If she’d been wrong from the start—wrong about Bromton’s reason for coming, wrong about the sincerity of his friendship with Markham, wrong about his intentions—could she also be wrong about him?
“I may,” she said carefully, “contemplate the possibility of considering him.”
Markham glanced upward. “Only you could consider considering.”
She lifted her chin. “That is all I will grant you.”
“Think of Julia,” he said. “You could be in London for her debut.”
“That is low, Percy.”
He grinned. “I know.”
She composed herself with a stiff inhale and a sarcastic tone. “You will continue to pester me, won’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Markham replied. “And on the subject of pestering, do call off the servants, would you? I’ll be half-mad if I don’t get sleep tonight.”
Half-mad—yes. She was well past mad herself. And her efforts to make Bromton leave had pushed him to the very edge as well, hadn’t they? Neither of them had been at their best.
“Very well,” she sighed. “Since you’re too stubborn to leave…”
“If we’d left, you would have been disappointed.”
He was right, blast all. She nudged his shoulder with hers.
“I love you,” she said. “You do know that, don’t you?”
“Sucha woman.” He sighed, throwing his arm around her.
She laid her head on his shoulder—something she doubted she’d ever done before. How odd. Had she been incapable of accepting help…accepting comfort?
“Thank you for thinking of me,” she said.
“Good night, Kate.”
She got up and strode to the door. “Good night, Percy.” This time, she said Percy with affection.
The latch clicked closed behind. The dimly lit corridor welcomed her like a comforting haven. She wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned against the door.
First-rate. She held the word up to an inner light and examined its mysterious facets. Was she first-rate? Dare she allow such a thought? She stoked her long-standing shame. It sputtered and smoked but failed to fan to flame.First-rate.
No. She could not claim to be a treasure. But what if Markham was right about Bromton? What if the marquess truly wanted to court her because he believed they would suit? Had she finally found a man who could see past her mistakes?
She tested the possibility of a future she’d long ago relinquished. A place in theton. The ability to ease Julia’s way. A home. A husband.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. As if she’d summoned him, Bromton’s pensive form took shape at the top of the stair. Broad shoulders. Strength in his stance.
Maybe, just maybe, her first impression of the marquess had been right. Maybe Lord Bromton really was strong enough to wrestle fate and walk away the victor.
But was he strong enough to wrestleherfate?
She cleared her throat. “Your rooms are in the other direction.”
He turned, half-bowed in acknowledgment, and then straightened, looking as embarrassed as she was. She’d caught him unaware; he hadn’t the time to don his usual mask. For the first time, she perceived his vulnerable underbelly.
Could she—no proper lady, a ruin and, now, a mess—have something of value to offer this man? Was the danger she’d perceived nothing more than a screen for a lonely soul?
“Lady Katherine,” he cleared his throat, “my behavior in the billiards room—” His jaw tightened. “I owe you an apology.”
