Loving Lord Ash by Sally Mackenzie Page A

love, but she would have sworn it was more than lust, though he did lust after her as well. He’d been pursuing her since she’d turned fifteen and grown breasts.
    She looked at the tall, angry man still standing by the door. It had never mattered if Percy had loved her or not. She had always loved Kit. She’d thought—or perhaps she’d only hoped—that he’d felt something for her, too, something maybe not quite love but more than friendship.
    But she’d never had the courage to find out. She hadn’t wanted to risk losing his friendship. If she’d flirted with Kit and he’d repulsed her, she’d be left with nothing.
    Apparently she’d always been afraid to risk too much with him.
    And then her father had died, and she’d panicked. Could Kit understand that?
    No. Her husband was the Marquis of Ashton and would someday be the Duke of Greycliffe. He had wealth and property and prestige and a family who loved him. His position in the world was assured. He likely had never had to worry about anything.
    She was the only spot of tarnish on his silver spoon.
    But he had married her. She might have made a mistake with Percy—she had made a mistake—but Kit had not been compelled to offer himself as a sacrifice. It was his fault they were wed.
    Well, and hers, too. She should have told him no. But she’d been desperate, with her father dead and no family to turn to, no way to earn her living. And she’d wanted Kit. She’d thought their friendship and her love could trump her lack of social standing.
    She’d thought she could persuade him to love her.
    Roger had said he already did, but Roger was mistaken. Lord Ashton did not look at all amorous at the moment. He looked disdainful and angry.
    Well, she was stuck here, and she’d promised Roger—and herself—that she would try to reach a bargain with the marquis. She clasped her hands together—she would keep a tight rein on her temper and her unruly tongue—and took a deep breath. Best to start with an apology. “Lord Ashton, I deeply regret the scene with Percy you saw so many years ago.”
    He snorted. “And do you also regret what happened with your footman just a few hours ago?”
    Could the bloody man be more supercilious? He looked like he had a poker up his arse.
    “Damnation, Kit. How many times do I have to say it? Nothing happened with Roger! ”
    All right, perhaps she wasn’t going to be able to control her temper. Unlike Kit. His expression hadn’t changed. The blasted man never lost control—
    Except when he’d seen her with Percy, and again today with Roger. Then there’d been a crack in his almighty restraint. Maybe he did feel something for her besides his current disgust.
    And maybe fairies painted the grass with frost in the nighttime.
    “You can say it as many times as you wish, madam. Repetition will not make it true.”
    If he called her madam once more, she would kick him in the shins.
    “Why the hell did you marry me, Kit, if you find me so revolting? You weren’t the one who compromised me—not that a servant can really be compromised. And I certainly didn’t expect you to offer for me.”
    Blast, she hadn’t meant to say that, either.
    Kit’s brows shot up and then slammed down again. He looked away. “I don’t think you’re revolting.” His voice was strained. He shrugged. “But I’ll admit offering for you was a mistake.”
    Pain lanced through her. So he agreed . . .
    And he was looking down his aristocratic nose at her again, blast it all. She was tired of it.
    “It’s not as if you’ve been a saint either, you know. I’ve read the newspapers and heard all the rumors.”
    He looked surprised. “And what do they say?”
    He must know very well what they said. “They go on and on about your countless amatory exploits, of course.” Some had even suggested Kit loved men as well as women, but she’d discounted those stories. Roger or Dennis would have told her if that were the case. “And they claim you’ve