Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (24 page)

At the threshold, she shut her eyes, mustering every ounce of courage and self-discipline she could. She would not be cowed by this blackguard. He might be a sickening excuse for a man, but he would not risk death by murdering her at his own house, especially since Kathryn couldn’t possibly be of any use to him now. Moreover, she was unlikely to cause him any trouble from Italy.

The door opened, and she was shown into the parlor by a reluctant servant. It seemed even the most disreputable gentlemen’s servants were hesitant to allow her entrance. Enchanting.

“Lady Ainsley.” Bexley smiled genuinely as he entered the parlor clad in a fine, blue silk coat and red embroidered waistcoat. He captured Kathryn’s hand and brought it to his lips on a bow. “What a delightful surprise. Do you have something for me, or is this simply a pleasure call?”

If the man weren’t such a devil, he would be handsome. Perhaps even charming. It was too bad so many women found out too late what kind of man he really was.

“I am leaving England, and I wanted to speak with you before I left.”

She watched as some of the light left his eyes.

“Oh, dear. Nothing serious, I hope,” he said as he straightened and seated himself on a settee across from Kathryn.

So, it was a game he wanted. She had no doubt he knew why she was leaving. She was only curious as to why he was being so coy about it.

She took a sip of the tea that had been brought out just moments before he walked in and savored the sheer bliss of it. She didn’t have very much of her own money to take with her, and quality tea would likely be one of the first sacrifices.

“No, I thought Italy might be better for my health.” She smiled, wondering if he would catch her sarcasm. It seemed not.

“Hm. Is your husband accompanying you?” He absently stirred his tea, trying to seem disinterested yet failing miserably.

“No, he is not.” She hated how disappointed she sounded.

“I see,” he murmured. His brow furrowed, but there was a grim smile playing at his mouth as he studied his tea.

She cleared her throat and continued with renewed vigor. “I want your assurance my mother is safe since I have been properly punished for not cooperating.”

“Hm?” That brought his attention back to her. “Ah. Yes, I did hear something rather upsetting. Does that have anything to do with your sudden decision to travel?”

Memories ravaged her mind, unbidden, of the night in the Garson’s garden: the crushing pressure around her, the taste of alcohol and cheroot, his derisive laugh, and her cut lip from his kiss. Panic began to swell with each image.

She hated herself for it as she set the teacup down, and it rattled against the saucer. She glanced up to catch a curious look from Bexley.

“Some,” she replied curtly. “Now I really must be going. I only wanted to ensure the safety of my mother.”
And then leave forever so that I can no longer hurt anyone, and no one can hurt me,
she added silently.

He answered with another smile, genuine yet no less unsettling.

“Of course, my lady. No harm will come to her from me. I assure you,” he replied lightly as she stood.

“Good day, Lord Bexley.” Damn and blast. Her voice was trembling, too.

“One moment, Kathryn.” Bexley stood with her, mere inches away. “I would like to extend my services to you in these difficult times.” He lightly took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Italy is so far from home. I am sure, if you would rather stay in England, we could work something out.”

“No, thank you.” The words practically flew out of her mouth when she realized what he was offering was a carte blanche.

Bile filled her mouth, and she twisted away from him, but he still had her hand, and his grip tightened.

“Now, Kathryn, you haven’t really given me a chance,” he said with a certain coolness that sped Kathryn’s heart to a frantic pace. “You have new opportunities which were unavailable to you before.”

“Let go of me!” she cried out as his fingers latched tightly onto one of her arms.

“You can get your revenge at him for leaving you to scandal.” He smiled widely in anticipation. “He will wriggle like a worm on a hook when he learns of our little arrangement.” He lowered his head to take her mouth, but she dodged to the side.

“No!” she screamed, kicking and pushing to get away.

Then both of his hands were on her, pulling her into him. Panic tightened her chest, making it impossible to take a breath. The feel of him, his voice, the fear—it brought every memory to life in vivid color.

“Kathryn?” Grey’s voice filled the parlor.

Kathryn twisted awkwardly for a view of the doorway to be certain she wasn’t imagining her hero.

She had barely caught a glimpse when Bexley began shuffling toward the far wall, dragging Kathryn with him, her arm twisted behind her back.

* * *

G
rey drew
his brows together and shook his head at Kathryn, masking the panic rushing through his brain. “I should have known you would pull one last stunt. You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

Shock was immediately replaced by irritation and displayed openly across Kathryn’s lovely face.

“You could not possibly be here to rescue me since, from your perspective, it’s obvious I am having a dashed tryst. So why don’t you wait in the hall?”

Grey pointed his thumb toward the door behind him. “Would you rather I leave, or do you have further scathing remarks waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting?”

Kathryn’s eyes narrowed on him, or was that a wince? Bexley had her arm at a damnable angle behind her back.

“I suppose it must be difficult to rake me over the coals with your arm about to snap in two.” Grey eyed Bexley coolly. “Why don’t you let go of my wife so I can have the tongue-lashing I seem to so richly deserve?”

Bexley laughed, shaking his head. “So she can run off to Italy before I have had the chance to make her my mistress? Absolutely not!”

“Italy?” Grey’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to call Bexley a bald-faced liar, but the words caught in his throat with one look at Kathryn. She was dressed for travel, extensive travel. “Without saying good-bye?”

Grey was sure the pain in his chest was clearly written all over his face, but he didn’t care. He was through hiding from her. He couldn’t keep her out, anyway. She had wheedled her way inside, past all his defenses, and brought him back to life. Now she was running away, leaving a giant hole.

Her big, blue eyes suddenly seemed bigger and bluer, twisting his chest into even more painful knots.

She couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t let her.

He stepped forward.

“Stay where you are!” Bexley jerked, and another short cry escaped from Kathryn.

