Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (15 page)

Even covered in horrific scars, he was perfect, a vision of virile masculinity. Everything from his broad shoulders, hard muscles, tapered waistline, and powerful arms emanated strength.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked tightly.

“Second thoughts?” She reached out to trace the stretch of white, jagged skin on his chest. “I should ask you that question. Even scarred as you are, you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

She felt him stiffen a moment. Then he captured her hand from his chest. He deliberately kissed each finger, her palm, knuckles, and wrist before his eyes met hers again. They were so different from the chips of ice she knew that she hardly recognized them. They burned.

He dragged her hard against him and kissed her thoroughly. She sighed against his mouth, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers. By the time he pulled away, Kathryn was breathless and weak, and his chest was rising and falling as laboriously as hers.

“Now,” he said shakily, “there’s no use trying to distract me with flattery. It won’t work a second time.”

One corner of his mouth curled up in a wicked smile as he pulled at the simple bow keeping her night rail secured. His fingers brushed along the neckline, pushing the fabric off her shoulders and down farther and farther until it hung precariously from her breasts.

She sucked in a breath, knowing it could fall at any moment and she would be naked, with nothing to hide her from him.

The backs of his fingers caressed her arms in slow strokes as he placed gentle kisses along her shoulders and across her chest, inching closer to the hanging fabric with every agonizingly light touch of his lips. When he reached the thin covering, he let it slip, and it fell with a whisper to the floor. Kathryn gasped at the sensation of cold air against her skin, forcing herself to keep still as he slowly took in every inch of her.

“Mercy,” he breathed.

He lightly kissed a trail between her breasts as he sank to his knees, gripping her hips with both hands. She watched, transfixed, as his open mouth hovered over a puckered nipple, her mouth dry with anticipation. His hot breath beat a steady rhythm against her breast before his tongue finally moved, leaving a wet sheen on one dusky peak.

Reflexively, she grabbed his hair as tiny shivers radiated from her breast. She pressed her legs together in an attempt to relieve the throbbing ache between her thighs, but when his tongue darted out again, it only grew hotter and more insistent.

Just when she thought she might go mad with his teasing, he rapidly flicked his tongue against the sensitive skin. Kathryn whimpered as molten heat pooled between her legs.

“Grey,” she cried, begging for
something
: relief, a finale, death, anything.

He answered her plea, taking one breast into the heat of his mouth and the other in his hand. He nipped and sucked, alternately rolling the other nipple between his fingers and massaging her breast. Kathryn moaned, unable to utter a single, intelligible sound.

He smiled as he slid his other hand down from the swell of her hip to the spot between her thighs and that intense ache. Her hands tightened on his hair as he rubbed back and forth, moving closer to the little knot throbbing at her core. She cried out when he reached it, shocked by the explosion of pleasure. His fingers slid into a pool of liquid fire, gliding over that sensitive knot in languid, circular strokes.

“God, Kathryn,” he murmured into her breast. “You are so wet.”

He moved then, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her belly to the dark curls at her core. She gasped at the feel of his mouth
there,
kissing her
there.

He made love to her with his tongue, finding that little knot and flicking it in quick, jolting shocks of pleasure that sent her over the edge. She shattered against his mouth, pressing herself into him as her world tottered on its axis repeatedly.

Her legs gave out underneath her, and she clung to him. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and every muscle in her body was weak and trembling. Then his mouth was on hers, and she could taste her passion on his tongue.

He lifted her into his arms and moved to settle her on the bed. In seconds, he had shucked his trousers and joined her, licking and nipping her neck as he positioned himself between her trembling legs. He was hard and throbbing, and his mouth and hands on her were beginning to build up that familiar ache again.

When he pressed against her opening, she gasped with pleasure, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Kate.” Her name was a ragged breath on his lips. “The first time is…” His words faded into a groan as her lips brushed his earlobe. “God help me, I want you.”

“Please, Grey,” she breathed. “Please, don’t stop.”

His muscles tensed, and she heard a low growl as he pushed into her, stretching her as he filled her with his hot length. She cried out, shocked by how fast pleasurable pain could turn into actual pain.

She caught her lip between her teeth and closed her eyes hard, gripping Grey’s broad shoulders like a lifeline. He was so large. She should have expected pain.

“Forgive me,” came his constricted murmur as he kissed her neck.

He had stilled, and she felt his arms wrap around her protectively, holding her tightly against him. Soon, she felt the pain ebbing, easing into a dull ache, and she shifted, intrigued by the sensation of being filled by him.

