Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (21 page)

“Backup?” Nick laughed, leisurely straightening from the desk. “There are two lords on that laundry list of yours, one being the Chief Operating Officer at the Home Office. There would be no trial, Grey. We would be executed on sight,” Nick enunciated as he met Grey at the door. “You will have us both killed someday, hanged most probably, or thrown in the Thames.”

“Poppycock,” Grey muttered as he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. “I am retiring.”

“I have heard that one before. My gravestone will read, ‘
I told him this would happen
,’” Nick went on as they strode toward the ballroom. “I have provisioned it in my will—”

A muffled cry echoed down the hall, interrupting Nick and stopping both men in their tracks. Grey’s heart stopped and then tripled its pace.

No. No, no, no, no!

Nick’s uncharacteristically somber expression was not reassuring.

“Did you—”

Another cry cut off Grey’s words.

They both stared down the length of the hall, opposite the direction of the ballroom entrance. Then they were both running toward the familiar sound.

* * *

“
Y
ou surprise me
,” Kathryn said, feigning a confidence she did not feel as she faced the tall gentleman standing between her and the only exit. “I would not expect anyone to leave such a lovely ballroom for this dusty library, least of all you, Mr. Wheeling.”

“I might say the same of you,” Wheeling replied smoothly.

“I like books,” she said honestly.

His smile was charming, but his eyes raked over her indecently. “And yet, it wasn’t until you saw me that you decided to sneak off alone to this secluded room. This worked out better than planned.”

Her face burned as her eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you implying?”

“Come now, my dear,” Wheeling drawled with a crooked smile as he moved toward her. “We both know you led me here.”

“I assure you, Mr. Wheeling, I did nothing of the kind.” She stepped backward until her legs came up against the settee.

Brown eyes leisurely swept her face. “I think I see why Ainsley married you,” he murmured. “You are quite lovely.”

“Kindly remove yourself,” Kathryn said curtly.

“I shall,” he answered. “But first, we have business.”

“I have no business with you, Mr. Wheeling,” she said evenly. “You are mistaken.”

“It is you who are mistaken,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You see, my friend asked you for information, and you did not accommodate him. Therefore, dismissing whatever you did or did not mean concerning me, we have other business.”

Kathryn’s throat constricted. So soon? It had only been a week, and Bexley hadn’t contacted her yet.

“I advised him against approaching you in the first place, but he isn’t known for taking good advice,” Wheeling went on, showing only a hint of annoyance. “So now I am afraid something will have to be done. Someone must clean up the pup’s mess.”

Kathryn shook her head disbelievingly. “What are you planning to do?”

“I was rather hoping you wanted me to follow you.” Wheeling stepped closer so that his chest was an inch from hers. “Then we could kill two birds with one stone since his asinine threat to your mother was obviously utter balderdash.”

Relief swept through her like an ocean wave. Her mother was safe.

“I was finally able to talk some sense into him on that account,” Wheeling continued. “His ridiculous rivalry with your husband gets the better of him at times.”

“Thank you.” Kathryn frowned. Thanking him felt incorrect, but good manners demanded it. Regardless of what anyone might think of her, she did possess those.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said with a crooked smile. “I did it selfishly. If I could keep your mother and you safe, well, then…. Surely, you see.”

Kathryn stared at him blankly. “No, I don’t see at all, but I am grateful.” She started to sidestep around him. “Now I am sure my husband is wondering where I have gone off to.”

Wheeling moved to block her path. “I did it so we could be together,” he explained patiently. “It’s all right. Expected, even. Most married women in London are having affairs.”

Kathryn’s eyes widened. “What could have possibly put
that
in your head?”

He looked at her as though she had begun speaking an unknown language. “Why, because I have had affairs with most of them, of course.”

One. Two. Three.
Kathryn counted to ten very slowly then said, “Mr. Wheeling, you disgust me. Why on earth would you feel I would want to have an affair with you?”

