Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (9 page)

“What do I do?” she considered aloud, clutching her hands in her lap.

“Had you not thought this far ahead?” he asked.

Kathryn glared as her world began to cave in around her. “No. It was not my design—” Her words caught behind a lump in her throat.

“No?” he asked mockingly. “It’s simple.”

“What do you propose?” she asked, hating the tremble in her voice.

“Your wording is remarkably apt.” His eyes narrowed, cutting through the darkness. “You will marry me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Surely, she had misheard.

“As you should,” he muttered. “Your foolhardy escapade has put me in a damnable position. It may behoove you to conjure up an apology with a bit more originality for your father, though. He’s slightly more captious of these things.”

Kathryn’s eyes widened angrily, but she forced herself to stay silent. He was an ogre, but he was right. A logical woman would jump at his offer, beastly as he was. Moreover, he would likely continue to be beastly going forward since he obviously thought she had trapped him into marriage.

She wasn’t ready to marry. She couldn’t marry
him.

She wanted to demand to be taken home. She wanted to scream for the carriage to stop, and she would alight where she might, but her throat was too thick. She had to get ahold of herself. If she could put on a brave face in the theater, she could do it now.

“Kathryn?” he asked suspiciously.

She pressed herself as far back into the seat as she could, hoping to conceal herself in the dark recesses of the carriage, and fished out her handkerchief.

He swore.

She barely registered the movement from across the carriage before he was beside her, hauling her into him.

“I am sorry,” he muttered roughly. “Christ! I did not intend to make you cry.”

His chest was warm and solid against her cheek, and his heart beat a steady rhythm in her ear. For a moment, she surrendered, unable and unwilling to do anything else with his arms so strong and snug around her. Then reason resurfaced, and she shook her head, pushing herself away from him.

“No,” she said thickly.

She wanted comfort, but not from him, regardless of how safe she felt against his chest, or how desperately she wanted to fall asleep against him, letting the rest of the world fade away as if it were a fairy tale. It was a stupid and pointless exercise.

“There was no need for my being so cruel.” He frowned as he studied her. “I am afraid you have unwittingly become entangled with a heartless devil.”

She shook her head. “It’s so much worse than that.”

“Poppycock,” he muttered. “How could it possibly be worse?”

“You don’t know everything,” Kathryn admitted, bile rising to coat her throat. “I don’t know everything.” How could she admit she couldn’t even remember her own family, save her parents? Cousins, friends, grandparents, they were all a blur. How could she admit she knew nothing of the past decade, for that matter?

“No,” he said. “We have to save some secrets, or we shall run out of things to talk about.”

Kathryn snorted. She could just imagine what lurid secrets Ainsley kept.

He studied her with silvery eyes and a knit brow. “We don’t really have a choice, Kathryn,” he said after a short silence. “When your father hears of this, he will be forced to return to England to defend your honor. His duty as your father is to demand satisfaction, and he will.”

A duel. Her father could be killed, all because of her mistake.

“I won’t miss, Kathryn,” he added grimly. “Neither will he.”

She swallowed hard, forcing down the grief and fear threatening to explode from her chest.

“I ought to be grateful for an alternative to bloodshed.”

“You will marry me, then?” he asked.

“I have no choice.”

He moved back into his original position and tapped his cane three times firmly against the roof. Within five minutes, she was stepping up to the door at Grenville House, unsure of how many unnecessary miles were travelled during their conversation and too fatigued to care.

T
he morning found
Kathryn feeling much as expected after a long night spent too miserable to sleep—exhausted and wretched. She felt cornered. Soon, she would marry a man who was reputed to be violent and rakish, had courted her with courtesy and kindness, and had proposed with derision and repugnance. He was an honorable rogue.

She sat at the vanity in the early hours of the morning, her shoulders forward and head tilted downward with red eyes and a puffy face. She dipped a cloth into the washbasin, wrung it out, and pressed it to her face. After an hour or so, she finally found a small decrease in puffiness, which improved her appearance from recently deceased to only incurably ill.

