"Here." Lord Langley's gloved fingertips brushed across her neck as he settled her wrap over her shoulders.

Kit started. "Thank you, my lord." Her hands shook. She fought to still them.

"I have sent for the carriage, but it may take some time to reach the front door. Perhaps you would care to wait out in the fresh air," he suggested.

The atmosphere in the octagonal vestibule verged on claustrophobic; the air, redolent with an overabundance of perfume, threatened to choke her. Chills racked her body, alternating with uncomfortable waves of embarrassed heat. She nodded and allowed him to escort her outside. When they reached the street, Kit gasped with relief.

"I fear this evening's events too closely resembled a Forlorn Hope, my lord," she said, clutching her shawl closer about her shoulders. "The occupants of the Assembly Rooms repulsed me from the breach. As drubbings go, that was rather thorough."

The viscount pulled a face. "I regret you had to endure such an unpleasant experience. I only recently escaped similar censure in London."

"Yes, but a lady's reputation is a fragile thing." Tears pooled on her lashes. "Once broken, it cannot be repaired."

Lord Langley took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Mrs. Mallory, I must confess something to you… I hold myself partially responsible for what happened here tonight."

Numbness gathered beneath Kit's breastbone. "Responsible? How so?"

"I warned you about Lord Bainbridge, but I should have been more diligent in your defense. I should have protected you."

Kit shook her head and tried to smile. "No, my lord. You should feel no such obligation."

"I disagree."

"Lord Langley-"

"Please hear me out." He enveloped her hand in both of his. "I should have thought of this earlier. I cannot flatter myself by imagining that you hold any affection for me, Mrs. Mallory, but I would be honored to offer you the protection of my name, if you wish it."

Kit's mind reeled. "W-what are you saying?"

"Eh… I am making a muddle of this. Mrs. Mallory, I am asking you to be my wife."

She lowered her eyes. "My lord-"

"Sebastian," he interjected with a lopsided smile. "Sebastian Carr, Viscount Langley, who may not be a marquess, but hopes you will accept him as a poor substitute."

Kit opened her mouth, but another voice-deep, male, and angry-replied for her.

"Good evening. I do hope I am not interrupting anything important."

Kit jerked her hand from the viscount's grasp and whirled. "Nicholas!"

Lord Bainbridge balled his hands into fists as he surveyed the scene laid out before him. Langley, the insolent fop, was gazing lovingly at Kit, and if the marquess had overheard correctly, had just made Kit an offer of marriage. And Kit stood, blushing, eyes downcast, looking for all the world like a demure maid about to accept him. His heart gave a savage twist.

"Kit, I believe the gentleman is waiting for your answer, so please do not hesitate on my account." He bit off each word.

Kit pulled her hand again from her admirer's grasp; her cheeks glowed a brighter red. "Nicholas, this is not what you think."

His lips twisted in a sneer. "No? Did I not just hear Viscount Langley make you an offer of marriage? Really, my dear, it would be quite rude of you not to answer."

She swallowed, and Bainbridge could see the rapid flutter of her pulse in the base of her throat. She licked her dry lips, then turned to the viscount. "You do me a very great honor, my lord, but I cannot accept your proposal."

The viscount straightened his shoulders and bowed to her. "I understand, Mrs. Mallory, even though I am disappointed. I hope you will still consider me your very great friend." The man shot a fulminating glare in Bainbridge's direction.

Good God. Never before had the marquess felt such a strong urge to plant his fist in another man's face. He wanted nothing more than to eradicate Langley by any means necessary, to extinguish his presence from the face of the earth.

"Thank you, Lord Langley," Kit replied. A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "If you will excuse me, I must speak with Lord Bainbridge."

"I shall be here if you need me," replied the viscount with an impassioned look.

"You had better go, Langley," Bainbridge heard himself growl. "The streets of Bath can be dangerous after dark."

Lord Langley stiffened, bowed to them both, then turned on his heel and strode down Alfred Street to his waiting carriage.

Kit turned to him with anguished eyes. "Oh, Nicholas, I feared you would not come."

"It did not appear so to me," he replied. A muscle twitched at his temple.

Laughter sounded from the vestibule of the Assembly Rooms, and she flinched. "Would you take me home?"

Without a word, he offered Kit his arm and walked with her to his own coach. He helped her into the carriage, gave her direction to the driver, then levered himself onto the bench opposite her.

She sat in silence, staring out the coach window, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Something had upset her-his untimely interruption, perhaps? He flexed his fingers until his gloves strained across his knuckles. He had no idea Langley meant so much to her. All this talk of trust, their bargain, meant nothing.

"I… I must tell you something, my lord," she wavered. Still she could not look at him. A single tear tracked a silvery trail down her cheek.

He offered her his handkerchief, taking care that he did not touch her. If he touched her, he would be lost. "Is it about Langley? Do you love him?"

Her head snapped around; the softer curls at her temples swayed with the movement. "No!" she exclaimed. Her nostrils flared. "Why would you think that?"

Bainbridge quirked an eyebrow. "The man proposed marriage to you in the middle of the street. What else should I think?"

She lowered her head, but not before he noticed the way her lips trembled. "No. I do not love him."

"What, then?"

A second tear followed the first. "I discovered earlier today that a vicious rumor about the two of us has been circulating through society."

"A rumor? What sort of rumor?" Doubt tinged his voice.

Kit swiped at her tears. "That I am your mistress."

He leaned back against the squabs, his eyes narrowed. "Lucifer's beard. Kit, I had nothing to do with that."

She smiled, but the gesture held no mirth. "I know, my lord. I had my doubts at first, but tonight I discovered that Lady Elizabeth Peverell is behind it all."

"Lady Elizabeth," he echoed, lips curled in disgust. "I thought she was in London."

Kit shook her head. "No, her father sent her to Bath to stay with her aunt. As it happens, her aunt is Lady Peterborough, one of Bath's most renowned gossipmongers."

He winced. "And she was only too happy to besmirch our reputations."

She glared at him. "Your reputation may survive this, my lord, but mine will not. I have never had people give me the cut direct, even when I was married to a Cit. Tonight I have been the target of more cruel and unkind remarks than I wish to count, and I know enough about society to realize that this sort of thing does not diminish over time. I am ruined, my lord. Undone. Dished up."

"And Langley was comforting you." He made it a statement, not a question.

"He was one of the few who dared to stand by me!" she protested. "You were not here, Nicholas-what was I supposed to do?"

"You could have dissuaded him."

"He is my friend!"

Bainbridge's mouth tightened. "And might I also presume that this 'friend' was the one who first suggested I might be behind these rumors?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"I'm going to ask you again, Kit, and this time I want the truth. Are you in love with Viscount Langley?"

"Why do you keep asking me this?" she cried. "How many times must I tell you that no, I am not?"