to her own room and tugged off the faded, tight gown, to replace it with a pair of old trousers, a shirt and a soft waistcoat. She was through playing the maid for that arrogant beast!
Marching down to the kitchens, she began to make some long-overdue bread, taking her anger out on the fat lumps of dough. If Grayson was well enough to get about, he was well enough to leave! He could go this afternoon, she told herself, denying the ache that formed in her chest. Instead, she pounded the dough more fiercely, startling Cyclops, the one-eyed cat, away from his spot by the fireplace.
Kate straightened then, astonished by her own heat. She was the quiet one. Calm, capable Kate. She never lost her temper! And as soon as she recognized that, her fury ebbed away. She was being foolish, undone by the irritating presence of Grayson and exhausted by her efforts to heal him.
Now he was well, and she had best be rid of him. Perhaps Tom could return him to London tonight, she mused. The darkness might keep him from divining their location, and he would never be able to connect the three of them to Hargate. Kate frowned. Although it sounded logical, she suspected that blindfolding the canny lord would not help. He could probably smell his way, if he wanted.
Kate felt the drag of discouragement and shoved it aside, along with her worries over her part in Grayson’s illness. Obviously, the marquis wanted nothing more than to get away from them. If they were lucky, once gone he would not pursue the matter—especially with a magistrate.
Kate took his dinner up to him only because she knew Lucy would not do it, and Tom… Well, the way Tom had been acting—like a mongrel marking his territory—it would be just as easy to do it herself. She arranged the slices of fresh bread, meat pie and cherry tart on the plate. It had been good to bake, she thought with a firm nod. She felt better than she had in days, and she was determined not to let Grayson ruin her mood.
He was abed when she entered, but not asleep, for she quickly caught his gaze, clear and assessing. Those sharp gray eyes missed nothing, she realized, swallowing at the daunting knowledge.
“Here is your dinner,” she said, putting the tray down on the bed. “After you’ve finished, I’m sure Tom would be happy to take you back to London.” There. She had said it. Let him leap for joy now. She moved to the table, unwilling to see his relief.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Startled, Kate glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her with his usual composure. “I told you that I do not intend to leave until I ferret out the scoundrel who used my name.”
So he had said, but that had been before… Kate looked down at the remains of the breakfast tray, stubbornly refusing to feel anything. “But you said you would not…be kept here forever.”
“I meant confined to the bed, pup.”
The richness of his voice seeped into Kate’s bones, warming some part of her that she had not known was cold. Declining to melt, she straightened her spine determinedly. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Pup? Poppet, then,” he said, and she turned her head to look at him. His lips were curved into a hint of a smile, but she could see no trace of his infamous disdain. “I do not like being bound to the bed, or even to the room,” he explained, gesturing to encompass his prison. “I have never been ill before, and I cannot say I care for it”
Kate felt her own mouth twitch in reply. This was all the apology she would get, but she would take it. Hiding her pleasure, she reached out for the breakfast glass and found it empty. She swiveled toward him. “What did you do with the milk?”
He lifted a brow. “What do you think?”
She put a hand on her hip. “I imagine you tossed it out the window.
“His lips curled just enough to warm her insides. “What a poor opinion you hold of me! I drank it.”
“You what?”
“I drank it. I grew thirsty, and suspected that you would not bring me anything else until it was gone.”
“What a poor opinion you hold of me,” she echoed. He grinned, and the effect was astounding. Surely even Lucy could not deny the beauty of the man when he revealed that expanse of straight white teeth. Staring numbly, Kate watched his gaze drop.
“What the devil are you wearing?” he asked.
Kate flushed, remembering her trousers. When she put them on, she had been angry and out of sorts. Now she found she did not want to face his contempt. “I have work to do,” she said brusquely.
“What kind of work?”
“I keep busy,” she said.
“That’s no answer.”
“It doesn’t matter. These clothes make it easier to get about. I like them.” She knew her cheeks were bright with color, but she kept her chin up, and her gaze level with his.
“I like them, too.” His voice seemed to deepen, flowing over her like rich chocolate, and Kate felt the touch of his eyes everywhere. She swallowed. Apparently she had been wrong to suspect he would disapprove, for he never behaved as one would expect. “I’m surprised your father.allows you to wear them,” he added.
“My father is dead.”
“Your brother, then.”
“I have no brother.”
“You must have a guardian.”
Kate stiffened. “That I do, but he does not care what I wear.” For all her uncle cared, they could be languishing in rags, but Kate had already said too much. She recognized the spark of interest that flared in Grayson’s eyes, and purposefully relaxed her stance. The man was trying to pry information from her! “Eat your dinner,” she said roughly.
“Only if you join me.”
“I already ate.”
“Stay with me, then. I’m infernally bored. Do you have a deck of cards? Perhaps we could play.”
He looked so hopeful that Kate could not deny him. “All right. I’ll fetch some.”
“Books, too?”
Kate nodded. “What shall you have?”
“You choose for me.” Although he spoke casually, Kate sensed that nothing about the man was casual. Calculating would be a far more accurate description, for behind the cool countenance was a keen mind that would rival anyone’s. But what could he expect to gain from a few volumes out of her father’s library?
Kate sucked in a sharp breath as she recognized his game. She would have to make sure that there were no plates or personal notations in the books she brought him, or he would discover her identity all too easily. In spite of herself, Kate smiled at his cleverness. She would enjoy crossing swords with the marquis—as long as he did not draw blood.
She turned to go, and Grayson let his gaze slide over her slowly. She had a nice, slim figure that was not as boyish as he had first thought. He liked the way her dress had tightened across her breasts when she put her hands on her hips, and he missed the view, now