He smiled as though she was a child and he was explaining why the sky was blue. “The way you have been avoiding me, obviously. The attraction was so strong you couldn’t trust yourself to be near me.”

Kathryn’s jaw dropped. The man was delusional, standing on the precipice of the completely insane.

“Step aside, Mr. Wheeling,” she ordered once she had regained command of her voice box. She began stepping to the side again.

“There’s no point in playing this game,” he insisted, blocking her way. “I deserve a thank you. If not a romp on the settee, then at least a decent kiss.”

Kathryn’s blood boiled, and this time, counting and deep breaths could not help her. Her hand flew through the air. Unfortunately, it was caught just before making what would have been satisfyingly painful contact with the clodpate’s face.

He held her wrist with one hand and pulled her into him with the other, pinning her other arm to his chest.

“Let me go!” She knew she needed to fight him, but fear paralyzed her as memories flashed unchecked in her mind’s eye, memories of the stranger beating her senseless in the snow and Bexley molesting her in the garden. Memories of her knight errant who would never find her in this library, tucked away as it was.

Wheeling laughed and dipped to cover her mouth with his. She immediately began wriggling to get free, but he tightened his arms around her until she couldn’t move. She jerked her head to the side to break the kiss and tried to cry for help, but she couldn’t breathe. Her ribs didn’t have room to expand to allow air into her lungs. There was no chance of anyone hearing her weak cry all the way from the ballroom.

“All I want is one decent kiss,” he said in a strained voice. His head lowered again, but Kathryn dodged.

“No!” she cried again.

She shut her eyes tightly and tried to focus. No one was coming to her rescue this time. She had to figure a way out on her own. If she could only shift a little bit more, she could ram her knee into his groin. Thankfully, shifting came easier than she had expected. Kathryn readied herself to put all her strength into the blow.

“What the devil?” a low voice rumbled from the door behind Wheeling.

“You are an enthusiastic fellow, aren’t you?” a second voice added. “However, the lady doesn’t appear to be interested.”

Wheeling’s arms fell, and he stepped aside, revealing the two men standing in the doorway, one with a pair of inscrutable gray eyes immediately fastening on her.

“I say!” Nick exclaimed. “You had better pray your dueling pistols are as useful as they are pretty, Wheeling.”

Wheeling lifted his hands, shifting his attention to Grey. “Rather hypocritical, don’t you think, Ainsley?”

Grey’s black scowl fixed on Wheeling as his eyes narrowed.

Wheeling chuckled and lowered his arms to straighten his cuffs. “I can’t be the first man the vixen has lured into some place private. Is that not how she caught you?”

“Indeed,” Grey answered darkly.

“N-no!” Kathryn could barely whisper her defense.

“Breathless, my dear?” Grey asked with a lifted brow. Twin blocks of ice took in her mussed appearance in one quick sweep.

The backs of Kathryn’s eyes began to burn. “Grey, I didn’t—”

“Expect to be interrupted?” Grey interrupted icily with a hint of amusement. “I was wrong about whom the mystery gentleman would be. Wheeling is hardly the challenger I was expecting.”

“Grey!” Nick scolded under his breath.

Grey nodded to Wheeling. “If you will excuse me.”

Nick caught Grey’s arm as he started to leave. “Perhaps you ought to let Kathryn speak for herself.”

“I assure you, Nick, I do not need an explanation,” Grey said coolly, a muscle ticking dangerously in his jaw. “Although…”

In two strides, Grey was directly in front of Wheeling, pounding his fist solidly against the slender man’s jaw with a force that sent him back several paces. With his fists still clenched, Grey turned on his heel and disappeared into the hall with Nick falling in behind him.

“What a charming man,” Wheeling grunted, stretching his jaw as he stepped toward the door. “Well, once one is violently interrupted by the husband, it’s generally time to reschedule.”

“I never want to see you again, Mr. Wheeling,” Kathryn forced out through a thick throat.

