Bainbridge felt his smile dwindle. 'I am a rake and a scoundrel, my dear, albeit a very well-bred one. What more do you need to know?'
She glared at her berry, then at him, as if she were considering throwing it at him. Then she sighed and ate it. 'I do not know how they do things in London, sir, but if I am to be your mistress, I would like to know a bit more about you than that.'
'But you will not be if our gambit is not successful. That was our bargain.'
'We will succeed,' she said quietly. 'We must. So I believe the two of us should become better acquainted with each other.'
A strange sensation began deep in his stomach. For a moment she sounded as though she had resigned herself to success… and to becoming his mistress. What was she up to? Was she trying to throw him off his guard, or was her curiosity as innocent as it sounded? Most women seemed content with the knowledge of his name, title, and yearly income, with a few other obscure details thrown in as window dressing, but he was quickly coming to realize that Katherine Mallory was not like most women. He lounged back onto one elbow. 'What do you want to know?'
She selected another berry. 'I've told you something about what my life was like when I was young. What about you?'
Damn. With one swift thrust, she'd gotten down to things he would gladly forget, if given the chance. 'My upbringing was rather ordinary,' he hedged.
'What about your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?'
'I had a brother. He died when I was ten.' He bit into a large berry, and relished the sensation of his teeth ripping through the yielding fruit.
Her eyes rounded. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.
The berry turned tasteless on his tongue. He gulped it down. 'You're bound to hear the story eventually. Nothing titillates the ton so much as scandal, even twenty-year-old scandal.'
'You do not have to tell me, my lord, if the memory pains you so.'
'I am not such a coward as all that, ma'am,' he said with a humorless smile. ' 'Tis a simple tale, so I will be brief. My mother and father loved each other once, or so they claimed, but by the time I was five they hated each other with a passion. I suspect that was the one thing in their lives about which they felt anything at all. When I was ten, my mother left, and tried to make us leave with her. I refused to go, but she took Geoffrey.'
'How old was he?' she asked quietly.
'Six.' Bainbridge stared up into the patch of cloud-scattered sky visible through the branches of the tree. 'My father rode off in pursuit, of course, but my mother, I learned later, went to great lengths to avoid him, including urging the coachman to breakneck speed. The wheels hit a hard rut in the road, the axle snapped, and the carriage crashed to flinders. My father found them moments later. No one survived.'
Kit sat motionless, one hand raised to cover her mouth. Telltale moisture glistened at the corners of her eyes.
'No need to shed tears on my behalf,' he said, his voice rough. 'My mother never cared a whit for anyone but herself. We were well rid of her.'
'I do not believe that for a moment,' Kit murmured. 'I'm sure she loved both you and your brother very much, and that is why she wanted to take you with her. If she hadn't loved you, she would have left you behind without a second thought.'
'I suppose that is one theory.' His lips curled in a sneer. 'But I rather believe she wanted to torture my father by taking away his precious sons.'
'You mentioned something yesterday, that people who fall in love end up hating each other in the end. This is what you meant-it happened to your parents.'
'My parents were not the only ones foolish enough to make a love match. Among the members of the ton you see dozens of lovestruck newlyweds mooning over their spouses one year, then taken up with paramours the next. Love is a pointless complication in one's life.'
'Was your father bitter?'
Bainbridge turned away, lest Kit see in his face any shadows of the memories that haunted him. He felt her light touch on his shoulder.
'It's all right,' she said.
His eyes narrowed to mere slits. 'I do not want your pity, madam.'
'No, my lord,' she countered quietly. 'Not pity. I would never condescend to offer you that. Understanding and sympathy, yes, but not pity.'
A few brief moments ago he had advised her to stop running away from what she feared; could he do any less? He sighed. 'I can only tell you what happened before I was packed back off to school. How he locked himself away in his study for days at a time, doing nothing but drinking and staring at a miniature of my mother. The countless bottles of claret and brandy he imbibed to drown his sorrows. The opium smoke that clung to his clothes when he finally stumbled home by the early light of day. I was not particularly surprised when they told me he died of an overdose.'
She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. 'Oh, Lord Bainbridge…'
'Nicholas,' he said roughly. 'My name is Nicholas. I have just revealed to you one of my most dark and painful secrets, so I suppose you are entitled to my name, as well.'
He heard her exhale with a slow, deliberate breath. 'Is your parents' tragedy the reason why you have never married, Nicholas?'
He clenched his teeth. 'Perhaps it is. I shall have to marry eventually, but when I do I shall ensure that my impeccably pedigreed bride holds not one ounce of affection for me.'
'But-'
The marquess shrugged off her hand. 'Enough, Kit. I do not wish to say anything more about my past, checkered as it is.'
She withdrew her hand and rubbed at the palm. 'All right.'
He rolled onto his side to face her. 'Now it is your turn.'
'Mine?' Her gaze shuttered.
Bainbridge picked up a strawberry and rolled it between his fingers. They were like two duelists, exchanging shots with words instead of bullets. He had just withstood her barrage, and now he was not about to delope. 'You told me you wished to become better acquainted, Kit. Soon we shall have no secrets between us-physically, at least. I have just answered your question; now you can answer one of mine.'
She paled, then raised her determined chin. 'Very well.'
'Were you happy in your marriage?' His gaze fixed to hers, he ate his berry in one bite.
She managed to turn paler still, her deep golden freckles standing out in stark contrast to her ashen complexion. 'My lord, I do not-'
'Nicholas,' he amended. 'You started this, my dear. No running away, remember?' He offered her another ruby red fruit.
This time she was not so careful in taking his offering; her fingers grazed his. Heat flooded through him right down to his toes. Lord, if he wasn't careful, he'd end up with two mistresses.
'Were you happy?' he prodded.
'I was comfortable.' She looked away.
'That doesn't answer my question. Comfort does not equal happiness.'
She ate her berry, then made a face. 'I thought I was happy, at first. I was living in this beautiful, exotic place, far away from my avaricious father, and for the first time in my life I never had to worry about money.'
'What made you change your mind?'
Kit sighed. 'I soon realized that I had traded one selfish man for another. My father cared for nothing but money, and my husband cared for nothing but his collection.'
'Collection?' Bainbridge frowned. 'What sort of collection?'
'Over the years George had accumulated all sorts of trophies: tiger skins, elephant tusks, and the like. He delighted in them for a while, but over time he lost interest and went in pursuit of the next item. Soon after we reached India I realized that I was but another of his trophies-the aristocratic wife he'd brought back from England to grace his home.' Her mouth twisted. 'Or I should say, rather, the wife he'd bought in England. He'd given my
