an unnecessary complication, is it not?"
Swift relief crossed his face. "Exactly. I am glad that you understand."
"I do not understand everything, my lord," she countered. "Such as what prompted the dowager to confront Lady Elizabeth in the first place."
Bainbridge's gaze slid to the fireplace. His mouth tensed. "This morning, after I spoke with the duke, Lady Elizabeth accosted me in the hallway. She threw her arms around me and said she had waited in silence long enough, that she loved me and wanted to be my wife."
"Foolish girl," Kit murmured. His explanation had done little to assuage the strange, hollow ache beneath her breastbone. In fact, the more he told her, the more the pain increased.
"I told her that was impossible, of course, but she refused to listen. Burst into tears and had a grand fit of hysterics. I fear that Her Grace must have witnessed the debacle and followed Elizabeth when she fled."
"The dowager duchess can be a trifle overbearing at times, but why would she have taken such offense over what should have been a private matter between you and Lady Elizabeth?"
"I do not know," Bainbridge confessed. "Ordinarily she does not take it upon herself to chase overly forward females away from me. Whatever her reason, we shall not learn the truth of it until she awakens."
"If she awakens," Kit murmured. Her thoughts returned to the frail figure in the bed upstairs. "How could Lady Elizabeth have done such a thing?"
"I do not know. The girl can be vicious when provoked, but this…" Bainbridge shook his head. "Wexcombe sent her back to her parents in disgrace. She will never again be welcome in his home."
"At the moment, my lord, that is little cause for sympathy," Kit said between clenched teeth. "She goes home to her parents, while the duchess might not recover…" She bit her lip, fighting against the fresh battery of tears that began to spill over her lashes.
Bainbridge reached into his jacket and handed her his kerchief. "Here-dry your eyes. The dowager will be all right."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Dr. Knowles is the duke's own physician; I've never known a better or more competent man. Take heart, dearest Kit. Aunt Josephine has a very hard head."
Kit took the handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. "You do not understand. She looks so pale and still. Just like my mother, right before she… she…" A soft sob erupted from deep within her.
"Shhh. It will be all right, Kitten," Bainbridge murmured, and pulled her against him. "Aunt Josephine will recover. She will be right as rain in a few days."
Kit curled against the warm, muscled strength of his chest. "I pray you are right. I could not bear to lose her."
"You will not. None of us will."
His arms tightened around her, enfolded her. She pressed her face into his cravat, inhaled deeply of his masculine scent. The steady beat of his heart resonated beneath her ear. She felt safe. Secure.