As she began to follow the duke down the hall, she shot another glance over her shoulder at Lord Bainbridge, who stared after her, a strange expression on his face. Anxiety added another loop to the knot in Kit's stomach. The tension between the two men had been all but palpable. What was going on? And after having ignored her for all this time, why did the duke suddenly wish to speak with her in private? If he was going to attempt to buy her off again, he would find her as resolute as when he made his first insulting offer.

She squared her shoulders. Whatever it was, it certainly could not be any worse than what she had already faced this week.

Chapter Nine

The duke led Kit down to the first floor, to the wood and leather-bound realm of his study. Late-afternoon sunshine streamed through the windows in a bright flood; dust motes danced in the hot, slanting beams. The stale odor of books collected but never read, mixed with the smells of fireplace ash, lemon oil, and beeswax pressed heavily against her nostrils. On the ornate stone mantelpiece a large ebony and gilt clock intoned the hour to the otherwise silent room.

"Come in, Mrs. Mallory." The duke gestured for her to precede him into the room, then closed the door behind them.

The sharp click of the latch made Kit jump. "Is this quite necessary, Your Grace?" she asked, fighting to calm her frantic heartbeat.

The duke clasped his hands behind his back as he strode across the Persian carpet. "It is. I also hope you understand that what I have to tell you must be held in the strictest confidence."

"I fail to see the need for such secrecy, sir."

He motioned to a chair. "You will. Please sit down."

Kit perched on the edge of a Chippendale chair, her fingers laced tightly on her lap, one heel tapping a nervous rhythm on the floor.

The duke crossed to his desk, picked up a sheaf of papers, glanced through them, then set them down again. His attire-a jacket of dove gray superfine, intricate cravat, biscuit-colored breeches, and polished Hessians-exuded fashionable indolence, but the hard lines of his face and the almost military set of his shoulders, not to mention his cold, haughty gray eyes, spoiled the effect.

"I am certain you are wondering why I asked to speak to you," he began. "After all, the two of us have not been on the best of terms."

"The thought had occurred to me, Your Grace," she replied, her chin tilted in defiance.

"I assure you that I would not discomfit you thus if the matter were not of vital importance." He stood at his window for a moment, his back to her, before turning around and settling into the chair behind his desk, looking for all the world like a foreign potentate holding court. "Since you seem to favor plain speaking, Mrs. Mallory, I, too, shall be blunt. I am concerned about the growing connection between you and my cousin, the Marquess of Bainbridge."

Heat blazed across Kit's cheeks. "That is none of your business, Your Grace."

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the mahogany desk, one cool blond brow arched at an inquiring angle. "Has he asked you to marry him?"

Kit rose slowly to her feet, breathing hard. "If you have brought me here merely to importune me with impertinent questions, then I must beg Your Grace's leave to retire."

"Sit down, Mrs. Malloy," ordered the duke in an exasperated tone. "By your reaction, I take it he has not."

Kit remained standing. "No."

"Are you certain?"

She glared at him. "If you know your cousin half as well as you claim, Your Grace, then you realize he will make no such offer."

He relaxed back into his chair. "I must say I am relieved to hear it, but not for the reason you might suspect."

Kit's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that, Your Grace?"

"Will you sit down, or must I crane my neck to look up at you?"

Her jaw set, Kit complied.

"Better," said the duke. "Now, I must beg your indulgence, for to give you a proper explanation will take some time; I ask only that you bear with me."

"What is this all about, Your Grace?"

He steepled his fingers in front of him. "First, and I do not seek to be impertinent, Mrs. Mallory, but have you never wondered why a man like Bainbridge, a Corinthian who moves in the first circles in London, would show an interest in you, a Cit's widow?"

His patronizing tone raised the hairs on the back of Kit's neck. What the deuce was this arrogant man trying to say? She bit back a rather rude reply; she must not let the duke prick her into a display of temper. "He is a rake, my lord. Any woman can guess his intentions."

"Any woman, indeed," he murmured. "So you agree that his attentions to you seem rather… unusual?"

She shifted in her seat. "I do not deny that, Your Grace."

"Then allow me to enlighten you. He pays his attentions to you at my request."

