Blame It on Bath Page 0,93

Now Gerard knew just how much he owned her—not only her fortune, not only her body, but her very heart. Hearts should never be given, she realized too late. They should only be exchanged. But she had given hers and gotten nothing in return, and it felt like a gaping void inside her chest.

Birdie tapped at the door. “Madam?”

She wiped her eyes quickly, dashing away the tears that had gathered. “Come in, Birdie.”

Her abigail rushed across the room. “Are you well? I heard raised voices. Oh, madam, if he hurt you—”

“No, Birdie. He didn’t hurt me.” He’d decimated her. Kate took a deep breath and squeezed Birdie’s hand. “We had a slight disagreement.” Another deep breath. She had cast off all her reserve and control and had to reassemble it one brick at a time. “I understand someone called to see Captain de Lacey?”

Birdie snorted. “Some ferrety little man. A thief, mark my words. But your eyes are red—let me bring some tea.”

She shook her head. “No, I—I think I shall go for a walk. Some fresh air . . .”

“Of course. I’ll get your shawl.” Birdie whisked across the room to retrieve it from the wardrobe, where it had been all along. “Shall I bring an umbrella? There are some clouds.”

Kate got to her feet, slowly, stiffly, like an old woman. “I’ll go alone today, Birdie. Not far, just around the Square and perhaps to the Crescent. If it rains, I’ll be home in a trice.”

Birdie’s face wrinkled in concern. “Are you certain, madam? You don’t look well.”

“I am perfectly well,” she said desperately. If the man who had called about Reverend Ogilvie turned out to be nobody, Gerard might come back upstairs. No matter what he said, she needed a little time alone to clear her mind and settle her emotions. She had let her guard fall away and couldn’t face him without at least some semblance of her old armor in place again. She tied on her bonnet with shaking fingers and let Birdie fold the shawl snugly around her shoulders.

“Don’t go far,” Birdie fussed as she hurried after Kate, down the stairs and through the hall. “Really, madam, I don’t think you ought to go alone.”

“I’ll be fine.” Her face heated as she passed the closed parlor door and caught the rumble of Gerard’s voice. “I’ll return in an hour or two.”

“What should I tell the captain?” cried Birdie, as Kate flung open the door and rushed out.

She glanced back at her abigail, wringing her hands in the doorway. Her throat constricted. Birdie was acting out of true concern. “Nothing,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. “Nothing but what I’ve told you.” And she turned and fled.

Chapter 22

Gerard strode down the stairs. It was just his luck to have someone relevant to his search turn up in his own drawing room when something more shocking had happened. Kate loved him—and had for years. He couldn’t comprehend how one polite gesture, years ago, in circumstances that would surely have moved any gentleman to do the same, could have made such an impression on her. He could have been anyone, for God’s sake, and with no other confirmation of his worth or decency, Kate offered herself up to him more than a decade after he’d been kind—merely kind—to her.

For a moment he felt ashamed for ever believing her story that she was desperate to escape Lucien by marrying someone else, and that she chose him because his family scandal made him desperate as well. Of course Lucien Howe couldn’t force a woman to marry him, especially not a widow of legal age with her own fortune. The Durham scandal had only just broken when she’d approached him. He should have known there was something more behind it . . . although he never would have guessed what. She loved him! Gerard had been determined to discover her true motives, but now he didn’t know what to do with the knowledge. He had never expected to love his wife. He certainly had never expected her to love him.

But now he had to put it out of his mind, on the off chance the caller had something significant to say. That alone put him in a short temper. Who would have guessed Kate’s blind query about the Fleet minister would yield anything? He flung open the drawing-room door. “Sir.” He bowed. “I am Captain de Lacey. I understand you are a relation of Reverend Ogilvie.”

The visitor was a