A bath was sent up, which Kathryn soaked in until long after her fingers pruned. Tea and a light breakfast followed, though the meal was hardly touched before her mother took one glance at her and ordered her to drink warm milk with brandy so she could sleep. And sleep she did for several hours. Ten at least, because when she opened her eyes, the day was nearly gone.

Though her mind was still in turmoil, her appearance had greatly improved. She rang for a maid to help her dress and arrange her hair. She would need to explain a few unsavory developments to her mother, and now seemed as good a time as any.

She had not taken three steps into the drawing room when she recognized the head of dark, tousled waves facing away from her on the settee.

“Ah, Kathryn.” Her mother flashed a smile, gesturing beside her.

“Lady Kathryn.” Ainsley rose and turned to her, exuding a sober confidence. Even standing grim as a gravedigger, he was handsome.

She didn’t miss his quick scan of her person, nor the darkening of his expression immediately afterward. Perhaps he had realized she wasn’t the buxom figure men like him craved. She wouldn’t be surprised if he held that against her, too, along with maniacally trapping him into marriage.

“Lord Ainsley,” she said tightly.

“Lord Ainsley has just been informing me of some rather upsetting news, Kathryn,” Lady Grenville began once they were seated, her voice laced with disappointment.

Kathryn winced. “I am sorry. I never meant—”

“Nonsense, dear,” Lady Grenville interrupted. “You can hardly be held responsible for vicious rumors. Unfortunately, they have progressed beyond our control. I am convinced nothing save marriage or a duel will satisfy the bloodthirsty ogres of the ton.”

“So you agree with our decision?” Ainsley’s voice cut in from the other settee.

“Of course,” Lady Grenville replied easily. “I am relieved by it, considering how pugnacious you have been since the war.”

“I have a cruel reputation,” Ainsley agreed, “but I could hardly fight a duel with a man I respect as much as Lord Grenville.”

Kathryn let slip an unladylike snort she absolutely had not intended to be audible. She dropped her head and cleared her throat.

Ainsley glanced at her, arching a brow.

“It’s my husband’s safety that concerns you, then?” Lady Grenville asked, dragging the marquess’s gaze from Kathryn.

“Not at all. It’s mine,” he answered.

Kathryn had not expected that answer. She eyed him suspiciously over her teacup.

“Lord Grenville taught me everything I know about combat,” Ainsley added. “If he decided to put me in my place, I daresay the man could do it properly. As I rather enjoy my life and limbs, I believe marrying would be my best option.”

Perhaps this was the best from a set of the absolute worst options. He was obviously not thrilled with the marriage. She would be lucky if he waited a week before bundling her off to the country. Then she would be stuck there alone, hosting garden parties and talentless musicales. No adventure. No mystery.

Kathryn shuddered at the thought. Regardless, she would suffer that and more if it meant her father would not be meeting Ainsley at dawn in some abandoned field outside of London.

Talk drifted to venues, material, and flowers, all of which seemed not to interest Ainsley in the slightest. Thankfully, for him, it was well past visiting hours, so it was no surprise when he made to leave on account of the hour.

“I am afraid I must ask a little favor,” he said to Lady Grenville when they all rose from their seats. “I want Kathryn to come with me. There are things I would like to discuss with her in the privacy of my carriage.”

Kathryn turned to her mother and shook her head. There was no way she was going into a carriage alone with him before she had to, not again.

Lady Grenville stared back at him, her chest puffing out in indignation. “I do believe this drawing room will serve to purpose until the ring is—”

“There can hardly be any harm in it now,” he interrupted. “And I would rather not have interruptions when I am explaining obligations, expectations.”

Kathryn’s face flamed. She hadn’t yet thought of that aspect of their marriage. Would he require an heir? He would have to touch her for that. He might want her to touch him. Her face grew even hotter.

“I am perfectly capable of
that,
my lord.”

“Are you?” he asked. “You know my marital expectations?”

Kathryn watched as the fight slowly seeped out of her mother’s rigid posture. Kathryn’s hopes went with it.

