Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (26 page)

“I shall love you until the day I die,” he murmured.

“How dare you?” she choked out.

A tear spilled over Kathryn’s cheek, and a sob stuck in her throat. Even asleep, she was reminded of what she wanted more than anything else in the world: the impossible.

“I had to say something.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “If you had left without knowing how I felt, I would have tracked you down. I know I would.”

“This is a n-nightmare!” Kathryn wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “W-why can’t you just be horrible for once?”

Grey gave her a puzzled look then nodded as he stood and moved toward the bed. “I should have realized. You are delirious, Kate,” he said.

“Do not c-call me that!” Kathryn glared at him as he settled on the edge of the bed.

“You
are
delirious,” he repeated firmly.

“Not that. Kate.” She was very aware of how delirious she was. This was the last time she would ever accept a tonic from Dr. Meade.

“I never knew you disliked that name.” A black wave fell over his brow as he frowned down at her.

“I don’t,” she grumbled, “except when it comes from a heartless rake.” Especially the one who had broken her heart.

His frown darkened. “Be reasonable and take Derbyshire. You won’t see me there.”

“Perhaps not in the flesh,” she snapped. “I suppose the halls are all littered with your portrait.”

Gray’s eyes narrowed on her. “Burn them if you like.”

“The halls?” she challenged.

“The whole damn estate,” he rumbled angrily. “Destroy it all. I don’t care. Just take the bloody thing!”

Fresh tears filled Kathryn’s eyes. “And be reminded every day of what could have been? No, thank you.”

“What could have been?” he echoed dangerously. “And who do you lament not spending your life with, I wonder. Chesham? That flaccid prick Jeffrey Peters? Some imaginary knight in shining bloody armor?”

You, you fool!
she wanted to scream. Instead, she glared at him, willing herself to wake up from this horrid nightmare.

He growled as he lifted himself to his feet and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

K
athryn was overwhelmed
with invitations the following week. It seemed she had become the newest on-dit, and everyone who was anyone wanted her in their circles. It seemed scandal had finally become à la mode. Society was fickle, and it sickened her. She would do what she wished and hang society, their eager ears, and their quickly disapproving glares.

Kathryn reached for the mound of posts on her bedside table, set the lot of them in her lap, and picked an envelope off the top. She might as well sort through it all. They had bothered to send her an invitation, so it was only polite to send her reply declining them all.

She was halfway through the pile when one of the envelopes caught her attention. It wasn’t on scented, cream-colored paper like the rest or embossed with pretty little designs. The envelope was plain with a seal of black wax, and it was labeled simply, “
To the Infamous Mistress of Ainsley Place.”

A feeling of foreboding reverberated through Kathryn’s chest as she cracked the seal to slide out the note from inside.

Lady Ainsley,

What a pleasure to see you are recovering after that terrible accident with my associate. I understand you might believe our business settled in light of such circumstances, but I tell you this is not so. I request your appearance that we might discuss the future of our mutual friend, Lord Ainsley. I think you will be terribly interested in what I have planned for him.

I suggest you come alone. If you arrive with company, there may be some very unfortunate losses, the least of which would be the life of your rapscallion husband. I expect you Wednesday evening.

Today was Wednesday.

Kathryn’s heart skipped then pounded loudly in her chest as she flipped over the letter for the address.

“Tonight,” she whispered. “It will end tonight.”

Slowly, she raised herself up, testing the pain. Her shoulder throbbed, but it was bearable. She then sifted through her dresses until she found one that fastened up the front before pulling it on very carefully, which was a tricky process with only one arm willing to cooperate and the other screaming in agony. Then she grabbed her pistol and a small dagger from her vanity.

Wheeling would expect her to have a pistol. What he wouldn’t expect was the blade hidden in her boot. She hoped.

Kathryn pressed her ear to the door. She wasn’t going anywhere if someone saw her sneaking around. Grey would march her right back to her room, the tyrant. She had to escape, undetected, from a house swarming with servants. Not the easiest task, but she would be less likely to be caught if she stuck to the back of the house.

Kathryn stepped into the hall, slowly tiptoeing toward the servants’ stairs. She was almost there when she heard Grey’s voice boom from around the corner with Nick hot on his heels. Kathryn swallowed a gasp and ducked into a closet.

“I am not bound in chains or howling at the moon, am I?”

“No, Grey, you are not,” Nick replied through a relenting sigh.

“Then don’t expect me to suddenly give a damn about what the Tavistock’s think of my social obligations.”

“Consider it charity. Miss Tavistock needs a suitor, which means she needs guests to actually attend her soirees, and wherever you go, everyone goes, if only to see you do something outrageous. Since her brother is in India, the least you could do is show up.”

“The woman’s perfume alone could send a man to his knees with a blinding migraine. I doubt my suffering will be enough to persuade others to suffer with me. Surely, there are other options for the girl…” The voices faded as they made their way down the stairs.

She peeked out from the doorway then made a dash for the back stairs. Once there, it was only a matter of seconds until she finally padded out the back door. Now all she needed was to find a hackney.

Taking one of the Ainsley carriages might be too dangerous. If Grey realized she had gone and interrogated the coachman, he would be after her in a trice.

Thankfully, hired carriages were plentiful in the evening when so many were preparing to go out for a night of revelry. She had barely reached the street before she spotted one.

Twenty minutes later, and on the very wrong side of town, Kathryn found herself standing in front of an old, abandoned storehouse. At least, she assumed it was abandoned. The windows were boarded up, and something akin to a bird’s nest was lodged in the antique knocker. The doorknob was the only clean item on the whole front of the building, meaning someone had used it recently.

