afraid to flaunt them. Marco watched her go, but decided not to follow. Not tonight. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last several days and couldn’t afford to have his wits clouded come morning. An empty bed wouldn’t kill him.
The other guests were beginning to file inside and retire to the guest wing. He hesitated, feeling oddly restless despite his fatigue. Deciding a breath of country air might help clear his head, he took the terrace stairs down to the gardens.
Chapter Eleven
Good night, my dear.” Charlotte opened the door to her bed chamber. “Really, you need not have left the party early on my account. At my age, I find that I no longer have the stamina to stay up past midnight.”
“I am fatigued myself,” replied Kate. “All the activities of a house party are rather exhausting.”
Her friend pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Yet you seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“I suppose I am,” admitted Kate. “The guests are more interesting than I expected.”
“They are,” agreed Charlotte. “It is always stimulating to hear a spirited exchange of ideas.”
Thinking of her grandfather’s earlier comments in the library, she made a face. “Certain opinions are best left unsaid. I apologize again for Cluyne’s overbearing rudeness this afternoon.”
“Oh, pish.” Charlotte waved off the words. “Like most men, the duke clearly has a low regard for bluestocking females. It’s rather fun to argue with him and see the look of shock on his face.” Cupping her candle, she stifled a yawn. “I shall see you at breakfast. Are you sure you wish to spend the morning in the library looking at books instead of joining the others in the archery games? Colonel Von Seilig seems eager to offer instruction.”
“Quite sure,” said Kate. “I’d only be tempted to put an arrow in Vronskov’s bum.”
A chuckle stirred the shadows. “Let’s have no blood spilled. A murder might upset the party.”
She swallowed hard before forcing a laugh. “Right. I’ll try to restrain my violent urges.”
Charlotte withdrew, and Kate moved down the darkened corridor to her own rooms. But despite the late hour, she found her head was too unsettled for sleep. Maybe it was the champagne, or the effect of being in the company of so many new people.
Sighing, she hesitated at her door. She wasn’t in the mood for any further encounters, but this part of the manor house appeared quiet. The party would likely last for another hour or two. Treading lightly over the Oriental runner, Kate made her way to the back stairwell and down to the one spot amidst all her grandfather’s ducal splendor where she felt at home.
Clicking open the heavy brass-framed glass doors, she slipped into the conservatory.
All at once, she was in another world. In contrast to the dry formality of the drawing room, the air was alive and untamed—its wet warmth caressed her cheeks and tickled her nose with a riot of earthy, exotic scents. Kate sucked in a deep breath, savoring the swirling rush of sensations. She loved the wildness of nature, the heady sense of freedom inherent in its colors and shapes.
Lighting a pair of hanging lanterns, Kate watched their reflections flicker off the surrounding glass. In England, she so often felt that she was trapped in a gilded cage. She missed the sense of adventure in her life. Everyone around her was so predictable—save, of course, for the ‘Sinners,’ who shared her curiosity and desire to explore the unknown.
Their friendship was the one bright spot in her life. And yet…
She started down the mossy brick walkway, touching her hand to the swaying leaves. Marriage was subtly changing the Circle. The friendships weren’t any less strong, they were simply… not quite the same.
Ciara, Alessandra, Ariel—they all now had a soulmate with whom to share their most intimate hopes and fears. A shoulder to lean on. A love to hold doubt at bay.
Kate rubbed at her arms, feeling an inner chill raise a pebbling of gooseflesh despite the enveloping warmth. The chances of her meeting a kindred spirit in civilized England were virtually nil. She was too different. Too dark. London ladies were all sweetness and light. While she was the opposite. The vagabond travels, the pressures of poverty had demanded a toughness in order to survive.
A palm frond brushed against her cheek, the points sharp against her skin. And survive she had, despite all the hardships. Hell, she didn’t need anyone’s help. She had learned to be smart, savvy, and ferociously independent. If at times