He groaned and clenched his jaw, but he didn’t move as she slowly began rolling her hips. The pressure was almost unbearable, but with every movement, she felt the familiar shocks of pleasure begin to curl through her, unimpeded by the sharp pain from moments before.

Another deep groan drifted over her, stirring something primal, and she picked up speed. He gripped her hips and began to move with her, guiding her. His mouth slid against hers, tongue lapping against tongue in rhythm to their unhurried thrusts, stoking their passion higher and higher until it became a burning need.

Their movements quickened as they edged closer to climax. Each powerful thrust pumping him deep inside her, filling her with a pleasure that bordered on indescribable panic until it finally burst. Seconds later, his cry mingled with hers.

He was motionless above her except for his muscled chest expanding with each breath. Then he shifted onto one arm to smooth stray hairs from her face, his inscrutable gray eyes still heavy-lidded as he studied her.

Was he thinking about her desperate seduction? Her wanton reaction to his touch? Could he see how affected she was?

Kathryn felt her face flame. She wished she could reach the sheets so she could hide underneath them.

He shifted again, pulling himself out of her by painfully slow degrees. She felt herself involuntarily tighten around him, not quite ready to let him go just yet. She had heard enough to know men like him didn’t stick around long after the deed. She steeled herself against the disappointment, waiting for him to disappear to his own bed.

His leaving ought not to warrant any disappointment.

He settled in beside her, and she shrieked when he pulled her flush against him with her breasts crushed against his chest. His eyes darkened to a deep slate just before he kissed her. He was undemanding, gently brushing his lips against hers with heartbreaking care, though his arms were unmoving bands around her. Then he pulled away, turning her around so her back was against him, and wrapped his arm around her.

“You are upset,” he murmured in her ear, his breath swaying the stray hairs by her face.

“Yes,” she admitted. She was upset. She didn’t want the rake to leave. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way, but with the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, he made her feel like so much more than a scrawny girl who couldn’t keep out of trouble. He made her feel desirable and accepted.

How ridiculous.

“After today’s ordeal, it’s perfectly normal,” he said then yawned. “You just need to rest.”

She had forgotten about highwaymen, pistols, and kidnappings. She shivered, and he immediately pulled her closer in response, pulling up the coverlet and wrapping it around them. Then he arranged the pillow under her head.

“You are safe here,” he said sleepily. “I have you.”

Then he was staying?

“You will need rest,” he murmured. “London… Tomorrow.”

“We are leaving for London tomorrow?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

“Mm… lovely,” he mumbled.

“Grey, are we leaving tomorrow?” she repeated, but slow, steady breathing from behind her was the only reply. He had fallen asleep.

He was sleeping with her, actually sleeping. Then he was taking her back to London. Close to her mother. Away from highwaymen. He was not leaving her to the solitude of the country by herself.

She snuggled against him with a satisfied smile tugging at her mouth as his warmth seeped deep inside her, and she drifted off to sleep.

B
ack in London at last
. The silence of the country was swallowed up by the comforting sounds of bustling, of distraction, a plethora of options for escape if one so required. The quiet countryside offered none of London’s commodities. He had no bodies to blend into at Roseleaf, no buildings to duck behind at a moment’s notice, no noise to cover the sound of footsteps or muffled cries, not to mention the lack of gaming and boxing clubs Grey had sorely missed.

Now the soft ground had turned to cobblestones, playing a rhythm against the horses’ hooves and carriage wheels, a comforting rhythm Grey could easily fall asleep to had he not been in such a brown study.

In Grey’s estimation, Matthews was right. The missive she had delivered was insignificant and had only served to put her in a vulnerable position ripe for attack. The villain behind the attack at Covent Garden had to have been Bexley who had already been following her and, therefore, would have known she was in the alley that night. He had taken his opportunity as it arose.

Perhaps he was a rejected suitor, gone mad with obsession. That would explain his extreme behavior at the Garson’s ball. He was probably out to finish the job.

All of this would make sense if they had never been approached by the highwaymen. Those men had
feared
their employer even more than they had feared Grey, which was a rare phenomenon. Some might worry about Bexley’s retaliation as much as any petulant child’s temper tantrum, but a man willing to face Grey’s pistol would not scare so easily.

