Читать книгу The Complete Regency Surrender Collection - Энни Берроуз, Louise Allen - Страница 82

Chapter Twenty-Three

Where was he?

Katrina worried at her lip as she stood in the ballroom of Finchley House, studying the guests who meandered around the elaborately decorated room in various costumes. The columns had been dressed to resemble trees and there was greenery tied with flowers that hung from the crystal chandeliers. Even though each guest wore a mask, she was certain she would be able to recognise Mr Armstrong in this imitation woodland forest. At least she hoped she would. Perhaps she should have asked which costume he would be wearing when they had spoken briefly at the Hipswitch garden party.

‘May I help you find someone, my dear?’

Katrina jumped at the sound of the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale’s voice. ‘Your Grace, you startled me.’ She turned to find the sweet, diminutive woman dressed like a man, with a ruffled collar, jacket, doublet and hose. For the first time in days Katrina had the urge to smile.

The Dowager turned in a circle and bowed. ‘What do you say, Miss Vandenberg? Don’t I cut a dashing figure?’

A soft laugh bubbled up in Katrina’s throat. It sounded scratchy from lack of use. ‘That you do, indeed. Are you a particular gentleman?’

‘Why, Shakespeare, of course.’ The Dowager stood a bit taller—or at least as tall as a woman of her height could. ‘That is a beautiful costume,’ she said, admiring Katrina’s gold armbands.

The warmth of the Dowager’s smile tugged at the scattered pieces of Katrina’s heart. She missed this woman who had kindly offered her friendship and had taken her under her wing. How she wished she could reach out and hug her.

‘Thank you. I must confess I wasn’t certain what I wanted to be.’

‘I’d say a Greek goddess was the perfect choice.’

It definitely was an improvement over the three hundred shepherdesses she had seen milling about the house since her arrival with the Forresters.

The Dowager scanned the area around them. ‘You appeared to be searching for someone. May I offer some assistance?’ She raised herself up on her booted toes to improve her view.

Katrina crossed her arms and fingered her armband, fighting the urge to be honest with the Dowager. ‘I was just admiring the dancers.’

The Dowager lowered her heels and turned an assessing eye on Katrina. ‘From over here?’ She leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘You cannot fool me. Now, tell me, am I acquainted with this person?’ Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Katrina bit her lip again. ‘I’m trying to determine what Mr Armstrong is wearing this evening. Do you know the gentleman?’

The smile on the Dowager’s face dropped to a frown. ‘Yes. I know the man. I was not aware you were well acquainted.’

There was no sense in holding back her sigh from the Dowager. ‘We have been brought together on a number of occasions. I only wish this not to be another.’

‘You are trying to avoid him.’ The smile was back, brightening the Dowager’s face.

‘I am. However, if you share that with anyone I will deny it.’

The Dowager placed her finger to her lips. ‘I am the soul of discretion.’

As Katrina scanned the room once more she finally spotted him. He was dressed as an ancient emperor with a crown of gold. It was no coincidence. How had Madame de Lieven found out what Katrina was going to wear?

‘I have found him,’ she said, and groaned.

The Dowager was back on her toes, scanning the crowd. Then she turned sharply and covered her smile with a gloved hand. ‘Oh, heavens. He does look very pleased with himself.’

‘I’ve yet to observe him not looking pleased with himself.’ Katrina stepped behind the Dowager. Unfortunately the woman’s height would do nothing to block Armstrong’s view of her. ‘He is bound to find me. I’m certain he knows what I am wearing. There aren’t many women draped in gold gowns walking around this evening.’

‘You are only the third I have seen as yet.’

Coming here had been a mistake. While Katrina loved spending time with the Dowager, it brought back memories of the time she had called on the woman at Lyonsdale House—the day Julian had almost kissed her in his library.

How long would the pain last? Perhaps when Sarah’s dance ended she would be able to keep Katrina’s mind off her broken heart.

* * *

Julian stood in the ballroom of the Finchleys’ masquerade between Winter and Lord Andrew Pearce, trying to concentrate on what the brothers were talking about and not on the skull-crushing pain pounding in his head. Did the Finchleys really need this many candles in one ballroom? Didn’t they realise that a darkened ballroom was preferable to one that appeared to be lit with the brightness of seven suns?

He looked down into his untouched glass of champagne and wished it were coffee. Could one actually hear the sound of champagne bubbles?

