Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (11 page)

* * *

K
athryn heard
footsteps in the hall. She turned in time to see her new husband pause in the doorway with an inscrutable expression. His piercing gray gaze pinned her, daring her to look away, and his dark curls, thrown about in their normal disarray, begged to have her fingers tangled in them.

“Ainsley,” she greeted.

“Ladies,” he said with a slight bow as he stepped into the room. “I trust you both had an enjoyable morning together.”

He took a seat beside Kathryn, his lean, powerful leg brushing against hers.

“Very much so. Thank you,” Kathryn said, catching an unmistakable whiff of liquor and smoke. That combined with the male scent, which was so very much him,
sent whorls of heat curling inside her.

“I only hope I shall not be off to debtor’s prison too soon. Then again,”—he turned to Lady Grenville with lifted brows—“we may be able to convince your mother we eloped for love instead of scandal, and she may stop urging you to spend all of my fortune.”

“Oh, nonsense! I would argue the point, but I must return home.”

“So soon?” His eyes darted from mother to daughter. “You must be quite efficient to have a complete wardrobe purchased in only one morning.”

Lady Grenville’s smile widened. “Don’t you worry. We spent a great deal of your money, Ainsley. Your wife will be dressed like a queen. I promise.”

“Yes, I am sure she will,” he muttered.

Lady Grenville turned to Kathryn. “I do hope to see you the moment you return from the country. It is still the height of the season, you know.”

The country? So soon?
She hadn’t expected to be shipped off to a remote estate in the sticks just yet. She hadn’t even had a chance to change his mind… or try, at any rate. At least if he were coming with her, she would have an opportunity. However, there was precious little chance of that happening.

“Mother,” Kathryn said.

Lady Grenville ignored her, rising from her chair and kissing Kathryn’s cheek.

“Of course,” Ainsley said. “Thank you, Lady Grenville.”

Kathryn watched as her mother and only support disappeared into the hall. Then she turned to Ainsley.

“Ainsley.”

“Ainsley,” he echoed. He turned his attention to her, giving her the distinct feeling of a mouse who had just caught the attention of a panther, and that panther was annoyed. “I suppose you ought to call me Grey now.”

Did that
bother
him? Kathryn’s brow knit for a moment, and then she shook her head. There was no point in pondering the quirks of an unreasonable man.

“Why am I leaving London so soon? I had hoped I might settle in my new home first, perhaps at least wait until my wardrobe arrives.”

“I had hoped you would enjoy a nice country retreat.”

Kathryn lifted her chin. “And
I
had hoped to stay and quell the rumors.”

He shrugged. “Rumors die on their own. It’s not unheard of to leave on holiday after a wedding. Soon, we shall be back, and we can go anywhere you wish: Italy, Greece, the Holy Land. I hear Nova Scotia is rather lovely if you have a mind to wait until spring. If you have not already, you have my permission to send me to the poor house planning a honeymoon.”

Had she heard correctly?

“
We?
” she questioned. “You are coming, as well?”

He eyed her as though she had said something utterly outrageous. “Kathryn, there are innocent, unsuspecting country folk there who attend church and follow rules. To send you alone would cause upheaval, revolt, mobs, at the very least.”

Kathryn’s eyes widened, staring up at him speechlessly. Then Grey’s mouth twitched before he broke out into a grin. Kathryn tried to look angry, but his grin was contagious.

“We leave immediately,” he said, glancing at his pocket watch. “Two hours ought to be sufficient enough time to gather the life’s worth of income in clothes and fripperies you have purchased today since I assume most of it is yet to be made.”

Kathryn grinned up at him. “Plenty.”

T
hey left just
after six o’clock that evening. It was rather late to travel, but Grey was insistent, and Kathryn was simply happy not to be going alone.

The journey would take the rest of the day and most of the next in Grey’s carriage, which meant they had to stay at an inn. They passed by two respectable-looking establishments before settling on a scruffy three-story building at the edge of Reading. It was well past nightfall when Kathryn argued to stop at the first inn, but the ominously final refusal had her sitting quietly until the carriage rumbled to a halt.

It must have been near midnight. Her rump was numb and her back so painfully stiff that even the precariously leaning structure Grey was escorting her into was a welcome respite. All she wanted was a good meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed. What she got was the incredibly drafty and rowdy Sleepy Deer Inn. The name was cruelly misleading. Restless Antelope would have suited it better.

Two separate rooms were requested, a courtesy she appreciated since she had always dreamed of giving her innocence to a man she loved and who loved her with sweet and unconditional love and acceptance. Grey was obviously not that man. Moreover, the Sleepy Deer Inn was not what she wanted to come to mind when recalling making love for the first time.

Still, the arrangement was bittersweet. As soon as he tossed the coins to the innkeeper, whispers began circulating around the room.

