Dot nodded. “I’m so sorry if you are distressed. Should I have brought it to you?” she whispered.
“Yes. Thank you. Please do not worry. You did the right thing.” Catherine could scarcely hear her own voice through the ringing in her ears.
Dot curtsied and scurried away.
The moment Dot vanished from view down the hall, Catherine did the formerly unthinkable.
She went upstairs with the newspaper and knocked on Kirke’s door.
“Catherine.” His voice was startled. Warm.
Then his expression went decidedly wary.
Because he’d registered her expression.
He was in shirtsleeves. His waistcoat cravat was looped around his neck. It was a strange echo of her first-ever glimpse of him.
“May I come in?” she said stiffly.
“I—” He stopped. He pressed his lips together.
After a hesitation. He stepped aside.
She closed the door.
Wordlessly, she immediately extended the newspaper to him.
He looked hard into her face. Then gingerly took the newspaper from her.
He glanced down. He seemed to instinctively know what to look for. God only knew, he’d allegedly appeared in the gossip pages often enough.
She saw the words enter him.
Because before her eyes, the blood drained from his face.
“Is this true?” she asked. “Was the blue dress made for your mistress? Did you arrange for me to have it?” She could hardly believe she was able to utter the words. They felt oddly foreign on her tongue.
He remained frozen and silent. His eyes fixed on the newspaper. But his breath was coming shorter now.
He looked very much like a man trapped, which was all the answer she needed. She could feel the storm of outrage stirring right outside the boundaries of her numb shock.
“Are you gathering your story, Lord Kirke?” Her temper was surging, rising in her body. It leaked into her words. “A yes or no will suffice.”
He looked up at her at last. His eyes were stunned. As though he’d sustained a blow.
“Yes,” he said simply.
The air went out of her.
“Oh my God.” Her voice was a rasp. Her hand went up to her mouth. “But... how... how did you...”
“She ordered the dress without my knowledge, before she assaulted me and disappeared. I was sent the bill. I paid for the dress because I always pay my bills. I discreetly communicated my wishes to Madame Marceau via my man of affairs when I learned you would be visiting her establishment with Mrs. Pariseau. And the modiste... took care of the rest.”
That beautiful dress. Every bit of it had been chosen by, and fitted upon, a woman to whom he’d made love. His mistress.
She didn’t know why this should make her want to claw her skin away then and there. She could not rationalize away the scalding jealousy and outrage, all entangled as it was with embarrassment and shame that others knew. It held her in a vise. She could feel it in her throat. It boiled in her.
He was pale, and while his voice was quiet it was hatefully steady. “I knew Madame Marceau would never tell a soul, not if she ever wanted to take acommission from some duke in the ton who was trying to please his mistress, or anyone who cherished discretion. So the little item of gossip didn’t come from her, I’m certain of it. It would mean the end of her business. I... have my suspicions.”
