Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) (12 page)

* * *

G
rey stood
with a clenched jaw and fisted hands as he stared at Kathryn bathing.
Bathing!

Somehow, he managed to make his arm move to shut the door. Or was it his foot? He didn’t know. Did it matter?

At least she was facing away from him. He still had a chance to slip away unnoticed, but backing out into the hall as a terrified adolescent would be humiliating, not to mention damaging to his reputation. He would have to make it to the connecting door.

He took a deep breath and slowly began to make his way across the room. He began by taking side steps toward the connecting door, twisting more and more as he progressed until he was walking cautiously backward, his eyes fastened on Kathryn all the while.

He was nearly there when the back of his thighs collided with a table he could have sworn was not there a minute ago. In a flash, he stooped to steady it, but it was too late.

Large, blue eyes opened wide and swung toward him still holding the table like an idiot. She moved to cover herself as best she could, sinking deeper into the water and crossing her arms and legs, a completely innocent gesture that thoroughly undid him.

“Grey,” she gasped as the rosy hue of her cheeks deepened. “You startled me. I thought I was alone.”

“I—” He cleared his throat, biting back the offensive string of curses, and collected himself as he straightened. “I only wanted to be sure you were comfortable.” Grey gestured to her brusquely. “And it appears you are.”

Grey felt himself harden like a green lad getting his first eyeful, tempted beyond reason by his own untouchable, virgin wife. By gad, the fates must be rolling with laughter.

“Yes, I was rather stiff,” she muttered. She twisted toward him and folded her arms over the side of the tub, resting her chin on her forearm. “I doubt my back will ever be the same again.”

“I am near certain my coachman was trying to kill you. We won’t be seeing him again,” he said. “You handled it well if your back was the only casualty.”

“You rode astride all day,” she pointed out. “You don’t seem very affected.”

“I have been through worse.”

“When you were a soldier?” she asked, tilting her head to study him. “I suppose there were weeks on end spent on the move.”

“Day and night,” he muttered. If only that were what he was referring to.

Sure, the war had been tough. It was war. It wasn’t expected to be rainbows and roses. Regardless, war wasn’t what had beaten him into shape. War wasn’t what had turned him into a ruthless and relentless machine. It had only conditioned him for the next level of hell.

“Lord Pembridge fought with you, I understand.” She pushed back wisps of curls falling from their pins to stick to her neck and about her ears. “He seems so unbothered by his experiences.”

“No one who fought left unbothered,” he assured her. “Pembridge is an incurable optimist. That doesn’t mean the man didn’t have his fill of death and torment.”

“Then you must be the cynic.”

Grey bowed theatrically with a bitter smile. “In the flesh.”

“Not incurable, though. There’s hope for any man who can execute a bow as well as Edmund Kean himself.”

She smiled and Grey’s heart skipped a beat. The darkness Grey felt hovering over him lightened. Sunlight hid in her smile—sunlight and rest and salvation, sunlight and his destruction. Bloody hell, but she was lovely and radiant, and damn well untouchable.

And lovely. And sunlight.

Before his brain comprehended what his body was doing, he had his coat off and tossed over the table. Then he began rolling up his sleeves.

“Turn around and lean forward a bit.”

“P-pardon?”

The alarm in her voice should have stopped him.
Should
have.

“Those knots will need a bit more persuasion than some hot water and sweet aromas. Consider it my penance for dragging you to such a remote nowhere.”

He sat back on his heels behind the head of the bath as she turned around to hug her knees, presenting him with her back: flawless, smooth, and glistening. Something hot and thoroughly dangerous shot through him as soon as he touched her, but he forced it down.

His hands set to work, gently massaging out the knots and loosening sore muscles. Soon, the tension in her shoulders began to ease, and her head rolled from side to side to stretch her neck and shoulders.

“I had no idea how badly I needed this,” she said.

“I did,” he replied, forcing himself to ignore his body’s response to the feel of her bare skin, to fight the inexplicable power those blue eyes, auburn curls, and flawless curves had over his ability to function.

“Did you?” she muttered lazily.

