rotund little man nodded in agreement and replaced Jack’s hand on the coverlet. “Rest and no excitement is the prescription for his lordship, my lady. I’ve given him something to help him sleep, but do keep him quiet for the next week or so. Head wounds are touchy. We must make sure he does not excite himself and cause more damage.”
So much for her tale. She’d have to stall Jack on that; even the made-up version of her adventure might give her brother apoplexy. Kat nodded to the physician and leaned over to kiss Jack’s forehead. “Rest first, adventure later.”
One brief, stubborn look, then he settled wearily onto the pillows and closed his eyes.
Kat escorted the doctor from the room and began to lead him down the corridor. “How is he really, Dr. Pritchett?”
“I think he’ll do, if he’s kept quiet. But good God, my lady!” The doctor finally got a glimpse of her face. “Has anyone seen to you?”
“No, but there’s little true damage. My face is the worst of it. I was slapped rather hard.”
“Did you lose consciousness?” Pritchett grasped her elbow and led her to a nearby chair. “Hold this.” He thrust the lamp into her hands and proceeded to explore the swollen right side of her face.
“Ouch!”
He gently prodded flesh now tender beyond belief. “Did you lose consciousness?” he repeated, feeling her jaw, pressing her nose, searching for fractures.
“I believe I did, briefly. Not more than a minute I would guess. I awakened just before they carried me out to the platf–” She had finally blundered. A skilled interrogator could not get from her what this physician had discovered with one innocuous question. “I suppose it was a short amount of time.”
“Platform?” Dr. Pritchett’s brows furrowed in confusion, then his sharp brown eyes widened and he took a step back. His attention fixed on her hair, neatly braided for the night, the coppery auburn gleaming in the candlelight, and his puzzled expression turned to one of horror. “It was you!”
Damn him! He had been there. She cursed the tired tongue that had betrayed her and raised her gaze to his, steeling herself. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were one of the girls in Madame Vestry’s auction.”
Katarina bit her lip. She could deny it and Pritchett would perhaps pretend to believe her. But it would only be pretense. Her hair, God curse it, was memorable. The man knew what he had seen and what she had just confessed. Rumors would start and a professional man’s opinion would be believed. Better, then, to claim him as an ally and rely on his honor to keep him silent.
Taking a deep breath, she looked the doctor straight in the face. “Yes, Dr. Pritchett, I was in an auction, though I don’t know the woman’s name you mentioned. I was kidnapped, taken to a house, and then put up on that platform and sold to the highest bidder. I take it you witnessed this disgrace?” Turn and attack. What was a respectable physician doing at such a debacle?
He nodded, but didn’t seem ashamed. “I was there, Lady Katarina. One of her girls was ill tonight, and as a personal favor to Madame Vestry I called to attend her. Afterward, I looked in on the auction.” He flushed and continued hurriedly. “I would never bid on such a spectacle, my lady.” Then with dawning dismay, “The man who purchased you...” He eyed her figure, stricken dumb himself.
She straightened and shook her head. “I managed to escape him before he could dishonor me.” The pity in his face said he did not believe her, but it mattered little what he believed, as long as he would keep the secret. “I beg of you, speak of this to no one. Not my brother, not anyone. I will not have him worried in his condition. Especially as nothing can be done to remedy it.”
“My lady, surely your honor...”
“Is intact, doctor, I assure you.”
His frown and straightened posture attested to his disbelief.
“There is no point in pursuing the matter, in any case, for honor cannot be satisfied.”
Pritchett’s face grew rigid. “The man should die for this affront, my lady.”
Kat’s lips curled upward in a smile at his vehemence. “I would do the deed myself, I assure you. But I do not know the man’s identity.” Her heart skipped a beat. “Do you?”
She held her breath, fearful the nightmare was not over. But Pritchett shook his head and her frantic heartbeat slowed. “I must, therefore, trust to your discretion and silence. I would not have a scandal mar my brother’s reputation while he is so unable to defend it. And as there can be no remedy, I will endeavor to put this whole sorry episode behind me.”
He acquiesced with a reluctant nod. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady? Your face will remain swollen for some days and the bruising will become quite colorful, but there seems no lasting damage. You have no headache?”
She shook her head.
“Then I suggest cold cloths for your comfort.” He met her eyes, now a co-conspirator.
She nodded, grateful for his cooperation, and stood to see him out.
At last alone in her room, she climbed between the warmed sheets, exhausted. Margery had certainly done her best to see to her comfort after this ordeal, and Kat snuggled down, ready to abandon herself to sleep. Despite her weariness, however, sleep would not come. Instead she drifted back to the last bed she’d lain on. Well, maybe if she deliberately thought about the rogue she could purge him from her thoughts.
Astonished at how vividly she could bring him to mind, she closed her eyes and moaned. Unexpected details sprang up with startling clarity. Longish light brown hair, pulled back at his nape. Though she had only seen his face from the nose down, she remembered a long jaw with a slightly jutting chin. Stubborn for sure. His eyes had looked black with lust, but could have been dark brown. She would know them anywhere. And of course she would recognize her handiwork on his cheek.
She doubted they would ever meet again. And what could she do if they did? Call him out? If she was going to withhold the truth from Jack, then she could never know the satisfaction of seeing him run through by her own hand. His reflexes and cunning had impressed her as traits of an excellent swordsman. He would be a worthy opponent.
Kat’s shoulders twitched in anticipation. What wouldn’t she give to stand before him with steel in her hand. A glorious image. Skill with a rapier was her proudest accomplishment; she would love to flaunt it before him. Oh, if only she had carried a sword this evening! The next time she attended a masquerade she would go as an Amazon, armed to the teeth.
The next time... Would there be a next time for her in London society? That depended on whether she could keep the night’s activities from society’s rumor-mongering ears. One breath of this scandal and she and her brother would be cut dead by the ton. They might as well sail back to Virginia. She shrugged, and turned over.
Could she perhaps talk her brother into allowing her to return to Virginia? She had friends in Virginia, enjoyed the more relaxed society there. And there was Amiable.
Kat sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Captain Dawson. An officer in her father’s regiment, Amiable Dawson had frankly admired her for several years. They’d become friends, though she’d
