A Reckless Bargain

by Elizabeth Powell

  Kit went on to tell how Prince Rama sent Hanuman to find Sita and give her Rama's ring as a token of his love and devotion. The dowager, her face alight with merriment, pretended to dodge imaginary demon hordes until she reached Emma's side. Then the two of them sat down at the edge of the blanket, giggling.

  Finally, Kit staged a rousing battle between her diminutive Prince Rama and the much larger Ravana; Nathaniel took on the marquess with glee, wielding a stick sword, until Lord Bainbridge gave a mighty groan and fell to the grass. Ravana's "death" was greeted with cheers and enthusiastic applause. The marquess climbed to his feet and bowed.

  "It didn't hurt when I cut off your heads, did it?" Nathaniel asked.

  "Not at all." Bainbridge winked at him. The boy grinned.

  Kit's heart turned over. He was so at ease with the children; it was not hard to imagine him with a little boy and girl of his own. Dark-haired children with green eyes… She bit her lip and chided herself for being so foolish.

  She praised each of her players, and made sure everyone, especially the children, received a round of applause. After a curtsy to her audience, Emma beamed, then gave a huge yawn.

  With that, Miss Pym apologized, saying it was past time for the children's naps. She gathered the protesting Nathaniel and Emma, then started back toward the house. The marquess stretched himself out on the blanket, his laced fingers pillowed under his head, his eyes closed. Lady Elizabeth asked him if he would row her across the lake; he declined. When he also declined to show her the folly, called the Temple of Virtues, Lady Elizabeth declared that she had had too much sun and would retire to the house. She flounced back up the hill.

  "Well, that's much better," announced the dowager. "I was beginning to think we'd never have a moment's peace."

  Kit chuckled, then became aware that the marquess was watching her through slitted lids. She gave him a warning glance, then pointed with her chin down to the lake. He smiled lazily and closed his eyes. Kit pursed her lips. What was the matter with him? If he would but leave, she could negotiate with the dowager. But he showed no inclination to move, drat him.

  After a few moments, the dowager levered herself to her feet. "I do believe I will go down to the temple and see what my grandson is up to," she announced.

  "Let me help you," Kit volunteered, and started to get up.

  "No, no, child. Stay where you are. You look comfortable, and I fancy a bit of a walk. I shan't be long." Humming to herself, the elderly woman started back down the hill.

  Kit cast a glance over her shoulder-and then looked with more alarm. The footmen had disappeared. She was alone with the marquess. The back of her neck grew warm.

  "I really should go with the dowager," she said, rising to her knees.

  Bainbridge put a hand on her arm. "No more running away," he murmured.

  "I am not running."

  A laugh rumbled from his chest. "No, you were going to walk at a very hurried, yet still ladylike pace."

  "What do you mean by this?" she demanded.

  "By what?"

  "The footmen have very conveniently gone missing," she said with a hiss of indrawn breath.

  "What if they have?"

  "Did you dismiss them?"

  "Yes," he admitted with a shrug. "I wanted to spend some time with you without the presence of overly curious eyes and ears."

  "Why?"

  He gazed at her with a thoughtful frown. "You seem to labor the impression that no one wants to spend time in your company. Do you think yourself so unworthy of attention?"

  "Just of yours, my lord."

  He released her arm, then cocked an eyebrow at her. "My dear Kit, perhaps I am mistaken, but somehow I get the distinct impression that you do not trust me."

  "Oh, you are not mistaken in the least, my lord," she shot back.

  "When I asked you yesterday, you didn't give me an answer. So I'll ask you again-what are you so afraid of? Men? Or is it just me?"

  She ducked her head. "No," she mumbled.

  "Well, then, sit down. You have nothing to be afraid of; we are still in full view of Their Graces, so I won't be able to ravish you. At least not now." He smiled, reached back, and opened one of the picnic hampers.

  "What are you-?"

  He put a finger to her lips. "I have a surprise for you."

