flung open her bedchamber door, and then kicked it shut behind her.
The thump, a noise loud enough to wake the dead, finally brought her back to her senses. Tentatively touching her lips, she smoothed her fingertips over the kiss-roughened flesh. She dared not venture a peek at the looking glass, sure she would see that a total stranger had stolen into her skin.
The real Kate Woodbridge would never dream of allowing a rapscallion rogue like Giovanni Marco Musto della Ghiradelli to make her whole body boneless with longing.
Would she?
Kate drifted to the bank of windows and stared out at the distant hills. She wasn’t sure how to answer the question. For the longest time, she had felt lost in London. Adrift without a compass. In the past, she had guided her family’s ship through thunder and lightning, through hurricanes and typhoons with unerring confidence. She had navigated through the waters of poverty and creditors without running onto the rocks. But now she felt rudderless.
And it made her angry. Afraid.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Kate took a seat on the counterpane of her carved tester bed. This bastion of opulent wealth and ducal privilege ought to be a safe harbor, and yet the crosscurrents and hidden shoals of Polite Society seemed far more dangerous than the open sea. In truth, she would much rather sail through a raging monsoon than the mansions of Mayfair.
It was confusing, and at times she wished for…
Kate blinked the beads of salt from her lashes. Hell’s bells. She never cried. The ever practical, ever pragmatic Katharine Kylie Woodbridge was tough as a marlinspike, strong as a steel-straight mainmast, resilient as a coil of whipcord rope.
Only a silly schoolgirl would yearn for a shoulder to lean on.
Sniff.
Only a hopeless romantic would delude herself into thinking that a rake’s lovemaking offered any comfort.
Sniff.
“Are you coming down with a head cold?” Alice entered the room with a freshly pressed gown looped over her arm. “Shall I send to the kitchens for a tisane?”
“No, no, I’m perfectly fine.” Kate rubbed at her nose. “The pollen from the Adenium obesum must have irritated my eyes.”
Her maid squinted. “If ye asked me, missy,” she said after closing the door, “I’d say that the irritation comes from an entirely different species. One that ain’t a plant.”
“How—” began Kate before biting back her words.
“You had best dab a bit of beeswax balm on your lip,” suggested Alice. “That ought to soothe the swelling by dinnertime.”
“Oh, Lud, is it that obvious?” She couldn’t help scrambling up and taking a peek in the glass.
“Not to most people,” answered her maid. “However, I’ve seen enough of… that to recognize the telltale signs.”
Kate quickly looked away. “That won’t happen again.”
A skeptical snort answered the assertion. “I wouldn’t wager a ha’penny on it. There seems to be some force at work between the two of you.” Alice carefully shook out the emerald-colored skirts and hung the gown in the armoire. “Ye know, like that scientific experiment ye showed me with a magnet, and all the little shavings of steel.”
“You are saying that Lord Ghiradelli and I are attracted to each other?”
Alice nodded.
Sniff.
“I fear you are right.” Returning to the bed, she lay back against the pillows and laced her hands behind her head. However, the loosened hairpins and tangled tendrils were an uncomfortable reminder of her less than laudable behavior, and so she assumed a more ladylike pose.
Stop sniveling, she scolded herself. It wasn’t as if she had just surrendered her virginity. That had happened several years ago. She had been curious, and the young American naval officer in Antigua had been charming. The affair hadn’t lasted long, and there had been only one other time. Still, she considered herself a woman of the world, not a dewy-eyed schoolgirl.
Expelling a sigh, she rubbed at her nose. “Oh, would that I could sprout wings and soar away.”
“To where?” asked Alice gently.
Kate didn’t know how to answer. There wasn’t really any place that she thought of as home. “Perhaps the moon,” she joked halfheartedly. “I’m very fond of cheese, and I would imagine that the green variety is similar in taste to English Stilton.”
Alice eyed her in silence for several moments. “Men can make you miserable,” she observed. “I often wonder whether they are worth it.”
“I’m not miserable,” protested Kate. “And if I were, it would not be on account of an arrogant rakehell rogue.” Who had just made wild, passionate love to her.