“You should have been in a coma as soon as you sank into the water. The fact that you are still awake is proof enough.”

Kathryn chuckled softly, a seductive, whispery sound. “I wanted to sleep, believe me. It was that very thought, which occupied my mind when you came in.”

“As tempting as it is, I recommend you use the bed for that,” he said. “Drowning in warm bedclothes is much more forgiving than hot water.”

Thinking of drowning in warm bedclothes with her might put
him
in hot water. Still, his mind was fuzzy with the feel of her, and shocks of heat were headed directly to his groin, which was growing harder with alarming rapidity.

A moan caught in her throat, turning into a sigh when his thumbs began to dig into her shoulder blades. The sigh sent any vestige of logical thought far from Grey’s mind; so far, it blinked out of existence.

“Did you know you have the hands of an angel?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to the danger swirling into a massive storm behind her.

“Hardly. My hands are only good for two things, neither of which is angelic,” he murmured, leaning forward until he was a hairsbreadth from her ear.

A loud alarm sounded heedlessly in Grey’s head, drowned out by the blood draining from his good brain and rushing to the pea-sized one in his trousers.

“Grey…,” she sighed.

He could feel her shiver when his lips brushed her ear.

You are the angel.

He kissed the spot just below her earlobe, and her breath caught.

I am a heartless animal. A murderous devil.

His mouth moved lower still to her neck where his tongue tasted her salty skin. Then he grazed her with his teeth before kissing the sensitive spot.

Tame me. Save me.

“Grey.” She turned toward him.

His mouth captured hers in an instant, sliding softly until she responded in kind.

He expected to be slapped and scolded, struck down by God for daring to touch her with his blood-soaked hands, but there was no slapping, scolding, or heavenly vengeance. Instead, she was soft and timidly willing. She was sweet, and the more he tasted, the more he craved.

His teeth grazed her plump bottom lip, and his tongue followed close behind, coaxing her mouth to open for him. When her lips parted on a sigh, he groaned and deepened the kiss, winding his tongue with hers.

He pulled her against him, her wet, warm body dampening his clothes. He could feel her rounded breasts on his chest, driving him wild.

As he devoured her mouth, his hands explored her breasts, her waist, her rounded bottom, every dip and curve glistening and hot. Still, he wanted more, like a man starved.

Trembling fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, and a low growl vibrated from his chest. He was ready to pull her from the water and straight into bed, melting into her soft warmth until she absolved his sins or at least made him forget them for a time. Hell, he could spend the rest of his life forgetting them, bedding the virgin sacrifice.

Virgin.

Grey shook with the effort it took to pull away, painfully aware the tiny brain in his cock had very nearly had him ravishing Grenville’s only daughter, contaminating her with his touch.

She was blinking up at him in pleasure-drunk confusion. She licked her swollen lips, pulling his attention to her tongue. The pink, wet flesh peeking out from behind her lips sent another wave of heat through his entire body. A strangled whimper caught in his throat.

She was ready to give herself to him completely. He wanted to take her, too.

He knelt there, frozen, warring between his desire to protect her and his desire to possess her.

With a raspy apology, he stood, the bulge in his trousers shamelessly on display. He wasn’t seeing clearly, but he turned and began taking deliberate steps in the direction he remembered the door had been.

“Grey?”

Her breathless voice almost stopped him. Something in the way she had said it made him think he had hurt her. He very nearly had. It pulled at his chest and everything throbbing with need below it, but his head won.

He disappeared behind the connecting door, locking it and sliding a sturdy chair tightly under the handle. He doused his face in the near freezing water from the basin in his wardrobe until the engorgement south of his waistband had at least lessened a great deal. Then, grabbing his smoking jacket, he stalked downstairs, not trusting himself to be sober with only one wall between him and his bathing, seductress of a wife.

It was near midnight before Grey found himself back at Kathryn’s door. He knocked without answer then let himself in quietly, keeping a sharp eye out for any unwelcome shadows as he passed through into the bedchamber.

Grey was sure no one had seen them leave London, and he had noticed no one suspicious whilst they had travelled through the country. Still, he couldn’t overcome the nagging tightness in his gut. He relaxed when he found her in her bed and breathing.

