An Unsuitable Duchess (27 page)

As he turned towards the French doors leading to the terrace he stumbled at the sight of Katrina’s familiar silhouette in the moonlight.

He recalled standing with her on the Russian Ambassador’s terrace the night his life had changed. No woman had ever affected him the way she did. And deep down he knew no one else ever would. Would there come a day when he stopped caring about her?
Caring?
It was much more than that. It was more than anything he had ever felt for anyone.

Julian gripped the back of a nearby chair. Suddenly it all made sense. He loved her—he had from the moment he’d spoken with her under the stars. That was why he had such a burning need for her. That was why no other woman could compare to her—and that was why, now they were apart, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and never let her go.

The terrace appeared to be deserted except for her lovely form. The need to know if she felt the same was consuming.

But before he could take another step towards the door, a man dressed in a black domino costume with a half mask and tricorn hat approached Katrina’s side. Julian would wager one hundred pounds it was Armstrong. His heart sank. It was too late.

His vision clouded over with images of Armstrong dancing with her at the Whitfields’ ball. It cleared just in time for him to see the man covering Katrina’s nose with something white, shortly before her body fell limply into the man’s arms.

Julian’s brow furrowed. Katrina never swooned.

Before he was able to react, the man had hoisted her into his arms and carried her off into the darkened garden.

What the bloody hell was going on?

Julian ran for the French doors, raced down the terrace steps and through the garden. Just as he charged through the gate onto South Bruton Mews a carriage pulled away. Julian was certain Katrina was inside it. His almost dead heart now pounded furiously in his chest. He ran after it, but wasn’t fast enough, and the carriage made its way over the cobblestones towards Bruton Street.

Julian slammed his fist into the garden wall, not even feeling the pain. There
had
to be a way to reach them.

Finchley House was one of only two houses on Grafton Street whose gardens backed directly onto the mews. All the other houses had stables separating the mews from their gardens. Julian scanned the long narrow lane, searching desperately for a horse. What he found was Hart’s driver, sitting idly on his bench in an unmarked carriage a few doors down. Thank God his friend was always prepared for a hasty departure.

Julian whistled for Jonas just as Hart ran up beside him.

‘I saw you hurry past. What has happened?’

‘Someone has taken Katrina. I’m taking your carriage.’ Julian climbed onto the driver’s box, next to Jonas, and looked down at Hart. ‘Find Miss Forrester and let her know. You both must keep this a secret. Watch for my return.’

Hart nodded, and stepped back as Julian and Jonas sped away.

The carriage rocked as it travelled over the bumpy cobblestones. There was a bend in the lane ahead. Hopefully the other carriage would be visible once they had made the turn.

‘There was a carriage here just now, Jonas. Did you see it?’

‘Aye, Your Grace. The one with the unmatched pair?’

‘That’s the one. We need to follow it.’

Jonas nodded as if chasing down another carriage was a common occurrence and then called out to the horses. ‘Come on, boys, on with you.’

The carriage picked up speed.

‘We won’t know which way they went once they reached Bruton Street,’ he pointed out to Julian over the sound of turning wheels and clattering hoofbeats.

‘I’m aware of that. Let us pray they are not that far ahead of us and we see them.’

Julian had no idea what he would do if they did not. He clenched his right hand into a fist.

Thankfully when they reached the end of the mews, they spotted the driver’s green coat and the mismatched pair of horses as they turned right onto New Bond Street. Julian knew that once they were away from the street lights of Mayfair it would be harder to track them.

‘Whatever you do, do not lose sight of them,’ he ground out.

They followed the carriage out of Mayfair towards Cheapside. He thought of trying to overtake it, but was afraid it might cause an accident and Katrina might not survive. He would follow this carriage to the far corners of the land to get her back, and when he did he was going to beat Armstrong senseless.

If it
was
Armstrong, could it be possible that he was taking her to Gretna Green? Was he that desperate? Certainly by the way he had rendered her unconscious, this elopement was not by choice.

