The dowager had mentioned her great-grandchildren, but Kit had yet to meet them. She could not resist; she climbed to her feet. She made her way down the hill, waving to them as they approached.

"Hello!" she called. "What a fine day for a race! Won't you come and show me your ponies?"

The boy and girl saw her and slowed to a walk. The laughter left their faces; the little boy retreated behind his sister as Kit drew near.

"Hello," Kit repeated, giving them her best smile. She knelt down so her head was level with theirs. "What is your name?"

"I'm Emma," announced the girl, her gray eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Are you the bad lady?"

Kit blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Mama told Miss Pym to keep us away from the bad lady who was coming to visit. Well, are you?"

A chill coursed through Kit. Why would the duchess say such a thing? And what exactly did she mean by it?

"No," she replied, "I'm not a bad lady. My name is Kit, and I like children very much."

The boy peered out from behind his sister. "I'm Nathaniel," he murmured, his eyes huge.

"Hello, Nathaniel. I am very glad to meet you and your sister."

Emma did not appear convinced; she continued to regard Kit with belligerent wariness. "Did you come from Perdition?" she demanded. "Mama said she wished you were back there. Is that in France?"

"No," Kit replied, swallowing her shock, "I do not believe it is. But I am not from Perdition; I come from India."

"India!" Emma gasped, and at once her features transformed from distrustful to awestruck. "Great-Grandmama has been to India, too! She told us all sorts of stories about tigers, and elephants, and monkeys, and… and…"

"… and peacocks, and water buffalo, and sacred bulls with garlands of flowers on their horns?" Kit prompted.

The little girl beamed at her, eyes wide with wonder. "Yes!"

The governess caught up with them, blowing hard, her face red as though she'd been running. She cast a frantic look at Kit, then latched on to Nathaniel's hand. "Come, children. Time to go into the house." She reached out her other hand for Emma, but the girl pulled away.

"No! I want to hear a story about India. Kit has been there, too, just like Great-Grandmama."

Miss Pym's nostrils flared. "I will tell you a story when we return to the nursery."

Emma stamped her foot. "I want Kit to tell me a story about India!" she shrilled.

"I'm sure Mrs. Mallory is far too busy to tell you any stories today," insisted Miss Pym. She darted another nervous glance at Kit. "Now, come along."

Kit climbed slowly to her feet and brushed the grass from her skirt. Her shoulders drew taut. "It's all right, Emma. Perhaps I can tell you a story tomorrow."

"No, now!" the girl cried. "Please?"

"Emma, a young lady should never raise her voice," Kit instructed gently. "I'm sure there will be plenty of time for stories later."

"Well," began a flustered Miss Pym, "I'm not sure that-"

"Oh, come now, Miss Pym," came a roguish chuckle from behind them. "Surely you can manage to fit one story into the children's busy schedule."

Kit whirled. Lord Bainbridge strolled toward them, a jaunty grin on his face.

The governess swallowed hard, then bobbed a nervous curtsy to the marquess. "I will see what can be arranged," she replied, her lips flattened in a thin line. "Come inside Master Nathaniel, Lady Emma. Now."

Emma allowed Miss Pym to snatch up her small hand. She turned pleading eyes to Kit. "Promise you'll tell us a story?"

"Promise?" echoed Nathaniel. He stared beseechingly at her, his lower lip a-quiver.

"I promise," Kit murmured, putting on her bravest face.

She watched in silent anger as the dumpling governess dragged the two reluctant children and their toys up the hill and into the house.

"I take it your headache is better?" Bainbridge inquired in an innocent tone.

Kit flushed. Actually, the throbbing had progressed from her temples to the base of her skull, but she was determined to ignore it. "Well enough," she replied stiffly. "What are you doing here, my lord? Making sure I don't run off with the silver?" She bit her lip; she hadn't meant for that last part to slip out.

The marquess's grin widened. "Not at all. The dowager duchess was worried about you and asked me if I would return to the house to keep you company."

"Why did she send you?" Kit wondered aloud.

"She thought you might look more favorably on my company than that of Lady Elizabeth."

"You are correct, my lord. Five minutes in that lady's company and we are at daggers drawn."

"I am unarmed, I assure you," he said, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "May I escort you back up to the house?"

She looked up at the Palladian grandeur of Broadwell Manor, at the path so recently taken by the duke's two children. Her smile faded. "Tell me something, my lord-why would the duchess ask Miss Pym to keep the children away from me?"

