did he leave you still aching for his touch?'
'Stop it,' she moaned.
'Did he worship your body with his? Treat you as a cherished lover?'
'Stop! Please.' She closed her eyes, and her breath came in shallow gasps.
He edged toward her. 'I am merely trying to open your eyes to the possibilities that life has to offer.'
Her eyes flew open. 'Possibilities? How can you say that when physical gratification is all you want?'
He allowed himself a sardonic smile. 'What else is there?'
'Your view of the world is rather limited, my lord. What about love? Or has such a concept never entered the scope of your philosophy?'
He raised an eyebrow at her. 'I fail to see why we need to complicate things unnecessarily.'
'Then you have never been in love?'
'I never said that.' He shifted uncomfortably in his top boots. 'But love tends to make matters worse between a man and a woman. People who fall in love almost invariably end up hating one another. Why bring such emotional rubbish into what is otherwise an amicable arrangement?'
'Have your mistresses never fallen in love with you?'
'Some have.'
'Then they must be the owners of the broken hearts Her Grace mentioned.'
'Perhaps, but most of them knew better, as I hope you will. Kit, what I'm offering is not wicked or immoral, and not as prison-like as marriage.'
'Not immoral?' she echoed, clearly outraged. 'How can you say that? You flit from one woman to the next without care or cause!'
'Most married women do the same thing. As long as they are discreet, their affaires are their own business.'
'Just because most married women do it doesn't make it right. In all the years I was married, I never even considered such a thing.'
'Never?' He quirked a sardonic brow.
A bright flush stained her cheeks. 'Never.'
'But would you have, if the right opportunity had presented itself?'
'No!'
'But you are no longer married, are you? You're free to make your own happiness, and I'm offering you just that-the chance to enjoy yourself with no unreasonable expectations attached. You will still have your freedom, Kit; I would never infringe upon that. We shall go to the opera, the theater, Vauxhall Gardens. Attend poetry readings and philosophical discussions. We could even travel back to India, if you wished. I would make you happy, Kit, more than you have ever been before.'
He could read the indecision in her face.
'If you think Her Grace is right,' he murmured, 'and that life is an adventure, then what are you so afraid of? We need each other, Kit, whether you know it or not.'
She hesitated, holding her breath for a moment. Then she exhaled with a soft sigh. 'All right,' she breathed. 'I accept. But we must first negotiate the compromise between the duke and the dowager. I will not… I will not become your mistress until that part of the bargain is complete.'
'That is fair,' he replied. His smile turned suggestive. 'Now, how shall we seal our agreement?'
She hesitated, then held out her hand.
The marquess took it, turned it over, and placed a gentle, feathery kiss on her exposed wrist. She gasped and snatched back her hand.
'Remember,' he said, 'no more running away. Know what you want, and do not be afraid to pursue it.'
She glared at him. 'You are the very devil, my lord.'
He chuckled. 'I know.'
He let her go then, and she hurried past him down the hall, half walking, half running. He watched her, admiring the sway of her hips beneath the fabric of her dress, until she disappeared around the corner. Not once did she look back at him.
Who was this woman? Wexcombe held her in utter contempt. His great-aunt thought her nothing less than a saint. What was the truth? He had less than a week to find out and form his own judgment of her character. She had passed his first test. Now he would have to see how well she followed through.
Guilt nagged at him. He'd put her in an untenable position. If she proved not to be an adventuress, then he'd owe her one hell of an apology. If she was, and this bargain scared her off, then the dowager duchess was probably better off without her.
He supposed he could have done worse. A man of lesser morals would have seduced her outright, or made this bargain with her fully intending that she become his mistress. Unfortunately, he was not such a man. Wexcombe seemed to think he was, and there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. His cousin rarely changed his mind once he'd formed an opinion, and he would never admit to being wrong. In that, he was as inflexible and unyielding as the dowager. Stubbornness was definitely hereditary.
He found himself wondering how she lived, what her life was like. All he knew at the moment was that she dressed like a drab little mouse, and that although she spoke with great passion about poetry and philosophy and India, she had no friends save the dowager. Her life seemed to revolve solely around the elderly woman, and that did not bode well.
If Mrs. Mallory was serious about this compromise and actively helped him to achieve it, then he would not, of course, expect her to fulfill her portion of this agreement. But he would still have to live up to his reputation and make the pretense of seduction until she proved herself as good as her word. A passionate woman lay buried beneath that severe hairstyle and those dowdy gowns; her response to his kiss had told him that. He just hoped he could keep his head on straight while playing this gambit through to the end. If not… there was more at risk here than the dowager duchess's happiness. But it was only a week. Surely he could behave himself for that long. Couldn't he?
What had she done?
As she hurried back to her room Kit's slippered toe caught on the Persian carpet, and she stumbled a bit. She righted herself, mentally cursed herself for her clumsiness, and continued on at a more sedate pace, though her heart continued at a gallop within her chest. Her skin tingled as though she had stood too close to a fire, and a deep, aching warmth pooled low in her belly. She cursed herself again, this time for responding to the marquess's sensual persuasions.
Lunacy. Sheer and utter lunacy. That scoundrel had her cornered, and he knew it.
When he had started to speak to her about the dowager duchess, he had sounded so kind, so concerned. Her lips twisted in a sneer. An act, every word of it. He cared for no one but himself. Oh, he might regard Her Grace in a fond, patronizing sort of way, the way one might a favorite pet, but when it came down to issues of her welfare, he was content to let others take the responsibility.
To think she had turned to him for help. Foolish, naive girl! Trusting an opportunist was like trusting a cobra; it sat coiled, appearing inert, then would lash out without warning. And she'd certainly been bitten.
But they had made a bargain, and he was bound by honor to help her. She wouldn't think too closely about what she would have to do when the matter was finished. A shudder racked her. His comment that he would respect her freedom-gammon. What did he know about her freedom? He had never spent hours alone with only books for company, never been told to marry someone he hardly knew not only because the family needed the money but because he would likely never receive another offer. He never had to endure seven years of marriage to someone twice his age with little tact and less wit.
Kit slammed her chamber door behind her, then leaned her back against it. Always duty and honor. Duty, and honor, and obligation. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that even now gilded her lashes. She would do her duty to the duchess-she had to. She had always done what was expected of her, first to her family and later to her husband.
Yes, she would honor her bargain with this handsome, heartless devil. But for once in her life she wanted to follow the demands of her own heart.
