wave of uncertainty washed over her. As if she needed any further complications in her life. If Marco were to speak of a certain incident in public, the consequences would be terrible. A few whispered words and her reputation would be ruined, her grandfather humiliated.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of Naples.
Normally, her family’s ship would never have put into port there. The city was a notorious cesspool of crime and corruption. But both her parents were dangerously ill, so she had been left with little choice. They needed a skilled physician and medicines. Unfortunately, both cost money, and the Woodbridge purse had been suffering through one of its frequent dry spells.
But over the years Kate had honed her ingenuity and cleverness to a fine edge. She had learned how to improvise. A chance meeting with a harbor whore had allowed her to offer some business advice to the woman and her friends. Using her skills in arithmetic and accounting, Kate had drafted several charts showing profits in comparison to expenditures, resulting in an increase in pay from the brothel owner.
As a token of gratitude, the whores had invited Kate to use her other less savory skills—which included picking pockets and cutting purses with a quick slice of her knife—to rob the drunken patrons of the brothel. She was good at it. Good enough to earn the name of ‘Belladonna,’ the beautiful but deadly efficient thief who easily eluded the authorities.
Marco had staggered in one night, a vision of drunken but divine masculine beauty. She had almost been tempted to tumble into his bed before robbing him blind. Almost. Thank God that reason had overruled lust on that occasion.
She made a wry face. No doubt her body was now exacting a measure of revenge.
“What was that, my dear?” asked Charlotte, looking up from her pots.
“Nothing. I was just having a little trouble dislodging the roots of this bougainvillea from its pot.” Kate worked her trowel deeper into the soil. She was not proud of what she had done. But with the lives of her parents at stake, she felt no remorse over her decision.
Her only regret was that the money had not purchased any respite from the raging fever. Her mother and father had died within hours of each other, leaving her no family but the distant, disapproving Duke of Cluyne.
“Your lemonade, Miss Woodbridge.” The footman set the silver tray down on a potting bench. “May I bring you anything else?”
Blotting her brow with her sleeve, Kate blew out her breath. “No, thank you, Jennings.” Life was full of little ironies, like being waited on as if she were to the manor born.
“Put aside your sketchbook and come have a cool drink,” she said to her friend.
Charlotte looked up with an owlish squint. “What? Oh, er, yes, I suppose it is a trifle warm.”
“I think we ought to stop work in here for the day,” said Kate, giving herself a mental kick for not noticing the ruddy flush coloring her friend’s face. “I insist that you spend the afternoon after luncheon in the library.”
Casting a wistful look at the row of still unsketched flowers from Jamaica, Charlotte bit her lip.
“They will still be here tomorrow,” said Kate with a fond smile.
“Which might not be said for you, if you are too addlepated to sense that this heat is dangerous for a lady of your years.” Cluyne’s voice floated over them like a dark cloud.
Charlotte’s color deepened. “I beg your pardon?” She rose with great dignity and lifted her nose in the air. The effect was only slightly marred by the dollop of mud on its tip.
The duke coughed. If it hadn’t been Cluyne, Kate would have thought the sound was a smothered laugh.
“Allow me to rephrase the remark, Lady Fenimore. As host, I am concerned with the safety and welfare of my guests. The sun is bright, creating an oppressive heat inside the glass, so I kindly request that you refrain from further use of the conservatory today.”
“Well, put that way, it is a sensible, scientific reason.” Charlotte fanned her cheeks. “Excuse me while I go make myself presentable for nuncheon.” To Kate she added, “I shall see you on the terrace, my dear.”
“I had better go change as well,” murmured Kate, after her friend had marched off.
The duke seemed distracted by the swoosh of Charlotte’s skirts. It took him a moment to reply. “I would like you to join in the archery game,