She caught the lascivious invitations from the barely-clad barmaids as Grey escorted her toward the stairs. Their breasts practically spilled out from the paltry fabric restraining them, and ankles along with more than half of their calves were brazenly set on display.

When they reached her room, he turned the key in the lock and swung the door open, his eyes sweeping the darkness before he stepped in, as if he expected the small space already to be occupied.

“How comfortable,” Kathryn lied as she followed him inside, swallowing hard when he locked the door behind them and fixed a rickety wooden chair under the knob.

“Are you afraid I shall run away?” she asked.

He turned to her with a quizzical expression, his angular features somewhat softened by the candlelight.

“Do you think all this is necessary?” she reiterated, gesturing to the door.

He set the candle on a small side table. “Those are rough characters downstairs capable of all manner of mischief. Is it a chance you are willing to take?”

“Oh, yes, those barmaids looked vicious,” she mocked. “They seemed ready to attack you at any moment. We are lucky to have made it to our rooms in one piece.”

A silken, black tuft of hair had fallen over his forehead with several other short locks attempting to curl out every which way, and a full day’s worth of growth shadowed his jaw to merge with his trim sideburns. He must have been up with the sun this morning to get his affairs in order, but his eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, were still surprisingly alert.

She raised a brow, ignoring what his rugged appearance was stirring inside her.

Piercing gray drilled into her from under half-closed lids, twisting her stomach into tiny knots. Immediately, she regretted pushing the matter. She knew precisely the men he was referring to, and he was right to be cautious. Nevertheless, something primal had burned inside her when she had seen those women offering themselves to Grey, something that apparently had yet to cool down.

“Those barmaids each have a double-edged knife nine inches long hidden in their garters.” His gaze travelled over her lazily, and heat followed. “I don’t suppose you carry the same?”

“Of course not.” She knew she was blushing like a schoolgirl. Hopefully, he would attribute her hue to her temper and not the strange twisting thing he did to her insides when he looked at her too closely.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “No,” he muttered. “I thought not. Unless you want to risk finding a blade in your gut or you fancy a late night ravishment, I recommend keeping the door as it is.”

At that, the color drained. Shivers rippled down her spine, and the room seemed to shrink and expand. She shook her head and rubbed her arms against the chill stealing over her. The memory came of the drunk dragging up her skirts, squeezing the life out of her, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on: terror and flashes of shadows, narrow alleyways, and incredible pain—things she couldn’t recognize, things that did not make sense.

Instantly, he was at the fireplace, stoking the embers and adding logs. Soon, flames filled the small, brick alcove, and heat began radiating into the room. Then piercing gray eyes quickly flicked over her.

“I suppose you will want to change out of your travelling clothes.”

“Naturally,” she answered, searching the room for a folding screen she could undress behind. She found none. Breathing suddenly became quite difficult.

He cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him.

“Do you… ah… need any assistance?”

“Pardon?” Her heart tripled its pace.

He eyed her gown. “I could—” His voice stopped abruptly, and he shook his head. “I am sure a maid could be sent up if you like.”

Kathryn raised a brow. “If you mean one of those barmaids armed with knives, I am sure you would appreciate their services much more than I.”

“I do not need out of a dress,” he replied, raising his arms out to his sides for emphasis. “I was told they do not compliment my figure.”

Her eyes narrowed. She was determined not to laugh when she was supposed to be angry with him for refusing her a maid, but the thought of him in a dress was making it difficult.

He sighed. “In other words, they make me look plump,” he explained, almost self-consciously. “From behind.”

Her mouth twitched, and her shoulders shook, but she would not give in.

“You should have allowed my maid to accompany me. She was willing, and Mother graciously offered to give her up.”

“But, my lovely,” he implored with a teasing light in his eyes, “it’s our honeymoon.”

“It’s normal for a maid to come along, even on a honeymoon,” she argued, holding her ground with a raised brow.

“’Tis not very romantic, though,” he said with a crooked smile that melted her insides. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced with a distant politeness. “You must be exhausted, and here I am teasing you. I shall have a servant sent up to assist you immediately.”

Kathryn watched him leave through the connecting door with as much confusion and irritation as she had expected since becoming Lady Ainsley. Knowing this, she spent no more than ten seconds wondering what the blazes was going on under that disorderly mop of hair.

She ignored the far too insistent knock ten minutes later, presumably the servant Grey had sent. Kathryn would not want one of those women standing behind her with a knife unfastening her travelling dress. Instead, she managed, though barely, to wriggle out of her gown and into a night rail, dreading morning when she would have to wriggle back into a travelling dress.

The bed was warm under the heavy blankets by the time she was able to snuggle underneath them. The fire had dulled to a low roar, and exhaustion, along with the comfort of a mattress, was almost lulling her into a sleep comparable to the dead.