He felt the weight of exhaustion from weeks of chasing shadows and constantly being on his guard, compounded by the anxiety of being a sitting duck as they traipsed through the countryside. The strain on his reserve with his wife was an unnecessary tax on his sanity.

He stepped back into the shadows to settle in a cushioned chair against the wall, making effort not to sigh loudly in relief. Tomorrow, he would learn the lay of the land and figure out the most probable angles of attack. Tonight, he would sleep as close to Kathryn as possible. His men still hadn’t arrived, and he needed to be sure he would hear if anyone were actually stupid enough to come after Lady Ainsley when Lord Ainsley was nearby.

G
rey was
hell-bent on keeping Kathryn entertained whilst he hid her away in the country. Though, he rather hoped she didn’t see it that way.

Their days were filled with trusted, well-looked-into neighbors. He had been furnished with a list of names before they had even set foot out of London. They were the kind of neighbors he wouldn’t have to worry about, the boring kind who awoke before God and practically lived at the vicarage. Safe.

The first week was filled to the brim with tedious introductions and afternoon teas, tasteless country dinners, and talentless musicales. Grey thought he might go mad in his attempt to appear cordial and polite, but it had to be done. Otherwise, gossip would spread like wildfire, and they would be found in a matter of days.

A gossip loved nothing more than someone they hated. Next was someone they adored. Third was anyone new, but he could hardly avoid that. Therefore, Grey had to try for someone they couldn’t say much about. He must be a mild-mannered man with a mild wit, serving mild tea, and speaking mildly of the mildly interesting.

He had no doubt Kathryn had noticed the difference during their first country dinner. Even when they had been alone, he had made the effort to be cordial, a habit he was terribly out of practice with since his sort of missions had rarely required niceties. Nevertheless, he was done punishing her for an imprudent act, especially one she couldn’t even remember.

Of course, Grey was sure he had unintentionally punished them both when he had sent several invitations to two particular ladies who, he had later learned, had a talent for incredibly quick speech and one-sided conversations.

They had been in the company of these two women, amidst an especially intricate narrative of some distant cousin’s travels, when he had recognized mutual agony in Kathryn’s cracking façade of polite interest.

After that evening, they decided against social visits, at least for a few days, and Kathryn suggested a revitalizing canter through the nearby countryside. The weather had been unusually dry, if still a bit chilled, which was perfect for an exploration.

Grey saw no harm in the exercise since he had found no shadows or mischievous fellows in sight since their arrival. Soon, he had a mount selected for Kathryn’s use.

“This is Firefly,” Grey announced as he led a chestnut gelding out of the stables. “He’s spirited, but I have no doubt you can handle anything he could throw at you.”

“He’s so handsome!” Kathryn beamed, her eyes lighting up like giant sapphires.

“Well, he isn’t exactly a prize hunter, but he will do.” Grey smiled, nearly drowning in the sparkling blue pools.

His brows snapped together and he cleared his throat, moving to help Kathryn mount. He knew that when Kathryn came to realize why he had married her, those eyes would be filled with one thing and one thing only: true and utter hatred, perhaps with a tinge of disgust and horror.

Grey moved mindlessly, picking her up and setting her on the horse like an automaton in one swift motion. When his hands had gone to her hips, he had barely registered her gasp and her grip on his forearms. At the time, it bore little significance. After she was safely perched atop Firefly, however, it quickly caught his attention with some alarm, and that alarm was increasing rapidly every second he found himself tightly clung to.

He stood there, waiting for her to release him, trying his damnedest to ignore the soft flesh underneath layers of fabric in his hands.

After the first night in the cottage, he had been able to keep himself out of temptation, avoiding her apartments at all costs, and rarely did he take her hand. Now, without thinking, he had undermined all his efforts in one fell swoop.

As heat rushed through his hands, straight down through his belly, he found himself face-to-face with a desire he was resolved to ignore, a desire heightened by the past week spent lying wide awake and randy only one doorknob turn away from her.