The only plausible explanation was that Grey was fighting two fronts: one being Bexley for some sick obsession, the other still unknown, a shadow. Perhaps the shadow wanted the missive and suspected she still had it. Or perhaps he thought she knew something she oughtn’t. Either way, Grey had a nagging feeling he hadn’t been given all the facts.

Saint Brides would warm up to a rabid bear before he would go from utterly disdaining Grey to only gravely disliking him. Even so, the man was no fool; he would provide Grey with every detail in order to see justice done. Matthews, Grey was not so sure about. He was a shrewd, old man, a war strategist who believed the end justified the means. He would be the one to see.

Grey stretched out his long legs as far as he could without dislodging Kathryn’s dainty skirts and folded his hands across his stomach in an attempt to look more relaxed than he felt. He took up most of the space, but she didn’t seem to mind, tucked away as she was up against the window, her gaze fastened on the activities passing by.

Watching her now, he could remember every enticing curve and the softness of her skin on his. He could still feel her pert breasts in his hands, in his mouth. He could feel himself sinking into her and the entire, ugly world melting away. Heaven wasn’t half-good enough a description for what making love to Kathryn had been.

She was lovely, and he suddenly got the imbecilic notion to make a brooch of her profile or a portrait miniature. He would keep it in his waistcoat pocket like a besotted fool, which he wasn’t.

He couldn’t afford to be.

He cleared his thoughts. “Some business will have me tied up for a week or two, but I have arranged for Pembridge to see to your amusement so you are not driven to distraction. He has a gift for it.”

Grey had to find the real danger before it found Kathryn, and he couldn’t do that if he were acting as her bodyguard. Nick would be going to all of those insufferable functions, anyway, and he was the only other man Grey trusted to protect her. Not to mention, he could make even Grey enjoy himself at a soiree.

Her attention turned to him, large, blue eyes unsuccessfully masking disappointment. It triggered a pull deep in his chest, the same one he had felt when she had accused him of not liking her. He had caved then, thrusting all else aside to make it better, to bring back the sunshine. He couldn’t do that this time. He had to be strong for her. Her life depended on it.

“You won’t have time for a single outing?” she asked. “Perhaps a ride through Hyde Park?”

“I am afraid not,” he said. “I shall be up to my neck in legal jargon and meetings.”

She turned to stare back out the window at the passing buildings and carriages, obscuring her expression from his view.

Grey reminded himself it was for her safety, but his hand still flexed and fisted, anyway. He forced it to lay flat on his thigh with far more effort than the act ought to have taken.

He could do nothing to make it easier, either, because nothing he could say would bring back her smile. Nothing except lies and empty promises, which he refused to offer her, at least no more than he had already been forced to.

* * *

K
athryn had
no issues with the Earl of Pembridge. The man was very agreeable. He simply was not the man she wanted to be with. She wasn’t so naive as to think all of the rumors had been quelled during her one week in the country. If she were to resurface on the arm of Grey’s closest friend, she could only imagine how ruthless the scuttlebutt would be.

Still, Pembridge would guarantee her some degree of acceptance. He was well liked by everyone from the Prince Regent to his scullery maid. His recommendation, along with her new title, ought to be enough at least to gain her entry into society, though she doubted she would find a single friend among them.

If only her reputation was what gnawed at the back of her mind; if only that was what had sunk her spirits when Grey had mentioned his intentions. Regardless, it was impossible to ignore the truth. It was raw and undeniably glaring.

The handsome rake had stolen her heart as he had surely done to countless others. She ought to have known giving herself to him couldn’t be purely physical. She couldn’t keep it in its appointed carton labeled “Apathetic Manipulation Tactics,” which she would only take out when she needed to avoid rustic exile.

She had given him her innocence, and the wretch had bagged her affections whilst she was too passion-drunk to realize it. He had gotten what he wanted from her, and now he intended to toss her away as he had all the others.

As she watched the hustle and bustle of London pass by as though it were another world entirely—detached, surreal—a deep pain settled in her chest. All she could feel was him near her, the electricity humming through her from his closeness. She could practically feel his heat. It had made her skin tingle ever since he had stepped into the carriage instead of riding his demon horse.

She could see his trouser-enclosed calves and booted feet mere inches from her skirts. She knew they were connected to a man built like a laborer, and she knew he was watching her. She also knew what he would see in her eyes if she turned her face from the window: naive attachment, lust, and an ache for him to satisfy both. Moreover, she knew what she would see in his: rejection. He had already told her what to expect.

