"Lord Bainbridge," she replied, her voice high and breathy. "What brings you to Bath?"

He inclined his head to her, a slight smile on his lips. "I think you know."

"Bainbridge!" exclaimed Lord Langley with a bit too much jovial enthusiasm. "How odd that we should see you here. I thought Bath would be too dull for your taste."

"That only proves how little you know me," Bainbridge murmured in reply.

From the alcove above, the musicians started up with an allemande. The marquess turned to her. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Mallory?"

Kit's heart leaped into her throat, but before she could reply Lord Langley reached out and took her gloved hand.

"You must get in line, Bainbridge," the viscount stated. "The lady has promised this dance to me."

Bainbridge looked to her. "Kit?"

Though her pulse pounded in her ears, she managed to lift her chin and stare haughtily back at him. How dare he march in here and expect her to jump at his command! She favored the viscount with a cool smile. "You are quite right, Lord Langley. This is indeed your dance."

The satisfaction of watching the marquess's face darken with anger dissipated as soon as the viscount guided her out onto the dance floor.

"Are you well, Mrs. Mallory?" Langley asked in low tones.

"Yes, my lord. Fit as a fiddle. Why do you ask?"

He raised one golden brown brow. "Because, dear lady, you have gone quite pale."

Kit raised a gloved hand to her cheek. "I have?"

"If you prefer to sit out this dance, I would gladly fetch you a gla.s.s of lemonade."

She flashed him a grateful look. "No, my lord, but I do appreciate your offer."

Langley glanced over his shoulder. "If I may hazard a guess without being thought impertinent, might I conclude that Lord Bainbridge is the source of your distress?"

Her jaw tightened. "You might."

"Should I call him out?"

Kit stared at him, only to notice the teasing glint in his slate blue eyes. "No violence on my behalf, my lord, I beg you."

"Ah." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Very well, Mrs. Mallory. But I shall do my best to see that he does not distress you again this evening."

Kit did not have a chance to reply, for the dance had begun, and soon she and the viscount were too caught up in the figures to hold much of a conversation. Although Lord Langley proved to be a diverting dance partner, she could not shake the feeling that Bainbridge's eyes lingered on her wherever she went.

When the allemande ended, Sir Percy claimed her for a country dance, and Lord Tarlton for the reel after that. But when Sir Henry Castleton tried to solicit her hand, she pleaded fatigue and begged to sit out the dance. The baronet appeared displeased, but did not press the issue, for which Kit was infinitely grateful. She did not like the older man; he did not bother to disguise his leering glances, and his clammy, reptilian touch never failed to make her shudder.

It was rather like being part of a circus, only she was one of the performers; she wasn't sure if she liked the sensation. On one hand, being watched and admired was rather flattering, but as the dowager had said in her letter, not all the attention was entirely welcome.

Like that of Lord Bainbridge.

The crowd in the a.s.sembly Rooms had noticed the marquess's presence by now; the air hummed with murmured speculation. Kit guessed that a man of Lord Bainbridge's stature-and rakish reputation-was rarely seen in Bath. He stood at the edge of the room, elegant as ever, seemingly oblivious to the whispered furor around him, and equally unaware of the longing looks sent his way by several young ladies.

As Kit returned to her chair, she saw his head swivel in her direction. Her lips thinned. So much for hoping to stay unnoticed.

Lord Langley appeared at her elbow. "May I be of some a.s.sistance, Mrs. Mallory?" he asked softly.

Kit tried to smile. "No, thank you, my lord. I have to face this sooner or later; I cannot run forever."

"I shall not be far, if you have need of me," he said, bowing over her hand.

"Will you excuse us a moment, Langley?" inquired the marquess. His words were polite, but Kit heard the quiet length of steel running through them.

"Of course, my lord," Langley drawled. "But I shall not let you monopolize her for long. Would you care for a gla.s.s of lemonade, Mrs. Mallory?"

