Silk And Steel Part 2

"Oh, dear, they are headed this way," Lady Beckford said, and Kathryn steeled herself. She hadn't thought the marquess would want it known she was there but apparently he had no such reservations. Or perhaps he did, since when the women walked in, Lord Litchfield did not accompany them.

"Lady Beckford-how good it is to see you!" Gowned in a confection of pink silk and white lace over wide panniers that lifted the skirt up above her stockinged ankles, the porcelain-faced blond girl looked like a doll made of sugar candy. She was shorter than Kathryn, rounder and softer in all the right places. With her pale skin and pink cheeks, she was the image of female perfection.

Kathryn felt an unwanted twinge of jealousy. With her own taller height and too thin frame, she felt gangly and awkward in comparison. The girl was undeniably a beauty. No wonder the marquess had chosen to wed her.

The butler called for tea, and introductions were made all round, Kathryn introduced simply as Miss Gray, a friend of Lady Beckford's from York.

Even at that, the baroness eyed her with some suspicion. She was even shorter than Allison, or perhaps it was the width of her bulky frame that made her appear that way. "Then you are not here to visit his lordship?" she said in a voice that sounded a bit too probing.

Kathryn forced a smile. "Actually, Lord Litchfield and I are barely acquainted. He has been busy a good deal of the time. In truth, I have rarely seen him."

For the first time, Lady St. James smiled. She accepted the teacup Winnie had handed her and set it down on the table. "Where is he now? He was expecting our call. I a.s.sumed he would be here when we arrived."

"My apologies, ladies." Litchfield strode through the doorway, as dark and imposing as ever. "The meeting with my steward ran longer than I had planned." He bowed over the baroness's plump hand. "I hope you both will forgive me."

Lady Allison beamed up at him. "Of course, my lord. A man of your position has any number of responsibilities. Mama and I quite understand."

Litchfield gave her one of his indulgent smiles. For an instant his eyes lifted over her head and fixed on Kathryn. His gaze was dark and unreadable, but it lingered an instant longer than it should have and something hot tugged at her insides. Then his attention returned to the vision in pink.

"Your note said there was a matter of importance you wished to discuss. Perhaps you would prefer to be private. If that is the case-"

"Oh, no, my lord." Lady Allison set her gold-rimmed teacup down on the table. "It is simply the matter of Lord Tinkerdon. What he has done is hardly a secret, so there is no need for discretion."

"Tinkerdon? What has Tinkerdon to do with me?"

The baroness leaned forward, her plump figure straining against the tight-fitting bodice of her blue silk gown. An air of authority exuded from her stout, rigidly postured frame. "Surely you've heard the news. Tinkerdon has lost his fortune in some grand scheme to extract silver from lead in which he was swindled. His creditors have all come forward, demanding he pay his bills, but apparently the man is penniless. He is certain to be banned from Almack's. No one will want to have anything to do with him."

"And?"

"And we have invited him to the wedding!" Lady Allison cried as if the man were a convicted killer instead of simply broke.

"The invitations have already been sent," the baroness put in. "Lady Allison was hoping that you, as a man of discretion, would contact Lord Tinkerdon and quietly suggest he be too busy to attend the affair."

Litchfield frowned. "Whether or not Lord Tinkerdon attends the wedding is hardly a matter of importance. The man has lost his fortune, but he is still a member of the aristocracy. You've invited half of London. His presence or absence will scarcely be noted."

Sitting next to him on the sofa, Lady Allison caught his arm. "Please, my lord. Where would we seat him at the wedding feast? Someone might be offended and there could be an incident. Something might happen to spoil the affair and we certainly wouldn't want that."

For a moment, Kathryn thought he would concede to Lady Allison's ridiculous plea, and began reevaluating her opinion of him. Instead, he patted the girl's white-gloved hand.

"I'm sorry, my dear. You are young yet. In time you will learn that how much money one has is not always the most important consideration. You may approach your father if you wish, but I imagine he'll feel just as I do. In the meantime, I suggest you busy yourself with more important matters than poor old Tinkerdon's lack of funds-which is exactly what I intend to do."

