pressed his lips together to suppress a sharp retort. She could be remarkably provocative, his little Austrian. And this was the wrong time. ‘No, madame. English,’ he said firmly, beginning to strip off his coat. He stretched his long body on the bed beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. ‘But words are dangerous. They can betray us…in any language.’
He ran a lazy finger down the inside of her deep décolletage until it came to rest in the shadow between her perfect breasts. He began to stroke her skin as gently as if he were wafting a feather fan across a rose petal. Katharina closed her eyes in ecstasy.
‘And what need have we of words?’ Kit whispered. His lips were so close to her cheek that each word was a caress on her skin. She sighed out a long, shuddering breath.
Kit gazed down at the ravishing picture she made. His body was beginning to heat. At last.
‘You have it exactly, my dear,’ he said softly.
Lady Luce’s hand was shaking as she raised the brandy balloon to her lips and tossed off the contents. ‘I should have left that house the moment I saw him,’ she said bitterly, collapsing into her favourite chair by the window. ‘He is the very devil. With the devil’s own luck.’
Marina nodded her understanding. There was no need to ask who was meant. It was strange to see the Dowager so…deflated.
Lady Luce groaned. ‘And as for William…’ She shook her head angrily at the thought of her son. ‘He will positively relish raking me down. Not that he will be given the chance,’ she added, straightening her shoulders a little. ‘Thought he could fool me. Foisting a gel like you on his mother to keep her in order. Who is the fool now, I say?’
So the Dowager had known all along. Marina was not at all surprised. The old lady was very sharp. And her son was…not his mother’s equal. Not that it made any difference, as far as the companion was concerned. The Earl might be somewhat lacking in brains, but he had the ability to send Marina packing.
The Dowager held out her balloon to be refilled. Obediently, Marina fetched the decanter and splashed some of the amber liquid into it. Lady Luce snorted. ‘That’s not even a mouthful.’ She shook the glass impatiently until Marina added considerably more. ‘Better,’ she said. ‘And you should have some, too.’
‘Oh, no, ma’am. I never drink spirits. I—’
‘Fetch another glass. You will need it. You have a difficult day ahead of you. William will see to that. Just the sort of thing he enjoys.’
The Dowager was right. In the next twenty-four hours, Marina was like to be dismissed. Her stomach turned over at the thought of the coming interview with Lady Luce’s dreadful son. She sipped tentatively at her brandy and gasped as it burned its way down. ‘Good grief,’ she choked out at last. ‘Do people really drink this for pleasure?’
Lady Luce laughed. She reached out her scrawny hand and placed it over Marina’s smoother one. ‘You have courage, Marina. I’ll give you that. And I’ll not let that arrogant son of mine bully you, or send you packing.’
Marina looked up in surprise.
‘Why did you think I took you to Méchante’s tonight? Did you think it was chance?’ She shook her head at Marina’s obvious incomprehension. ‘I have no intention of permitting William to order my life. Not in any way. I took you to that gambling den to show him—and you—that I shall play whenever, and wherever, I wish. He cannot stop me. And setting up a chit of a governess to watch over me will not stop me either.’
Marina felt herself blushing. ‘I…I did not…’
‘No, you did not. I’d have discharged you myself if I had thought for a moment that you were William’s tool. As it is, he promised me a companion, all expenses paid. I shall hold him to our bargain.’
Marina gulped. Life was like to become extremely unpleasant if the old lady and her son used her as a pawn in their endless trials of strength. And with a loss of twelve thousand pounds to sharpen the contest…
Lady Luce held out her glass for another refill. Then she sat for a long time, cradling her brandy and staring vacantly towards the wall.
She must be thinking about the money, Marina decided. She cannot possibly find such a huge sum. Especially not in one week.
‘He was determined on his revenge,’ said the Dowager, musingly. ‘I suppose I cannot blame him. He was word-perfect, too. I should have known he would be.’
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am? I’m afraid I do not quite follow…’
‘No reason why you should. And I wasn’t talking to you, in any event.’ At Marina’s sharp intake of breath, she softened the merest fraction. ‘Oh, you will come to learn it all in the end, I suppose. Best that I tell you myself. Can’t have you hearing gossip from the servants. Wouldn’t get the facts right, I dare say.’ Lady Luce chuckled a little at her own wit. ‘There is not much to tell. Several years ago, when Kit Stratton was barely out of leading strings, he lost five thousand pounds to me. I was in pretty deep myself at the time and could not afford to give him time to pay…or even an opportunity to recoup his losses. I demanded payment in seven days. I used those very words. He has been waiting his chance for revenge ever since.’
The story did not sound in the least plausible to Marina. Gentlemen lost thousands of pounds at play all the time. Why should Kit Stratton be bent on vengeance? Against a woman, too?
Her doubts must have been obvious, for Lady Luce looked somewhat shamefaced. ‘He paid,’ she said hoarsely, ‘on the nail. I found out later that his brother Hugo had given him the money—out of his wife’s dowry. They had been married less than a week. Kit was sent abroad soon after.’
‘Oh,’ breathed Marina. No wonder Kit Stratton had felt humiliated. And what of the brother? What had Hugo Stratton thought of it all? Had Hugo Stratton really sent his brother into exile? He— Hugo Stratton? Now she knew why the name had seemed familiar!
The Dowager was beginning to ramble. It must be the effects of too much brandy. ‘Can’t say I blame the boy. My own fault. Let him think I was doing it out of malice when it was really William’s fault. Insisted he couldn’t afford to tow me out of River Tick. I couldn’t admit that to young Stratton, could I? But to use the very same words…’ She raised her glass yet again.
‘Do you know Hugo Stratton, ma’am? The brother?’
‘What? Yes. No. Well…we are barely acquainted, but everyone knows about him. He’s as rich as Croesus since his brother died, never mind the money from his wife. Doesn’t come up to London much. Got out of the habit after the war, they say, because he hated being stared at.’
‘Stared at?’
‘He was badly wounded. Waterloo, I think.’ The Dowager frowned. ‘Why all this sudden interest in Sir Hugo Stratton? What is he to you, miss?’
Marina swallowed. ‘I think he may have served with my father, ma’am,’ she said quietly, gazing down at her skirts. ‘In Spain. I think he fought in the battle where my father and my uncle died.’
Lady Luce said nothing. She simply reached for the brandy decanter and tipped a generous measure into Marina’s glass.
Marina tried in vain to find a comfortable position in her bed. It must be nearly dawn. Her head was pounding, but she could not possibly sleep. What on earth had possessed the Dowager to give her brandy? Her brain was refusing to function.
She tried again.
Kit Stratton was Sir Hugo Stratton’s younger brother. And a Captain Hugo Stratton had been her uncle’s closest friend. They had served together for years. According to Uncle George, Hugo Stratton was the best friend, and the staunchest comrade, that a man could wish for. It was partly due to Captain Stratton’s influence that Marina’s father had joined the 95th. It was not Captain Stratton’s fault that the brothers had died so soon after.
Kit