Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (27 page)

K
athryn started
toward the lamp warily. The old, wooden floor creaked underneath her every fourth or fifth step, setting her nerves on end, as if they needed help on that quarter. The place was damp and cold, and by the time she reached the light, she was shivering. She felt as though she had stepped straight into a gothic novel.

Obviously, no one was here now, but whoever had been must have left only recently. The Carcel lamp was still full of fluid.

A floorboard creaked behind her, and she spun around, catching herself on the small table.

“Forgive me if I frightened you, Lady Ainsley. I was so pleased to see you I quite forgot my manners.”

Wheeling.

Kathryn squinted, straining to make him out amidst the shadows. He stepped forward, but his black coat still blended in with the backdrop of darkness.

“Why did you ask me here?” she demanded with feigned confidence.

Wheeling stepped closer to the light. “I am more interested in why you came. Was it the mystery and danger that lured you, or was it the life of that sorry husband of yours?”

She set her jaw stubbornly.

He smirked and nodded, coming to his own conclusion. “What a loyal little thing you are, even after he left you to scandal. Tell me, what has he done to gain such devotion?”

Kathryn did not need to be reminded of the betrayal she felt. Certainly not by a snake like Wheeling.

“You mentioned plans for him. What were you talking about?”

With a sickening smile, he motioned to the chair. “Have a seat.”

“I would rather stand.”

“Have a seat!” he shouted suddenly then regained his composure as he motioned to the chair again.

Once she sat, he paced around her.

“There are some details I do not think you are aware of pertaining to Lord Ainsley.”

“His secrets are his business—”

“Don’t spout that ignorant drivel at me. You are married now. His secrets affect you, as you will soon understand.”

Kathryn fell silent as he circled her, her sense of dread building. She slowly pulled open her reticule, readying herself to grab the pistol.

“Why do you think I brought you here? To divulge my plans for your husband?” His laugh echoed through the darkness. “Then what? I do not negotiate, Lady Ainsley. What I have planned will be followed through—I have no doubt—and you are detrimental to its execution.”

A knot built in Kathryn’s stomach. “What are you going to do?”

“I am going to prepare a sort of present for him.” He stopped behind Kathryn, leaning down to speak in her ear. “I am giving him you.” He grabbed her hair to keep her in the chair and snatched the reticule from her lap.

Kathryn let out a yelp as her head was jerked backward. He took her right hand then let go of her hair to capture her left. Within seconds, she was tightly fastened to the chair at her wrists and ankles.

Wheeling circled in front of her, admiring his handiwork, then bent to pull out the long knife from its holster on Kathryn’s ankle. “You didn’t think I would miss this, did you?” He chuckled. “It won’t help you. I doubt you even know how to use it.”

Kathryn swallowed panic as he sent the knife sailing past her, lodging deep in the wall.

“I prefer to use my own,” he drawled as he drew out a long blade with an intricately designed ivory handle. “I shall wager mine’s sharper. Trust me; you will be thankful for that later.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she tried shifting in her bindings to loosen them, but they wouldn’t give. Her fingers began to feel stiff and tingle.

He moved closer with a dark sneer and brought the dagger down to graze her throat. “My poor cousin followed Ainsley to France, all cow-eyed, and that murdering sod left him to get carved up alive. I was very close to my cousin.”

Kathryn felt the blood drain from her face. “Impossible,” she breathed, lifting her chin away from the blade.

“Have you ever wondered, Lady Ainsley, how many lacerations one can acquire before they stop breathing?” He paused to regard her smugly.

Kathryn shut her eyes against the nausea his words conjured.

“Ainsley taught me what true grief is, and now I am returning the favor.” He trailed the knife tip down her neck to rest on the edge of her bodice.

She fought to keep her breathing regular, not only to keep the nausea at bay, but because every time she took a deep breath, the blade cut into her skin. A little droplet of blood beaded on her chest.

A loud crash came from the front of the building as the door burst open.

