When the allemande ended, Sir Percy claimed her for a country dance, and Lord Tarlton for the reel after that. But when Sir Henry Castleton tried to solicit her hand, she pleaded fatigue and begged to sit out the dance. The baronet appeared displeased, but did not press the issue, for which Kit was infinitely grateful. She did not like the older man; he did not bother to disguise his leering glances, and his clammy, reptilian touch never failed to make her shudder.
It was rather like being part of a circus, only she was one of the performers; she wasn't sure if she liked the sensation. On one hand, being watched and admired was rather flattering, but as the dowager had said in her letter, not all the attention was entirely welcome.
Like that of Lord Bainbridge.
The crowd in the Assembly Rooms had noticed the marquess's presence by now; the air hummed with murmured speculation. Kit guessed that a man of Lord Bainbridge's stature-and rakish reputation-was rarely seen in Bath. He stood at the edge of the room, elegant as ever, seemingly oblivious to the whispered furor around him, and equally unaware of the longing looks sent his way by several young ladies.
As Kit returned to her chair, she saw his head swivel in her direction. Her lips thinned. So much for hoping to stay unnoticed.
Lord Langley appeared at her elbow. "May I be of some assistance, Mrs. Mallory?" he asked softly.
Kit tried to smile. "No, thank you, my lord. I have to face this sooner or later; I cannot run forever."
"I shall not be far, if you have need of me," he said, bowing over her hand.
"Will you excuse us a moment, Langley?" inquired the marquess. His words were polite, but Kit heard the quiet length of steel running through them.
"Of course, my lord," Langley drawled. "But I shall not let you monopolize her for long. Would you care for a glass of lemonade, Mrs. Mallory?"
The viscount was giving her an opportunity for a gracious exit, should she need it. She nodded. "Yes, thank you."
"Then I shall return shortly." Langley shot the marquess a warning look, then vanished into the crowd.
Kit snapped open her sandalwood fan and fanned herself at what she hoped was a leisurely pace. Her whole body felt as though it would shake apart at any moment. Fortunately, her long skirts hid her quaking limbs.
"What do you think you are doing, my lord?" she demanded.
A muscle twitched at his temple. "You know why I'm here, Kit."
"I do not," she countered. "Perhaps you should enlighten me."
He sighed. "Kit, I came here to apologize. I never meant to hurt you, and I think you know that."
Several people nearby turned their heads, their expressions full of unseemly curiosity. Kit felt her face redden. "This is neither the time nor the place for such a private discussion, sir."
The musicians launched into a stately minuet; Bainbridge seized her hand and began to lead her onto the dance floor. "Then this should allow us some privacy."
"What? How dare you!" Kit hissed, hoping no one would overhear.
The marquess gave her one of his roguish, heart-stopping smiles. "I dare, sweet Kit, because you leave me no other choice."
A formal court dance of the previous century, the minuet was excruciating under the best of circumstances. Tonight, Kit found it to be nothing less than torture. Though separated by layers of kidskin, she could still feel the warmth of his hand upon hers. And his eyes… Those dark, seductive orbs seemed to follow every move she made.
"Very well, my lord, I accept your apology," she murmured as they passed through a set of figures. "Now you can return to London with a clear conscience, if you indeed possess such a thing."
The marquess's eyes narrowed. "I do not plan to return to London, Kit."
She feigned innocence. "Oh? Do you intend to stay and take the waters, then? I have heard they are quite beneficial to one's health."
Irritation flashed over his face. "I am not leaving here without you."
She uttered a rather unladylike snort. "Then I fear you will be in Bath a very long time, sir, because I have no intention of going anywhere, especially with you."
"Then I will wait."
She stumbled; he caught her against him. Her silk-clad thigh and hip made contact with his, and a jolt of electricity surged through her. Heat flooded her face. She drew back to keep a more decorous distance between them.
"You see?" he said with an infuriatingly smug smile. "You cannot deny the attraction between us."
"The only thing between us, my lord," she muttered under her breath, "is an abominable history of lies and deception."
"I was going to tell you the truth," he insisted, "but Wexcombe stole a march on me with his untimely revelation."
"You say that as if it excuses your conduct!" she snapped. The elderly couple dancing next to them glanced at her with patent disapproval, but she paid little heed. "What you and your cousin did was despicable, my lord. And if you think for one moment that flattery and insincere apologies will get you what you want, then you are greatly mistaken."
Putting his arm around her waist, the marquess guided her off the dance floor and around the edge of the room, where the crowd had thinned somewhat. "And what do you think I want?"
Her body reacted to the pure seductiveness in his voice and his touch; longing pooled deep within her. She tried to ignore it. "I… You know what I think."
"You did not answer my question." His dark eyes glinted. He was enjoying this!
She glared back. "Very well. I will make myself perfectly clear on this point, my lord, so there can be no further doubt. I will not be your mistress. Ever."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Do you think me such a villain?"
"Yes."
Bainbridge raised her fingers to his lips with a teasing smile. "And yet you cannot deny that you are fond of me."
Pain began to throb at Kit's temples. "If this is your idea of a joke, my lord-"
"Nicholas," he amended with a smile. "Remember?" He turned her hand over and stroked his thumb along her gloved wrist.
Kit shivered. The pain in her head increased to a pounding. "I am through playing these games with you, sirrah," she declared. She snatched back her hand and glared at him. "And I will thank you to leave me alone." Spinning on her heel, she gathered her skirts and stalked in the opposite direction.
"Kit, wait!" he called after her. "That's not what I-" The rest of his words were swallowed by the crowd.
Damn him. Damn him!
Tears misted Kit's vision as she fought her way toward the octagonal vestibule. Curious eyes probed at her from every direction; she raised her head, determined to maintain what remained of her composure.
After all that he had done, how could he simply walk back into her life and attempt to resume their relationship as though nothing had happened? For him to tantalize her in such an outrageous manner… and in public? The man had no moral character, no scruples at all, and she was well rid of him.
If only her body did not ache so very badly for his touch.
Viscount Langley intercepted her at the doorway, his handsome face distorted with worry. "Are you all right, Mrs. Mallory?"
Kit shook her head. "Would… would you be so good as to see me home, my lord? The heat… I feel a trifle faint."
Langley nodded and offered her his arm. "Of course; it would be my pleasure." Then, in a lower voice, he added, "If that bounder upset you, you have but to say the word, and I will call him out."
Her eyes widened with alarm. "No! Please, my lord, no more talk of dueling. As much as I appreciate your vehemence on my behalf, I assure you that all I need is to get well away from the Marquess of Bainbridge."
Lord Langley gave her a lopsided smile. "I may be only a viscount, Mrs. Mallory, and a rather impoverished one at that, but may I be so bold as to offer you my company as a potential diversion from his presence?"
Moisture gleamed on the edges of Kit's lashes. He was a handsome young man, though not as handsome as Nicholas-as Lord Bainbridge. His golden brown hair brightened toward blond at the crown, testament to a great deal of time spent out-of-doors. His tanned skin emphasized the blue of his eyes and his gleaming white teeth. He was not as tall as Ni-as Lord Bainbridge, nor were his shoulders quite as broad, but he was attractive, he was kind, and he was not a rake.