Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (4 page)

His jaw clenched. “Perfectly.” He stood and bowed stiffly, taking her hand, a hand that she would have immediately disengaged had he not captured it. “Good evening, Lady Kathryn.”

Kathryn only nodded, purposefully looking past him.

After allowing her to run off and get herself nearly killed, he deserved her disrespect and more, but what did she know about any of that? The troublesome girl could use a few lessons in manners.

His face lit with a slow, wolfish smile as he brought her hand to within an inch of his mouth then turned it over and touched his lips to her bare wrist.

The girl ought to have worn longer gloves. Anyone with half a brain would know better than to expose arms this soft to every man’s hungry eye. That Grey had managed to stop at her wrist instead of trailing all the way up to her tiny puff sleeves was a miracle.

Her eyes widened as she tugged at her hand, but his grip was firm. When she stopped tugging, he smiled against her wrist, slowly peeking out his tongue. He watched her face as he tasted her, challenging, inviting, and promising with his eyes. It was a tease, a glimpse into a fraction of his wickedness, proving what he was and how right she was to avoid him.

If only licking her wrist didn’t feel so terribly insufficient. Her arms looked delicious. So did her creamy shoulders and neck. In fact, he wouldn’t mind savoring every flawless inch of her.

He lowered her hand before he found himself acting on some of the depraved thoughts swirling around his head. Then he bent down close to her ear. Far too close, but he couldn’t help himself. Wisps of auburn that had escaped from her chignon tickled his cheek, and he caught the faint scent of her perfume, a flower of some kind.

“As always,” he murmured, “it has been a pleasure.”

She was trembling because of him, and he sent her a knowing smile as he straightened. Then he quit the room before he did anything else unforgivably inappropriate with the most impossible female he had ever known.

Just one dance, mother had said. One dance wouldn’t kill him.

He growled under his breath.

As he swept through the throngs of bodies, the terrace leading out into the garden caught his attention. The Garson’s garden had direct access to the mews. He might actually leave this insufferable crush before his temper had him bloodying his fist on some prig’s face. With that in mind, he quickened his pace.

He was nearly to the doors when two men stopped right in front of him, practically volunteering to be the outlet for all the blackness swirling inside him. Then they started talking to him, oblivious to the very present danger of being pummeled.

Idiots.

L
ady Grenville studied
Kathryn as she sat in the rose-colored music room. Only a few of the musical patrons lingered, as the piano had been abandoned shortly after she had gotten rid of that unsettling gentleman.

“Kathryn dear, are you all right?” her mother asked. “I heard you were seen with Lord Ainsley.”

Lord?

Kathryn turned a wary eye to her mother. “I only spoke with one gentleman.”

“I understand he acted quite amiably,” her mother continued. “Rather uncharacteristic of the marquess lately, but providence has it hell has
not
frozen over, for I noticed he was recovered just a moment ago. It was the blackest look anyone has seen on him in ages.”

“I see,” Kathryn said grimly. She had known—somehow she had—that something like that would happen. Someone would be insulted, notice her lack of memory, or push her beyond her ability.

“In fact, I would expect a bout of fisticuffs to break out at any moment with Ainsley’s provocation. The rake is constantly sending the scandalmongers into a tizzy over some scandalous show of violence. If it is not fisticuffs, it is a duel or some similar act of depravity.” Her mother raised a brow. “Why do you look like that? You aren’t about to spew sick all over me?”

“I am fine.” She was wretched. Lud, her incivility might have induced a fight!

Her mother nodded. “We are retiring for the evening. I doubt you could handle his sort of violence in your condition.”

“I just need some air,” Kathryn said, hoping a little quiet night air would make things seem better, if only a little.

“Very well, my dear.” Lady Grenville took Kathryn’s arm and led her to the terrace connected to the music room.

The cool air and advantage of only having three or four people enjoying the outdoors were an immediate balm to Kathryn’s taut nerves. The terrace wrapped around, and soon, they were approaching the doors just outside the ballroom.

“It’s best to stay near the doors for propriety sake as well as your own, dear,” her mother advised. “Should you lose your strength on the pathways, you may not be found until morning. That garden is notoriously confusing.”

Kathryn smiled. “I shall be fine. You go and enjoy yourself.”

“Sweet girl,” Lady Grenville said affectionately. With a pat on Kathryn’s arm, she disappeared back into the throng of bodies and music.

