would explain her actions later. A few days from now, when she could summon enough courage, she would relate the entire story in another letter.
Then she paused, her pen poised above the paper.
Fallen in love…
A large blot of ink dripped from the nib, marring the blank page. Kit stared at it. She did. She loved him. Good God. What had she done?
Kit shook herself, set down her pen, then crumpled the ruined sheet of paper and tossed it away. She pulled out a fresh page. Damn the duke for his interference. Was her life any less important because she possessed no title and no surname of dignity? And as for the marquess…
Angry heat crept up the back of her neck; she flexed her fingers. Despite her shame, she refused to slink into a hole and lick her wounds like an injured animal. The marquess had taught her one thing of value: no more running. She knew what she had to do. With fresh conviction, she picked up the pen and began to write.
Kit and her maid had all but finished packing when a thunderous banging erupted from the chamber door. Lakshmi ran to open it, and Lord Bainbridge's tall form burst into the room.
'What the devil are you doing?' he demanded.
Sweet heaven-her heart turned over at the mere sight of him, and his voice sent a rush of delicious shivers down her spine. She steeled herself. 'I should think that much is obvious, my lord,' she replied. 'I am packing.'
His dark brows drew together in a forbidding line. 'Why?'
'To return to Bath, of course.'
'Return to?… I don't understand. Why this sudden departure? What about Aunt Josephine?'
Kit placed the last few items of clothing in her trunk, shut the lid, then directed the footmen to take it down to the waiting carriage. 'As much as I would like to remain by the dowager's side during her recuperation, circumstances prevent my staying here any longer.'
'Circumstances?…' he repeated, incredulous. 'What happened? What did Wexcombe say to you? Damn it, Kit, look at me!'
'I will thank you not to address me in that familiar manner,' she said with frosty disdain. 'And you need not swear at me.'
A stunned look crossed the marquess's handsome face. 'Good God. He told you.'
She struggled to keep her anguish at bay. 'Yes. He told me everything. How he suspected me of being after the dowager's money, and how he asked you to seduce me and ruin me in the dowager's eyes.'
'Kit, I can explain.'
She laughed, a raw, brittle sound. 'A bit late for that, my lord.'
'I was going to tell you,' he stated grimly.
'Oh? And when were you going to do that? When you had become bored with me and moved on to your next mistress?'
His jaw tightened. 'Of course not.'
'Then when? No, do not bother; I have already heard enough lies to last a lifetime.'
She saw him wince. 'It's not like that. Please, listen to me.'
Kit turned to face him, her head up. 'All right, my lord. Never let it be said that I did not give you a chance to speak in your own defense.'
He closed the distance between them, one hand outstretched. 'Kit…'
She stepped back to avoid his touch. 'That is close enough.'
'God, how can I?… It was never supposed to be like this.' Shadows lingered in his dark eyes. 'When Wexcombe first came to me and told me about you, my first thought was for Aunt Josephine's safety. But soon after I met you I realized my mistake.'
'Then why continue the charade, my lord? Why did you not tell me the truth?'
He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair, rumpling the dark waves. 'Because you would have reacted badly. Like you are now.'
'That is a paltry excuse.'
'I wanted to tell you,' he insisted. 'But the more I learned about you, the more attracted to you I became. In the end, I knew I could not insult you so grievously.'
'So you strung me along in order to spare my feelings-how noble.' Bitterness permeated her words.
'Kit, I had not planned to make you my mistress.'
She folded her arms over her chest. 'Your persistent attentions seemed to indicate otherwise, as did your infamous proposal.'
'I would never have asked you to fulfill your part of that bargain.'
'No, you would have continued the seduction until I fell into your bed of my own accord.'
A deep flush rose in his face. 'Kit, it's not easy for a man to admit that he's been a complete scoundrel.'
'A complete scoundrel? Oh, you give yourself far too much credit, my lord,' she shot back.
'What would you have done if at the end of the week I had told you that I was wrong to put a price on my assistance, and that we should go our separate ways, with no regrets or obligation?'
'A very easy thing for you to say now, given that the cat is already out of the bag.' God, every word he spoke seemed to shred her heart into tiny pieces. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry.
His flush intensified. 'Kit, not everything was a lie. After the dowager's fall, when you turned to me for comfort… that was real.'
'Was it?' A sad smile touched her lips, and she reached for her traveling cloak. 'Where you are concerned, my lord, I fear I can no longer discern what is real and what is yet another deception.'
With a growl, he lunged forward and seized her arms just above the elbow. 'Blast it all, Kit! Do not tell me you are indifferent to the passion that lies between us. You have felt it. I know you have. Just this morning you responded to my kisses with a desire that equaled my own.'
Kit swallowed around the lump in her throat. 'Is passion all you have to offer, my lord?'
'I… I do not know. At the moment-yes.'
His words snuffed out the last tiny flame of hope. She pulled away. 'Then let me go.'
He released her, his face set in haggard lines. 'Kit, give me another chance. Allow me to make amends.'
She shook her head. 'No, Lord Bainbridge. You have seduced me, lied to me, and used me in the most abominable fashion. I have had enough.'
'You can't leave like this,' he maintained.
'Can I not? With the exception of the dowager, I see no reason why I should stay.'
His hands fell to his sides. 'You will not remain, even for her sake?'
'No. She will understand.'
His face closed over. 'I see. So what do you intend to do now?'
She gulped back her tears and replied, 'I am going to return home, my lord. And I am going to forget you.'
His body numb, the marquess watched her as she fastened her cloak, gathered her reticule, and marched from the room. She did not look back.
He put out one arm and steadied himself against the back of a chair. Dear God. What had he done? All his good intentions had come crashing down around his ears, but he had not expected it to leave him with such a tremendous sense of guilt, pain, and loss.
Go after her, you dolt!
His lips twisted in a sneer. Yes, go after her… and then what? Have her reject him yet again? What good would that do? She had made up her mind; that much was obvious. If Katherine Mallory had her way, she would never see him again, and thank God for it.
'Ah, there you are, Bainbridge. Gone, has she?'
The marquess raised his head to see his cousin standing in the doorway, a small, almost smug smile on his narrow face. He stiffened. 'Why, Wexcombe?'
'Because it had to be done. I've seen you fascinated by women before, but never like this.'
'What you did was reprehensible. You hurt her. Deliberately.'
'You managed to do that much on your own, Cousin,' the duke replied with a casual shrug. 'I simply made her
