And what was she doing now? Kate asked herself indignantly. And for how long had she been doing it? She was sobbing quite painfully and brushing impatiently at tears with the backs of her hands. Good heavens, she was not crying again, was she? How disgusting! And over what? Over her own humiliation? Over the loss of the great love of her life? Great love, indeed! Sir Harry had been quite right about one thing. She was not a creature of great intelligence obviously. How else could she have worked herself into such a state over a worthless gentleman as to be crying for him?
She stopped herself by a great effort of will and doused her whole face in a basin of cold water. She came out of it sputtering and gasping—and remembering. Nicholas! Of course, she still had not got his address. She had been going to ask Sir Harry but had completely forgotten in the heat of their quarrel.
Bother! Kate thought, standing in the middle of her dressing room, a frown on her face. Now what was she going to do! Trust that someone in London would know how to find him? That was absurd, of course. No one knew Nicholas Seyton. Or anyone who did knew him only as the illegitimate grandson of the late Earl of Barton. Besides, it would be days before she reached London. Could she wait until after the ball and creep along to knock on Mr. Dalrymple’s door? Out of the question. Creep downstairs now and hope to attract his attention without being seen by anyone else? Impossible.
There really was only one thing to do. She couldn’t do it, of course. Anything but that. There really was not anything else. But she could not lower herself to quite that degree. Then Nicholas might never discover the evidence she had uncovered. There was only the one thing to do. She would die rather. She had to.
Why should she care anyway? Kate asked herself. She had just finished telling him that she controlled her own life, that she was answerable to no one but herself for what she did. Why should she care what he would think of her? He could hardly despise her more than he already did anyway. She straightened her shoulders, flung back her loose hair, and opened the door of her room again. There was no one in sight. His room was not far away. She found that her heart seemed to be beating right in her throat as she walked the distance and knocked firmly on his door.
“What the devil?” Sir Harry said as he opened his door. “What do you think you are doing, Kate?” He leaned out and grabbed her by the wrist suddenly. “Get inside here, foolish woman. Do you have no sense of propriety at all?” He glanced up and down the corridor as he pulled her inside his room and closed the door behind her.
Kate found that she was trembling. He was wearing only shirt, breeches, and stockings, and his shirt was opened almost to the waist.
“I . . . I . . . ” she said, despising her shaking and stuttering voice. “I just remembered that I had something very important to ask you.”
“Did you?” he asked. She was standing with her back against the door. Looking quite breathtakingly lovely with her hair newly brushed and streaming halfway down her back. She looked as if she might have been crying.
“I . . .” She found that her hands were twining together in front of her and resolutely stilled them. “I need some information. Something that Mr. Dalrymple knows and you will be able to find out quite easily even if you do not already know it.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows were raised. His tone did not sound very inviting.
“It will sound very strange, my request,” Kate said. “But I cannot explain it. Please just accept that it is very important to me to find out.”
His eyelids drooped over his eyes. “Is this a riddle, Kate?” he asked. “Am I supposed to start guessing?”
She laughed nervously and then despised herself for doing so. “I need to know the address of Nicholas Seyton,” she blurted.
“Indeed?” Sir Harry said, managing to inject a world of scorn into the one word, Kate thought.
“Yes,” she said. “Can you get it for me? Now? I must have it before I leave.”
“Clandestine goings-on, Mrs. Mannering?” he asked.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t start this again, please. It might seem that I owe you an explanation in exchange for the address, but I cannot give one. Please, do you know it?”
“I believe I can recall it, yes,” he said, holding her eyes with his own.
She sighed with relief. “Will you write it down for me?” she asked. “And . . . thank you.”
He nodded but did not move away. “I’m sorry, Kate,” he said quietly. “Forgive me?”
“For what?” she asked, pressing back harder against the door.
“I was teasing you,” he said. “I did not realize that I was hurting you.”
Her chin went up. “I was not hurt,” she said. “I told you that I do not care what you think of me. You need not apologize to me, sir. It would be quite out of character for you to do so and mean it.”
He put his head to one side. “Kate . . .” he said softly.
“No, don’t!” she said sharply, putting out her hands as if to ward him off.
He did not move. He continued to watch her. “Not if you don’t want me to,” he said. And then, when the silence lengthened between them, “Do you, Kate?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and pushed back even harder against the door.
He still did not move. He waited for her and finally she left the sanctuary of the door and came to him. His arms opened to take her in. She did not lift her face to be kissed. She pressed it against his shoulder. And she let her body relax against his, let the heat of him flow into herself.
“But you don’t like me,” she said against his shoulder.