If they were headed there they would have to change horses in two hours. Julian needed to force himself to remain calm until then. He would do Katrina no good if he could not think clearly. In two hours he would have her back. And Armstrong would regret the day he had planned this.

When Jonas lost sight of the carriage near St. Paul’s it was nearly impossible for Julian not to lash out at the coachman. They could not have disappeared. They had to be somewhere close by.

He gripped the rail in front of him until his knuckles were white.
Dear God, please let me find her.

The streets in this part of London were not very familiar to him. Thank God Jonas appeared to know his way around. After circling the streets for what felt like hours, but had probably been less than fifteen minutes, they spotted the carriage parked on Newgate Street. He had Jonas stop far enough back that their presence would not be easily noticed.

Looking closely at his surroundings, Julian realised he knew this place. The carriage was parked in front of the Crypt of St Martin’s le Grand. He, like other people in London, had ventured out here to inspect the crypt when it had been uncovered not long ago.

The implication of where they were made his palms sweat and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This was not a forced elopement. What was Armstrong up to?

Before Julian had a chance to determine the best way to approach the situation the cloaked figure hurried out of the crypt empty-handed, and re-entered the carriage. Julian’s blood ran cold. His gut told him Katrina was in the crypt.

As the carriage pulled away Jonas spoke up. ‘Shall I follow it?’

He shook his head. He knew where to find Armstrong—and he
would
find him. But first he needed to reach Katrina. He only prayed he wasn’t too late.

Chapter Twenty-Four

K
atrina’s head felt as if it was being squeezed between two bricks. She tried opening her eyes and found her lids exceedingly heavy. Raising her chin from her chest was also proving difficult. The air had the earthy scent of a root cellar, and the smell made her nose twitch. She should leave this place. If only she wasn’t too tired to move from this chair.

‘Oh, you’re waking up,’ a female voice drawled. ‘That should make this a bit more interesting. I suppose the ropes were necessary, after all.’

That velvety voice was familiar, but Katrina couldn’t recall who it belonged to. With much effort she forced herself to blink, and when her vision cleared Lady Wentworth slowly came into view a few feet in front of her. She was wearing a dark cape over a jonquil gown.

Katrina had no recollection of leaving the Finchleys’ with this woman. In fact she couldn’t even remember leaving the ball at all.

Lady Wentworth cocked her head, and Katrina felt like a butterfly pinned in a case.

‘I’ve tried,’ the woman mused, ‘but I still cannot fathom what he finds attractive about you.’

Katrina tried to place where in Finchley House they might be. This was not any of the beautifully decorated rooms she had seen. The floor and walls were made of crumbling stone and dirt. Aside from the chair she sat on, the only other furniture was a little table near Lady Wentworth. There were items on it, but she couldn’t make out what they were in the shadows. No windows were evident, and the only light came from a lantern on the floor.

Not far away was a deep stone box, large enough to house most of Katrina’s gowns. She tipped her head back and squinted at the arched vaulted ceiling divided by stone pillars.

Katrina swallowed hard. It did little to relieve the scraping at the back of her throat. ‘Where are we?’

‘In a crypt. A very convenient choice on my part.’

A cold chill ran up her spine. Why couldn’t she remember coming here? Her chest tightened as her muddled head started to clear, and she tried to suppress the panic that was taking hold. Why, of all places, were they in a crypt? Dead people belonged in crypts. She needed to leave.

Her arms felt numb. When she tried to lift them up she couldn’t, and realised her hands were tied behind her back. She tugged on the rope, but it wouldn’t budge. When she tried to raise her body, she saw her ankles were tied to the spindly chair.

‘You have tied me up?’ Katrina let out an incredulous breath. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘My associate did it before he left. It seemed prudent at the time.’ There was an odd, satisfied glint in Lady Wentworth’s eyes. ‘The ropes are very secure. Struggling will not help. Your waking has forced me to adjust my plan,’ she said, picking up a small bottle from the table, ‘but rest assured you won’t be leaving. The man I hired will make certain of that.’

