Kate bathed him again.Sliding her cool cloth along his hot skin, she tried to suppress the guilty warmth that spread through her at the feel of him beneath her fingers.It was a vain effort, as was her attempt to keep one eye on his face, just in case he suddenly roused to awareness, for her attention was diverted by the muscles bunching under her touch.
So engrossed was she in her task that when the door opened, she started, snatching up the cloth furtively as she turned to greet Tom, who stood frowning near the threshold.He took a few steps into the room to survey the scene and then scowled disapprovingly at the man in the bed.
“Ye gods, Katie, let me put a nightshirt on the fellow, at least.It isn’t seemly for him to be lying there half-naked, and you caring for him.”
Glancing down swiftly, Kate was relieved to see that the covers were neatly pulled up to Grayson’s waist.She had washed and hung out his breeches earlier, but Tom must not have seen them or he would be complaining about more than the marquess’ bare chest.
She sat up.“And just who is going to tend to him, if I do not?”she asked, unmoved by Tom’s frown.
He glanced at Grayson’s bronzed torso and mumbled something about the man not looking like a marquess.Then he turned back toward Kate.“I will,” he offered glumly.
Kate snorted.“I can imagine that easily enough.You would have the man drowning and the mattress ruined in no time.No, Tom.He is my responsibility, and I will see to him.”Realizing that her fingers had tightened possessively around the cloth in her hand, she released them, dropping the soft material into the nearby bucket of spring water.
“Well, if you can tear yourself away from the lad for a moment, I have something that needs discussing,” Tom said, grudgingly giving way on the issue of Grayson’s treatment.
Kate’s relief at his capitulation was brief, for she recognized the gruff tone in his voice that bespoke ill news.Her heart, already burdened by so much, sank anew.What more could she face?What more could they all handle?Yet somehow she managed to nod slowly.And with one last look at the man in the bed, she followed Tom through the doorway.
Lucy was waiting in the drawing room.It was her habit to prepare tea for these little talks, just as though they were enjoying nothing more than a pleasant visit.And that usually was Lucy’s sole contribution to the exchange.
Taking her seat, Kate received her cup and saucer and hid a smile at Tom’s desperate attempt to balance the delicate china on his knee.Then she thanked Lucy for her preparations and, without delay, glanced toward Tom, who had called this session.
“I went to London this morning after finishing my breakfast,” he said grimly.
Kate felt a surge of panic at his words.Why had he gone without telling her?And what had he learned?Were the Bow Street runners after her even now?Kate’s fingers trembled as she sought to control herself.She would need her wits about her now, more than ever, and she drew a deep, steadying breath as she listened to the coachman.
“I sniffed around our man’s neighborhood, and I can tell you one thing.He’s Wroth all right.”
Tom’s disgruntled admission caught Kate by surprise.Of course, the man was Wroth.Any fool could see that.
“He is not!”Lucy said, tossing her auburn curls indignantly.“I have told you before.That old, ugly fellow upstairs is not my Wroth.”
Poor Lucy.For once, Kate could see through the haughty surface to the wounded woman who refused to believe the truth.Although she had never intended to do so, Kate wished that she had managed to shoot the man who had so cruelly deceived her sister instead of the innocent marquess.
“The gent in your papa’s bed is Wroth, Lucy, and you must accept it,” Tom said.“There already is concern about his whereabouts.Although he sometimes goes off for days on a gambling streak, his servants are worried, especially since he was last seen heading home from one of those fashionable balls, and they’ve had no word of him.”
“A coincidence,” Lucy said.“That proves nothing.”
Tom silenced her with a look and continued.“He sent his driver on and walked, which has a few people fearing that he was attacked by footpads, but most scoff at the idea of anyone daring to take on Wroth.Apparently, the man has quite a reputation for being able to handle himself,” Tom said, pausing to eye Kate meaningfully.
She flushed.Of course, Grayson was dangerous.Tom had no idea just how much.“Go on,” she said evenly.
“Then there’s the business about the gloves.A few of the servants think he’s been home because his gloves were inside, but no one knows for sure if those were the pair he was wearing when he set out.Seems as if there’s a bit of confusion because the staff had been let off for the night after a little celebration.It was his birthday, you see.”
His birthday.Kate wanted to squeeze her eyes shut against the news.Resolutely, she kept them open, but she refused to look at Tom.“How old is he?”
“Thirty,” Tom answered in a surprised tone.
Kate watched as a light drizzle began to tap on the window pane.Thirty.He was eight years older than she and far more experienced with titles, power, life… and what happened between men and women.But he was not ancient as Lucy would claim.Keeping such thoughts to herself, she turned to Tom.“Well, at least there is no trail to us.”
“No, not as I could gather.”
Kate nodded with relief at their reprieve.
“But I don’t understand,” Lucy protested.“I tell you the man is not Wroth!Why do you persist in pretending that he is?”
Tom turned to her, his grizzled face wearing a tender expression.“I saw his portrait, Lucy.He’s Wroth, which means your fellow isn’t.”
“How can that be?”she cried.Her voice rose, loud and high, before breaking in confusion, and Kate flinched.As annoying as Lucy’s petulance sometimes was, Kate did not like to see it stripped away, leaving her sister naked and vulnerable.