“Kathryn!”

“Grey!” Kathryn moved forward when she recognized Grey’s voice, sucking in air through her teeth as the blade sliced into her skin.

Wheeling moved behind Kathryn, lifting the knife to her throat. “You are in time to watch, Ainsley. The show has only just begun.”

“I don’t much care for amateur night,” Grey said icily. “Whatever this is about, Wheeling, she has no part in it.”

“I beg to differ, my lord. The debt has not yet been satisfied.” Wheeling broke out into a slow smile. “But it will be.”

“Debt?” Grey echoed. “If you imagine a debt ought to be paid, settle it with me.”

* * *

G
rey had tried
to escape into his mask of cool indifference, but he could not keep the panic from his voice, not after imagining the many ways Kathryn could end up dead in Old bloody Nichol. A new wave of panic had flooded him as soon as he had seen Wheeling holding a double-edged dagger.

“No,” Wheeling mused. “No, I enjoy making you squirm far too much to end it so quickly. Besides, I want you to live with the grief as I have done.”

Nick lifted his pistol from his position flanking Grey. “You won’t have to live with it much longer.”

“Don’t shoot, Nick. It will only attract unwanted company,” Grey warned. There was a good chance Wheeling’s men were very close by.

He heard Nick empty his pistol and toss it to the ground.

“I didn’t say you had to—”

The words died on Grey’s lips when he felt a cold barrel pressed against his temple. Slowly, he raised his hands, and his pistol was soon taken, as well.

Two hefty bruisers had appeared, flanking them as they had been talking. One pushed Grey toward the back of the room where Wheeling and Kathryn waited.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I had Kathryn attacked in the first place?” Wheeling’s face pulled into a sickening smile. “Are you not curious?”

“It was
you?” Grey ground out.

“Who else?” Wheeling laughed. “Grenville is almost as much to blame as you for my cousin’s death.”

“Your cousin?” Grey had killed scores of people, all of them bound to be someone’s cousin.

“Johnny,” Wheeling answered dangerously, sweat beading on his brow. “Grenville could have saved him had he arrived mere hours earlier, but all his lordship seemed to think worth saving were his fellow lords.”

“You know that isn’t—”

“And since he took someone from me, I decided it only fitting to take someone from him.” Wheeling glanced disdainfully down at Kathryn. “His dear daughter. It would be such a tragedy. Imagine my surprise when the bitch lived.”

Grey’s heart tripled its pace. This was no game. Wheeling had failed killing Kathryn before at Covent Garden. He did not intend on failing now.

“However,” Wheeling went on, “watching the two of you that night at Covent Garden did give me a splendid idea. Since some sort of tension was obviously between the two of you, why not put you in charge of protecting her from me for fun? I even did a little stalking to make you feel needed.”

“The shadow,” Grey muttered gravely.

“The scandal forcing you to wed, the highwaymen, the scandal sending her into the arms of your friend,” Wheeling carried on, gesturing with his hands, “that was all me, preparing.”

“Preparing for what?” Grey prodded, ignoring the nauseating feeling in his gut telling him he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“For Kathryn’s murder, of course,” Wheeling drawled. “No one will think twice when they hear the notoriously pugnacious Marquess of Ainsley attacked his own wife after she made him look the fool with that library scandal. Her blatant affair with Pembridge. Well, I did not plan that, but—”

“See here!” Nick protested. He would have lunged at Wheeling if he were not being held back by 300 pounds of hired muscle.

Grey’s scowl stayed fixed on Wheeling and the knife he intended to use on Kathryn.

“Only after that little scene in the library did I realize how much you actually care for her.” Wheeling sighed with satisfaction. “Now I can kill two birds with one stone. Both you
and
Grenville will be taken care of with this one chore. Topped off with you living the rest of your long life in Newgate for her murder, of course.”

“I shall see you in hell first,” Grey growled.

“We aren’t exactly in the position to make threats, Grey,” Nick muttered.