She glanced pointedly at the large stone box in the centre of the room and Katrina realised it was a tomb.

Muscles and veins strained against Katrina’s skin as she pushed with all her might to break the ropes that bound her. Warm rivulets trailed down her hands but she barely felt the pain.

* * *

Julian had followed the darkened steps that led down into the Crypt at St Martin’s le Grand, holding the carriage lamp Jonas had handed him. The rapid pounding of his heart echoed in his ears as he navigated the underground stone passageways. Rounding the second corner, he spied the faint glow of light far up ahead and hoped it meant he had found Katrina.

Not knowing what or who he would be facing, he turned down the flame in the lantern. He crept slowly along, trying for the hundredth time to imagine why someone would take Katrina. As he made his way closer to the entrance of a chamber he could hear the sound of muffled voices and listened closely for hers. When he heard it, he almost stumbled to his knees in relief.
She was alive
.

He placed the lantern down outside the entrance, and when he looked inside was dumbstruck to see Katrina with Helena. None of this made any sense.

The domino wasn’t Armstrong?

‘What the bloody hell is going on?’ he bellowed, advancing into the earthen chamber and avoiding the stone coffin in the centre.

Both women let out a gasp. Helena jumped and something fell from her hand, shattering on the floor. She backed away, moving closer to the wall.

Katrina was sitting in a chair about twenty feet to his left. Her eyes were closed, probably out of relief. When she opened them she glared at him.

‘You have horrid taste in women!’ she yelled at him. ‘That’s what is going on. Now untie my hands and feet so I can beat her to a pulp!’

He took a step towards Katrina, uncertain how he would handle her when she was this furious.

‘Stay where you are,’ Helena ordered.

She was aiming a pistol at his head and looking him directly in the eye. The sound of her rapid breathing could be heard across the chamber.

This could not be happening.

He was about to extend his hand and demand she give him the gun when he noticed the dead calm in her eyes. An unsettling shiver ran up his spine and he recalled her violent temper when he had ended their affair. He had seen how unpredictable she could be. The question was, would she use that gun?

He glanced over at Katrina, who sat frozen in place. It almost looked as if she had stopped breathing. Thank heavens she had stopped talking. Her eyes darted to his and he gave her a restrained nod. Her eyes seemed to say she was willing to stay quiet and allow him to determine how best to disarm Helena.

Now, if only he knew what the best way was...

She liked expensive things—he would start there. He looked back at the woman who had a gun pointed at his head.

‘What is it you want, Helena?’ he asked, hesitant even to move his hands.

She laughed and shifted on her feet—the gun didn’t waver. ‘
Now
you ask...now that I have your life in my hands. That is rich,’ she spat. ‘I want the life I was destined to have. The life I deserve to have.’

‘No one is saying you cannot have it.’

She shook her head. ‘I cannot have it now. I might have before you arrived, but not now.’

‘Why did you do this? Why did you take Miss Vandenberg?’

‘You chose an American over me,’ she ground out. ‘An
American
!’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘It was bad enough when I thought you were going to listen to that harpy of a mother of yours and marry Morley’s brat. But then the
ton
would have assumed you had finally given in to your mother’s pestering. That chit ranks higher than me. It would not be seen as an insult to my person. But this...’ she waved the pistol towards Katrina ‘...this is an
American
.’ The final statement was said through her clenched teeth.

He needed to direct her attention away from Katrina. He took a step closer to Helena. The pistol was back, pointing at his head.

‘Don’t. Move.’ She cocked it. ‘No one of worth will want me if they think an American is above me. You don’t understand. You’re a
man
! You live in your lofty world, with all your money and power. You are free to choose the life you want. You. Have.
Everything!
’

At the moment it felt as if he had nothing. He raised his hands in an attempt to steady her.

‘You have built a fine life for yourself since Wentworth’s death.’

‘I have
nothing
! I have taken to selling my possessions to pay off my debts. The money is gone and there is no way for me to get more unless I marry well.’