Rising to his feet, he flicked Kathryn a last quick glance and started for the door. "I hope you ladies will excuse me."

He didn't await their reply, simply strode across the room on those long legs of his and slid open the drawing room doors. Sunlight gleamed on the glossy black hair tied at the nape of his neck. Without looking back, he disappeared into the hallway. Hearing his retreating footfalls, Kathryn felt a growing respect for him, and a strong suspicion that Lady Beckford's a.s.sessment of his upcoming marriage was extremely astute.

Lucien couldn't sleep. He kept dreaming of the ragged waif who had hidden in the back of his carriage. Over and over, he saw her, filthy and unkempt yet facing him with the dignity of a queen.

Then the dream would shift and he would see her as she was now, her lovely face clean and shining, her eyes a deep, mossy green, her mouth full and tempting. She was gowned in silk and sitting in a sumptuous drawing room as if she belonged there. Only the book she was reading, a thick tome on physical anatomy, on arteries, vessels, and blood, seemed incongruent with the picture.

Lucien jerked awake, his mind still spinning, disturbed by the conflicting images, wondering why they didn't fit together. He lay back on the pillow with a sigh, still seeing her face in his head. What pieces of her story were missing? How much had she left unsaid? His instincts told him she was telling only part of the truth. He wondered how much was a lie.

Whatever the answer, he intended to find out. He had dispatched his messenger a day earlier than he had told her. He would know the answers and soon.

The wind kicked up outside, rattling the windows, the chill of mid-October just beginning to settle in. A thin moon hung in a pitch-dark sky masked by a thin layer of clouds. Sleeping naked as he usually did, Lucien swung his legs to the side of the bed and drew on his black silk dressing gown. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well get something to read.

Lighting the branch of candles on the dresser, he made his way downstairs, pausing at the thin blade of yellow streaming out from beneath the library door. Aunt Winnie wasn't much of a reader. Only one other person would be in there at this hour of the night.

Lucien eased open the door, his eyes searching the dimly lit interior, finding the slim figure in his aunt's satin wrapper curled up in the window seat, her long legs tucked up beneath her. Open and resting on the seat beside her, lit by a single beeswax candle, sat a worn, leather-bound volume with gold-edged pages.

"Couldn't sleep, Miss Gray?"

She gasped at the sound of his voice, jerked her head up from her study, so engrossed she hadn't heard him walk in. Her hair was unbound, streaming down around her shoulders past her waist. It was thick and shiny, as dark as the shadows flickering on the walls, but for the first time, he noticed it was highlighted with l.u.s.trous red.

"I had a nightmare," she said. "I decided I would rather read than suffer it again."

He walked toward her, taking in the firm points of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s outlined by the robe, the sash that marked the circle of her tiny waist. "Have you had this dream before?"

She bit her lip and shook her head. "It was real before," she said so softly he almost didn't hear.

"You are speaking of your abduction."

She nodded a little too quickly and glanced away. "Of course." But the words somehow didn't ring true.

Lucien stopped beside her, studying her face, close enough that the satin of her wrapper brushed the black silk of his dressing gown. The sight was oddly erotic and his body began to harden. Inwardly, he cursed and took a step away.

"What are you reading this time, Miss Gray?" He watched the shifting of her features, watched her expression close up. She wanted to hide the book. He could see it in her eyes. He reached out and closed it so that he could read the t.i.tle, careful to mark her place with his index finger.

"The English Midwife Enlarged. " Reading the smaller letters below, he continued. "Containing Directions to Midwives. Herein is Laid Down What is Most Requisite for the Safe Practicing of her Art." He frowned, lifting his gaze to her face. A dozen thoughts rolled through his head, but a disturbing one remained at the forefront.

"You said the men who abducted you did not... that they left your person alone. If it happened otherwise, it is certainly not your fault. If you are worried that you may be with child, do not be afraid to tell me, Miss Gray."