“Of course not,” Lady Grenville sighed. “You know, when I thought of my little girl marrying, scandal never even entered my mind.”

“Naturally,” Ainsley returned, looking slightly dumbfounded. Kathryn almost liked him for that.

Lady Grenville shook her head. “I should have expected some sort of trouble.”

Should have expected?
Kathryn grimaced at the truth in that statement.

Ainsley shot her an assessing glance. “Will you join me?”

Kathryn took a deep breath and nodded. She wanted to run away and lock herself in her room, even though she knew the expectations and obligations could easily be his terms for a marriage of convenience.

Within ten minutes, she was being handed up into the darkness of his carriage once again. She sat in one corner and he in the other, nearly invisible in the shadows. The door’s window shade had been left up as it was the night before, allowing in the occasional yellow glow of the streetlamp and moonlight with eerie familiarity. Save that light, the carriage was shrouded in darkness.

He sat comfortably slack against the squabs, his long, muscular legs stretched out before him. She waited, feeling his eyes on her. She assumed he would eventually begin his demeaning speech about
obligations, expectations
.

Five minutes passed before the carriage slowed to a stop several blocks from her house on Grosvenor Street.

“Where are we?”

“Home.” His lazy reply floated across the carriage.

He had not yet moved, nor had the livery stepped down to open the door. It was as if he were waiting for her confirmation that it was, indeed, home, which it was not.

Kathryn glanced out the window, staring up at a Parisian-style mansion seven stories high and taking up half the corner block.

“This is not home, and we have not talked,” she reminded him, tearing her eyes away from the looming building.

“I had trouble deciding what to say,” he muttered.

She lifted a brow. “Oh?”

He sat forward until his face was partially illuminated, highlighting his angular features, erratic black waves, and silvery-gray eyes. “We must make this engagement a brief one to minimize the damage. There will be no banns.”

“
No banns?
” Kathryn asked. “How brief do you intend?”

“Very brief. Will you step inside with me?”

“Inside there?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to speak here—”

“I intended to,” he interrupted, taking her hand in his. “Please, it’s imperative. Otherwise, I would not have asked.”

Kathryn frowned back at him irritably, trying not to think about his large, warm hand on hers or his thumb lightly brushing across her knuckles, trying not to give in to the pleading look in his eyes or the way his touch set her on fire.

“Very well,” she sighed. How could she deny him when this was the first time she had seen a crack in the ice in his eyes? There was already a scandal, at any rate. What could possibly come of having a short conversation inside a building like normal people?

She followed him out of the carriage and into the house, which she immediately recognized as his. Its masculine feel of dark wood and black-veined marble floors and pillars were entirely and uniquely him, even the grandiose entry hall and staircase adorned only with paintings, a side table, two chairs, and a statue tucked into an alcove. It was not nearly as overdone as most
ton
homes.

She was led into a study. Dark wood paired with dark green paneling covered the walls, and thick wood beams crisscrossed along the ceiling. A large painting of Waterloo hung on the wall behind his desk, and a foxhunt depiction was settled over the fireplace. Two plush chairs were angled toward the hearth with two more angled toward his desk. A small table with one chair and a chessboard was placed off by itself.

Two men stood by the desk as she walked in. One, she recognized as Lord Pembridge, a man she had met often in town with Ainsley. The other was a handsome young man with sharp green eyes and a mop of neatly styled chestnut hair who was quickly introduced as Lord Saint Brides.

No sooner had everyone been greeted than Kathryn was banished to a chair by the hearth whilst the men spoke privately by the desk.

Saint Brides flipped open a book to a spot he had previously marked with a thin ribbon, whilst scowling darkly at Ainsley who seemed to be continuously arguing with him in angry whispers. Conversely, the light-haired gentleman silently grinned his encouragement, nodding and winking at Kathryn whenever her eyes wandered to him curiously.

Finally, she was asked to join them again by the desk, more intrigued than confused.

Saint Brides cleared his throat grimly. “We are gathered here this evening to join in Holy wedlock Lady Kathryn Jane Bryant and Captain Greydon James Ludlow Sharpe, the eleventh Marquess—”

“Tonight?” Kathryn gasped.