Kathryn leaned on the balustrade, staring out into the darkness. She could discern the faint glow of lanterns to light the way for wandering guests. High shrubberies were placed along the paths to give it the feel of a maze. No doubt, it was strewn with statues and perhaps a small fountain. It was a charming garden.

Mere minutes passed before a waltz struck up from inside, and the few who were standing on the terrace slowly moved back into the ballroom.

She knew she ought to stay put, but the garden called to her. After staying inside for weeks with nothing more than books to feed her mind, she longed for whatever her imagination might be able to contrive in such a secluded and magical place. She could think there without worry of unwanted conversation. She could escape there.

A short turn around the paths, that was all it would be.

To her right, a few steps led down to the dirt pathways. Thus, with a quick peek around to make sure no one would see her, Kathryn softly padded down the stairs.

It was almost another world. The music somehow faded, and the flowers were bobbing in a slight breeze. She couldn’t hear a single voice. There was a low buzz from the ballroom overridden by the sound of a waltz, but that was far away now.

A slow smile spread over her face, and the decision to allow herself to become temporarily lost to the world took hold.

She began down one of the three pathways diverging from the terrace stairs, slowly winding her way through the paths until her only sense of direction came from the faint music floating from the house. She walked on for quite a while before she found a wrought iron bench set in an alcove. The sight of it reminded her how terribly her legs were trembling under her own weight.

She had not expected the walk to take so much out of her. She had thought she would have reached the back wall by now, but the garden was larger than anticipated. She sat with an inward sigh of relief and closed her eyes.

She had been doing so well all evening. So well, in fact, that her mother had no worries at all leaving her to enjoy the music alone after she had spoken to half a dozen guests and managed just fine. Then the marquess had stepped in, and he was unlike any other gentleman there.

A marquess, and a notoriously bad one from the sound of it. She should have known as soon as she saw him. No one good could possibly be that attractive. Those eyes, that mouth, those silken waves of sinfully black hair were all too good to be true.

She heard footsteps walking the path past the bench, and her eyes flew open. She should have been listening; then she might have heard them much earlier. Now a tall shadow stood, blocking out the light of the lantern.

“Pardon me.” Kathryn’s heart pounded in her chest as she urged her aching muscles into motion, lifting herself from the bench.

“No. No need to go,” a man’s voice slurred.

“I really must. You see, my mother will be looking for me, and I am afraid I have vexed Lord Ainsley. I ought to apologize.” She tried to step around him, but her arm was caught, and she was hauled into him with much more force than necessary.

“Unhand me!” Kathryn kicked and wriggled, trying to free herself. He twisted her arms behind her back. “Monster! Let me go!” Kathryn could smell the bourbon thick on his breath.

Her arms throbbed as they were stretched painfully behind her. The man seemed not to know his own strength or, at least, not to realize how weak Kathryn was. She felt as though a bone might snap at any moment.

He shifted to grasp both of her hands in one of his, pulling on her hair with the other to lift her face.

“Don’t you dare!” she forced out scathingly.

His arms crushed her so tightly she could barely breathe, much less call for help. Even if she could, no one would hear her over the din inside the house.

She tried to turn away, but his hands were cruelly gripping her hair, holding her in place. The alcohol on his breath was suffocating and sickening as his mouth crushed hers. Nausea swirled in her stomach, and she shuddered.

“Shh. Best keep that voice box of yours quiet, Lady Kathryn. We wouldn’t want to tarnish your impaci—empecci—impeccape—perfect rep’tation, now, woo we?” He laughed at his own inebriation. “I can give you the same thing Ainsley does, m’pet.”

“Get your filthy hands
off!
” She continued to struggle, but his grip only tightened.

“No, m’dear.” His chuckle floated over her, chilling her to the bone. “You can run off and tell Ainsley all we did after we are fished—finished.”

Kathryn legs shook as the strength seeped out of her.

“That’s better.” He dropped his head to her ear, adding with a soft slur, “Make sure t’tell him you enjoyed it, love.”

Another shudder wracked her body as he nibbled her earlobe, and his free hand began to bunch up her skirt above her knee.

Sudden panic lent her the strength for one last effort. She kicked his legs and scratched the arm that held her captive. She would claw, bite, and kick until she had no strength left. She would be damn near dead before she allowed this drunken animal to have his way with her. If she were going to be ravished in a garden, she might as well be good and unconscious for it.

His grip tightened around her painfully, and she cried out. Her ears popped, and her head swam. Every bone in her body felt like it was about to snap when he suddenly let go and fell to the ground.