Kit's mouth rounded in shock. "W-what?"

"Just as I said, Mrs. Mallory."

"But-why? You have made your disdain for me perfectly clear, Your Grace. What does Lord Bainbridge have to do with any of this?"

"When my grandmother returned from India, she could talk of nothing else but you. Even now, she spends more time with you than she does with her own great-grandchildren. I ask you-what was I to think? The dowager duchess is getting on in years, and less scrupulous individuals might seek to curry favor with her in the hope of obtaining an inheritance."

"And you thought that I-? That is despicable, sir," she hissed.

He shrugged. "I had no idea who you were, Mrs. Mallory, but I did know of your father, and his reputation was cause enough for alarm."

"And that is why you thought you could buy me off with ten thousand pounds. The apple does not fall far from the tree, is that it?"

"Ten thousand pounds would have made you quite wealthy. I could not credit the fact that you turned me down."

"I had no need of your money, Your Grace," she snapped. "Not then, and not now. Not ever."

"Yes, you are a stubborn creature. When my grandmother announced her intention to bring you here on holiday, I invited Bainbridge here to distract you."

A horrid premonition shot through Kit like a lead ball. Her eyes widened. "You asked him to… to seduce me?"

The duke spread his hands. "I asked him to get to know you, to charm you, to insinuate himself into your confidence."

"And then what?" she demanded.

"I wanted you away from my grandmother, Mrs. Mallory. Since you would not take my money, I asked Bainbridge to seduce you, to transfer the focus of your interest from my grandmother onto him. He intended to set you up most handsomely, then abandon you. And, after having had an illicit, very public affair with her great-nephew, my grandmother would hardly want to have any further contact with you."

Kit began to shake. "This is utterly preposterous. I don't believe you."

"You may ask him for the truth of the matter, if you wish, but I suspect you already know."

Their infamous bargain. Now she understood. It all made sense, in a strange, cruel sort of way. All the charm, all the flattering attentions. He had toyed with her, pretended to go along with her plans for compromise, all the while weaving his spell of seduction around her. The playful banter. The kiss on the hill. Their meeting in the folly. The strawberries…

"Why are you telling me this?" She swallowed against a sudden swell of nausea.

The duke pursed his lips. "For two reasons. First, I now perceive that I was mistaken. Your reaction to my grandmother's fall told me that you hold genuine affection for her, despite the fact that you share no blood connection. I am a proud man, Mrs. Mallory, but I know enough to admit when I am in the wrong."

Kit rose, her entire body trembling. "Do you mean to tell me that after all this, after bribing me, insulting me, and planning to ruin my life, you have had a sudden attack of conscience?"

His cold gray eyes seemed to look right through her. "Call it what you will."

"And your campaign to induce Her Grace to retire to the dower house? Was that part of your plan, as well?"

The duke did not flinch from her withering scorn. "No. But after this accident, I do not know if my grandmother will be capable of prolonged travel. The dower house may hold more appeal for her."

"I see. Very neat. And the second reason?"

"I fear my cousin still intends to follow through with his plan."

A cold void opened in the pit of her stomach. "What do you mean?"

"Even a connoisseur of beauty grows jaded over time, and seeks more… unusual avenues of diversion. Lord Bainbridge thinks you the antidote to his ennui, Mrs. Mallory, and will use you to amuse himself, no matter what the consequences."

"You seem very sure of this, Your Grace."

"I know my cousin."

She tasted bile at the back of her throat. "I see. Is there anything else you care to tell me?"

"Only that I owe you an apology." Placing his hands on the desk, he slowly climbed to his feet.

"An apology?" A low, hollow laugh echoed from her throat. "You astound me, Your Grace. After all you have done, I would not have thought you capable of any such thing."

"You have it nonetheless. What more do you want?"

What did she want? She wanted to wake up from this nightmare! The situation, however, called for a more practical and immediate solution. Her lips thinned. "I wish to leave Broadwell Manor. Leave, and never have the misfortune to cross paths with you again."

A strange, enigmatic smile crossed the duke's thin features. "What about my grandmother?"

"Dr. Knowles is confident of the dowager's recovery," Kit stated. "I leave knowing she is in competent hands."