Courting Kit

She made it all the way to his door but stood there and found herself descending into a cavern of jitters. Butterflies swarmed in her tummy. Bees buzzed in her head.

She swooshed it all away and opened the door, went inside, closed the door, turned, and saw the earl standing by the window. The glow of candlelight illuminated his handsome, beloved face, and she saw his mouth slacken and his eyes blaze with heat.

His voice cracked on a groan as he said, “What in blazes are you doing here? You can’t come into a man’s room like that!”

She didn’t answer as she rushed to him and stood hoping he would take her into his arms. Instead, he took her shoulders and said, “Kitty … go back to your room.”

“No, I want to be with you.”

“Kitty …” It was a strangled sound.

She put her hands on his bare chest and leaned into him. His shaft, hard and large through his brocade dressing gown, pressed into her belly. His hands went into her hair. “Damn but your hair is gold … your body … Kitty … go back to your room. I don’t want to do this to you. I won’t do this to you. I know you think right now … this is what you want, but you are just a green girl, and I could ruin you.”

“No, you can free me. I am a woman, and I have made my choice. Tonight, that choice is you,” she said, hoping to sound sophisticated, but instead she saw anger light in his eyes.

He gently shook her shoulders as though to shake sense into her. “Kitty, when you make a choice like that, it should be a lasting one. I have come to know you … and if I took you now, it will forever haunt you. I can’t promise you more than now, and I won’t do that to you.”

“Then kiss me,” she whispered. She thought he was going to turn her about and push her away, but instead, he gathered her into his arms.

His kiss was delicious, if somewhat rough. His tongue probed and took hers into a never-ending waltz, and she swore she heard the music play.

His hands pulled away her nightdress and fondled her breast, and then he did push her away forcefully. His voice hoarse, he said, “There, you have had your kiss … now go to bed, and, Kitty, don’t let anyone else kiss you until you know for sure he is the one to give you forever.”

She went instead into his arms. “I want more.”

“Kitty … I won’t offer you marriage … and—”

“Shh, you don’t have to offer me a thing. I want you, you want me, and, my lord, we both like to get what we want. After tonight, after you, I will be equipped and will be better able to make a decision about my future.”

He kissed her hard, picked her up in his arms, strode towards his door, set her down on the other side, and closed the door between them.

She heard the key turn in the latch and caught the sob in her throat.

He didn’t want her. He would never be hers. She thought if she could make love with him, whatever that entailed, he would realize that he loved her.

She ran to her room, dove onto her bed, and cried her heart out before, exhausted, she fell asleep.

* * *

Two weeks had gone by since that night, and she had scarcely seen the earl. Kitty was hurting in ways she couldn’t describe, and it made her force herself to laugh and act nonchalant about nearly everything. She was heartily and completely miserable.

She was thoroughly, irrevocably in love with the Earl of Halloway, and he was not in love with her. She was destined to live a loveless life, she told herself.

It didn’t matter that she was a success with the beau monde. It didn’t matter that the Prince Regent himself had sought her out at Lady Esterhazy’s ball and conversed with her for longer than he was wont to do with anyone, let alone a debutante. It didn’t matter that London was fascinating and that she was being hailed as the beauty of the Season. All that mattered was the earl who was no longer giving her any time whatsoever over and above what was necessary.

She had many morning visitors and quite a number of suitors and had even managed to gather any number of female friends all eager to be in her elite corner.

Kitty rode in Hyde Park with this new group of young people and more often than not missed Harry and Henrietta, who were real and cared about her whether or not the Beau and Petersham did or not. Yes, this group was witty and fun, but this was not what she wanted.

She was flattered by the ever-constant barrage of posies, pretty fans, and books of poems her suitors sent to her, but she was not fooled. She had looked into the souls of her newfound friends and admirers and discovered them rather shallow. She felt that the fellows courting her were doing so because she had become all the rage, not because their hearts moved them to do so—not that such a fact would have made a difference. She didn’t want any of them.

She wanted only one. Her heart beat for only one, and that one had set her apart and in a world of aching.

A depression hung over her as they sat in their box at Drury Theatre and she gazed out at the fashionable crowd and missed her Henrietta and Harry’s company. London, she thought, wasn’t real. It was a fairytale of lights and music, but what she needed was to stand on solid ground. She needed solid friends like Ree and Harry, but here she was, already heartily sick of London. They had postponed their earlier planned trip to the theatre when the earl had announced that he would not be able to escort them. He had done so this night only after his grandmother had badgered him into it. He didn’t want to be in close company with her; she was sure of it.

The dowager seemed to be enjoying Kean’s performance of Shylock as he rolled off his lines, but Kitty could scarcely concentrate. Odd that, as everyone seemed to think Kean’s acting was superb. Lord Byron, whom she had met only a few nights ago, had told her that Kean’s acting had captivated, thrilled, and terrified him. Well, she found the fellow quite an ordinary little man who missed a word now and then. She could not see what all the fuss was about. In fact, t

hey had little acting troupes that came through the New Forest each year that were so much better than he.