am sorry,” said Katie meekly. “I’m afraid what happened was very much my fault. I should have explained that I didn’t want to become your mistress at the outset, but Zack never told me…”
“Zack,” said Lord Linden succinctly, “should be shot.” Leaning one hand against the couch’s scrolled back for support, Linden rose stiffly. “I’m going to bathe. I’m going to change. And then I’m going to come back. All right?”
Without waiting for Katie’s assent, Linden strode into his room and closed the door behind him with a pronounced whap. He was gone at least an hour. Returning admirably
point-device
in a beige morning coat, tight breeches, and shining top boots, he found Katie seated tailor fashion on the floor before the wide bay window, scrupulously intent on mending a gaping hole in her faded jacket. She had just finished taking a small distasteful sip of a yellowish liquid in a clay cup set by her knee, and it had left a small blurry mustache on her upper lip which curved upward uncertainly as Lord Linden came in. Again, she reminded him of a friendly, shaggy puppy waiting for the kick.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said, with her sweet, self-deprecating smile. “I hope you won’t mind, but I borrowed a needle and thread from the pantry downstairs.”
Lord Linden’s interest in his valet’s inventory was minuscule at best, so he waved a hand dismissively and leaned his broad shoulders against the ornate marble mantel where he stood regarding Katie without affection.
“I shall be done in a moment; then I’ll leave. Unless you’d like me to go right now?” asked Katie.
“Finish.”
Linden watched her as she again bent her curly head over the jacket, her brow furrowed in painstaking concentration. For all her effort, it was the sloppiest sewing he had ever seen; the stitches were large and uneven and the poor child pricked herself each time the needle cleared cloth. It had been Lord Linden’s intention to remove this lovely but most unrewarding waif from his life with all possible haste, but as he watched her poke her finger for the fifth time and then, with weary patience, draw the needle again, Linden felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest that he was quite unable to identify. It was an odd combination in a bar girl: gentle manners, cultured speech, and this disconcerting gallantry. Lord Linden did not want to get involved with Katie. But somehow he found himself asking, “Who are you?”
Katie looked up doubtfully. “I hate to say, my lord. I daresay you’ll be shocked.”
Linden folded his arms across his chest. “I will strive,” he said drily, “to bear up. Who is Papa?”
“Baron Kendricks,” said Katie regretfully.
“Kendricks!” said Lord Linden in a voice that made Katie jump and stick herself again. “I don’t suppose it would have occurred to you to have included that somewhere in your gibberish last night? What in the fiend’s name is a chit of your birth doing serving rag water at a place like the Maidenhead?”
“But I explained that,” said Katie, puzzled. “You see, I persuaded Zack to give me a job there.”
“What you haven’t explained, my little idiot, is how you came to know a man like Zack to begin with.”
“Oh. We lived together. When we were children. Zack’s mama and my papa were like this.” Katie held up two crossed fingers. “But they never married because Zack’s mama said Papa was too unsteady to make a good husband. One night Papa lost a great deal of money at play so she and Papa had a fight and she said that she was going to move on to greener pastures. She did, too. She lives in Vienna, in a villa.”
“God! Zack should be shot, but what your father needs,” said Lord Linden with feeling, “is to be drawn and quartered. Didn’t you have any relatives to object to his lodging you under the same roof with his mistress?”
Katie made a jumbled knot and broke off the thread with her teeth. “Only Grandfather, my
“Zack,” said Lord Linden succinctly, “should be shot.” Leaning one hand against the couch’s scrolled back for support, Linden rose stiffly. “I’m going to bathe. I’m going to change. And then I’m going to come back. All right?”
Without waiting for Katie’s assent, Linden strode into his room and closed the door behind him with a pronounced whap. He was gone at least an hour. Returning admirably
point-device
in a beige morning coat, tight breeches, and shining top boots, he found Katie seated tailor fashion on the floor before the wide bay window, scrupulously intent on mending a gaping hole in her faded jacket. She had just finished taking a small distasteful sip of a yellowish liquid in a clay cup set by her knee, and it had left a small blurry mustache on her upper lip which curved upward uncertainly as Lord Linden came in. Again, she reminded him of a friendly, shaggy puppy waiting for the kick.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said, with her sweet, self-deprecating smile. “I hope you won’t mind, but I borrowed a needle and thread from the pantry downstairs.”
Lord Linden’s interest in his valet’s inventory was minuscule at best, so he waved a hand dismissively and leaned his broad shoulders against the ornate marble mantel where he stood regarding Katie without affection.
“I shall be done in a moment; then I’ll leave. Unless you’d like me to go right now?” asked Katie.
“Finish.”
Linden watched her as she again bent her curly head over the jacket, her brow furrowed in painstaking concentration. For all her effort, it was the sloppiest sewing he had ever seen; the stitches were large and uneven and the poor child pricked herself each time the needle cleared cloth. It had been Lord Linden’s intention to remove this lovely but most unrewarding waif from his life with all possible haste, but as he watched her poke her finger for the fifth time and then, with weary patience, draw the needle again, Linden felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest that he was quite unable to identify. It was an odd combination in a bar girl: gentle manners, cultured speech, and this disconcerting gallantry. Lord Linden did not want to get involved with Katie. But somehow he found himself asking, “Who are you?”
Katie looked up doubtfully. “I hate to say, my lord. I daresay you’ll be shocked.”
Linden folded his arms across his chest. “I will strive,” he said drily, “to bear up. Who is Papa?”
“Baron Kendricks,” said Katie regretfully.
“Kendricks!” said Lord Linden in a voice that made Katie jump and stick herself again. “I don’t suppose it would have occurred to you to have included that somewhere in your gibberish last night? What in the fiend’s name is a chit of your birth doing serving rag water at a place like the Maidenhead?”
“But I explained that,” said Katie, puzzled. “You see, I persuaded Zack to give me a job there.”
“What you haven’t explained, my little idiot, is how you came to know a man like Zack to begin with.”
“Oh. We lived together. When we were children. Zack’s mama and my papa were like this.” Katie held up two crossed fingers. “But they never married because Zack’s mama said Papa was too unsteady to make a good husband. One night Papa lost a great deal of money at play so she and Papa had a fight and she said that she was going to move on to greener pastures. She did, too. She lives in Vienna, in a villa.”
“God! Zack should be shot, but what your father needs,” said Lord Linden with feeling, “is to be drawn and quartered. Didn’t you have any relatives to object to his lodging you under the same roof with his mistress?”
Katie made a jumbled knot and broke off the thread with her teeth. “Only Grandfather, my
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