“Yes,” she said hesitantly. “Yes. That is the worst result of all this. I do not know what they will do.”
“Neither do they,” he said dryly. “Do you realize that you could prevent it?”
She glanced at him quickly. “Oh, no,” she said, “I think not. My story would not be believed.”
“With whip marks to prove it?” he asked. That sneer she had not heard in his voice for a few days was back. “You would not even try, Mrs. Mannering, for the sake of servants?”
“It would not help,” she said, turning her face to look out to sea. She could not tell him what had happened that morning. So many times in the last couple of weeks he had seen her at her weakest. Must she admit now that she had stood meekly in the earl’s cabinet that morning listening to the accusations of two men and realizing all the futility of trying to defend herself? Her own weakness, her inability to control her own life appalled her. She would not confide in this man and have more of his pity. She wanted his admiration, his love.
“I see,” he said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “The Pickerings are to be sacrificed, then. They do not matter, of course. They are only servants. And Josh matters even less. He is merely an imbecile who does not need to be treated as a human being.”
Kate jerked her hand from his arm and rounded on him. “Don’t say that,” she said, “and don’t imply that that is my attitude. Josh may not have all his wits about him, but he is twice the man that you are or Lord Uppington or . . . or . . . He is dear and sweet and loyal, and he saved me perhaps from rape yesterday. Do you think I would willingly repay him by having him and his parents thrown out? Do you think I have a choice? Do not talk to me of servants, sir. I know all about being a servant. You have no idea, you with your life of aristocratic privilege.”
“Well, well,” he said, infuriatingly cool, one eyebrow raised, his eyelids half-covering his eyes, “It seems that Mrs. Mannering still has feelings. I thought maybe the whip had deadened them, my dear ma’am.”
“Don’t blame me,” Kate said, wincing as she tried to clench her fists, still unable to get herself under control. “Don’t blame me that the Pickerings have to go. It is not my fault. Not in any way. Ohhh! Do you think I have not blamed and blamed myself since I heard this morning? Of course it is my fault. It is my fault that I have been making eyes at Lord Uppington since he came here, leading him on to madness. It is my fault that he has been pursuing me with such persistence. It is my fault that we chose that particular spot yesterday for our lovemaking, within earshot of the lodge. And it is my fault that I screamed so loudly with ecstasy that Josh came running. Of course it is my fault. If I had not taken this employment, all this would not have happened and Lord Barton would not have decided to get rid of the Pickerings. I know it is my fault. I do not need you to arouse my conscience. And I am not your dear ma’am.”
“And those are not tears in your eyes either,” he said, his own eyes holding hers.
“Yes, they are,” she said defiantly, turning from him and beginning to walk again along the clifftop. The wind felt good in her hot face. “But they are tears of anger, not of weakness.”
“Your greatest fear is of appearing weak, is it not, Kate?” he asked, walking beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. “Would it be so weak to admit to Lord Barton that you have become the target of the vicious attentions of a rake?”
“No,” she said with a bitter laugh, “not weak, sir. Stupid. The man is a marquess. And he wishes to marry Lady Thelma, daughter of a mere earl. Do you seriously imagine that Lord Barton would pay any attention to my complaints?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps not,” he said.
Kate stopped again suddenly. “Did you do that to Lord Uppington’s face?” she asked.
“The slight rearrangement of features?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Yes, actually. I rather admire my own artistry now that I have had a chance to have a good look at it today. Do you?”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why? Because the new features are so much more in keeping with his character,” he said.
“I meant why did you do it?” Kate said.
“Ah. Well, Kate, I have always felt that I should have been born in the Dark Ages, when I might have been a knight-errant, traveling from one distressed damsel to another, rescuing them from the jaws of dragons and such. I think such a calling would have suited me to perfection. Alas, we have no dragons in our age. Only Uppingtons. We live in a very dull world, would you not agree with me?”
“You fought him for me?” Kate asked.
“Did I?” he said, looking across at her in some surprise. “Yes, I suppose in one way I did. I happen not to think it sporting of a strapping great fellow to take a whip to a little dab of a female, no matter how strong a knee or sharp a tongue she might possess. But I believe I fought him more for me, my dear. It gave me enormous satisfaction to do so, you know.”
“And you did not have any other men hold him while you hit him?” Kate asked,
“The mythical thugs?” he asked. “I am mortally offended that you would even suggest such a thing, my dear Mrs. Mannering—pardon me: my not dear Mrs. Mannering. Do I appear too weak to have accomplished the task single-handed? I am far too selfish to have done such a cowardly thing, besides. I would not have had nearly the pleasure out of pummeling a victim who had no chance to defend himself.”
“Thank you,” Kate said. “But you need not have done that for me, you know.”
“No, I know,” he agreed. “You would have far preferred to do it yourself. Would it be any comfort to you if I assured you that the single blow to the, ah, vitals that you delivered was probably far and away more painful than all the dozen or two that I delivered to the head? I must confess that I did not have your ruthless courage, my dear Kate.”
“I shall be leaving here the day after the ball,” Kate said abruptly.
“Ah,” he said. “You are going to quit the field and admit yourself vanquished? I thought you had more backbone, ma’am.”
“I shall return to my father’s home or to my aunt in London,” she said, “and try again. Perhaps next time I can find some quiet employment as a governess.”
“And maybe your employer’s good wife will find you a disguise that will more effectively mask your beauty than this hideous gray does too, Mrs. Mannering,” said Sir Harry. “It is useless to run, my dear, for wherever you go, your beautiful and desirable self runs too.”