Wheeling glanced back, surprised. “You don’t? No need to pretend, then. I am afraid I cannot continue our liaison. You see, that little episode was rather gauche, and I have an image to uphold.”

“Scandal is the extent of my punishment, then?” Kathryn asked with false bravado.

Grey and Nick wouldn’t speak a word of what had happened, but she knew the scandal had been Wheeling’s entire purpose in cornering her here. He would be sure it was spread throughout London by midday tomorrow.

Wheeling paused, his eyes sharpening on her. “Clever, little doe, aren’t you? Your business with Bexley is over. You have nothing more to fear from him.” He bowed and exited the same way Grey and Nick had moments earlier.

All of her problems had simply waltzed out the door in the form of three rakes—well, all except the tiny issue of scandal. That might not go away so easily.

A dishonorable exit from society was the cost Bexley had chosen for her, then. A small price for her mother’s life and for whatever he’d had in store for Grey. She could retreat to the warmth of Italy, Florence, or Venice perhaps. She could find her adventures there and enjoy freedom, which would be impossible for a ruined woman living in England.

Kathryn frowned, folding her arms about her waist. This was the first time the thought of Italy hadn’t cheered her. Quite the opposite, in fact. Italy sounded so very far away and lonely.

K
athryn left the library
, heading straight for the vestibule. No doubt, Grey had returned to the ballroom as though nothing of any consequence had occurred. Perhaps nothing had for him. With that realization, the short time it took her to return home was enough to resolve her in her decision.

As soon as she entered the house, she hurried up the stairs to her room to begin packing. She would need to pack quickly before she lost her nerve and began rationalizing or finding hope when there was none. She only needed a few dresses, undergarments, and a night rail. She would send for the rest in the morning.

Once she was done, she stood in the grand hall whilst her things were being settled in the carriage. Within minutes, she would be gone from this house forever.

Her chest ached and her throat thickened as she took one last glance around her. Only a minute or two and the footman would return to inform her the carriage was ready and at her disposal.

The footman was a minute or two too late.

Kathryn heard confident footfalls slow as they neared the bottom of the stairs.

“Fleeing the beast, are we?” Grey’s voice rumbled from behind her, sending shivers down her back.

Kathryn lifted her chin determinedly as she turned to face the man she could no longer deny she was in love with. Then she lifted it a fraction more.

He had stopped four steps above the landing, towering over her even more than usual.

“Do you think you will escape death and degeneracy in time?” he asked. Icy gray eyes made one slow sweep of her. “If you do, I commend you. You would be the sole survivor.”

“I am visiting my mother,” she explained, fighting an absurd blush at his brazen perusal and an even more absurd urge to smooth her skirts.

“Allow me to commend you on your elusive ability to make a prudent decision.” He leaned his hip against the balustrade, a humorless smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “It’s unfortunate how rarely you avail yourself of it.”

Kathryn pursed her lips into a thin line. The comment stung, especially coming from him.

His smile broadened. He knew he had struck a chord.

“You must find yourself vastly amusing,” she said hotly.

“I do, indeed.”

A fight was what he wanted? That would make him feel better? Well, the satisfaction of a row was not what he was going to get. Not from her, anyway.

Kathryn set her jaw stubbornly. “You like to think you are evil incarnate, don’t you?”

“Aren’t I?” he asked with a wicked glint in his eye, no doubt in anticipation of his precious fight.

Her brow knit as she studied him. “Have you thought yourself a monster so long you truly cannot see you are supposed to be the hero?”

“This isn’t a gothic novel, my lovely,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, it isn’t a novel,” she agreed, no longer intimidated by his cool regard. “There are no monsters, only men.”

“You truly believe that? How I envy you,” he muttered. “There are, indeed, monsters. I am one of them.”

“Impossible,” Kathryn argued, gathering her courage. “The man who made love to me was no monster.”

His mocking smile fell. “Love?”