One of his friends might have just asked him a question. He wasn’t certain. ‘They are a valuable trading partner, and our borders in North America will be expensive and difficult to defend should another war break out. It is in our best interests to improve our relations with them.’

Could he go and lie down now?

‘Thank you for clarifying that for us, Lyonsdale,’ Andrew said with a smirk over the rim of his glass. ‘Should I have any interest in Anglo-American relations in the future, I will be sure to inform you.’

That reply had seemed to work with everyone else this evening. Why were his friends so difficult?

‘Pardon me—I thought you had asked me a question.’

‘I did,’ Andrew replied. ‘I asked you what it was you drank this morning?’

‘Last night. It was last night. From what I can recall it was brandy. I am not completely certain of that, however.’

Both men shook their heads in pity.

Winter removed the glass from Julian’s hand. ‘This will not help.’

‘I need something to do with my hands that does not include squeezing my forehead so tightly that my brains pop out.’

His friends laughed—which was a very cruel thing to do since the sound bounced around in his head.

‘Why did you even bother attending this evening?’ Andrew asked. ‘You’ve been avoiding all forms of entertainment recently anyway. Two days ago you attended Hipswitch’s garden party. That alone should have left you free to avoid any other outings for at least another two weeks.’

‘I need to see Morley and arrange a time to call on him.’

There was no mistaking the look that passed between Winter and Andrew. ‘And what would you have to discuss with him?’ Winter asked.

He was a tall man, of intimidating size. If Julian hadn’t know him so well, he might have taken his question as a demand.

‘I’ve decided to ask for Lady Mary’s hand.’

Andrew began to choke on his champagne, and Winter’s sharp eyes bored into him through his black mask.

‘She is a logical choice,’ Winter commented evenly. He understood the personal sacrifices one must make as a duke.

Julian rolled his shoulders and glanced around the room until he spied his grandmother. Whatever had possessed her to choose the costume she had? Then his attention shifted and every muscle in his body locked at the sight of Katrina standing next to her. He needed a deep breath, but his lungs refused to cooperate.

As if some cruel force in nature had called to her she suddenly looked up, and their eyes met through their respective masks. His dying heart gave one weak effort to stir.

He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Which he should—but he didn’t.

She was breathtaking, in a sleeveless gown threaded with gold that sparkled in the candlelight. Her hair fell past her shoulders in ringlets, and bands of gold encircled her upper arms. She was Andromeda—and he was no Perseus.

Everything he had ever wanted was across the room from him. And he could not have it.

‘Lady Mary will come into her own some day,’ Winter said.

A sharp pain stabbed at his chest. Julian blinked and Katrina turned away. The connection was gone, as if it had never existed. Two people who had known each other once—now were strangers.

He needed to go somewhere—somewhere dark—where he could be alone and lick his wounds. The Finchleys had a library. No one would go to the library in the middle of a masquerade ball. It would be his refuge.

* * *

Julian locked the door behind him after he entered the unoccupied room and untied his mask. It was dark enough that the moonlight streaming in from the terrace doors cast a bluish white light into the room. He dropped into a plump wingback chair near the fireplace and closed his eyes. There was an advantage to dressing like a pirate. They did not wear restrictive tail coats.

The rattling of the library doorknob broke the peacefulness of the room. Thank God he had had the forethought to lock the door. Let whomever it was find another room to carry on an assignation. This room was his, and he needed to be alone.

After some time he realised he must have dozed off. He stood and stretched, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension coiled tight in his body. He couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer. It was time to approach Morley.

He rubbed the ache in his chest, finding it was becoming hard to breathe. With luck the cool night air might help.

As he turned towards the French doors leading to the terrace he stumbled at the sight of Katrina’s familiar silhouette in the moonlight.

He recalled standing with her on the Russian Ambassador’s terrace the night his life had changed. No woman had ever affected him the way she did. And deep down he knew no one else ever would. Would there come a day when he stopped caring about her? Caring? It was much more than that. It was more than anything he had ever felt for anyone.

Julian gripped the back of a nearby chair. Suddenly it all made sense. He loved her—he had from the moment he’d spoken with her under the stars. That was why he had such a burning need for her. That was why no other woman could compare to her—and that was why, now they were apart, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and never let her go.

The terrace appeared to be deserted except for her lovely form. The need to know if she felt the same was consuming.

But before he could take another step towards the door, a man dressed in a black domino costume with a half mask and tricorn hat approached Katrina’s side. Julian would wager one hundred pounds it was Armstrong. His heart sank. It was too late.