“Alas, the traitor’s son speaks the truth,” Wheeling stated smugly.

Grey’s scowl deepened. “What do you know of that?”

“I knew about the late Earl of Pembridge long before you murdered my cousin,” Wheeling explained. “Picking up the information isn’t the difficult part. It’s finding the right time to play the cards, and I have been waiting a long time.”

“I didn’t kill your cousin,” Grey said tightly.

Images of his own wounds flashed through his mind: his broken ribs and the knife carving into his flesh. He never would have suffered those had Johnny obeyed orders or if Grey had left him there to face death alone.

“I didn’t kill Johnny.”

“He died whilst following you!” Wheeling spurted, digging the blade into Kathryn’s skin. “And now you will watch as I get retribution.”

A drop of blood trailed down Kathryn’s neck.

No!
Grey lunged at Wheeling, but at the same time, Wheeling’s crony lunged at Grey.

A powerful jab to Grey’s jaw knocked him back. Grey dodged and struck hard with a blow to the bruiser’s stomach, followed by a right cross that sent him to the floor. Grey pulled him back up by his collar and landed another devastating blow, sending him down again in a heaving lump.

Grey shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to the ground, as he turned toward Wheeling, blind to the giant elbow aiming for his kidney. The blow landed, and Grey collapsed to the ground, catching a boot to his ribs as soon as he hit the floor. He managed to roll just in time to avoid a second kick intended for his brain box; otherwise, he might have been out for good.

Pain lanced down his side, but he managed to right himself. Then he was back on his feet, taking stance as best he could with a grim smile tugging at his bloodied mouth. He spat crimson as the large bruiser stepped toward him.

Blocking the first punch and dodging the next, Grey managed to drive his fist into his opponent’s temple and a second to his midriff. As soon as he doubled over, Grey thrust a knee into his nose. Then he followed him down, pounding his fists into the man’s skull in deadly succession.

The room was still when Grey relaxed his arms at his sides and slowly lifted himself up from the near-dead giant on the floor. He looked over to see Nick standing beside him with a knife and the other bruiser lying motionless in a puddle of blood.

Grey turned to Wheeling. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Kathryn just yet. He knew what he would see in her eyes: the fear, the horror, the disgust. How could he possibly convince her he had changed now?

Painfully, Grey bent to retrieve his pistol, cocked it, and pointed it toward Wheeling. “Let her go,” he ordered through heavy breaths. “I shall not think twice about sending you to perdition if you refuse.”

“Not before I take her from you,” Wheeling countered smugly.

“Grey!” Kathryn whimpered as another drop of blood trailed down her neck.

“Wheeling,” Grey warned through clenched teeth, flexing his hand on the pistol.

“A bit quicker than I would have preferred,” Wheeling drawled as he pressed the knife to her throat. “But it will have to do.”

Grey’s aim was perfect. He had been an expert marksman since before he had gone off to war. He could kill Wheeling with the mere squeeze of his finger. It would be effortless.

The barrel of his gun was aimed at the blackguard’s head. It would penetrate his right eye. He wanted desperately to see it happen, to add Wheeling’s name to the list of dead bodies Grey had strewn across the globe. Instead, he aimed lower, for Wheeling’s arm so that the knife would be flung aside instead of pressed deeper into Kathryn’s neck.

Grey’s bullet cut through the air with a loud crack, and Wheeling flew backward, dropping the knife exactly as Grey had intended.

Grey’s eyes fastened on Kathryn. He took in her pale skin, the blood on her neck, and the frightened look in her eyes. Then he felt himself begin to tremble, but not with the familiar rage or sadness because this was more than likely the last time he would ever see her. He trembled with relief that she was alive and this entire mess was finally over.

The door to the street burst open.

“Hold!” Saint Brides ordered as ten other men rushed in behind him. “Ainsley, what’s happened?” he asked incredulously as he approached, taking in the two fallen men and Kathryn still bound to the chair.