Unfortunately for her, fate wasn’t near kind enough to give her such relief. Low feminine giggles drifted down the hall, and doors opened and closed. She strained to listen, but it was impossible to distinguish which rooms the voices were disappearing into. The thought of Ainsley entertaining any of the women downstairs hurt both her pride and something else she would rather not examine. Every sound echoed, leaving her wondering if it came from his room or someone else’s. Evidently, there were several taking advantage of the goods being offered downstairs, none of whom were bothered with discretion. Suddenly, falling asleep became a bit more of a challenge.

Morning came far too soon for Kathryn, who only managed to work in a few hours of sleep. She somehow contorted herself into a gown without any unwanted help, but the endeavor cost her breakfast and coffee.

She shuffled downstairs to find Grey pacing alongside the tavern’s oversized tables and their two manservants standing by the readied carriage outside. If she had taken any longer, she might have either been left or shoved into the carriage with whatever bit of clothing she was able to get herself into.

Kathryn forced herself back into the empty carriage, and Grey mounted to ride alongside. The devilish-looking beast snorted and beat the ground with its hooves, as anxious for the ride as its master.

Let them be. They had probably slept like rocks all night. Now it was her turn.

The cold early morning had only the promise of sun on the distant horizon as the well-sprung carriage rumbled smoothly along, making it easy for Kathryn to begin to nod off to sleep.

She would have been out within minutes had the side of the carriage not been struck by lightning or, more accurately, as she realized when her eyes flew open, if a large boot had not banged against the carriage.

She glared at the muscular thigh and riding boot with palpable fury.

Another bang had her grudgingly opening the window, only to have a hand shoved through it, proffering a mouth-watering pastry wrapped in a handkerchief.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Grey’s voice rumbled from atop the beast. “There’s water in the compartment under the seat.”

She snatched up the pastry, making as little contact as possible with the large hand in the snug riding glove. Then she closed the window with a decided thud, nearly catching his hand in it. It was his fault she was hungry, and she had not forgotten the fact.

With the pastry eaten and washed down with the water she had found under the seat, Kathryn was soon in a fitful sleep. When she did wake later that afternoon, she felt worlds better, though she still felt ready for a nice, warm bed.

Grey, on the other hand, looked far from ready to drop into the coma Kathryn was still longing for. Although they had been travelling all morning, his mount still seemed filled with pent-up energy as he pulled at the reins and beat the ground. Grey was no less irritable. He moved back and forth toward the carriage then back up the road or to the tree line, scowling the entire time. He seemed to be restless, alert to everything, and angry with everyone.

The sun had just set when they finally arrived at Roseleaf, a modest cottage in the wood near Seaton. As soon as she set eyes on the roses lining the white fence with the stone walkways and wooden shutters with white and yellow flowers in the window boxes, she was enchanted. It was nothing like she would have expected from the marquess.

When they stepped inside, Grey paused, staring blankly at the flowered walls and frilly curtains.

“It belongs to a friend,” he said in explanation.

He mumbled something offensive sounding under his breath as he walked past the floral wallpaper in the hall and again when Kathryn mentioned the parlor was done up in top fashion. After that, she decided to keep her praises to herself.

Whoever lived here had a brilliant sense of fashion and made admirable use of the small spaces. Several bits and pieces of a large house were strategically placed without wasting space on pointless rooms. A small piano was placed in the corner of one room with two chairs and a settee in the middle, a sideboard, a chess table with two chairs, and a fireplace, all lit with huge windows to let in the morning sun. That room would serve for almost all entertaining. There was also a small study combined with a library, a sunroom, and a dining room. The study was more masculine yet still incredibly tasteful. There were only four bedrooms in the cottage, including the servants’ quarters, two upstairs and two downstairs. A separate building near the stables had been built a few years ago that served to house the coachman and footman.

When Kathryn finally settled into her bedchamber, she let out an audible sigh of relief, sinking into a light blue floral chair by the fireplace. She needed rest.

As soon as Grey had deposited her in her room, he had disappeared, mentioning something about needing to inspect the stables and some other building.

She had to admire his stamina, although he was beginning to seem a bit paranoid. If she had ridden that beast all day long, she would not be marching out to the stables to expend unnecessary energy. That was what the coachman and footman were for. She would be lying in bed, sleeping from now until kingdom come, which was precisely what she intended to do. A hot bath, however, would be worth waiting up for.

It wasn’t long before the steaming buckets of water were filling the bath, and the dirt and grime were being soaked off her sore body, along with any conscious thought. She might have thought herself in some corner of heaven had a knocking not sounded at the door before it opened.

The older woman who served as housekeeper was sweet-tempered and eager to please, but not someone Kathryn cared to see right at this moment. In fact, if she were interrupted from rest and relaxation once more, she might just throw the nearest object at the first head she saw. Poor Mrs. Crosby might end up with a knot on her brain locker.

“I shall ring if I need you, Mrs. Crosby. Thank you,” she managed drowsily.

Seconds later, she heard the door close with all the delicacy of a dockworker. Things were certainly different in the country.