angled his own light for a better look. “Yes, that looks to be the problem. I could fix it with the proper tool.”
Kate shook her head. “Oh, please, you need not bother. I really don’t think there is any harm in letting it go for now. I’ll have the head gardener take care of it first thing in the morning.”
“You are sure?”
“Quite.”
He rose and dusted the knees of his trousers. “I daresay the duke’s abode shall be safe for the night.”
“Yes.” Stifling a yawn, she moved away from the door. A loose screw was the least of her concerns, considering how unhinged her own emotions were feeling at the moment. “Again, thank you for taking the trouble to check, sir.”
Von Seilig turned to retrace his steps, making way for her to continue on into the adjoining corridor. “Schlafen Sie wohl, Miss Woodbridge—that is, sleep well.”
“Auf weidersehen,” she answered in German. “I will see you in the morning.”
Chapter Seventeen
Hearing a maid knock on Charlotte’s door with her morning tea, Kate slipped on her wrapper and peeked into her friend’s room.
“Do you mind if I join you?” She brushed back the snarl of curls falling around her face, knowing she must look a fright.
“Did you not sleep well, my dear?” asked Charlotte. “You look a little peaked.”
“No, not well,” she admitted. “I was… thinking.”
Charlotte carefully added two cubes of sugar and a splash of cream to her cup before asking, “About what?”
How to put the tangle of doubts and questions into words? Kate was used to thinking of herself as strong. Tough. Fearless. But maybe her perceptions were not as sharp as she wished to believe.
“About me. And all the stupid mistakes I’ve made of late. I feel as though my whole world is turning topsy-turvy, and I can’t really say why.” She blinked. “For someone who is supposed to possess a brain, that doesn’t sound very smart, does it?”
Setting down her cup, Charlotte patted the chair beside hers. “Come have a seat, my dear. Unlike a frog or a fruit of a Mangifera indica, emotions can’t be dissected and studied under a microscope to see how they work. For the most part, feelings defy any attempt to impose rational order on them.”
Kate smiled in spite of her jangled nerves. “Would that I could take my blade and slice them into neat little pieces.”
“Is there anything in particular that is bothering you?”
“To begin with, there is Marco,” she blurted out. “That is, Lord Ghiradelli. Against all reason I—I am very attracted to him. Or rather, a part of me is very attracted to him. The other part knows better.” Shivers slithered over her flesh as she recalled their heated coupling. “Unfortunately my brain is dwarfed by the rest of me.”
“He is handsome as sin,” murmured Charlotte.
“Sin,” repeated Kate with a grimace. “That is putting it mildly. The man is a rogue, a rake, a rascal.” Her breath whooshed out in an audible sigh. “Hell, he ought to have the word ‘dangerous’ tattooed in black brimstone letters on his forehead.”
“Which might scare away the prim and proper young ladies of the ton,” observed Charlotte dryly. “However, I have a feeling such a sign would likely only make him more intriguing to you.”
“Am I that bad?” Kate asked in a small voice.
“My dear, it was not meant as criticism. You have intelligence and imagination—no wonder you find him attractive. He is far more interesting than most men. Like you, he dares to be different.”
Kate looked down at her hands, which were tied together tighter than a bosun’s knot in her lap. “Sometimes, I wish that I weren’t different.”
“Well, don’t,” said her friend firmly. “It may be difficult on occasion, but it is far better to be a unique individual than to be a pattern card of boring conformity.”
The words stirred a fresh prickling of guilt against her already sensitive conscience. “Oh Lud, what I am is a self-absorbed prima donna. You have listened for months to my endless whining, always responding with wisdom and patience. While I have never stopped thinking long enough about me and my own petty problems to ever ask you about your feelings.”
“Your friendship has been a great gift to me,” said Charlotte.
“But I should have known about the loss of your books,” insisted Kate. “I’ve never thought to ask whether you are happy. Or lonely.”
For a moment, the only sound was the stirring of silver against porcelain. “What has agitated such strange thoughts?” asked her friend after blowing a