Then, on Thursday morning, she received no callers. A trifle odd, given the attention she had garnered of late, but she was glad for the reprieve. Lord Bainbridge had sent her a note saying that he had gone on an urgent errand, but that he should return in time for the ball at the Assembly Rooms. As she had no other obligations, and the morning was fair and sunny, Kit decided to peruse the shops along Milsom Street and perhaps pick up a new book at one of the circulating libraries.
When Lady Peterborough snubbed her in the milliner's shop, she thought nothing of it. After all, the lady held no love for her-or for her tiger-skin rug. But when two other ladies of her acquaintance cut her in the street while their gentlemen escorts ogled her in a blatantly speculative manner, Kit began to realize that something was very, very wrong. She returned home, her thoughts in turmoil, to find Viscount Langley pacing in front of her townhouse.
"Lord Langley!" Kit exclaimed as she approached. "I must say it is a relief to see a friendly face. This has been the most extraordinary morning-" She broke off when she noticed the grim lines on the viscount's face.
"May I speak with you, Mrs. Mallory?" he asked, his voice low and intent.
"Yes, of course. Won't you come in?"
As soon as they entered the drawing room, the viscount turned to her, his eyes clouded. "I take it you have heard," he said.
She frowned. "Heard what?"
"Ah." He pulled a face and shifted his booted feet.
Kit's frown increased. "Heard what, my lord?"
Lord Langley's jaw tightened. "Forgive me, Mrs. Mallory, for being the bearer of such unfortunate tidings, but a rumor of the most disconcerting nature is flying through Bath society."
"Rumor? What rumor?" But even as she asked, the hairs rose on the back of her neck. The absent callers, ladies giving her the cut direct on the street, the leering stares of the gentlemen. "What is this about?"
The viscount spread his hands. "Please do not shoot the messenger."
"Tell me, my lord, before I lose all patience!"
"Word is being bruited about that you are Lord Bainbridge's current mistress."
She gaped at him. "I beg your pardon?"
A deep flush stained his tanned face. "I did not believe it for a moment, of course, but I thought you should know before you were subjected to any impertinent remarks."
Kit blinked. "Who would say such a despicable thing?"
Lord Langley shrugged. "I do not know how it started, Mrs. Mallory, only that it has spread like the plague."
She lowered herself onto the lion-footed sofa, her eyes wide and unseeing. Her blood ran cold in her veins. Who?… Who felt so much malice toward her as to fabricate such a horrible untruth? Aside from their first encounter in the Assembly Rooms, she had comported herself with nothing but the strictest propriety around the marquess. She could not remember anything she may have said or done to give anyone the impression that she had behaved improperly.
"This is unconscionable," she murmured. "I cannot imagine who would do such a terrible thing."
"Forgive my impertinence, Mrs. Mallory," ventured the viscount, "but have you heard from Lord Bainbridge lately? After all, this matter involves him, as well."
"He was called away on urgent business, but he should return this evening. Why do you ask?"
Langley's gaze did not waver. "The marquess has a certain… reputation, of which you must be aware."
Kit scowled. "What are you implying, Lord Langley?"
"Only that his 'urgent business' seems to coincide very neatly with the onslaught of this rumor."
"Are you saying that Lord Bainbridge is responsible for this?" she inquired, her eyes narrowing.
"Well, perhaps I am being a trifle hasty in my judgment, but I would not put it past someone like the marquess to manipulate the circumstances to get what he wanted. If he destroyed your reputation, you might have no other recourse but to turn to him for assistance."
"You presume to know him quite well, Lord Langley," Kit noted with a distinct chill in her voice.
"I know only what I have observed, Mrs. Mallory. The marquess usually gets what he wants, by one method or another. How long have you known him?"
"Three weeks. A month, perhaps." Kit shook her head, her pulse drumming an urgent rhythm in her chest. Was Lord Bainbridge behind this? Impossible. He might try to seduce her into marrying him, but these cruel tactics were beyond the pale. He would never do such a thing.
Would he?
He has manipulated you before… and lied to you. The last bargain you made with him was a sham. How can you be certain that he did not make this second pledge with you, then take steps to ensure that you had no choice but to marry him?
She put a hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut to try to block out these awful thoughts. How well did she know the marquess? What was this mysterious errand that had so conveniently taken him away from Bath at this particular moment?
Could she trust him, after all?
"Mrs. Mallory, you seem unwell," said Lord Langley. "Would you like me to ring for something? Tea? Your vinaigrette, perhaps?"
A wan smile ghosted over Kit's lips. "I have never been the fainting type, my lord. But tea would be most welcome."
The viscount summoned Ramesh and ordered tea to be brought to them at once. Then he returned to Kit's side and perched on the edge of the chair next to her.
"Perhaps it would be better if you did not attend the ball at the Assembly Rooms this evening," he advised. Concern shone in his slate blue eyes. "I would not wish to see you subjected to any impertinent remarks."
Kit grimaced. If the Dowager Duchess of Wexcombe were here in Bath, she would have nipped such tawdry tales in the bud. But Her Grace was not here, and Kit would not disappoint her by showing cowardice.
She raised her chin at a mulish angle. "I refuse to submit to such a slanderous accusation, Lord Langley," she declared. "Whoever began this monstrous untruth would like nothing better than for me to hang my head in shame and never show my face in public again. I will not give him-or her-the satisfaction."
The viscount bowed slightly to her, his eyes twinkling. "I salute your courage, Mrs. Mallory. I would be pleased to storm the breach with you, if you wish it."
"Thank you, my lord. I only hope you do not regret having volunteered."
"I would not call it a Forlorn Hope yet, ma'am," he drawled. " 'Tis only a rumor, after all, and you have many friends in Bath."
"And tonight we shall see just how many," Kit murmured.
Like a medieval knight donning his armor, she dressed with greater care than usual that night, selecting a gown of deep yellow silk that had been made from one of her finest saris; the color seemed to make her freckles less conspicuous. Lakshmi threaded ribbons of gold tissue through her upswept curls. Rather than wear any of her heavy Indian necklaces, Kit chose instead to wear a single teardrop pearl on a filigreed chain.
But nothing could have prepared her for what happened when she arrived at the Assembly Rooms.
As she entered the vestibule with Lord Langley, heads started to turn in her direction. Then the whispers began, discreetly at first, but as they progressed into the ballroom people frowned at her, then murmured to their neighbors as she passed. A few dowagers, like Lady Peterborough and her gossipy set, turned their backs on her. Her cheeks scarlet, Kit allowed the viscount to lead her to her usual corner.