Bexley looked like a caged animal with his wild eyes and jerky movements. The man was dangerous.

Grey could easily overtake him, but at what cost? By the time he crossed the room, Kathryn’s arm could well be broken.

“Hurt her, and I shall finish you, Bexley. Very unpleasantly,” Grey warned. “Let her go.”

“You are not in a position to make threats, Ainsley,” Bexley sneered. “Even if you were, you are not capable of carrying them out.”

“You have no idea what I am capable of,” Grey growled.

Nick cleared his throat. “It might not be a bad idea to do as he says, Bexley, old chap. The man isn’t inclined to idle threats.”

Bexley blindly reached for a nearby occasional table and stuck his hand in one of the drawers. When he pulled it out, he was holding a pistol. He smiled as he pointed it straight at Grey’s chest.

Grey’s stomach tightened as his hands fisted at his sides. He couldn’t die yet, not without telling Kathryn he loved her.

“You had better be careful where you point that thing, Bexley,” Nick pointed out with a patronizing drawl. “
Bullets
come out that end.”

“I know very well what the damned thing can do!” Bexley scowled at Grey. “I have dreamt of this opportunity, Ainsley. For years, I watched as whatever you wanted landed right in your lap. My own father doted on you.”

“It evened out. I promise you,” Grey returned icily.

“I doubt it,” Bexley seethed. “Nevertheless, after all these years of competing against
you,
I shan’t have to anymore.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

Grey studied Bexley through narrowed eyes. He had to know what Bexley was going to do before he did it, but the more insane people were, the more difficult that became.

“I mean to eliminate the competition, my dear marquess,” Bexley answered, waving the pistol around.

Both Grey and Nick recoiled a fraction.

“No!” Kathryn struggled, but with Bexley’s hold on her, she could do little more than wriggle.

Bexley turned his mocking smile down to Kathryn. “Don’t tell me you care for the libertine! Is that why you refused to help me? At the peril of your mother and your own reputation? You little fool.”

Kathryn turned her face to the floor, and Bexley laughed. Grey was still replaying those words over in his mind.

She had sacrificed her mother’s safety and her own way of life to save him?

That was the most absurd thing he had ever heard, and the most wonderful. Kathryn had
cared
for him, but it was too late. She most definitely hated him now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That hardly matters now.” Bexley closed one eye, aiming the pistol at Grey.

“No, don’t!” Kathryn reached for the gun with her free hand.

Bexley’s smirk faded to a look of disgust as he shoved Kathryn away. “You do not deserve affection, Ainsley. You never did,” he snarled, cocking the pistol.

Grey didn’t bat an eyelash as he stared down the barrel twenty feet ahead of him. Surely, Bexley couldn’t be that good of a shot. The man’s hand shook something awful. Perhaps he might get an arm or even a shoulder at this range if he were lucky. There was only a small chance he would get a fatal shot off. Still, there was a chance, and the last thing Kathryn needed was someone else shot and killed in front of her.

“Kathryn, you need to leave,” Grey ordered softly.

“Absolutely not!” she protested.

“Kathryn,” Grey said patiently with a slight tremble. “For once in your life, listen to me.”

For the first time in a long time, he had no desire to die, but if he did die, he could not allow her to witness it.

“No!” Kathryn spat out defiantly, stepping out into the middle of the room between the two adversaries.

Grey blanched of all color as he stared at her, crippled with fear before torrid fury took over.

“Kathryn, what the bloody hell do you think you are doing?”

Kathryn frowned at him as if she was the one who ought to be angry. Then she turned to face Bexley, who looked more than a little annoyed.

The voice of reason piped up from behind Grey.

“Kathryn, you really should not see this,” Nick advised.

“I am not leaving.” Her simple, quiet refusal only seemed to unnerve Bexley, who was still aiming straight at Grey’s heart, the heart Kathryn was standing in front of.

“You don’t want me to waste my bullet on you, now, do you?” Bexley spat out as his hand flexed over the gun anxiously. “Move aside!” Bexley stomped his foot to emphasize his point, and a small explosion rent the air.

Kathryn recoiled yet stood her ground as a red blotch appeared and expanded on her damask traveling gown.

Grey felt the blood drain from his face, and his vision blurred. The entire event passed in slow motion, an agonizing scene where Grey was paralyzed, unable to prevent any of it. Unable to move her out of the way in time to take the bullet meant for him. Unable to warn her that Bexley was being careless and uneasy, that he would pull the trigger in a fraction of a second.

His body began responding just in time to lunge forward and catch her as she fell before slowly sinking to his knees. She was unconscious, limp in his arms. Blood soaked through her dress, covering them both in crimson.

“No, no, no, no. Please don’t die, Kate.” He barely recognized his own voice.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he forced his hand to steady at her neck. When he found the pulse, he let out a ragged breath. It was weak, but it was there.

Shakily, he stripped off his cravat and pressed it to her shoulder to staunch the bleeding.

The bullet had gone straight through and stuck in the wall left of where Grey had been standing. Thanks to Bexley’s shite skills with a pistol, Kathryn might survive. For now, she was unconscious in Grey’s arms, minus a great deal of blood.

Grey tightened his arms around her, pain seizing his chest.

“Please don’t die. I love… I love you,” he choked, his eyes burning behind their lids.

She couldn’t hear him. He was too late.

It didn’t take long after the shot for Nick to bind Bexley’s hands with a drape cord. The feat wasn’t a difficult one. The man said not one word, staring wide-eyed at Kathryn until he was shoved out of the room.

By the time Bexley was secured inside one of his own heavily guarded carriages and headed to Whitehall, a doctor had come and pried Kathryn from Grey’s arms. That feat was much more challenging.