“You went driving,” he said.
“You object tothat?”
“Not object...”
“Was I supposed to seek your permission? I beg your pardon, my lord. I am not yet accustomed to this form of marriage.”
“Devil take it! Am I at fault for being concerned for my wife’s safety?”
“I was perfectly safe! Baker took good care of me. If you’ve dismissed him—”
“Of course I haven’t, you termagant.” He inhaled. “This is a storm over nothing.”
“Then why...” But Kitty pulled in her anger. “Perhaps the dowager...”
“Put you on edge.”
“I don’t know how she can bear that overstuffed, overheated room.”
“Nor do I.”
Thus, carefully, they arrived at a point of fragile agreement.
But then he said, “They called you Kit Kat.”
She eyed him warily. “Yes.”
“You didn’t mind?”
“Should I have? It isn’t some lewdness, is it? No, no, Marcus would never have allowed that.”
“Of course not. It just seemed... I apologize. I was taken aback by so many men having a fond name for my wife.”
Please, not jealousy as well!She’d suffered from that for years. She couldn’t bear it again.
“I accuse you of no wrong,” he said.
“Good,” she said, striving for a moderate tone, “for I did none.”
“And you couldn’t help being so engaging.”
“I was merelythere,Braydon. The only woman among many young men.”
“I’ve been in situations where women were scarce. Not all of them were adored.”
“No one adored me!”
“No one?”
She wished she’d instantly said no, but she’d faltered on the lie and probably her expression gave her away. “A few,” she admitted. “And briefly. They forgot me as soon as they were back with their regiments. Believe me or not as you please, but if you play Othello with me, you’ll find no meek Desdemona.”
He raised a hand. “I apologize again. What a treacherous business marriage is.” But there was more in his eyes—a keen awareness that made her feel as if he could read her mind and even her memories. As proof, he asked, “What did Cateril do?”
To deny everything would be pointless. “Sometimes he fretted about the embarrassing adorers. Once he tried to challenge a captain for giving me roses. Of course, Bullock refused to fight a cripple, which reminded Marcus of what he’d become. Sometimes he could forget that.”
How he’d raged—at Bullock, at the French, the Portuguese, and at fate. And then at her. A flailing fist had struck her in the ribs. She’d swung the pottery jug she’d had in her hand, opening a gash on his head. He’d collapsed into miserable self-pity and weeping contrition, and she’d retreated into wary silence, nursing her bruises. They’d been estranged for days. She’d given out that they both had head colds and couldn’t receive guests. They’drecovered, but it had never been the same, and it hadn’t been the only time....
She started when Braydon took her hand. Was surprised to have him ease open a fist.