"What?" The marquess's brow puckered. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Not 'what,' my lord-'who.' Emma asked me very distinctly if I was the bad lady about whom her mama had warned Miss Pym."

"Out of the mouths of babes," murmured Lord Bainbridge.

Kit continued to regard him with a steady, searching gaze. "What is going on here, sir? I suppose that pride and protectiveness may account for a portion of the Their Graces' behavior, but to think I would be an immoral influence on their children without even knowing who I am-that is ridiculous."

Bainbridge silently berated his sudden predicament; young Emma's unfailing honesty had left him in a devil of a bind. He decided to change the subject.

"Come take a turn around the lake with me," he said, proffering his arm.

She hesitated. "I do not think it wise that I be alone with you, sir."

She was a cautious creature, but he enjoyed a challenge. "The garden, then." When she hesitated, he added, "I assure you that we shall be in full sight of the house at all times."

Mrs. Mallory stared at him for a moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a very appealing manner; then she laid her hand upon his arm. Her touch, though very light, sent a jolt of awareness through his body. Her tawny hair and unusual eyes gave her a striking appearance; she did not conform to the standards of English beauty, yet he found her damnably attractive. He couldn't put his finger on an exact reason why, but he did nonetheless. She seemed quite slender, but as she walked up the hill with him, he thought he detected the suggestion of curves beneath her shapeless brown sack of a dress. Interesting.

"Her Grace's tales of India are legendary in this house," he remarked. "She has made Caro faint on more than one occasion."

Mrs. Mallory laughed, a delightful, throaty ripple. "I will have to ask Her Grace what produced such a reaction; perhaps I might be so fortunate."

"I am sure you have quite a few stories of your own. Did you live in India long?" he asked.

"Seven years," she replied.

He detected a note of wistfulness in her words. "You miss it."

She turned away. "Yes."

"And do you miss your husband?"

A flush stained her cheekbones, highlighting the freckles scattered across them. Her brilliant green eyes narrowed in reproach. "That is an impertinent question, sir."

"I specialize in impertinence, as you may have noticed. Last night at dinner I detected a note of unhappiness in your voice when you spoke about him." Jade. That was the color. Her eyes reminded him of Chinese jade.

She pursed her lips. "My husband and I had a marriage of convenience, sir."

"Ah… so you mean you do not miss him." He smiled.

She gasped and blushed a deeper shade of pink. "It is none of your business."

"Not that I blame you," he interjected. "He sounded like a rather dull fellow, a poor match for someone of your obvious wit and intelligence."

"Come now, my lord, none of your flummery." She tilted her head to look him in the eye. "Her Grace warned me about you, you know."

"Did she?" He quirked an eyebrow. "And just what did my great-aunt tell you?"

"That you were a rake and a scoundrel who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake."

His smile turned suggestive. "I do have that reputation."

"You sound rather proud of it."

"Why should I not be?"

"So you enjoy breaking hearts?" Her amazing eyes regarded him with undisguised interest.

"Do I?" The back of his neck grew hot. "That is a rather singular question, Mrs. Mallory."

"I do not see why you alone have license to be impertinent," she declared. "Well, do you?"

How quickly she had put him on the defensive. Thrust, parry, and riposte, indeed! "I don't think I've broken too many," he replied. "And certainly not on purpose."

"But if you know you might break your mistress's heart eventually, why do you do it?"

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Her gaze did not waver. "Why do you do it?"

"You mean… why am I a rake?" he asked, incredulous. Ye Gods. No other Lady of Quality would dare ask him such a thing. "Do you always speak your mind, Mrs. Mallory?"

"I do when I think someone is evading my questions."

Touché! Bainbridge threw back his head and laughed. Lord, she intrigued him more with each passing moment! "Then I shall have to be honest with you, ma'am, or you will never let me hear the end of it. The truth of the matter is that I enjoy women-and sampling the different pleasures they have to offer."

The blush in her cheeks spread over her entire face. "I see."

"Most of the attraction is physical; surely you can understand that, having been married."

She ducked her head, and did not reply.

Ah… the demure little widow had gotten herself in over her head. He chuckled. "I admire long legs, a lovely neck, and a slender figure with a high, rounded bosom. Nothing too overblown. A figure, in fact, rather like yours."