If he wasn’t such a seasoned rake, he might think he was becoming overly fond of the chit. As it stood, he
was
a seasoned rake—or enough of one, at any rate—and he knew all too well lust was at the root of his distress.

It was because he couldn’t have her. All he needed was to bed her and get her out of his system, and all of this frolicking lunacy would cease. He wanted to touch every soft, silken inch of her with his tongue. Fondness had absolutely nothing to do with that. What did have everything to do with it was throbbing in his trousers.

He felt himself begin to slip into a scowl and forced out a chuckle. “If you are afraid, perhaps we ought to take the phaeton. You can hardly argue its propriety now.”

Kathryn mumbled an apology and let him go. He set her feet in the stirrup irons then eagerly turned to mount Drogo. Thankfully, she seemed too preoccupied with Firefly to pay him much notice—him or his twisting, turning, molten-hot insides.

* * *

K
athryn studied Firefly’s reins
, mane, and ears with far too much scrutiny in an insane effort to avoid thinking about large, powerful hands gripping her waist or strong, muscled arms bunching under her fingertips.

She urged her mount forward to follow Grey out of the stable yard, but she was not in a hurry to catch up with him. Her face was on fire, and her heart was only just beginning to slow to a manageable pace again.

She glanced down at her hands. Still trembling!

Lud, what had gotten into her? He had only helped her onto her horse. How was she supposed to convince him to keep her around if her brain turned to mush every time he touched her? Even he seemed a bit knocked off balance by it.

Oh, there was a thought.

They turned onto a lane canopied by trees. Grey was still a blessed ten feet ahead of her as she began formulating a plan. They continued along silently for a couple miles before delving off into a glen as the pieces began fitting together for her.

The land was rich with greenery, and brilliant flowers beckoned them onward. The peaceful sounds of the countryside soothed her inner anxieties. Birds singing, winds whistling through the trees, and the occasional cry of livestock were the only sounds. Not a soul passed them on the road, even after it opened on one side to a rolling valley where sheep lazily dotted the hills and she would expect a farmer to be tending.

The slow, seductive melodies of nature pulled Kathryn’s mind from her earlier humiliation, the colossal hole in her memory, and the herculean feat ahead of her that was her husband.

Empty stomachs had them grudgingly turning back toward the cottage by mid-afternoon, so they were only two miles from the cottage when they heard the thunder rolling in behind them. But it had been a beautiful day with not even the slightest hint of rain.

Kathryn suspiciously eyed the blue sky above before twisting around in her saddle, her eyes widening.

Hooves pounded the dirt road as two masked riders quickly approached with clouds of dust billowing behind them. Grey urged Drogo closer to Kathryn.

“Masked men,” he commented.

“I see them.” How could she not with them riding hell for leather as they were?

He pulled out a pistol from his coat, checked it, and then tucked it back under the fabric. “If I tell you to run, I expect you to beat that horse to the ground getting back to the cottage. Find the cellar. Behind the first large barrel, there’s a small, wooden slab. It opens and there’s a small alcove. Hide there. Do you understand?”

“Are we in danger?” she asked nervously.

“I don’t know yet,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing on the approaching men. “It’s difficult to gauge a man’s intelligence from this distance.”

“But—”

“Do you understand where to go?” he asked again as the men slowed twenty feet ahead of them.

“Yes.”

When the men stopped a few feet from them, Grey touched the brim of his hat. “Gentlemen.”

“’Ello, gov’ner,” one of the highwaymen said cordially. “Fine day for a ride through the countryside, eh?”

“Indeed,” Grey replied, adopting the same casual tone, leaving Kathryn dumbfounded. “Though, perhaps best spent riding alone. It’s our honeymoon, you understand.” Grey tipped his hat then turned to nudge Kathryn’s mount into motion.

“Wait just a minute.” The highwayman spoke calmly, but his eyes flashed. “Soon, I don’t mind lettin’
you
go, but I shall need to relieve you of your pretty companion.”

“Now let’s be reasonable,” Grey said as though he were negotiating with a couple of children. “I couldn’t possibly allow such a thing. We only just started to get along.”

