Page 9 of To Dare the Devil

“Highly,” she agreed, crossing her arms.

“Yes,” he said, obviously discomfited by her animosity. “Only, I’ve tried several times to make your acquaintance, and each time you slip through my fingers. It’s like trying to catch an eel. Every time I get close, you dart in the other direction.”

“An eel?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes at him. “What a delightful description. So that’s how you think of me, is it?”

She was quite aware he’d meant nothing of the sort, but the quicker she could offend him into leaving her be, the better.

He gave a startled laugh. “No! Not in the least. Far from it. I think you perfectly lovely,” he added, giving her what he probably believed was a charming smile, boyish and a little crooked.

Kathy’s scowl deepened. She was not lovely. Not in the conventional sense, at least. She had no illusions or false modesty. Yes, she was attractive, but her nose was too long for beauty and her slanting eyebrows, set over dark grey eyes, gave her a rather fierce countenance.

“Well, you’ve made my acquaintance at long last, my lord,” she said, giving a cursory dip in lieu of a curtsey and turning to leave.

“Wait!”

Heaving an audible sigh of irritation, Kathy turned back to him.

“I know we’ve never been formally introduced but… I do know you, though, don’t I?”

There was something so close to fear in his eyes. Kathy hesitated.

“You don’t remember if you know me or not?” she asked, curious despite herself.

Pike had told her he remembered nothing of her, of the fever that had almost killed him, but she’d assumed the memories would return to him, eventually. Apparently not. Which was for the best.

He shook his head. “I had an accident a few years ago. Since then, my memory is patchy in places but, whenever I see you, there’s something about you that… resonates.”

Kathy just about stifled a bark of laughter, but it was a close-run thing. She did not doubt her expression was contemptuous, though, and his expression faltered.

“Christ,” he muttered. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, staring at his feet, his expression so bleak Kathy had to admit herself surprised. She waited, too interested to know what came next to move. “Miss de Beauvoir, if….”

He broke off and swallowed, looking rather like he might be ill.

“If?” she echoed, wondering what was making him look as if he’d cast up his accounts at any moment.

“If I have wronged you, in any way, you have my most sincere apologies, and… and as pitiful a recompense as it may be, if there is anything I can do to make amends, I would do so in a heartbeat.”

Kathy stared at him, too entertained to be insulted. The idiot thought he’d taken liberties with her.

“Are you implying that you doubt my innocence, my lord?” she demanded, keeping her voice icy with contempt, though in truth she was enjoying his discomfort enormously. It wouldn’t hurt the arrogant sod from being taken down a peg or two.

“What? No!” he exclaimed, his expression increasingly horrified. “I…. Damnation, this is harder than I thought. I—”

He broke off, turned and strode away muttering curses and then walked back to stand in front of her.

“Ready to try again?” she asked sweetly.

He nodded. “Miss de Beauvoir. I am aware that my past is nothing to be proud of. I have spent most of my life taking what I wanted with a complete disregard for how it affected anyone else. I was cruel and selfish, profligate—”

The earl broke off again, the self-loathing in his voice taking her by surprise. He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face, and she realised how much he had aged since that time, though it was not quite three years ago. Yet there were fine lines of strain about his blue eyes and there was a bleak air about him that spoke of experience, and that she suspected had not been there before.

“Carry on,” she said, interested now. What was he doing here in Isleworth? Was this the mysterious benefactor Eliza had spoken about? “You were cruel, selfish, and profligate.”

“Yes,” he said, a frown creasing his brow. “All of that and more, and the worst of it is I cannot remember much of the harm I did, the people I hurt. Not only because of my unreliable memory, but because I spent a good deal of my life—”

“Half seas over?” she suggested tartly.

He nodded, his expression increasingly grim. “Yes, which makes atoning for my sins somewhat difficult.”