How to Beguile a Duke (Entangled Scandalous) (20 page)

Afraid of what she might glimpse in his eyes, and more afraid he might discover the truth in hers, she trained her gaze over this shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she spoke before she could change her mind. “I think it best that we end our association with one another.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “Catherine, you clearly haven’t thought this through. I’ve offered you everything you ever wanted and you are refusing me?”

But he could never offer her the one thing she needed from a husband. She would not irrevocably tie herself to a man who could never love her. “On the contrary, I did not come to this decision lightly. It is in the best interest of both of us that we end this now, before we make a mistake that cannot be redeemed.”

He jerked his head back as if she had slapped him. “So our relationship was a mistake?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Your meaning is quite clear.” Glimpsing at the couples around them, he lowered his voice to a near whisper. “You were only ever interested in my home. Despite my willingness to marry you, despite my willingness to overlook your unconventional upbringing and behavior, despite my willingness to claim a child that would have been ridiculed by his peers due to his background.”

Her body ramrod straight, she said, “Your Grace, there is no need for you to continue. I hereby call off our wager and relinquish any claim to Walsley.”

He inclined his head. “You may keep the journal. I have no use for it, and I don’t wish to catch you breaking into my home again.”

They finished the set and parted in silence. The next thing Catherine knew, she was in the carriage with the Hartleys.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the seat. The worst part of the evening wasn’t having been threatened, or even being ridiculed by Nick. No, it was the devastation of knowing that he had never had any feelings for her.

Chapter Sixteen

The night of the embassy ball, a brisk wind blew from the Channel into London carrying air so frigid Catherine was reluctant to part with her cloak when they entered the building. Fires blazed in every room, the light from the flickering flames reflecting from Countess Lieven’s golden walls. She had transformed the embassy to a palace of gold and cerulean blue.

Lord Hartley was a reluctant guest and had insisted they arrive late so the receiving line would be short, which it was. Catherine passed the time by searching for Nick, but he was nowhere to be found. The morning after she had severed her relationship with him, she realized she had been unfair. Though he had insulted her in every way possible, it was a miracle that he had ever offered for her at all when he could easily have left her to her own fate. Instead, he had gone against his own convictions and offered to marry her, and rather than thanking him, she had severed their relationship without explanation. At the very least, she owed him an apology.

The ambassador bowed, and Catherine curtsied and moved down the line. Countess Lieven took her hands and kissed each of her cheeks. “Well, Miss Malboeuf, what do you think of our new decoration?”

“It is splendid, my lady. I am transfixed by the glow of the firelight reflecting from the walls. The room is as bright as if the sun were shining upon us.”

The countess glanced at the wall behind them. “I admit I did not plan that effect, but it is rather intoxicating, is it not?”

“You shall be hailed as a great designer.”

The countess laughed and turned to greet the next visitor.

Lieutenant Galkin stood at the end of the line. He bowed. “Miss Malboeuf, I am pleased to see you here tonight.”

“Good evening, Lieutenant. Your prediction about the updates to the embassy was correct. It is exquisite.” Catherine silently cursed the cap sleeves and thin silk of her gown that did nothing to keep the cold at bay. Goose flesh showed on her arms.

“Are you familiar with the Russian samovar?”

“I’m afraid I am not.”

“Please, allow me to acquaint you with a remarkable Russian invention.” He led her into the ballroom. Though a formal dinner was to be held later in the evening, a refreshment table of sorts was set up on the far wall. A large copper urn with a teapot resting at the top sat upon the table.

The lieutenant held out his hand. “This is the samovar. It makes the water bubble for tea.”

Catherine nodded. “The water boils inside the samovar?

“Yes, it boils. There is a chimney inside to heat the water. Would you care for tea?”

“Yes, thank you. It is rather cold this evening.”

“That is why the countess thought it a good night to bring this out.” He picked up a teacup, poured a bit of tea from the pot on top of the samovar, then added hot water from the spigot at the bottom of the samovar. “The tea in the pot is very strong so you add water from the samovar and it remains available for many people.”