She fixed her gaze on the passing buildings in all their architectural glory and reminded herself the pain in her chest was simply infatuation brought on by losing her virginity to a practiced rake, and the infatuation would pass.

* * *

G
rey wasted
no time arranging a meeting with Matthews. In fact, arranging was rather a loose term. He had burst in just minutes after his note was delivered, apprising Matthews of his arrival back in London.

“By God, Ainsley!” Matthews nearly dropped his pen, blotching ink spots over his once neatly scripted letter. Ainsley’s note lay unopened beside it.

“I need every detail on the mission that is my wife.” Grey stood in the doorway with a contrite-looking secretary peeking out from behind him.

“I am sorry, sir. He just—”

The door was slammed shut with unnecessary force, cutting off whatever it was the unfortunate secretary had been about to say.

“Well, do have a seat, my lord,” Matthews said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. “It’s a pleasure to have you barging in here, slamming doors, demanding—”

“The devil!” Grey swore violently, scowling glacially at Matthews. “If you need persuasion, Matthews, I shall give you some goddamned persuasion, but you will give me what I came for.”

“Will I, indeed?” Matthews asked. “Well, then perhaps you will sit and explain to me who had the audacity to set off your temper this time whilst I fish out the file from this pile of aggravation.” He glared at the mound of wrinkled papers taking up most of his desk.

Grey strode to the desk and fell back into the chair. He had Matthews’s attention; he could relax a little now.

“There was an attempted kidnapping,” Grey said.

“Ah, well, that’s only to be expected,” Matthews said, making an even larger mess of the papers. “The roads aren’t safe anymore—”

“By masked highwaymen, in broad daylight.” Grey’s eyes narrowed.

Matthews paused. “Ah, I see. Well, that is something.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Grey clipped. “Who would attempt such a thing in the middle of the day on a main road?”

“Well, no ordinary ruffians, I admit.”

“Which is why I need those files.”

Matthews fished around in the papers a moment more before he shook his head. “Kathryn took the only dossier. I thought I had scribbled a note or two about it, but I must have already fed them to the fire. I can tell you she was delivering a list of names, some French spies who were captured in the last four years. It detailed where they were being moved and when.”

It was no surprise to Grey that Matthews didn’t have the file. For being military, the man was terribly unorganized. It was too bad Saint Brides hadn’t been able to file Kathryn’s report. He was the one who kept all the important papers where they needed to be. Even if it was a stolen file and the mission left incomplete, if Saint Brides knew about it, Grey wouldn’t have been surprised to find he had managed to file a copy.

“Anyone we know on that list?” Grey asked.

“We know all of them,” Matthews answered, “but no one high profile.”

Odd. There must be
someone
important on that list for them to go after Kathryn so persistently.

“Anyone of national concern?” Grey asked, his brows drawn together.

“No.”

“Anyone of
any
concern?”

“Not particularly. These were so pathetic I think half of them were caught by Runners and the rest by watchmen.” Matthews returned to sifting through the papers on his desk.

“Watchmen?” Grey asked, baffled and frustrated. “Then why, in God’s name, was it so dashed important?”

This was all wrong. If the enemy were planning to take back some of their men, these would not be the ones to go after. They were more likely to hire someone to kill the bunglers than break them out of prison.

“I couldn’t say.” Matthews dropped several papers, finding the one he was searching for and handing it to Grey. “This was her contact at Covent Garden.”

“Elijah Smith,” he scoffed, tossing the sheet back on the desk. “If that’s his real name, it’s far too common to give us anything.”

Matthews shrugged as he shoved the paper back in its pile. “It’s the name on his headstone.”

“Come again?”

“He was found last week. Death by asphyxiation.” Matthews shook his head solemnly. “Not before he was put through hell, though.”

They would do the same to Kathryn if they ever got their hands on her. Something dangerously similar to fear coated Grey’s mouth with bile.

“What happened to him?” Grey asked.

Matthews’s face twisted. “Terrible sight: burns, abrasions, lost bits. And it looked like they used anything handy: gardening shears, a riding crop, a bloody corkscrew, for Christ’s sake.”

A muscle ticked in Grey’s jaw. “They wanted information.”

“Obviously, but it’s been weeks since he delivered that list. And our agents know never to look at their packages.”

“His violent callers might not have known that,” Grey said, numbing himself as best he could. This was a job, and he had to think clearly to work.

“Even so, did they expect him to memorize the damn thing?” Matthews sighed. “Two attacks in London now over a list of war criminals no one cares about from a war that’s been over for years.”