With a shaky breath, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

The storehouse was exactly as she would expect, a large, domed room with wooden crates stacked on either side. At the far end, she could see a lantern on a small table with a wooden chair. The only light was the lantern, making everything outside of its sphere mere shadows.

If only she had thought to bring a candle with her.

* * *

G
rey stared
at the fire raging in his study, fighting the urge to throw himself into it. It wouldn’t kill him. Nick would pull him out before it did anything worse than a few irritatingly minor burns and ruined clothes.

He shot a lazy glance at Nick, who was shuffling a deck of cards a few feet away. The evening sun was shining through the tall window, covering Nick in a warm glow that exaggerated his good mood, effectively irritating Grey beyond all reason.

“Well?” Nick asked, not bothering to look up from the cards he was now laying out for a game of solitaire.

“Well, what?” he grunted.

Nick paused from slapping cards on the table to raise a brow at Grey. “
Well,
are you going to the Tavistock’s soiree?”

“No,” he grunted.

Nick sighed resolutely, eyeing his cards. “I think I might go, then.”

“Fine,” Grey muttered distractedly. What should Grey care for Nick’s masochistic tendencies? The man was old enough to make his own decisions.

“I think I shall ask Kathryn if she would accompany me. She usually enjoys these kinds of affairs,” Nick said, pushing one, long train of cards into a neat stack. “I doubt the perfume would bother her as it does us.”

Grey sent a scowl burning through the side of Nick’s skull. “You ought to stop thinking. It’s dangerous.”

Nick shrugged one shoulder.

“In any event,” Grey added sternly, “she’s on bed rest for another few days. Then she’s off to Derbyshire.”

“Is she?”

“She is, even if I have to tie her up and drag her there myself,” Grey muttered. Even then, she would probably sneak off to Italy inside of a week.

“That would be a sight.” Nick grinned, setting down three of his cards in succession and sliding another row into a neat stack. “You know, I still don’t understand why you are letting her leave in the first place.”

Nick’s grin wisely disappeared when he caught Grey’s black look.

“As if I, or anyone else for that matter, could stop her.” Grey tried to sound indifferent, but it came out desperate, and he was.

He still had to find a way to make her stay. Short of kidnapping her, he couldn’t think of anything. She was leaving him for good, soon.

Nick tossed what was left of his cards on the table and stood. “I think I shall go and ask her.”

“Nick,” Grey warned, but Nick was already walking out of the study. “Nick! Bloody hell.”

Grey remained unmoving, contemplating the best way to rid oneself of a dead body—Nick’s dead body.

There was no way in hell he would allow Nick to escort her to a buffet of scoundrels like the Tavistock soiree. Only the most desperate cads would attend such a painful fête.

After several minutes and a slight interruption by a curious footman, most probably to make sure the master of the house had not put himself out of his misery yet, he growled and rose from his chair, finding Nick as soon as he reached the main stairs.

“Grey!” Nick hurried downstairs two steps at a time. “Goddammit, Grey!”

“Calm down, man. Half of Bow Street will be upon us if you keep up that racket,” Grey admonished as he stopped at the foot of the staircase.

“She’s gone, Grey,” Nick said evenly as he came to a stop beside Grey. “You did it this time, you sulking, mopey, son of a—”

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Grey’s heart thudded in his chest. “Gone to the library, the parlor, the garden?”

“She is
gone
, Grey. She isn’t in this house. I have already asked the servants.”

“Have they searched the grounds?” Grey had no doubt his scores of servants could finish searching his and the homes on either side of him in less than five minutes. He only hoped it hadn’t been done yet, that she was simply hiding away with a good book.

“Of course. She isn’t here, but I think I know where she might have gone. Look at this.” Nick handed Grey an envelope with a black seal.

“What’s this?”

“She’s gone to face him.” Nick gestured to the envelope in Grey’s hand.

“Face whom?” Grey asked impatiently as he pulled out the letter. His scowl deepened as he read and reread the letter. Throbs of panic beat an escalating rhythm in his chest. He didn’t recognize the address, but he knew it was near Old Nichol. Far too near. “She went alone?”

“Yes, I assume so. All of the servants are accounted for, and none of your carriages is missing. I would imagine she didn’t want you following her.”

“The little idiot,” he muttered, though he knew he was wrong.

Kathryn was the bravest woman he had ever known. She was persistent and loyal. Hell, she was going after Wheeling. She could have left all of this behind. She nearly had. Yet she had stayed to defend
him
. He loved her even more for it, but she could easily be in way over her head. She didn’t know what Wheeling had done to Elijah Smith.

His heart sped up its pace, and his chest constricted as he handed the letter back to Nick. “Let’s hope she remembered to bring a pistol, or we may already be too late.”

“We may need help.” Nick stuffed the letter into his waistcoat and began following Grey toward the vestibule. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Wheeling has a few cronies waiting around. ’Tis not difficult to find that sort in the muck of the rookeries.”

“Charles!” Grey shouted as he neared the front door.

Charles materialized a moment later. “Yes, my lord.”

“Send word to Saint Brides at the Home Office. Give him this letter and tell him it’s urgent.” Grey waited whilst Nick fished out the letter and handed it to the butler.

“Yes, my lord. I shall send it with a footman immediately.”

Nick grabbed his hat and coat. “What do you want to bet young Steel Breeches decided to stay at home today?” Nick asked dryly.

“Saint Brides?” Grey scoffed as he hurriedly tossed a beaver hat over his brow. “The Home Office
is
his home.”