She raised her chin. “It was to me,” she admitted.

Kathryn felt the ground slip beneath her as his expression turned pitying.

“My naïve, little cactus,” he said almost tenderly. “Love had nothing to do with it. What we did was satisfy a physical urge as ancient as time and as instinctual as taking a breath. After your little tryst with Wheeling, I assumed you realized that.”

Kathryn pursed her lips. “Good-bye, Grey.”

Piercing, gray eyes studied her soberly. She couldn’t bear it any longer. She would wait for her carriage outside.

“Not yet,” he insisted when she began to leave. “I planned to allow you some property in Derbyshire, but it will take a few days to arrange. Papers must be drawn up and signed. Perhaps next time you intend on shocking all of London, you will allow me adequate time to prepare.”

“No,” she managed thickly. “I do not wish to be anywhere I may chance seeing you.” Her heart couldn’t take it.

He studied her with an inscrutable expression. “If you refuse this, there will be nothing else.”

Kathryn forced herself to remain silent, though her mind and heart were screaming as he waited for her to recant. Finally, he straightened and glided down the remaining steps. She bit the inside of her cheek and clenched her fists when he passed her without a glance and continued toward his study. However, when the study door clicked shut as though her world hadn’t just fallen apart, a defiant tear skittered down her cheek.

She had told him. The effort had taken all her courage, but she had told him she loved him, and he pitied her for it. It was the most painful confession she had ever made.

A lighter set of footsteps emerged from the vestibule.

“Your carriage is ready, my lady.” The footman stood with his back to the wall, waiting for her to precede him outside as she had expected.

Kathryn squared her shoulders and assumed her due dignity as though the scandal had never happened. Then she took her leave of Ainsley Place for the last time.

In truth, Kathryn could have walked to her mother’s home. Grenville House was a mere ten-minute walk away. But then she would have to face the ridicule of anyone who happened to be travelling home, and her predicament would be painfully obvious. She sat miserably as the carriage rumbled along the barely half-mile stretch of road until it stopped in front of her childhood home.

She could practically taste the comforting cup of chocolate and hear her mother’s reassuring voice soothing her. The thought quickened her pace as she stepped up to the knocker. She had to force herself not to rush inside as soon as the doorknob turned.

A bleary-eyed butler stood, glaring down at her as though he had never seen her before and would rather not have had the pleasure now.

“Please tell my mother I am here,” Kathryn said as she started inside.

Jenkins seemed to fill the entire doorway, forcing Kathryn back on the stoop.

“Pardon me”—he sniffed—“but Lady Grenville is not at home. You will notice it is quite late.”

“Nonsense, Jenkins. Let me pass,” Kathryn insisted, astonished that the man who had known her since she was a child would be so unfriendly and cruel.

“I am afraid that would be impossible. Please leave,” he said then closed the door with a forceful thud.

Kathryn was left on the stoop, tears brimming her eyes. She quickly picked up her skirts, descended the steps, and climbed back into the carriage. She was not about to wallow in despair—well, not quite yet. She had one other address to try, her last chance before she was out on the streets.

She rolled up in front of Pembridge House in Mayfair. She only hoped he had arrived home already instead of staying out all night at White’s or Brooke’s. She wasn’t even sure which one he favored, not that she would go searching for him. She had too much pride for that.

The door opened and would have slammed shut in her face had she not managed to wedge her parasol in the door. Suddenly, she had a new appreciation for the wet climate in London and the necessity of always carrying a parasol.

“I am here to see Lord Pembridge,” she insisted in her most aristocratic tone. “The matter is urgent!”

“His lordship does not accept tarts at his home. Kindly remove yourself.”

“How dare you!” Kathryn scowled. “He will see me. If he is away, I shall wait, but he
will
see me!”

His blasted eyebrow was raised in condescending fashion whilst he waited for her to remove the obstruction from the door.

Well, he could just wait. She would stay there all night if necessary.

