Blame It on Bath Page 0,66

Perhaps it would be a start. Dancing with each other, they would have to talk of something. And they would have to speak to other people as well, which might establish more openness between them. Perhaps she could bribe the dressmaker to deliver one decent dress by tomorrow evening, and if she looked presentable enough, he would take new notice of her.

But at the mention of his private affairs, Gerard’s mouth firmed, and he flicked his fingers. “Don’t worry about that. It’s a dull and dry story, and I would rather do something far more interesting with you.”

She had been patronized too often by Lord Howe and Lucien not to recognize it now. With great effort Katherine clamped down on the craving of her body for the physical pleasure Gerard offered. It wasn’t enough that her silly, feckless heart had thrown itself into his hands; her body cried out for his touch. Only her mind was left to sound a warning, that she was in danger of enslaving herself to a man who gave little of himself in return. Howe had had the use of her body, but he never tempted her heart or engaged her mind. It was no difficulty to view their marriage as a business arrangement that required certain tasks of her, much the way Birdie did the ironing as part of her duties as abigail. But with Gerard she had hoped for something else, something more. She had hoped for some small measure of the companionship she had yearned for her entire life and was taken off guard by how much it hurt to find he didn’t want any at all.

Stiffly she shook her head. “I’m very sorry, sir.” Her words sounded distant. “I feel exceedingly unwell tonight.”

His brow creased. “It came on very suddenly.”

She kept her face still and expressionless. It had once been so easy to do that; now it felt like her skin might crack. “Yes. If you will excuse me, I shall retire for the night.”

“Shall I send for Mrs. Dennis?” He sounded confused.

“Yes, thank you. Good night.” She gripped the folds of her skirt as she rose and went to the door. Her hands shook with the urge to cover her face. Head held high, she walked sedately from the room, up the stairs, and into her dressing room. Then she sat down on the chaise and let the tears fall.

Gerard watched his wife leave, confounded by the entire conversation. What had he done wrong? It must have been something egregious, for she’d turned back into an ice maiden before his eyes. Her expression fell away, her eyes grew distant, and her voice . . . He frowned. He hated that emotionless tone, as if every word had to be wrung from her lips, and none of it meant anything to her.

He rang for Bragg to finish clearing the table. “I’m going for a walk,” he told his man, before striding into the hall and jamming his hat on his head. He let himself out and paused on the steps for a moment, drawing in a deep breath of night air while he tugged on his gloves. A glance upward showed light glowing in the bedchamber window. He was tempted to go upstairs and coax her out of her temper. There was never a misunderstanding between them in bed, and Gerard was growing addicted to the nightly lessons in pleasure. Even though he was ostensibly the teacher, he was often caught by surprise at how erotic her response to his direction was. It was the best part of his days, in fact, an oasis of pure pleasure amid the grim, and so far thankless, duty of hunting the man who was trying to destroy his family. He’d been all over Bath and the surrounding area, searching for any hint of the man who had sent those letters, and found nothing. It was a relief to come home every evening and lose himself in making love to her. Why would she want to know the tedious details of his day when they could be so much more pleasantly occupied?

He set off at a brisk pace, irked that he had to take his exercise alone and outside instead of in bed with Kate. But if she wanted to deny them both, so be it. He knew she reached climax when he made love to her—he made sure of it—and he knew her body well enough by now to know she’d been aroused at