She very nearly tumbled to the ground with him. Instead, she stayed on her feet as the world spun around her, half convinced this was a nightmare as she stared at another impressively sized shadow standing not far behind the heap at her feet. Then, as if they only just realized they were no longer supported, her wobbly legs collapsed underneath her.

* * *

R
emarkably
, Grey hadn’t hit either of the men. He had simply glared darkly until they had realized they were needed on the other side of the house, which had taken far longer than it ought to have done. Now Grey was leaving. The garden would give him quick access to his carriage, and not a single guest or mother would see his departure. It was the perfect escape.

By the time he stepped out onto the terrace, it was empty, mostly. Grey was nearly to the steps leading to the garden when he noticed Kathryn taking to the paths ahead of him. Alone.

“Again? She’s doing it
again
?” He watched incredulously from the top of the steps, running his hands through his hair. “No. Impossible.”

Before he could decide whether to go after her, someone was already shuffling out of the ballroom and onto the terrace. Grey slipped into the shadows and watched him pass; choosing for himself the same path Kathryn had taken only a few moments ago.

Grey swallowed a curse as Bexley stumbled into the foliage. It wouldn’t be five minutes before that lascivious sod sniffed Kathryn out.

His hands fisted at his sides as a muscle twitched in his jaw. With a quick look to make sure no more jackanapes were stumbling half-seas over onto the terrace, he hurried down a different path than the one taken by the other two. It ran alongside their path if he remembered correctly, and it should intercept just far enough for Grey to cross over ahead of Bexley.

Grey was almost completely silent as he deftly rounded each corner. The garden was abnormally large for being in town, a feat Grey would normally applaud as it allowed a man so many opportune hiding places for an assignation. At the moment, however, it was cumbersome. Mr. Garson had managed to fit so many strange bends and alcoves that it took an age just to get to the end.

Finally, he was a hedge away from where he guessed Kathryn to be by this time. Only, she was not there. Grey was about to go farther toward the back of the gardens when he heard a faint cry from behind him.

Harsh epithets spewed in several languages as he turned to backtrack as quietly and quickly as he could manage. With how angry he was at himself for passing right by the crossover point, the difficulty was surprising. He was furious.

After a few quick bends, he found it, jumping over a low bush and onto the other path to rush again toward the cries.

He rounded a corner into an alcove where he could clearly size up the situation. The sod stood only ten feet ahead of him. Bexley was of an average size, but Kathryn was a little woman made even smaller now after being ill. He couldn’t see her past Bexley, even with a lantern lit nearby.

He was running his mouth, but Grey couldn’t make out what he was saying. Kathryn cried out again, and Grey pulled out his pistol. He crept up directly behind Bexley. His hand flexed over the pistol before he raised it and brought the handle down hard on Bexley’s crown.

His hand was still flexed over the pistol as he stood, staring down at the inglorious heap, fighting the urge to strike again for good measure. That would not be very sporting of him. As it was, Bexley would not be disappearing from this spot for a good while.

Grey lifted his eyes to the unsteady slip of a girl before him just in time to catch her before she crumpled to the ground. He wrapped an arm around her, propping her against his chest.

“Kathryn, are you all right? Christ, are you even conscious?” he asked harshly.

Bloody hell, if she died now, Grenville would be sure to blame Grey. They were at the same fête. He had watched her walk into the garden, and he had been ten feet away when she was assaulted.

He was a dead man.

Her shaky hand lifted to his lapel and clung there, answering at least one of his questions, but her head remained unmoving against his chest. Not dead was good, still not able to stand or talk was not. Grenville could still violently maim him for allowing her to become paralyzed and mute.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked, attempting to soften his voice. “Would you mind if I checked you for anything broken?”

“D-don’t touch me,” she breathed out.

Grey’s brow furrowed. “I understand this ordeal must have been traumatic for you, but you ought to be examined before you make a bad injury worse.”

“Please, no.” Her voice was barely more than a whimper. It must have taken all her strength to speak.

“At least allow me to carry you to your carriage. You can hardly return to the guests looking as you do, even if you had the strength for it, which you don’t.”

She said not a word. If not for her hand still clinging white-knuckled to his lapel, he would have thought her unconscious.

In one swift move, he bent to hook one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, lifting her with considerable ease against his chest. Then he started down the winding path toward the mews.

After about a minute of nothing but Grey’s own thoughts keeping his anger hot and alive, he felt her stir a little in his arms.