“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“I really do not consider that any of your concern, sir,” she said, concentrating on not swaying on her feet.
“Josh?”
Josh was grinning and nodding his head as if he were trying to shake it off his shoulders, Kate saw in disgust. “Bad man hurt missus,” he said. “Josh brought missus home, Mast—”
“Yes, so I see,” Sir Harry said, cutting off the poor man in the middle of his explanation. He turned his attention on Kate. His eyes went immediately to her hands, which she held palm-up in front of her, the fingers curled loosely over them. He took a gentle hold of her wrists and uncurled the fingers with his thumbs. He stared for what seemed like a long while at the raw welt that cut across each palm.
“Uppington?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.” She was looking at his downcast eyes, her own somewhat dazed.
He straightened and met her eyes for a moment. “Josh, thank you,” he said. “Go back home now, there’s a dear fellow. I shall come and talk to you later.”
Josh bowed and grinned and backed himself away from them before turning and running in rather ungainly fashion in the direction of the driveway and the lodge.
“Come into the garden for a minute,” Sir Harry said quietly to Kate. “I must ask you a few questions. The others are not home yet, I believe.”
“I wish to go to my room,” she protested, staring numbly at her palms. His hands still held her wrists.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “I shall support you there in a moment. Just for a minute, Kath . . . Kate.”
He guided her past the fountain and around to the other side of it, where, seated on a bench, they were hidden from view to anyone on the terrace or steps.
“Where did he meet you?” he asked. He was finding it well nigh impossible to be Harry Tate. Indeed, he hardly cared whether the deception were discovered or not.
“On the driveway,” she said. “I was walking back to the house.”
“How were these wounds inflicted?” he asked.
“He had a whip,” she said. Her head was down, but she could see Sir Harry’s hands form into fists.
“Did he strike just once?” he asked.
She nodded. “I . . . It was something of an accident,” she said.
“An accident?” He sounded incredulous. “Are you keeping something from me, Kate? Did he thrash you?”
She shook her head, her eyes directed at her palms, but he clearly did not believe her. She felt his hands turn her very gently by the shoulders, so that she faced away from him, and begin to unbutton her dress from behind. It did not occur to her to feel outrage or to try to stop him. After a few moments he buttoned the dress closed again.
“Josh did arrive in time, then,” he said. “Or almost.” He set his hands palm-up beneath hers to support them. “Lord Barton has to be told, Kate.”
She shook her head. “Do you not know the way of the world?” she asked. “You of all people? He is a marquess, sir, one of the highest-ranking peers in the land. I am a servant and a woman.”
“Yes,” he said. “Rape might be scarcely worth reporting, though I know that to a woman it is perhaps a worse crime than murder. But a whipping, Kate? Even just of the hands? You are not even his daughter or his wife, that he could plead the right to beat you. Lord Barton must be told. Uppington must be sent from here with all speed.”
“I wish to go to my room,” Kate said. “Some women have to endure more than this almost daily. I am fortunate. This is only the second time I have been beaten in my life. And my husband did not use a whip.”
Nicholas Seyton suddenly found himself viciously glad that Mr. Mannering had met an untimely end. And he felt just as fiercely delighted that the Marquess of Uppington was very much alive so that he could have the satisfaction of getting his hands on him.
“And to be honest,” Kate said, “I don’t think Lord Uppington meant to use his whip on me.”
“I can see you are trying to be brave.” Sir Harry said. “I might have expected as much. There is not a great deal of feminine softness in you, is there, Mrs. Mannering? I do not speak of physical parts, of course.”
“Please excuse me,” Kate said. “I am afraid I must forgo the pleasure of sparring with you for today, Sir Harry. Some other day when I am feeling more the thing, perhaps?”
“I shall have your maid sent to you immediately,” he said, “and warm water. Is the girl gentle? Audrey, is it? She will need to bathe those welts on your palms and apply some soothing ointment to them. And you must seriously consider speaking with Lord Barton. I shall speak in your defense if you wish.”