Even in the dim light of the candle, he could see her cheeks infuse with pink. "They did not... nothing of that sort occurred." She straightened a little in the window seat, lifted her chin. "I am merely interested in the subject, is all. As I told you, I have been interested in the healing arts since I was a child. I found your books and I wanted to read them. You said that it was all right."

He stared at her for long, silent moments, wondering if this were the truth or another lie. "So I did. Read them as you like, Miss Gray. I won't stop you. Nor will I caution you to be discreet. You seem to know how such study by a woman would be frowned upon."

She straightened even more, squaring her shoulders. "I know, but I don't agree. I believe a person, male or female, should be allowed to study whatever interests him. But I shall heed your advice and continue to behave accordingly."

Lucien nodded. His attention had begun to stray from the words she was speaking, to the slim, bare foot that had edged its way from beneath her satin robe. It was pale and high-arched, her ankle slender and shapely. The arousal he had suppressed began to rise up once more beneath his robe. Lucien turned away, busied himself among the texts along the bookshelf, found the volume he had come to retrieve, and strode to the door.

"Perhaps those books are the source of your bad dreams, Miss Gray."

She smiled faintly. "I suppose in a way they are. But they are also my salvation."

Lucien made no reply. She was an odd little creature. Too intelligent to be fashionable, yet strangely enticing. It bothered him that in the few days she had been at Castle Running, he had begun to feel an increasing desire for her. He was betrothed to another; he had to remember that.

He only wished Allison Hartman could stir him as easily as Kathryn Gray did with merely a glimpse of her ankle.

THREE.

Dear G.o.d, how she hated to leave. Kathryn's fingers ran over the deep blue silk counterpane, down along the heavy velvet bedhangings that surrounded the big four-poster bed where she had been sleeping.

She would miss the soft life of privilege she had once taken for granted and never would again. She would miss Lady Beckford's friendship, even her often unnerving conversations with the handsome owner of the castle. But she would survive without them. As long as she had her freedom, she could survive most anything.

Kathryn pulled the snowy embroidered case off a fluffy down pillow. She would use it to carry the food she had been hiding away for the last three days. She would have to take one of the gowns Lady Beckford had loaned her, along with a pair of kid slippers and one of her borrowed night rails, but there was no help for it.

She wished she had money to pay for the clothes, or at least a few coins to help with her journey, but she refused to take anything more from the only people who had been kind to her in nearly a year. She would find work along the road, she vowed, enough to make her way.

She had decided to head for Cornwall, rural country where she could find a job of some sort, earn enough to make a life for herself, and simply disappear. She would leave later tonight, as soon as she was sure the others were asleep. Earlier she had pled a headache and taken supper from a tray sent to her room. She'd needed time to gather her courage, time to accept what must be done and prepare herself to do it.

With a heavy heart, she walked to the cream and gilt armoire across the elegant bedchamber to change into the simplest of her borrowed gowns, a heavy dark green woolen trimmed with ecru lace, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

The long-nosed butler, Reeves, stood in the opening. "Lord Litchfield requests your presence in his study."

A shiver of unease rippled through her. "It's getting rather late. Are you certain he wants-"

"He wishes to see you. That is all he said."

She nodded, shoving down her fears. "Tell him I'll be down in a moment."

The butler didn't move. "He said that I am to wait."

Dread moved through her. There was something implacable in the tall butler's stance, something that warned her of Litchfield's mood. Sweet G.o.d, his messenger wasn't due back for at least another day. Perhaps it was something else, something simple, like making plans for an outing on the morrow. She hoped so. Prayed it was so with all her heart.

She descended the stairs with no little trepidation, her heart pattering hard, her palms beginning to sweat. When she walked into the study, the marquess stood at the window, his back turned toward her, his long legs braced slightly apart. She couldn't miss the rigid set of his shoulders, though she prayed that she was wrong.

He waited until the butler shut the door, the sound like the closing of a coffin lid behind her, then he turned, his dark eyes glittering with unmistakable anger as they came to rest on her face.

"Who are you?" There was such soft menace in his voice Kathryn unconsciously took a step backward. She wanted to run. She wanted to be somewhere-anywhere-but there in his study. She wet her lips but couldn't seem to make them move.

