'Kit, I am returning to London tonight.'
'Tonight?' she echoed. Her eyes widened. 'Why?'
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to say it: 'Because we are finished here.'
All traces of color fled her face. 'Finished? What do you mean?'
He sighed. 'You gave me a week to prove that you could trust me. I may or may not have been successful; you must make that decision.'
'But the week is not over,' she said. Her voice quavered.
'After what I witnessed tonight I realized that trust cannot reside with only one person. I have taken my own trust for granted, Kit. Until now, I assumed that you wanted me as much as I did you. Perhaps that is not the case, after all.'
'No,' she whispered. 'Nicholas, don't-'
He placed two fingers over her lips, stopping the flow of anguished words. 'You must decide what you want, Kit. What you want and whom to trust. My presence here will only muddy the waters, so I will give you some room to think. But once you decide, there will be no going back.
'Before I leave, though, I must mention two things. The dowager duchess has returned to Bath; that is the first of my gifts to you. I drove to Broadwell Manor this morning and brought her back. Once she is finished with Lady Elizabeth and the other tabbies, you will no longer have to worry about your reputation.
'The second item is this.' He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two calling cards. 'The first is the card of one Mr. Dalrymple, who owns a printing house in London. I wrote to him about your translation of the Ramayana, and he is most interested in publishing it when you are finished. In fact, he is willing to pay quite a sizeable sum for it. You may direct any inquiries through my man of affairs; I have given you his name, as well.'
Kit held the cards with shaking hands, tears streaming down her bloodless cheeks. Nicholas reached out and gently wiped them away with his thumb.
'I know how much you value your freedom, Kit,' he added, 'and I would never dream of forcing you into anything. But I must demand the same thing of you as you have of me. Your love and your unwavering trust. Without those, we cannot be together.'
She tried to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. She covered her hand with her mouth and just shook her head.
The marquess took a step back and inclined his head to her.
'Good-bye, Kit.' Then, determined to leave before he lost his nerve completely, he climbed into the carriage and ordered his driver to head for London.
Chapter Thirteen
'Good morning!' a woman called from the vestibule. 'Halloo? Kit? Good heavens, child, will you tell this Hindu mountain of yours to grant me admittance, or must I languish on your doorstep?'
Kit raised her chin from the arm of the sofa and stared toward the drawing room door with weary eyes. 'Ramesh, let Her Grace in.'
The dowager bustled over the threshold, dressed in an eye-popping combination of yellow-and-green shot silk. The plumes on her turban bobbed with particular energy. 'Eh, what is all this, my dear? I thought your butler was about to throw me bodily into the street.'
Kit favored the lady with a tired smile. 'I do apologize, Your Grace. I instructed Ramesh not to let anyone in, and I fear he took me at my word. But I failed to tell him that you were the exception.'
'Well, I suppose I…' She halted midstride, retrieved her lorgnette, and peered through it. 'Gracious, my dear, whatever has happened to you? You look as though you spent the night down a well.'
Kit wiped the tears from her face with the crumpled cambric square she held in her hand, then rose shakily to her feet. 'I am glad you are here, ma'am. I have desperate need of you.'
'By Jove, child, I believe you do.' The dowager put away her lorgnette, then turned to Ramesh and ordered tea for them both without so much as batting an eyelash. Then she took Kit's hands in hers and kissed her cheek. 'What has happened, Kit? Here, sit down beside me.'
Kit allowed the elderly woman to press her down onto the lion-footed sofa. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. How could she even begin to tell the dowager about this tangled mess? About the hurt and betrayal and confusion and longing and… And that she had lost the man she loved? She swallowed hard, then grimaced; her throat was raw from the copious tears she had shed over the past several hours.
'Kit… have you slept at all, child?' asked the dowager, peering at her with great concern.
'A little. You are in looks, Your Grace,' she replied, a trifle absently.
'Oh, this.' The dowager waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. 'I thought it would be a lark to dress to match my more colorful contusions. I started off with black and blue, progressed through purple and red, and now I am as you see me. A trifle bilious, perhaps, but I think it suits.'
Kit sat up, instantly more alert. 'Are you well?'
'Of course, child,' huffed the elderly woman. 'A few bumps and bruises, nothing more. Had the most monstrous headache for days. That old wigsby of a physician says I have the hardest head of any patient he has ever known. Hmph. My grandson could have told him that.'
'I am so glad you are here.' The crushing weight on Kit's chest seemed to ease.
The dowager patted her cheek. 'Tell me, child.'
Kit bit her lip. 'Oh, Your Grace, I am all at sixes and sevens. I have made a mull of everything.'
The elderly woman regarded her intently for a moment. 'I have never seen you so distressed, my dear. Does this have anything to do with my great-nephew?'
'Nicholas.' Kit's throat convulsed around the name. 'Yes, ma'am. It does.'
The dowager's lips settled into grim lines. 'What has he done now?'
Fighting against the tears that threatened her composure, Kit told her everything, from her first bargain with the marquess at Broadwell through all that followed, culminating with last night's debacle at the Assembly Rooms.
' 'Pon rep, how extraordinary. You should have known better than to bargain with a rake,' declared the elderly woman.
Kit smiled through her tears. 'Would you believe I did it for you?'
'Next time, my dear, let me fight my own battles; yours are too costly.'
'Indeed, Your Grace.'
'So where is that reprobate nephew of mine now?' the dowager demanded. 'I vow I shall box his ears for this.'
'He has returned to London,' Kit replied in a dull voice.
'London?' she exploded. 'Without so much as a by-your-leave? Bah! How dare he treat you so shabbily! You must go after him, child, and set him straight.'
Kit made a moue. 'I do not know if I should.'
The dowager blinked. 'Whatever do you mean by that?'
'I thought he cared for me, Your Grace, even loved me, but now I not so certain.'
'Why, because you have quarreled? Egad, child, everyone has a tiff now and then.' The elderly woman settled her skirts around her like a giant bird ruffling its feathers.
Kit shook her head. 'No, it's not that. If you could have seen the anger on his face, the disgust…' She squeezed her eyes shut as another tear slipped out from beneath her lashes. 'He is right. We both are. We may love each other, but without trust we have nothing. And the misunderstanding last night only made things worse between us.'
'What do you think made him so angry?' the dowager inquired softly.
'I-I… Well… I am not sure,' Kit stammered. She flung up her hands in exasperation. 'No, that is not true.'
Ramesh arrived with the tea tray; the dowager waved him away and poured tea for them both. She handed a