“I say, Harding, who is that in my doorway?” Nick’s voice floated down the hall.

“A tart, my lord,” Harding called back. “I have it handled.”

“I am
not
a tart! Nick!” she called, no doubt causing quite a scene for the neighbors.

When she tried to push through, she was shoved out and nearly tumbled down the front steps. She grunted as she caught herself on the railing and the door slammed shut.

Her hip and rear end throbbed where they had hit the iron railing. Tears silently streamed down her face as tiny droplets of rain began to spatter the pavement. At that point, she realized her parasol was on the other side of the door.

Of course it was.

She sunk down onto the top step, hugged her knees, and allowed herself to sob. If anyone were watching, crying in the rain was the least humiliating thing she had been through tonight.

How pathetic she felt. What a slew of wrong turns she had taken to end up here.

“Kathryn?” Nick’s bewildered voice cut through the sound of rain. “Kathryn, is that you?”

She looked over her shoulder to find Nick standing in the doorway, still in the tan trousers from the crush and a high-collared, silk waistcoat of light blue and burgundy embroidery. Only, now he wore no coat.

“I thought I recognized this parasol!” Nick twisted to yell behind him. “Harding, you villain, this will be the last time you turn someone away without consulting me!”

He walked out onto the step and helped her inside, taking her coat and hat himself. Then he led her to a small parlor.

It was very masculine and, strangely, still very fitting for Nick. The rest of the house seemed to be decorated in the height of Georgian fashion with floral upholstery and light colors, but this room had two dark, leather chairs facing the hearth and a small, serviceable table between them. The walls were lined with dark wood instead of the light stripes of color in the other parlor, and it felt warm and comfortable.

Once they had sat with warm cups of tea in their hands and cakes on the table, he broke the silence.

“Tell me what happened,” Nick said gently. He sat quietly, waiting for her to speak.

“I left,” she said simply.

She had left Grey, forever. She felt an emptiness eclipsing anything she had suffered during her sickness.

“Did you explain what happened in the library?”

“He didn’t ask,” Kathryn answered as tears began to blur her vision. “He wanted me to leave.”

Nick’s blue eyes flared angrily. “The limp-brained cretin sent you packing? Did he offer you nothing?”

She sniffled. “He offered something in Derbyshire.”

Nick’s scowl immediately smoothed. “Derbyshire, you say?” He whistled softly. “That is interesting.”

“Hardly interesting.” Kathryn snorted. “He feels guilty for ruining my life, and he thinks a small settlement will absolve him.”

Nick’s brows winged high. “That’s some hefty guilt the poor lad must be carrying. His Derbyshire estate brings in a steady twenty thousand a year.”

Kathryn frowned. “He offered me twenty thousand a year?” More tears threatened to cascade down her puffy face.

“You, my dear girl, are quite well to do.” Nick grinned. “That’s nothing to cry over.”

“I said no,” she muttered.

As if that was the worst part. She would still say no. Grey was giving her what she had said she wanted— never to see him again. Only, he was adding a very comfortable fortune, and he wasn’t just letting her stay there. He was legally putting it all in her name.

“Did you?” he asked, amusement lighting his eyes. “And I assume this was a one-time only offer?”

Kathryn just nodded. A man who believed his wife had participated in an affair would not offer her twenty thousand a year unless he truly thought himself responsible.

The dashed honorable rake of a brute!

“I take it you figured on staying with your mother,” Nick concluded, “but the servants were objectionable to this.”

Again, Kathryn nodded, taking a sip of the tea that so far merely warmed her hands.

“There now, you have had a devil of a time. I shall have a room arranged. You pull that bell rope whenever you are ready, and I shall have one of the maids escort you up. Your bags have already been taken care of.” He smiled encouragingly and stood. “We shall talk in the morning. Everything will turn out. I promise. Good night, Kathryn, and welcome to Pembridge House for as long as you require it.”