His vision clouded over with images of Armstrong dancing with her at the Whitfields’ ball. It cleared just in time for him to see the man covering Katrina’s nose with something white, shortly before her body fell limply into the man’s arms.

Julian’s brow furrowed. Katrina never swooned.

Before he was able to react, the man had hoisted her into his arms and carried her off into the darkened garden.

What the bloody hell was going on?

Julian ran for the French doors, raced down the terrace steps and through the garden. Just as he charged through the gate onto South Bruton Mews a carriage pulled away. Julian was certain Katrina was inside it. His almost dead heart now pounded furiously in his chest. He ran after it, but wasn’t fast enough, and the carriage made its way over the cobblestones towards Bruton Street.

Julian slammed his fist into the garden wall, not even feeling the pain. There had to be a way to reach them.

Finchley House was one of only two houses on Grafton Street whose gardens backed directly onto the mews. All the other houses had stables separating the mews from their gardens. Julian scanned the long narrow lane, searching desperately for a horse. What he found was Hart’s driver, sitting idly on his bench in an unmarked carriage a few doors down. Thank God his friend was always prepared for a hasty departure.

Julian whistled for Jonas just as Hart ran up beside him.

‘I saw you hurry past. What has happened?’

‘Someone has taken Katrina. I’m taking your carriage.’ Julian climbed onto the driver’s box, next to Jonas, and looked down at Hart. ‘Find Miss Forrester and let her know. You both must keep this a secret. Watch for my return.’

Hart nodded, and stepped back as Julian and Jonas sped away.

The carriage rocked as it travelled over the bumpy cobblestones. There was a bend in the lane ahead. Hopefully the other carriage would be visible once they had made the turn.

‘There was a carriage here just now, Jonas. Did you see it?’

‘Aye, Your Grace. The one with the unmatched pair?’

‘That’s the one. We need to follow it.’

Jonas nodded as if chasing down another carriage was a common occurrence and then called out to the horses. ‘Come on, boys, on with you.’

The carriage picked up speed.

‘We won’t know which way they went once they reached Bruton Street,’ he pointed out to Julian over the sound of turning wheels and clattering hoofbeats.

‘I’m aware of that. Let us pray they are not that far ahead of us and we see them.’

Julian had no idea what he would do if they did not. He clenched his right hand into a fist.

Thankfully when they reached the end of the mews, they spotted the driver’s green coat and the mismatched pair of horses as they turned right onto New Bond Street. Julian knew that once they were away from the street lights of Mayfair it would be harder to track them.

‘Whatever you do, do not lose sight of them,’ he ground out.

They followed the carriage out of Mayfair towards Cheapside. He thought of trying to overtake it, but was afraid it might cause an accident and Katrina might not survive. He would follow this carriage to the far corners of the land to get her back, and when he did he was going to beat Armstrong senseless.

If it was Armstrong, could it be possible that he was taking her to Gretna Green? Was he that desperate? Certainly by the way he had rendered her unconscious, this elopement was not by choice.

If they were headed there they would have to change horses in two hours. Julian needed to force himself to remain calm until then. He would do Katrina no good if he could not think clearly. In two hours he would have her back. And Armstrong would regret the day he had planned this.

When Jonas lost sight of the carriage near St. Paul’s it was nearly impossible for Julian not to lash out at the coachman. They could not have disappeared. They had to be somewhere close by.

He gripped the rail in front of him until his knuckles were white. Dear God, please let me find her.

The streets in this part of London were not very familiar to him. Thank God Jonas appeared to know his way around. After circling the streets for what felt like hours, but had probably been less than fifteen minutes, they spotted the carriage parked on Newgate Street. He had Jonas stop far enough back that their presence would not be easily noticed.

Looking closely at his surroundings, Julian realised he knew this place. The carriage was parked in front of the Crypt of St Martin’s le Grand. He, like other people in London, had ventured out here to inspect the crypt when it had been uncovered not long ago.

The implication of where they were made his palms sweat and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This was not a forced elopement. What was Armstrong up to?

Before Julian had a chance to determine the best way to approach the situation the cloaked figure hurried out of the crypt empty-handed, and re-entered the carriage. Julian’s blood ran cold. His gut told him Katrina was in the crypt.

As the carriage pulled away Jonas spoke up. ‘Shall I follow it?’

He shook his head. He knew where to find Armstrong—and he would find him. But first he needed to reach Katrina. He only prayed he wasn’t too late.