Rake's Reward. Joanna Maitland

no way of knowing, unless she found out for herself.

      Yes, that was the answer. She would seek out Kit Stratton and ask him to forgive the Dowager’s debt. If necessary, she would ask him to do it in memory of her uncle and her father—and for his brother Hugo’s sake. No gentleman could possibly deny such a request.

      The thought of such an interview made her stomach churn. She would have to abandon the last shreds of her pride to make her appeal, and if he treated her with the same degree of contempt as before… She shivered. She was not sure she could bear that.

      Was he a gentleman at all?

      It was true that the Dowager had rambled on for what seemed like hours about Kit Stratton’s way of life, his mistresses, his fine clothes, his carriages, his horses… He had all the outward attributes of a very wealthy gentleman. But did he have a sense of honour to go with his high-couraged horses?

      Marina smiled weakly. The horses had provided her solution. She rather wished they had not. Kit Stratton exercised his horses in the park every morning, come rain, come shine, no matter how great his indulgence the night before. According to the Dowager, it was one of his few saving graces.

      He would be in the park tomorrow morning. No—in just a few hours. She had only to go there and confront him. As a gentleman, he could not fail to listen to a lady’s pleas.

      That was not true.

      He could spurn her without a moment’s hesitation. He had done so once already, knowing perfectly well that she was a lady. He could do so again, unless she could find some way of breaking through his armoured exterior.

      Her own pride did not matter. It was her duty to protect her family—and to do so, she must retain her position with Lady Luce. To save the Dowager, she must challenge Kit Stratton.

      Why did he have to ride such a huge animal? Kit Stratton’s bay stallion must be seventeen hands or more. Marina felt completely dwarfed by horse and rider. Would he even condescend to rein in to greet her? He could not mistake the fact that she wished to speak to him.

      Kit touched his crop carelessly to his hat, using his other hand to bring his horse to a stand with practised ease. There was a sardonic gleam in his eye as he looked down at her. ‘You are about betimes, ma’am,’ he said. His gaze wandered lazily around the park before coming back to rest on Marina’s shabby figure. ‘And you appear to have…mislaid your maid.’

      ‘A companion does not have a maid,’ snapped Marina, ‘as you know very well, Mr Stratton.’

      His eyebrows shot up. Then he nodded slowly, once. ‘No. She has the tongue of a shrew instead, it would seem.’

      Marina was suddenly sure she was blushing. Confound the man! This was not at all what she had intended for this interview. She swallowed hard. She must start again. ‘Mr Stratton,’ she said, as evenly as she could, ‘I should be most grateful if we might have a private word. About…about last night. I—’

      He frowned. ‘You are come as Lady Luce’s envoy? Believe me, ma’am—’

      ‘No! No! She knows nothing of this, I promise you. I have my own reasons for wishing to…to consult you. You see…’

      His expression was changing even as she spoke. He was almost smiling, but there was nothing in the least pleasant in it. Marina felt a sudden urge to flee. She swallowed again. He was doing everything he could to make her position impossible. He had not even dismounted, as any true gentleman would have done. That thought gave rise to a spark of anger. Heedless of risk, she fanned it. He was trying—deliberately—to overset her. He despised her, a poor plain companion, for daring to approach rich, handsome Kit Stratton.

      ‘You mistake me, sir,’ she said crisply. ‘I am not come at Lady Luce’s bidding but at my own, to ask a…a favour of you.’ There. It was out. And Kit Stratton’s face was dark with anger. ‘Not for her ladyship’s sake—I know that is impossible—but for—’

      ‘A favour?’ Kit snarled. ‘A favour for whom? For you, ma’am? Believe me, I do not do favours for ladies. Not unless they have earned them.’ He glanced quickly over her thin person, his eyes narrowing.

      Marina stood stock still. She could neither move nor speak. This could not be happening. Was he really saying that—?

      ‘I see that you take my meaning, ma’am. Good.’

      He leant down towards her. The fresh, clean scent of his cologne assailed her. It seemed completely at variance with the black-hearted man who wore it. She forced herself to stand her ground.

      ‘If you wish to…discuss the matter of last evening’s events, ma’am, I will be pleased to give you a hearing. I shall be free at…eleven o’clock this morning. You may present your petition then. In private.’ He gave her an address in Chelsea. To Marina, a stranger in London, it meant nothing.

      He sat back into his saddle and took up the slack in the reins. ‘I shall expect you at eleven. Do not be late.’

      Chapter Six

      Kit looked up from his newspaper as the long-case clock in the hall began to strike the hour. He had done her the courtesy of being here, because she was a lady. But he had known she would not come.

      He turned back to his newspaper. He would just finish the report he had been reading, and then he would leave for his club. No doubt the story of his winnings would have done the rounds by now. He was like to hear about nothing else for a se’enight.

      He leaned back into his leather wing chair, relishing the peace of the cramped Chelsea sitting room.

      Five minutes later, a quiet knock on the door was followed by the entrance of the tiny woman who looked after the house. ‘There is a…a person to see you, sir,’ she said, bobbing a polite curtsy. ‘She will not give a name. She—’

      ‘The lady is come by appointment, to discuss a matter of business,’ Kit said firmly, to quell the speculation in the housekeeper’s eye. He rose to his feet. ‘Show her in, Mrs Budge.’

      The grey lady was liberally spattered with mud. Kit looked quickly towards the window. He had been so absorbed, he had not noticed the rain. Had she walked all the way? Had she no sense at all? She was already unattractive enough, even without the addition of brown mud to her grey appearance.

      And still she thought to sway him?

      He shook his head wonderingly. She seemed ill prepared for the mammoth task she had undertaken.

      He raised his brows enquiringly. ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ he said politely. She had stiffened noticeably. Surely she did not feel insulted by his treatment of her? A woman—a lady—who had come to a private meeting in a gentleman’s house?

      He waited for her to speak. He would not help her.

      ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said at last. The poke of her drab bonnet dipped a fraction.

      Was that a token bow? It seemed he would receive nothing more. Kit returned it in kind, from his much greater height. She dropped her eyes. She was nervous, clearly. He waited once more.