making love to very sleepy and thoroughly argumentative women.’ He was beginning to untie the sash of his dressing gown. Katherine was seized by a sudden terror that he was wearing nothing beneath it.
‘And you have such a wide experience,’ she commented bitterly. Thank heavens! He was wearing a perfectly respectable nightshirt.
‘Now, Kat, get into bed and stop trying to provoke me into ungentlemanly bragging,’ he said sanctimoniously. He began to snuff candles, leaving only the single light by the bed.
Reluctantly Katherine untied the knot of her wrapper and slipped out of it before scuttling into bed with more speed than dignity. She burrowed across to the furthest side and regarded Nick nervously over the edge of the sheet.
‘Is that the same nightgown?’ he enquired, lifting the bedclothes and getting in beside her.
‘That I wore in Newgate? Yes.’
He made no comment, but his low hum of appreciation was as real as a touch. Katherine closed her eyes. ‘Goodnight, Nicholas.’
‘Goodnight, Kat.’ He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice. She sensed by the sudden total darkness against her lids that the last candle was out and stiffened. Now he would touch her, hold her. The mattress shifted, the bedding over her moved, there were the sounds of someone making themselves comfortable, then only the faint sounds of the dying fire settling in the grate and Nick’s steady breathing.
Katherine lay there, stiff with what she realised, in a burst of honesty, was disappointment. She expected him to have held her, cradled her in his arms as he had done in that prison cell. But he had had no choice in that narrow bed, she reasoned with herself: in this great four-poster there was room and to spare. Comforted by the sound of his breathing and the warmth of his nearness she turned on her side, pulled the sheets around her ears and slept.
Nick waited until the regular breathing on the far side of the bed settled down and then cautiously stretched, allowing his own breathing to resume its normal waking rhythm. This was an indulgence his peace of mind could ill afford, he told himself severely, then smiled as Kat murmured in her sleep.
So sweet, and so trusting, despite his error of judgment last night. He had sensed that her feelings towards him had changed subtly and that his advances would not be unwelcome; it seemed he was wrong. Her instincts were quite correct—he would never force her, never seduce her against her will. But how could he move that will, make her see that the course she was set on was madness?
He turned over cautiously, trampling on the urge to reach out and pull her soft, warm body against his so they curved together as they had in that prison bed.
He had kissed her three times now; each time had been different and each time she had answered him with an innocent passion that shook him to his core. She obviously had no idea of her own power to move him and that was powerfully erotic. Nick shifted uncomfortably and reminded himself that this purgatory was self-inflicted.
Why had he done it? Kat would have slept tonight in that chilly white bed, consoled with the thought of a new bedchamber the next night. But she would not have been comfortable, and he wanted to do whatever he could to make up to her for the situation she found herself in. Cautiously he turned over, moved closer to her until his body curled around hers without touching. She would not be cold tonight.
Katherine blinked awake and lay watching the play of sunlight over the crimson bed hangings. She was warm, comfortable, rested—and in the wrong bed. The source of the warmth, the long male body curled around hers, one arm flung over her waist, appeared oblivious of her wakening. Somehow she had to get out of bed without rousing Nick and make her way back to her own chamber without being seen by any of the servants. Which was easier thought than done, she realised. The route by which they had arrived here last night was a complete mystery to her.
Carefully she inched towards the side of the bed. Nick’s arm slid over the fine lawn of her nightgown easily enough. Just another wriggle and she could lower his hand on to the mattress and slip out of bed. She reached round, took his hand and found her own held very firmly.
‘Mmm?’ Nick enquired, pulling her back so that she arrived in a tangle of bedclothes nose to nose with him. His eyes were shut. ‘Mmm … You smell so good Kat.’
‘Please let me go, I must go to my room.’
Nick opened his eyes slowly, regarding her from under relaxed, half-closed lids. ‘Why?’ One brow quirked. ‘I thought you were a lie-abed, Kat—think of the trouble I had to get you awake and out of bed last time.’
‘That was different,’ she said slowly, trying to ignore the fact that when he spoke his breath tickled her nose, he was so close. ‘I did not want the morning to come; there was too much reality to face.’ There still was, but at least this reality was not life and death. She hesitated, then, ‘Nick, I know your father will have much he wants to discuss with you, and you will have many duties, but please, I must talk to you.’
‘We are talking,’ he pointed out, obviously intent on teasing.
‘A serious talk. Out of bed. Dressed.’ He smiled and she found herself staring at the flecks of gold she had never noticed before in his eyes. ‘This is very distracting,’ she complained.
‘Good.’ Nick leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘You think altogether too much. Stop managing, Kat, and relax.’
Kat jerked back as if he had bitten her. ‘You said you wouldn’t make love to me!’ She scrambled backwards and out of bed.
‘I said I wouldn’t last night. And that was simply a good morning kiss for my wife: perfectly chaste.’ He hauled himself up against the pillows and regarded her silently until she began to fidget with embarrassment.
‘What is it?’
‘I was thinking that for once I agree with my father. He remarked that you make a most unusual Marchioness—’
‘Well, of course I do!’ Katherine broke in before he could finish. ‘His Grace is quite amazingly forbearing not to add impossible, ineligible and utterly unsuitable to that description! If you would only stop teasing me for just one minute, you would realise what a totally impossible position I am in unless you agree to this annulment.
‘Why did you not tell me, Nick? Why did you let me come here without telling me that your father was a duke? How can I trust you?’
She threw on her wrapper, wrenched open the door and ran down the corridor before Nick could untangle himself from the bedclothes and get out of bed.
A door started to open as she rounded a corner; Katherine skittered past it and round another bend before whoever it was emerged, and subsided panting on a window seat to scan the view. No sign of the lake, so she was not even on the correct side of the house, although she did seem to be on the right floor.
Her wrapper was not fastened. Katherine drew it close, tied the cord and walked briskly down the corridor again. Surely if she kept going long enough she would eventually see the lake from the windows? She walked on, round another corner—still only endless parkland, no hint of water. With a little sob of frustration Katherine broke into a run again. The corridor narrowed and began to curve: she must be in one of the turrets. She was just racking her brains to recall how many there were and on which façade when a door opened and she collided hard with a tall figure in riding dress: gloves, whip and hat in one hand.
‘Your
