“He didn’t return,” she said in round, anguished tones.
Bran’s response was brooding silence. He didn’t want to think of Kate in his nephew’s bed. Then again, he didn’t own her. What she did was not his business... except his nephewwashis responsibility.
“He wouldn’t have her in the house, will he?” Lucy worried.
“Not if he has any sense.”
His words came out harsh. Lucy gave a startled look and fell silent.
At the house, Bran escorted her in. She ran up the stairs, her black skirts flying as she raced to her son’s rooms. Bran stood in the doorway, listening. He heard Lucy’s voice, then a man’s answer.
Lucy came to the top of the stairs. She moved as if she was walking toward the gallows. “His Grace is not at home.”
Not my business,Bran warned himself.Not my business.
“Sleep well, Your Grace.” He started to leave.
Her voice stopped him. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“He is making a man’s decision, Lucy. There isn’t much I can do.” On that note, he gave a short bow and left.
He began walking to the Dower House. With every step, he reminded himself that what Kate and his nephew were doing was of no importance to him—except it was.
Vivid memories of Kate in his arms brought him to a halt when he was within sight of his home, and he knew he was as obsessed as Lucy was—but not for the same reasons.
Kate’s accusations still echoed in his head. He knew there would be no sleep for him until he had answers.
He had to talk to Kate. As he’d begun to process her charges against Hemling, questions brewed in his mind, questions he needed answered or he would go mad. He began walking in the direction of her camp.
Kate struggled to quiet her busy mind.
All was quiet around her save for Mary’s genteel snores next to her mixing with Silas’s bullish sounding ones coming from the men’s tent. Jess, the milkmaid, had chosen to sleep with Nestor in the men’s tent. Kate wasn’t particularly happy about the liaison, except she’d learned after years of living with different troupes there was little she could do about it. Her one rule was that there would be no fights.
Tomorrow, she would have to confess to her actors that, because of her own arrogance, she had made a miserable muddle of things. She hadn’t had the energy or courage to tell them this evening. Winderton had escorted her home where everyone was sitting around a fire waiting for her.
He’d been all a gentleman should be, respectful and flattering. He’d told her before they reached the camp that he wanted to kiss her, but he wouldn’t. “I want to give you all the respect you are due, especially after this evening.”
Kate was relieved. The situation could have been tricky. “Apparently the duke has honorable intentions,” Silas had muttered after the nobleman had left. It was obvious her actors, like members of a clan, had been waiting up to watch out for her. From Silas, it was expected. He had guarded her from the very beginning.
However, the concern of the others was actually quite touching—and tomorrow, she would have to tell them that they would be lucky if three people showed up for their performance. She might never be able to pay the wainwright for the wagon repair. Or their wages.
But this wasn’t what was keeping her awake.
No, her thoughts strayed to Brandon Balfour, and to the humiliation and shame that she’d thought she’d put behind her fifteen years ago. How dare he plead innocence?
How dare he act as if he hadn’t abandoned her—
“Kate.”
Brandon’s voice was no more than a whisper, and yet she heard him with sharp clarity.
She sat up. She should stay where she was.Hewas the reason she couldn’t sleep. The reason that her life had fallen into pieces.
“Kate? I must speak to you.”
Was she imagining his voice?
Pulling her heavy hair over one shoulder, she put her feet over the edge of her cot and stood. Her nightdress was a heavy cotton. She picked up a shawl and threw it over her shoulders before stepping out of the tent.