  Chapter Six

  With a flourish and a wide, wicked grin, Bainbridge presented the bowl to her.

  The veiled suspicion vanished from her beautiful green eyes. "Strawberries? This is the surprise?"

  "Why? What were you thinking of?" he asked with a chuckle, and popped a small, slightly overripe fruit into his mouth. Juice stained his fingers; he licked them off, his gaze never leaving hers.

  She blushed a very becoming shade of pink. "I… I… Oh, never mind."

  He selected another strawberry and presented it to her. "Have one. They're very good."

  The lovely widow hesitated. Her fingers twitched. Then, with thumb and forefinger carefully aligned, she plucked the fruit from his grasp and ate it.

  "You see?" he murmured, and set the china dish between them. "It's exactly what it seems to be."

  "And are you, my lord?" she asked.

  "Am I… what?"

  "Are you exactly what you seem to be?"

  He paused with a strawberry halfway to his mouth. "Why do you ask?"

  Her nostrils flared. "You have a most annoying habit, sir, of answering a question with another question."

  "Do I? I hadn't noticed." He chuckled.

  She took another piece of fruit from the bowl and contemplated it. "I asked because I know so little about you."

  Bainbridge felt his smile dwindle. "I am a rake and a scoundrel, my dear, albeit a very well-bred one. What more do you need to know?"

  She glared at her berry, then at him, as if she were considering throwing it at him. Then she sighed and ate it. "I do not know how they do things in London, sir, but if I am to be your mistress, I would like to know a bit more about you than that."

  "But you will not be if our gambit is not successful. That was our bargain."

  "We will succeed," she said quietly. "We must. So I believe the two of us should become better acquainted with each other."

  A strange sensation began deep in his stomach. For a moment she sounded as though she had resigned herself to success… and to becoming his mistress. What was she up to? Was she trying to throw him off his guard, or was her curiosity as innocent as it sounded? Most women seemed content with the knowledge of his name, title, and yearly income, with a few other obscure details thrown in as window dressing, but he was quickly coming to realize that Katherine Mallory was not like most women. He lounged back onto one elbow. "What do you want to know?"

  She selected another berry. "I've told you something about what my life was like when I was young. What about you?"

  Damn. With one swift thrust, she'd gotten down to things he would gladly forget, if given the chance. "My upbringing was rather ordinary," he hedged.

  "What about your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

  "I had a brother. He died when I was ten." He bit into a large berry, and relished the sensation of his teeth ripping through the yielding fruit.

  Her eyes rounded. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  The berry turned tasteless on his tongue. He gulped it down. "You're bound to hear the story eventually. Nothing titillates the ton so much as scandal, even twenty-year-old scandal."

  "You do not have to tell me, my lord, if the memory pains you so."

  "I am not such a coward as all that, ma'am," he said with a humorless smile. " 'Tis a simple tale, so I will be brief. My mother and father loved each other once, or so they claimed, but by the time I was five they hated each other with a passion. I suspect that was the one thing in their lives about which they felt anything at all. When I was ten, my mother left, and tried to make us leave with her. I refused to go, but she took Geoffrey."

  "How old was he?" she asked qu
ietly.

  "Six." Bainbridge stared up into the patch of cloud-scattered sky visible through the branches of the tree. "My father rode off in pursuit, of course, but my mother, I learned later, went to great lengths to avoid him, including urging the coachman to breakneck speed. The wheels hit a hard rut in the road, the axle snapped, and the carriage crashed to flinders. My father found them moments later. No one survived."

  Kit sat motionless, one hand raised to cover her mouth. Telltale moisture glistened at the corners of her eyes.

  "No need to shed tears on my behalf," he said, his voice rough. "My mother never cared a whit for anyone but herself. We were well rid of her."

  "I do not believe that for a moment," Kit murmured. "I'm sure she loved both you and your brother very much, and that is why she wanted to take you with her. If she hadn't loved you, she would have left you behind without a second thought."