"You let me send my messenger on a wild-goose chase halfway across the country. You lied to me. You accepted my aunt's kindness, and took advantage of my generosity. Now I want to know exactly who you are and why you are here."

She did run then, bolted toward the door, jerked it open and fled like a deer down the hall. Litchfield caught her before she reached the entry, gripping her waist, spinning her around and slamming her hard up against his chest.

"You're not going anywhere," he said in those soft, dark tones that were far more terrifying than if he had shouted. "Not until you tell me the truth." She could feel the ridges of muscle beneath his white ruffled shirt, feel the hardness of his thighs pressing against her, and her body began to tremble. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them away.

She tilted her head, stared into the hard lines of his face. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I was leaving tonight. By morning, I would have been gone. Dear G.o.d, I never wanted to lie-especially to someone who helped me. I didn't want to deceive you. I had no other choice!"

His mouth curved up in a ruthless half-smile. "You've a choice now," he said. He released his hold, but kept a tight grip on her arm, dragging her back down the hall toward his study. "You can tell me the truth, or I can turn you over to the authorities. That is your choice, Miss Gray."

She struggled for a moment, tried to wrench free, but his hold was implacable. He didn't release her until she was back inside the room and the door firmly closed. He cranked the key, locking them both inside, then he turned to face her.

"All right, Miss Gray, what is your choice? The truth? Or the authorities?" He folded his arms across his wide chest, which made him look even taller and more imposing than he did before. "Rest a.s.sured, Miss Gray, I am not bluffing. And I shall know in an instant should you spin another false tale."

Kathryn stared at those hard, determined features and a wave of defeat washed over her. "Oh, G.o.d." She sank down on the brown leather sofa in front of where he stood, and against her will, her eyes filled with tears. "Can't you just let me go? In time I can earn enough money to repay you for the food I've eaten. I don't have any clothes, but surely you could find something old that-"

"Listen to me," the marquess said more gently. "Whatever you have done, I cannot believe it is as bad as all of this. If you have stolen something, if you have hurt someone-just tell me and I will find a way to help."

She only shook her head.

"I have to know, Kathryn. Tell me what it is you have done."

Kathryn shot to her feet, her hands clenching into shaking fists. "I've done nothing! Nothing-do you hear!"

"Then why are you running away?"

She bit down on her trembling lip. Dear G.o.d, she wanted to tell him, wanted with all her heart to trust him with the truth.

His hands gripped her shoulders and he shook her. "Tell me, dammit!"

She raised her eyes to his face, her heart like a lead weight in her chest. "All right. I'll tell you the truth-on one condition."

He frowned. "I am not in the mood for accepting conditions."

Kathryn said nothing, simply held her ground.

"All right, what is it?"

"After..." She wet her trembling lips. "After you hear my story-if you decide you don't want to help me-you'll let me go."

"You expect me to let you just walk out of here, with no money and no place to go?"

"Yes."

His jaw tightened. She could see he didn't like the notion, but finally he nodded. "All right, then, you have my word."

Kathryn sucked in a shuddering breath and forced courage she didn't feel into her spine. "I'm not Kathryn Gray. I am Lady Kathryn Grayson. The Earl of Milford was my father."

The marquess's brows drew nearly together. "Milford was your father?"

"You knew him?"

"I knew of him. He was well thought of among his peers."

She smiled with a touch of sadness. "He was a good man, a wonderful father. He was also extremely wealthy. When he died five years ago, he left an enormous estate. Unfortunately, I was his only heir."

"Unfortunately?"

A lump began to form in her throat. "I'm afraid so."

He coaxed her to sit back down on the sofa and took a chair across from her. "Go on, Lady Kathryn. Tell me your story."

She smoothed her skirts, gazed down at the hands she clutched in her lap. When she started to speak, her voice came out stark and rusty. "By the time my father died, my mother was already dead, which meant my inheritance required a trustee. That duty fell into the hands of my guardian, my mother's brother, Douglas Roth, the Earl of Dunstan."