Blame It on Bath Page 0,60

In Milsom Street.”

Of course—a woman needed clothing, and he’d made her leave London with only a single valise. “I hope at least one is red,” he said with a grin and a wink. “We shall wait until your new wardrobe is ready and go to the theater then. I’ll take a box and invite my friends to sit with us. You’ll like them, I know. Lieutenant Carter is with my own regiment; a tremendous fellow, recovering from a leg wound. And his sister will be with him, a very charming widowed lady. I should like to have them around to dinner as well.”

Kate sat in silence, her hands in her lap. “Perhaps. Was she the lady you were walking with on Milsom Street today?”

“Hmm? Yes, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. She’s been caring for Carter, and if we can persuade him to go out more, I think she would be very grateful.”

“I see,” his wife murmured.

Belatedly it dawned on Gerard what she was really asking. Kate sat stiffly in her chair, shoulders a little hunched, eyes shadowed. There was a fierce, troubled expression on her face. For a moment he felt affronted. Already she doubted him? But perhaps he should have expected it. Most likely this was another of Lord Howe’s legacies. He pushed back his chair and tossed aside his napkin. “Come here.”

She started. “What?”

“Come here.” He reached out one hand. Slowly she got out of her chair and gave him her hand. Gerard pulled, tumbling her into his lap. “Put your hand in my pocket.”

She quit struggling to right herself, and her eyes rounded in shock. “What?”

“My left pocket,” he repeated. “Take out what’s in there.” Gingerly she put her hand into his pocket and drew out the jeweler’s box. “Open it,” he told her. He couldn’t help noticing her fingers trembled as she did so.

For a moment she just stared at the necklace. It wasn’t the most elaborate piece, but he thought it suited her. Mrs. Fitzwilliam had steered him away from lockets and chokers toward this simple but striking pendant. The oval amethyst stone was surrounded by two dozen small pearls and hung on a long gold chain. As soon as he saw it, he pictured it nestled between Kate’s bare breasts, the deep violet of the stone reflecting the hidden lights in her eyes.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

He took the box from her and removed the necklace. “I met Mrs. Fitzwilliam this afternoon for the first time,” he said, unhooking the clasp. “I asked her advice because I know little of jewels.” That was always Charlie’s domain; Gerard still recalled his father’s snarling over the bills from London jewelers for Charlie’s mistress of the moment. Never buy jewels for a woman unless you are assured of equal value in return, Durham had advised him and Edward. “And I am not having an affair with her,” he added, fastening the chain at the nape of her neck.

“I didn’t think . . .” Her voice died away as she fingered the pendant.

“Yes, you did.” He leaned back. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Thank you,” she said at once. “Very much.”

“Not like that.”

She blushed again, but leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. This time he let her control the kiss. After a moment she touched her tongue to his lip, and obediently he opened his mouth. Her tongue was gentle, a bit shy, but Gerard found himself being rapidly carried away by her earnestness. Four days ago she’d let him kiss her; today she cupped her hands around his jaw and kissed him. By the time she lifted her head, his heart was thumping, and his trousers were growing tight.

“Was that what you meant?” she whispered. When Kate had been well kissed her voice took on a husky, sensual timbre. He liked it.

“A fair start,” he murmured. “I feel slightly gratified.”

“Slightly!”

“A little.” He smiled at her. “What else can you think of?”

She gazed back at him, her eyes dilated but steady. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

He rather liked this; sitting on his lap, she had to hold tight to him, and her breasts, with the amethyst pendant nestled between them, were right at eye level. “There’s no need for that. Lift your skirt.”

She jumped as he tickled the inside of her ankle. “We are in the dining room!” she whispered in horror.

“Bragg won’t come in.” Gerard nuzzled the underside of her jaw. “You smell delicious . . .”

“Someone else might!” She ducked away from his