  "I suppose that is one theory." His lips curled in a sneer. "But I rather believe she wanted to torture my father by taking away his precious sons."

  "You mentioned something yesterday, that people who fall in love end up hating each other in the end. This is what you meant-it happened to your parents."

  "My parents were not the only ones foolish enough to make a love match. Among the members of the ton you see dozens of lovestruck newlyweds mooning over their spouses one year, then taken up with paramours the next. Love is a pointless complication in one's life."

  "Was your father bitter?"

  Bainbridge turned away, lest Kit see in his face any shadows of the memories that haunted him. He felt her light touch on his shoulder.

  "It's all right," she said.

  His eyes narrowed to mere slits. "I do not want your pity, madam."

  "No, my lord," she countered quietly. "Not pity. I would never condescend to offer you that. Understanding and sympathy, yes, but not pity."

  A few brief moments ago he had advised her to stop running away from what she feared; could he do any less? He sighed. "I can only tell you what happened before I was packed back off to school. How he locked himself away in his study for days at a time, doing nothing but drinking and staring at a miniature of my mother. The countless bottles of claret and brandy he imbibed to drown his sorrows. The opium smoke that clung to his clothes when he finally stumbled home by the early light of day. I was not particularly surprised when they told me he died of an overdose."

  She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Oh, Lord Bainbridge…"

  "Nicholas," he said roughly. "My name is Nicholas. I have just revealed to you one of my most dark and painful secrets, so I suppose you are entitled to my name, as well."

  He heard her exhale with a slow, deliberate breath. "Is your parents' tragedy the reason why you have never married, Nicholas?"

  He clenched his teeth. "Perhaps it is. I shall have to marry eventually, but when I do I shall ensure that my impeccably pedigreed bride holds not one ounce of affection for me."

  "But-"

  The marquess shrugged off her hand. "Enough, Kit. I do not wish to say anything more about my past, checkered as it is."

  She withdrew her hand and rubbed at the palm. "All right."

  He rolled onto his side to face her. "Now it is your turn."

  "Mine?" Her gaze shuttered.

  Bainbridge picked up a strawberry and rolled it between his fingers. They were like two duelists, exchanging shots with words instead of bullets. He had just withstood her barrage, and now he was not about to delope. "You told me you wished to become better acquainted, Kit. Soon we shall have no secrets between us-physically, at least. I have just answered your question; now you can answer one of mine."

  She paled, then raised her determined chin. "Very well."

  "Were you happy in your marriage?" His gaze fixed to hers, he ate his berry in one bite.

  She managed to turn paler still, her deep golden freckles standing out in stark contrast to her ashen complexion. "My lord, I do not-"

  "Nicholas," he amended. "You started this, my dear. No running away, remember?" He offered her another ruby red fruit.

  This time she was not so careful in taking his offering; her fingers grazed his. Heat flooded through him right down to his toes. Lord, if he wasn't careful, he'd end up with two mistresses.

  "Were you happy?" he prodded.

  "I was comfortable." She looked away.

  "That doesn't answer my question. Comfort does not equal happiness."

  She ate her berry, then made a face. "I thought I was happy, at first. I was living in this beautiful, exotic place, far away from my avaricious father, and for the first time in my life I never had to worry about money."

  "What made you change your mind?"

  Kit sighed. "I soon realized that I had traded one selfish man for another. My father cared for nothing but money, and my husband cared for nothing but his collection."

  "Collection?" Bainbridge frowned. "What sort of collection?"

  "Over the years George had accumulated all sorts of trophies: tiger skins, elephant tusks, and the like. He delighted in them for a while, but over time he lost interest and went in pursuit of the next item. Soon after we reached India I realized that I was but another of his trophies-the aristocratic wife he'd brought back from England to grace his home." Her mouth twisted. "Or I should say, rather, the wife he'd bought in England. He'd given my father a handsome settlement in exchange for my hand."

