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.'
'Indeed.'
Bainbridge paced over to the statue of the elephant god. 'I saw all those reprobates flirting with you and…' He ran a hand down the stone trunk. 'I did something I have never done in recent memory: I lost my head.'
Kit pursed her lips. 'Oh? I did not discern a noticeable difference in your conduct, my lord. Whether jealous, angry, or indifferent, you always seem to treat a woman as though you want to seduce her.'
Touche. He grimaced. 'I did not realize that until recently. Women have… responded to me ever since I was young, and it did not take me long to realize that I could, in turn, use my charm to get what I wanted from them.'
A dull flush rose in her face. 'Apparently that approach has proven quite effective.'
'Yes. But I cannot use it to get what I truly want.'
She straightened, her eyes round. 'What do you mean?'
Bainbridge rubbed his chin, feeling the slight burn of razor-nicked skin. 'I was wrong not to have broken off our rather imprudent relationship, Kit. I freely admit that. Part of me did not want to hurt you, but the other part wanted to continue in blissful ignorance, enjoying your companionship and your kisses.'
Her flush deepened. She plucked at the fabric of her skirt.
'I craved your company,' he continued, 'but at the time I thought myself drawn to you because you were different from other women I had known. You possess this strange combination of exoticism and innocence, Kit, and I had never encountered that before. You intrigued me, and I found myself wanting to know more about you, to get past that drab shell you presented to the world and discover what was beneath. And the more I knew, the more attracted I became. My baser nature wanted nothing more than for you to be my mistress.'
'Stop,' she whispered.
'You need to hear everything, Kit, if you wish to understand.'
She squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip, then nodded. 'All right. Go on.'
'Only after you left Broadwell did I realize what I wanted-and it had nothing to do with mistresses.'
Her eyes flew open. 'What, then?'
Bainbridge paced across the tiger skin toward her, his shoulders taut. 'I have been a selfish creature most of my life, Kit. Always remaining aloof, but still willing to take advantage of the pleasures women offered to me. But this time…' He turned to face her, pinning her with an intent stare. 'I want something more. I want summer picnics beneath the trees. Stories replete with princes and demons. Bowlfuls of strawberries. Children.'
She looked up at him with huge eyes. All traces of color drained from her complexion.
'Kit.' The marquess took her hands and pulled her from her chair. 'I want you to marry me. Be my wife.'
Kit clutched Lord Bainbridge's strong hands as the room seemed to spin around her in a most disconcerting fashion. 'Your… wife?' she echoed.
His mouth quirked in a half smile. 'Do you find the concept so strange?'
'Only when it comes from you, my lord.' Kit pulled back and tried to ignore the way the smile slid from Lord