The viscount was giving her an opportunity for a gracious exit, should she need it. She nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"Then I shall return shortly." Langley shot the marquess a warning look, then vanished into the crowd.

Kit snapped open her sandalwood fan and fanned herself at what she hoped was a leisurely pace. Her whole body felt as though it would shake apart at any moment. Fortunately, her long skirts hid her quaking limbs.

"What do you think you are doing, my lord?" she demanded.

A muscle twitched at his temple. "You know why I'm here, Kit."

"I do not," she countered. "Perhaps you should enlighten me."

He sighed. "Kit, I came here to apologize. I never meant to hurt you, and I think you know that."

Several people nearby turned their heads, their expressions full of unseemly curiosity. Kit felt her face redden. "This is neither the time nor the place for such a private discussion, sir."

The musicians launched into a stately minuet; Bainbridge seized her hand and began to lead her onto the dance floor. "Then this should allow us some privacy."

"What? How dare you!" Kit hissed, hoping no one would overhear.

The marquess gave her one of his roguish, heart-stopping smiles. "I dare, sweet Kit, because you leave me no other choice."

A formal court dance of the previous century, the minuet was excruciating under the best of circ.u.mstances. Tonight, Kit found it to be nothing less than torture. Though separated by layers of kidskin, she could still feel the warmth of his hand upon hers. And his eyes . . . Those dark, seductive orbs seemed to follow every move she made.

"Very well, my lord, I accept your apology," she murmured as they pa.s.sed through a set of figures. "Now you can return to London with a clear conscience, if you indeed possess such a thing."

The marquess's eyes narrowed. "I do not plan to return to London, Kit."

She feigned innocence. "Oh? Do you intend to stay and take the waters, then? I have heard they are quite beneficial to one's health."

Irritation flashed over his face. "I am not leaving here without you."

She uttered a rather unladylike snort. "Then I fear you will be in Bath a very long time, sir, because I have no intention of going anywhere, especially with you."

"Then I will wait."

She stumbled; he caught her against him. Her silk-clad thigh and hip made contact with his, and a jolt of electricity surged through her. Heat flooded her face. She drew back to keep a more decorous distance between them.

"You see?" he said with an infuriatingly smug smile. "You cannot deny the attraction between us."

"The only thing between us, my lord," she muttered under her breath, "is an abominable history of lies and deception."

"I was going to tell you the truth," he insisted, "but Wexcombe stole a march on me with his untimely revelation."

"You say that as if it excuses your conduct!" she snapped. The elderly couple dancing next to them glanced at her with patent disapproval, but she paid little heed. "What you and your cousin did was despicable, my lord. And if you think for one moment that flattery and insincere apologies will get you what you want, then you are greatly mistaken."

Putting his arm around her waist, the marquess guided her off the dance floor and around the edge of the room, where the crowd had thinned somewhat. "And what do you think I want?"

Her body reacted to the pure seductiveness in his voice and his touch; longing pooled deep within her. She tried to ignore it. "I . . . You know what I think."

"You did not answer my question." His dark eyes glinted. He was enjoying this!

She glared back. "Very well. I will make myself perfectly clear on this point, my lord, so there can be no further doubt. I will not be your mistress. Ever."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Do you think me such a villain?"

"Yes."

Bainbridge raised her fingers to his lips with a teasing smile. "And yet you cannot deny that you are fond of me."

Pain began to throb at Kit's temples. "If this is your idea of a joke, my lord-"

"Nicholas," he amended with a smile. "Remember?" He turned her hand over and stroked his thumb along her gloved wrist.

Kit shivered. The pain in her head increased to a pounding. "I am through playing these games with you, sirrah," she declared. She s.n.a.t.c.hed back her hand and glared at him. "And I will thank you to leave me alone." Spinning on her heel, she gathered her skirts and stalked in the opposite direction.

"Kit, wait!" he called after her. "That's not what I-" The rest of his words were swallowed by the crowd.

d.a.m.n him. d.a.m.n him!