  Bainbridge muttered an oath under his breath.

  She hadn't heard him; her eyes had glazed over. "He made a great fuss over me in the beginning, buying me silk saris, jewels, all sorts of trinkets. But after about three months, when the novelty had worn off, he went in search of other conquests and left me at home to wonder where he'd gotten himself off to this time."

  "You must have been very lonely," Bainbridge said softly.

  "Not at first. I was too busy adjusting to this new life of mine. I'd gone from being a rather sheltered young girl to the wife of a prominent merchant, in a place that teemed with color and noise and stench. George would go off on tiger hunts and other such excursions, which would take him away for weeks at a time. I used that time to explore my surroundings and to learn more about this strange new world.

  "Of course, when George discovered I'd been acting with what he called too much independence for a simple-minded female, he quickly curtailed my activities 'for my own good,' as he put it. I was not on a Grand Tour, he told me, but his wife, and I should begin to act like it." She laughed, a high, brittle sound. "Thankfully, he was never at home for long."

  "Is that why you never had children?"

  He expected her to take umbrage at that highly impertinent question, but instead she blushed, and a fresh barrage of tears threatened her composure. He offered her his handkerchief, but she waved it away.

  "I miscarried a child about a year into our marriage," she whispered. "There, Nicholas. There is my dark and painful secret. George said it was probably for the best, but that I would have to try harder next time. The next morning he went off on another hunt."

  "That bastard," Bainbridge growled through his clenched teeth.

  With a listless hand she picked up another berry, then returned it to the bowl. "Looking back, I suppose I should have been relieved."

  This time it was his turn. "I'm sorry," he said. "That must have caused you a great deal of pain."

  She nodded. "Yes… So much that I thought I would run mad. Once I recovered, I found I desperately needed a diversion, something to occupy my mind. Since I shared very few interests with the other English ladies in Calcutta, I had to look elsewhere. Then one morning I heard my maid, Lakshmi, talking to her husband in their native tongue, and I decided I wanted to learn. We had so many Hindu servants, and I thought it could only be beneficial that I learn to speak their language.

  "George never knew what I was doing; as long as I kept house for him and presided over his endless balls and dinner parties, that kept him happy. Over the next several years I lear
ned to read Hindi as well as speak it; then I discovered the Ramayana, written by the poet Tulss in the sixteenth century. I'd seen parts of it performed in puppet plays, and that made me want to read the entire epic. Once I had read it, I was determined to translate it into English, and that has sustained me until now."

  "Is that what the dowager meant when she said you had been working on it long enough?"

  She nodded. "Books were my most constant companions as a child; in India, they were my salvation."

  "Salvation through literature," Bainbridge mused. "I know a few Oxford dons who would go into spasms of rapture at the very concept."

  She ducked her head, her face hidden by the brim of her drab bonnet. "I have relied upon my books ever since. You will think me craven for it, but I do not know how else I would have survived."

  He shook his head. "I do not think you craven, but you must know when to set your shield aside."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You cannot hide behind your books forever, Kit. Is that your idea of freedom?"

  She blinked. "Well, no… I suppose not. But I haven't been hiding."

  "Have you not?" he countered. "Going around in those dowdy gowns, not wanting anyone to notice you?"

  Her eyes sparked with anger. "W-what? How dare you!"

  "I dare, my dear, because I should hate to see such loveliness and spirit go to waste. What do you want from your life?"

  She laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "The dowager has asked me the very same thing."

  "And?"

  Kit glared at him, then took a strawberry from the bowl and bit into it. "What does it matter to you, my lord? Once our bargain is complete, you shall have what you want."

  "But after you and I part company, Kit-what then? Will you go back to your cave and cover yourself once more in sackcloth and ashes?"

  "Enough!" she cried. "Why do you insist on provoking me?"

  "Why do you insist on denying yourself any true contentment?"