Ainsley frowned down at her, the tiniest glimmer of panic dancing in his pale eyes. “It was underhanded of me—I know—but I promise you all of this is necessary.”

Saint Brides raised a brow at Ainsley. “I take it the groom failed to mention a few important details,” he deduced evenly. “Time, venue, guests?” His face softened somewhat when he turned to Kathryn. “I understand your hesitation in binding yourself to this gentleman. I can assure you I would never allow such a calamity—much less perform the act—if I didn’t feel it were the only option.”

“I hardly need your permission,” Kathryn emphasized curtly, his condescending air grating on her. “But tonight?”

“As soon as possible,” Saint Brides answered. “I do regret the subterfuge. However, I agree with Ainsley that it was necessary to have you seen willingly alighting from his carriage and entering his home without a maid in order to force your hand. I can promise you that your reputation would not have survived waiting for the banns to be read.”

A dirty trick—to lure her into his carriage alone then into his house where a secret ceremony would await, knowing she couldn’t refuse. Only he would play such an unscrupulous trick in order to do something so honorable.

Kathryn nodded slowly.

“Twice now, she has agreed to marry you, Ainsley,” Saint Brides muttered. “Miracles are running rampant.”

Ainsley’s eyes narrowed on Saint Brides, and Saint Brides focused on the book in his hands. “We are gathered here this evening…”

This time, all the words were spoken as they were written. There were no heartfelt vows from wife to husband or from husband to wife. No love poured out from their eyes and mouths toward each other as the words they spoke would give one to believe. The bride did not blush with bashful smiles, and the groom did not beam with pride. They simply stood side by side, repeating back the words given to them by Saint Brides, their only contact a slight brush of the hand when placing the wedding rings on each other’s fingers and a chaste kiss on Kathryn’s forehead.

As soon as the documents were signed, Saint Brides left after stiffly bidding Ainsley good night and good luck, and then wishing Kathryn all his best and offering his services.

Pembridge stood beside Grey near the door to the study after Saint Brides left.

“Perhaps you ought to begin filing your reports, Grey,” Nick advised half-teasingly. “Young Steel Breeches seems a bit put out.”

Ainsley chuckled softly, giving a sort of smile Kathryn had not seen before. “The chief isn’t too fond of me.”

“Saint Brides wants to see you deported.” Nick grinned. “He only knows one side of you, and it isn’t a flattering one.”

“As I said,” Grey muttered.

“No one is too fond of you except me.”

“And you like everyone,” Grey said matter-of-factly.

“Nearly everyone,” Nick corrected.

Grey regarded his friend blankly. “By Jove, Nick, you sure know how to raise one’s spirits.”

Pembridge grinned, taking out his quizzing glass to swing it idly on its chain. Then he glanced at Kathryn. “I see you took my advice to heart about female companionship. I cannot tell you how relieved I am. You… er… were beginning to worry me.” He lifted one brow at Grey before he winked at Kathryn.

“My best wishes to you, Lady Ainsley,” he added warmly as he bowed over Kathryn’s hand. Then he turned back to Grey. “Congratulations, Grey. And I
do
mean congratulations. It’s about bloody time.” He turned on his heel and sauntered out of the study.

“Thank you, Nick,” Grey called out after him.

With a slight turn of his head, Nick lifted his quizzing glass to salute his acknowledgment as he continued down the hall.

Grey turned toward the sideboard to pour himself a drink then sat in the leather, wingback chair behind his desk. His face was a dark mask as he pulled out a small tobacco pouch from his pocket with a strip of paper.

Kathryn watched soundlessly as he tipped the pouch and tapped it with his forefinger. He didn’t stop tapping until the paper he was holding under the pouch had a neat pile of tobacco on it. Then he pulled the drawstring closed with his teeth and tucked it away before rolling the paper into a cylinder and sticking it in his mouth. He lit the rolled paper with the candle that was placed on the corner of his desk.