“It is an ingenious design.”

The lieutenant looked out toward the receiving line. “Please excuse me, Miss Malboeuf. I am needed elsewhere. You will save me a dance?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for demonstrating the samovar for me.”

Catherine added a spoonful of sugar to the tea the lieutenant had prepared and sipped it while she searched the ballroom for familiar faces. As expected, Jane was with Lord Cavanaugh. Lord Tregony was also in attendance. She would take care to avoid him. Between his rejection and her estrangement with Nick, her prospects for dance partners were severely limited.

She set her empty cup on a tray, then shivered and decided to get another cup of tea. Dmitri removed cups from a tray and placed them on the table. It wasn’t the first time she had seen him again, but since their initial awkward meeting, she had avoided him.

“Miss Malboeuf, may I speak with you? It is a matter of some urgency regarding my employment.”

She set down her cup. “Of course, Dmitri.” Perhaps he wished to return to the ship and wanted her to put in a word for him with Captain Joubert.

He beckoned her toward a corridor behind the room. “We can be private here.”

The corridor was unusually dark. When she stopped to allow her eyes to adjust, a cold steel blade pressed against her neck. “Walk to the left down the corridor. I will not hesitate to cut you if you attempt to attract attention.”

Catherine’s pulse leapt. Curse the social conventions that prevented her from carrying her cutlass. With a blade pressed against her neck, she could not make a grab for the knife strapped to her calf. “Why are you doing this? My father will gladly rehire you if you are unhappy here.”

“I don’t want to work for your father. Be quiet and keep walking.” He was not the man who had attempted to abduct her outside the theater. She would have recognized his voice, and he was much taller than that man had been.

She stopped when they reached a junction with another corridor.

“Go up the staircase.”

She lifted her skirts and carried out his order. Perhaps if she appeared to be cooperating he would relax so she could get more information from him. She stopped at the first landing.

He waved his hand. “Keep climbing. We are going to the top.”

Her knees buckled and she scrambled to grasp the stair rail. The top floor usually housed the servant’s quarters and would be deserted because all of the servants were helping with the ball.

The muscles in her legs tightened as they continued their climb. Once they reached the next landing, she considered trying to run from him, but her gown would limit her speed and there was unlikely to be anyone to help. Surely he wouldn’t harm her—he knew her father would hunt him down and kill him if he did. She halted at the top of the staircase and waited for his next instruction.

“We are going to that chamber.” He shoved her to the right. The chamber appeared to be unoccupied. The room held a small bed and an open wardrobe cabinet with nothing inside. No wash basin or chamber pot.

“Lie on the bed,” he barked.

She crossed her arms. “I will not. Tell me what you want from me.”

“I want you to get on the bed.” He jerked his head toward the bed, as if that would convince her to do it.

“My father will seek revenge if you harm me.”

“He’d have to find me first. I would have at least six months to disappear before he would receive notification of your death and sail to London. Besides, there is no reason for him to suspect me.”

A shiver shot up her spine. He was correct. “Lord and Lady Hartley will soon note my absence and have the embassy searched. And you know as well as I do that my father would eventually find you.”

She saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “What we have planned won’t take long. We will be gone before they realize you are missing.”

He stepped in front her and put his face inches from hers. “Get on the bed. Now. Or I will truss you up like a hog and put you there myself.”

After studying the knife in his hand, she decided not to try to fight him. The odds were in his favor, and she couldn’t believe he would actually hurt her. Someone else had to be behind this. She climbed onto the bed and rolled onto her back.

Dmitri shoved her onto her side and tied her hands behind her back, then bound her feet tightly together and tied them to the bedpost. Then he left without a word, locking the door behind him.

When the sound of his retreating footsteps could no longer be heard, she tested her restraints. Her wrists were tied so tightly her hands tingled. It wouldn’t be long before she would be unable to use them at all. She jerked her feet against the rope holding her to the bedpost, but it was no use. Tears formed in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Lord and Lady Hartley would soon notice that she was missing, and in the meantime, she would try to loosen the ropes around her hands so she could reach the knife strapped to her calf. This must have been Dmitri’s first attempt at kidnapping. Otherwise he would have known to search her before tying her up.

