She swallowed her tears. "You may, my lord, but only if you promise never to lie to me."
The skin around Langley's eyes crinkled as his smile widened. He raised her fingers to his lips. "Dear lady, I would do anything you asked."
Chapter Eleven
Bainbridge paced the length of his room, turned, and paced back.
Damn.
He'd rushed his fences last night, and his rashness may have set him back even further. Instead of paying respectful and serious attention to Kit, he had behaved as he always did around members of the fairer sex. Just as at Broadwell Manor, he had found himself flirting with her, teasing her.
Seducing her.
Damn!
Was that the only way he knew how to relate to a woman?
For God's sake, stop being provoking and just tell her!
Weariness weighted his eyelids, but he had no time to heed the siren song of sleep. He thrust a hand through his hair. Think. He had to think. He had tried to follow Kit last night to explain, but Langley, that insolent pup, had intercepted Kit and spirited her away. Bad enough that he'd put his foot in it, but if he wasn't careful, Langley would take advantage of the situation more than he already had; the thought of playing into a rival's hands galled him to no end.
Perhaps he had been mistaken in seeking her out at the Assembly Rooms, after all. But would she receive him if he called upon her? Pulling a face, he bellowed first for his valet, then for coffee. He would have to risk it. So much for foolproof plans!
Bainbridge dressed with painstaking care, then left the White Hart for Camden Place. The rain had ceased overnight, and bright late-morning sunshine glinted off the numerous puddles in the cobbled streets. He winced and lowered the shade over the carriage window.
Lud, he had never worked himself into such a state before. No sleep, and less appetite. All this over a woman. His lips stretched in a gesture that was more grimace than grin. If anyone had told him that love for a lady would bring him to such a state, he would have laughed outright. As it was, every single nerve in his body seemed to be stretched to the limit, like a drawn bowstring. A knot of tension had gathered across his shoulders and showed no signs of lessening.
She would see him. She must.
The carriage brought him to Camden Place in short order, only to have Kit's tall, rather imposing Hindu butler inform him that the memsahib was not in, but due to return at any moment. His heart leaped; dare he hope? Assuming a businesslike air, Bainbridge presented his card and asked to wait for her. The servant eyed him with undisguised suspicion, weighing his merits, then bowed and admitted him to the drawing room.
The marquess's eyes widened as he surveyed his surroundings. Incense scented the air. Stone statues of what appeared to be half-naked dancing goddesses graced either side of the fireplace. Leering masks, some human, some distinctly animal, regarded him from above the mantelpiece. And then there was the large bronze fellow in the vestibule…
This was Kit's world. Her home. Bainbridge crossed the room to admire a carved stone statue, this one of an elephant-headed god with four arms. Despite her unhappiness with her marriage, she had loved India. Loved it so much that she had brought these pieces of it home with her. He caressed the elephant's cool stone trunk. How it must have pained her to leave.
How much did he really know about her? Not enough… not nearly enough. He wanted to know everything, wanted to hear her stories. Perhaps, like Scheherazade, she would tell him one story night after night, so that he might forever discover something new about her. He smiled to himself.
But his smile faded as the minutes ticked by. Where could she be? He shot an impatient glance at the mantel clock, then began to pace back and forth over the tiger-skin rug. The Hindu butler offered him tea, but he declined. At this rate, brandy or blue ruin were the only things that would settle him, and he didn't want to declare himself to Kit when he was half disguised. His reputation with her was besmirched enough already.
Twenty minutes later, Bainbridge heard the front door open, heard her voice. He stopped midpace and clasped his hands behind his back, his jaw tight. Lud, it would not do for her to see him behaving like some impatient, lovestruck schoolboy.
The butler must have informed her of his presence; Bainbridge heard a sharp "What?", followed by a rapid flurry of words in a foreign language. He grimaced. No, she was not pleased to see him. He should have expected as much.
Kit appeared in the drawing room doorway, her green eyes ablaze with fury, her cheeks flushed. His throat tightened. God, she was magnificent.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "I thought I asked you to leave me alone."
"Forgive me," he hastened to say. "I made a mull of things last night. Ordinarily I would never think to invade your privacy like this, but I had to see you-to apologize, and to explain."
From the thunderous expression on her face, Bainbridge feared for a moment that she was about to order her servants to throw him out. "There is nothing to explain, my lord," she snapped. "Your actions last evening made your intentions perfectly clear. I will thank you to leave my house at once!"
He held up a hand. "If you send me away, Kit, you will never know the truth."
"The truth?" Her golden brows arched skyward. "The truth is that you take nearly every opportunity to seduce me, sir, and I refuse to expose myself to such low and callous behavior."
"I do get rather carried away when I am with you," he confessed. "But in doing so I caused you undue distress, and for that I apologize."
She hesitated. "You have become quite proficient at apologies, my lord."
"So it would seem." He shifted uneasily on the tiger-skin rug.
"Neither of us would be in this situation if you had respected my wishes in the first place and simply left me alone."
"You tempt me to madness, Kit."
"Then you should be in Bedlam, sir."
"I shall be, if you do not hear me out."
She sighed, then glided slowly into the room. "Oh, very well." Beneath her breath, she added, "I do not know why on earth I am agreeing to this."
He attempted a smile. "Because you have soft spot for irrepressible rogues?"
"That, or I am the one who belongs in Bedlam."
"This is a madness that affects us both," he murmured.
She stared at him a moment, her eyes cool chips of jade. Only the rapid rise and fall of her breasts betrayed any hint of alarm. "I would not be so sure of that." She gestured to a chair. "Won't you sit down?"
He ran a hand through his hair, rumpling the waves his valet had so carefully arranged only a few hours before. "No, thank you." He did not trust himself to sit still.
"As you wish." Graceful as ever, she smoothed the skirts of her moss-colored morning gown and lowered herself into a claw-footed chair. She laced her fingers in her lap and gazed at him with wary eyes. "I am waiting, my lord."
Heat washed over the back of his neck, but he resisted the urge to rub at it. Good God, how could a man so glib with compliments and flattery be so suddenly tonguetied? He blew out his breath in a gusty sigh. "I did not come to Bath to ask you to be my mistress."
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "Oh? Your behavior at the Assembly Rooms gave me quite the opposite impression." She rubbed her thumb across one wrist; Bainbridge realized that was where he had touched her last night.
"I meant to draw you aside and ask for permission to call on you, but, as has happened too often of late, my best intentions went awry."