“We don’t want no trouble, m’lord,” the highwayman said. “Just hand over the reins, and we shall take good care o’ her.”

“Gentlemen,” Grey said, his brows drawn together indignantly. “This horse is a
he,
and
he
was quite the expense!” Grey gave his demon horse a comforting pat on its thick neck.

Kathryn suspected there was much more to their villain just beneath the surface, waiting to explode if one sparked up a flame. To her mortification, Grey seemed to enjoy finding the right tinder.

“I don’t appreciate games! We’ll be takin’ the lady with us.” The masked rider’s voice became flat and raspy as he pointed toward Kathryn.

Kathryn’s heart sank. Why would they want
her
? She froze as she waited for Grey to do something,
anything
. Her head swarmed with thoughts of what they might do once Grey wasn’t there to protect her. Thanks to her gothic novels, the gruesome and most improbable came to mind.

Her heart raced as she gripped the reins with white knuckles.

Grey straightened. “Oh,” he said simply. “Well, I am afraid that won’t be possible, either. I am very much attached to my wife, you see, even more than my mount.”

“M’lord,” the highwayman growled.

Grey lifted his hand, producing a heavy looking pouch hanging from his index finger. There must be more than fifty guineas in there, and no one had seen him reach into his coat or saddlebags or anything.

Her husband was a magician.

“Perhaps some coin will interest you in her stead,” Grey said, his brows raised in inquiry.

The highwaymen exchanged long glances, but the silent one shook his head.

“We’ll settle for nothin’ less than the missus,” the first one said.

Grey shook his head, lowering the pouch. “I doubt you could persuade the lady to go anywhere with you,” he said. “You reek something fierce.”

One of the highwaymen shifted in his saddle yet stilled when Grey pulled his hand out from his coat. When had he put his hand in his coat?

He had grabbed his pistol and pointed it at the highwayman in a smooth, fluid-like motion.

“You had better keep that right where it’s at,” Grey advised.

The challenge was met with a rumbling chuckle. “You ’aven’t got a death wish, ’ave you? If you shoot me, my friend here will shoot you. If you shoot us both, you still might get shot. My employer still gets the missus. Needless death.”

“Perhaps,” Grey said indifferently. “Who is this employer of yours?”

“Now we can’t be sayin’ that, m’lord, even if we were to kill you.”

Grey’s eyes narrowed. “Dearest, would you run along without me? Tell Mrs. Crosby to have stew ready for an early dinner and some of those apple tarts. Make it quick now. I shall be along shortly.” Grey spoke without taking his eyes off the men in front of him.

Before she could protest, the loud brigand stopped her with a gun pointed at her chest.

They had both drawn, despite Grey’s pistol being trained on them.

“Ah, now I am sorry, m’lady, but you won’t be goin’ nowhere ’cept with us.”

“You had best take better aim,” Grey warned in a low rumble. “I am not the merciful type. Continue to point that at my wife, and I won’t kill you…
quickly.
No, it will be excruciatingly slow, indeed.”

The savage undertone was plenty to raise the tiny hairs on the back of anyone’s neck. The two men glanced at each other then moved their guns back on Ainsley in unison.

A grim curl of amusement worked at Grey’s mouth. “That’s better,” he muttered.

“We can’t be lettin’ her go just like that,” the highwayman said. “It’s a devil of a man what wants her.”

“You won’t like
my
temper,” Grey said, his eyes pale shards of ice, and his voice no less forbidding. “I can promise you.”

“Not such a temper if you are dead, m’lord.” The highwayman didn’t even blink before returning Grey’s challenge, and his posture was still relaxed, as though this were nothing more than passing pleasantries.

“Kathryn, it’s time for you to go,” Grey commanded gently. “Now.”

He spoke so softly Kathryn almost missed it altogether, but a quick glance confirmed he had said precisely what she had thought he had. How could he expect her to leave him like this, though? He could talk big all he wanted, but she didn’t see any way for him to get two shots out of one bullet, and she didn’t see another pistol lying around.

“Not a wise move, m’lord,” the highwayman drawled, cocking his pistol, which was still aimed at Grey’s chest.