She turned onto her side and wiggled her hands, but there was no give to the rope. It hadn’t loosened at all. Arching her back, she tried to slide her hands toward her calf. She ended up in a half-moon shape with her hands nowhere near hear calf. Damnation. If only he had tied her hands in the front. Perhaps Dmitri wasn’t as inexperienced as she thought. It didn’t matter that she had a knife since she couldn’t reach it. Maybe Nick would attend the ball. He might already be downstairs searching for her. After severing contract with him it was a futile hope, but it was all she had.

She was still in the awkward, arched position when rapid footsteps sounded from the corridor.

She untwisted herself into a somewhat normal position and focused her attention on the door. Her heart thundered and skipped a beat. A key clicked in the lock and the door sprung open.

Letting out her pent up breath, she said, “Oh, thank goodness. I am so glad to see you, Lieutenant Galkin. Please untie my hands first.”

“I think not.”

Her stomach dropped as she comprehended his meaning. “What is going on?” She fought to keep her fear from showing in her voice.

“I want the journal.”

How could he know about it? “What journal?”

“Do not play me for a fool. The one written by your great-grandmother.”

“How do you know about that?”

“The less you know, the more likely we are to let you live.” He stared at her. How had she not noticed the ice in his eyes? A shiver coursed through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Where is the journal?”

“I…I no longer have it.”

“Let’s try this a different way, then. Where is the tiara?”

“I don’t understand. What tiara?”

He leaned down so his face was only inches from hers. “I do not have time for your games. I must return to the ball, or I will be missed.” She cringed as flecks of spit hit her face. “You will produce either the journal or the tiara, or I shall slit your throat and throw your body in the Thames. It is your choice.”

He pushed at the sleeve of his uniform jacket and she caught a glimpse of white bandage. “It was you! You tried to abduct me at the theater.”

“I must return downstairs.” His eyes flicked to the wardrobe. “I understand you are not fond of enclosed spaces.”

“H…how do you know that?”

“You didn’t think your clandestine meeting with the Duke of Boulstridge went unnoticed, did you? Until that point I had thought to join forces with you to locate the tiara, but once I realized you were panting after the duke, I knew we would have to kidnap you.” He pulled a knife from the pocket of his jacket. She cringed as he swung the knife at her feet, severing the rope from the bedpost. He jerked her off the bed and she barely saved herself from toppling over when her mostly numb feet hit the floor. He yanked her toward the wardrobe.

“No, please.”

“It is too late to cooperate now.” He shoved her into the wardrobe, slamming her head against the back wall, and closed the doors.

“Wait,” she cried. There was no response. “No! Please. I did as you asked.”

A key turned in the lock and the muffled sound of the window sliding open reached her. Arctic air seeped around the doors of the wardrobe, chilling her instantly. Galkin closed and locked the door. Her heart beat faster than a galloping horse. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths to calm herself. Nick would come. He would find her. She just had to survive until then.

Leaning against the back of the wardrobe, she slid down until her hands neared her calves. Cold sweat beaded on her brow and ran down her spine. Her fingers grazed the top of the knife handle, but she couldn’t wrap her fingers around it. She leaned to the left and managed to get her thumb and forefinger on either side of the handle. She pinched it tightly and pulled upward. It slid a few inches, then dropped back into the sheath. Shutting her eyes, she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths as she pictured the beach at Acklins, the sound of the waves hitting the sand, the soft breeze caressing her skin. She clasped the knife one more time and drew it from the sheath.

As quickly as she could, she cut through the rope around her ankles and sat down, her legs splayed before her. Sharp pain pricked in her fingers as her heart labored to force blood through the confines of the rope. Her teeth began to chatter. She had to act now, before all feeling left her hands. Before Galkin or Dmitri returned. Before she froze to death. Without thinking overmuch about what she was doing, she rotated the knife and began to saw through a layer of the rope, hoping she wouldn’t slit her wrist and bleed to death before she was found.