Tears misted Kit's vision as she fought her way toward the octagonal vestibule. Curious eyes probed at her from every direction; she raised her head, determined to maintain what remained of her composure.

After all that he had done, how could he simply walk back into her life and attempt to resume their relationship as though nothing had happened? For him to tantalize her in such an outrageous manner . . . and in public? The man had no moral character, no scruples at all, and she was well rid of him.

If only her body did not ache so very badly for his touch.

Viscount Langley intercepted her at the doorway, his handsome face distorted with worry. "Are you all right, Mrs. Mallory?"

Kit shook her head. "Would . . . would you be so good as to see me home, my lord? The heat . . . I feel a trifle faint."

Langley nodded and offered her his arm. "Of course; it would be my pleasure." Then, in a lower voice, he added, "If that bounder upset you, you have but to say the word, and I will call him out."

Her eyes widened with alarm. "No! Please, my lord, no more talk of dueling. As much as I appreciate your vehemence on my behalf, I a.s.sure you that all I need is to get well away from the Marquess of Bainbridge."

Lord Langley gave her a lopsided smile. "I may be only a viscount, Mrs. Mallory, and a rather impoverished one at that, but may I be so bold as to offer you my company as a potential diversion from his presence?"

Moisture gleamed on the edges of Kit's lashes. He was a handsome young man, though not as handsome as Nicholas-as Lord Bainbridge. His golden brown hair brightened toward blond at the crown, testament to a great deal of time spent out-of-doors. His tanned skin emphasized the blue of his eyes and his gleaming white teeth. He was not as tall as Ni-as Lord Bainbridge, nor were his shoulders quite as broad, but he was attractive, he was kind, and he was not a rake.

She swallowed her tears. "You may, my lord, but only if you promise never to lie to me."

The skin around Langley's eyes crinkled as his smile widened. He raised her fingers to his lips. "Dear lady, I would do anything you asked."

Chapter Eleven.

Bainbridge paced the length of his room, turned, and paced back.

d.a.m.n.

He'd rushed his fences last night, and his rashness may have set him back even further. Instead of paying respectful and serious attention to Kit, he had behaved as he always did around members of the fairer s.e.x. Just as at Broadwell Manor, he had found himself flirting with her, teasing her.

Seducing her.

d.a.m.n!

Was that the only way he knew how to relate to a woman?

For G.o.d's sake, stop being provoking and just tell her!

Weariness weighted his eyelids, but he had no time to heed the siren song of sleep. He thrust a hand through his hair. Think. He had to think. He had tried to follow Kit last night to explain, but Langley, that insolent pup, had intercepted Kit and spirited her away. Bad enough that he'd put his foot in it, but if he wasn't careful, Langley would take advantage of the situation more than he already had; the thought of playing into a rival's hands galled him to no end.

Perhaps he had been mistaken in seeking her out at the a.s.sembly Rooms, after all. But would she receive him if he called upon her? Pulling a face, he bellowed first for his valet, then for coffee. He would have to risk it. So much for foolproof plans!

Bainbridge dressed with painstaking care, then left the White Hart for Camden Place. The rain had ceased overnight, and bright late-morning sunshine glinted off the numerous puddles in the cobbled streets. He winced and lowered the shade over the carriage window.

Lud, he had never worked himself into such a state before. No sleep, and less appet.i.te. All this over a woman. His lips stretched in a gesture that was more grimace than grin. If anyone had told him that love for a lady would bring him to such a state, he would have laughed outright. As it was, every single nerve in his body seemed to be stretched to the limit, like a drawn bowstring. A knot of tension had gathered across his shoulders and showed no signs of lessening.

She would see him. She must.

The carriage brought him to Camden Place in short order, only to have Kit's tall, rather imposing Hindu butler inform him that the memsahib was not in, but due to return at any moment. His heart leaped; dare he hope? a.s.suming 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 G.o.ddesses 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 G.o.d 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.