The Lady Courts a Marquess (Ladies of Seduction #2)

Chapter Eight

June 1811

32b Canary Street

London, England

K NOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sound of someone slamming their fist against the door was loud enough to wake the dead. Kitty groaned and threw an arm across her face as the offensive noise roused her from a deep sleep. She’d been up past midnight, attending a play with William and his visiting great-aunt, Helen, who had nodded off after the first act, leaving her and William to pay closer attention to each other than the actors prancing across the stage.

A slow, leisurely smile crossed her lips as she trailed her fingers fondly along the side of her neck where his whiskers had left a light brush burn on her sensitive skin. She had another red mark above her left breast, and a third on the inside of her right knee. Testaments to a passion that even loud snoring hadn’t been able to detract from.

Over the past six weeks, they’d hardly been able to keep their hands off each other. A morning stroll around Vauxhall Gardens was practically an invitation for a clandestine kiss behind a fountain. An afternoon carriage ride through Hyde Park was a wonderful opportunity for petting below the waist. And three nights ago, at the Gloucester Ball, their desire had nearly spilled into outright lovemaking when William followed her into the library.

She wouldn’t have minded if it had. In her mind, she and William were practically engaged, and that was as good a reason to lose her virginity as any. Love—an emotion she held in the lowest regard—was a second reason, and much to her surprise, she did love William. He was handsome, he was titled, and his kisses made her toes curl. But more than that, he was kind. He was thoughtful. He was considerate of her feelings. He was, to put it plainly, nice to her. And she was soaking up all of that niceness with the vigor of a flower in the rain after a long hard drought. However, if that was him rattling the windowpanes at half past eight (a horrid hour, to be sure), she might have to seriously consider whether that love came with caveats.

She passed her father’s bedchamber. The door was ajar and a quick peek revealed that Eriam was unconscious half on the floor and half on the bed, an empty bottle of rum tucked lovingly under his chin. Disgust rose within her and she battled it back as she made her way downstairs, stepping around piles of clothing and more empty bottles, some of them broken, as she went. The house hadn’t seen a maid for the better part of a month. The cook was gone. So was the butler. Even the footman, a pock-scarred lecher who had liked to ogle her breasts when he thought she wasn’t paying attention had finally gone. Mara, the only thread holding the Holden family together, had married her dream duke, gone off to her fancy estate in the country, and in the ashes of her absence, the house had crumbled in on itself.

Kitty had considered writing to her sister and asking for money a dozen times, but pride stayed her quill. If Mara could escape this hellhole of a life—shy, mousy Mara—then surely she could, too. And she was almost there. All she needed was for William to propose, and she’d start planning the wedding. She already had September picked out. Before the first leaves began to fall, she’d be the new Countess of Radcliffe. Then all of this—the secondhand clothes, the glass jewelry, the dust, the dirt, the disgust—would be but a distant memory.

But first, she needed to answer the door.

“I am coming ,” she called out when the pounding increased. Drawing a shawl around her shoulders, she wrenched the brass knob on an impatient huff of breath—and froze at the sight of the person who awaited her on the stoop. Not William, as she’d assumed, nor a creditor coming to collect money that her father didn’t have, but a woman. A woman around her age, wearing nothing more than a white nightdress that was stained brown at the bottom with mud. Her hair, black and tangled, lay strewn around narrow, bony shoulders. Cornflower blue eyes dominated a pale countenance with hollow cheeks carved straight out of the bone and lips that were red and chapped.

She wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Who are you?” Kitty asked, not unkindly, as it was clear that the woman was in some sort of distress. Muffling a yawn, she laid her head against the edge of the doorframe. “Can I help you? I fear you may have the wrong address. If you’re looking for—”

“Who are you? ” the woman parroted back, and Kitty felt some of her kindness slip away.

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” she said, straightening. “In case you haven’t noticed the time, it’s early. I should be in bed. You should be in bed.” A frown touched the corners of her lips. “You should also find your shoes.”

“You know him.” The cornflower blue eyes gleamed unnaturally in the morning gloom of a gray, overcast day that hadn’t yet decided if it was going to rain or shine. “You know him. I know that you know him. I know that you do.”

“Know who ? If this is some ploy to get money, I’m afraid you’re wasting your unremarkable acting skills.” Kitty had taken pains—great, enormous pains—to conceal the dire straits of her financial situation to every person, horse, and mouse in the ton , but she felt relatively safe sharing her secret with a lunatic. “We haven’t any. Not even a spare shilling. So if you’ll be on your way—”

“William is mine .” The woman shoved into the door with a shocking amount of strength given her frail physique. It caught Kitty on her hip as it swung inward, sending her stumbling back, arms wind-milling for balance. The woman followed her into the foyer, her eyes uncannily light, her steps slow and predatory, and a sliver of fear sliced through Kitty’s annoyance as she found herself continuing to back away.

“Now see here,” she began, placing her hands in front of her to ward off the woman’s steady advance while they turned in a circle in the middle of the small, cramped hall. “I have no idea who you are or what your connection is to William, but you cannot just barge into a stranger’s house without an invitation! If you don’t leave, I’ll... I’ll scream!”

The woman stopped, and Kitty’s chest rose with a sigh of relief. A sigh of relief that lodged itself into her throat like a hook when the woman’s head canted to the side and began to tick, tick, tick in a clock-like motion.

“They scream at night. It’s loud.” Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “I don’t like the loud.”

“Who are you?” Kitty demanded, even though part of her was quite sure she didn’t want to know the answer.

The ticking ceased. A strange quiet unraveled across her face; a busy painting being covered in white so that the artist could start anew. “I am Lady Alessandra Mountbatten, Lord William Radcliffe’s betrothed. Who are you ?”

*

As a habitually early riser, William was already awake and half-dressed when Stevens came to his door.

“Someone is here to see you, my lord.”

“At this hour?” William knotted his cravat and slid his arms into a burgundy tailcoat perfectly cut to his broad frame. “Who is it?”

“He did not give me his name, only his calling card. He said that it was urgent he speak with you and is pacing in the front parlor.” Stevens held out a small rectangular piece of paper folded in half and sealed with a dot of blue wax.

Brows pinching slightly, William took the card and slid his thumbnail under the wax to pry it open.

Dr. Charles Bainbridge

Kilmister Park

He looked immediately up at Stevens. “The front parlor?”

“Yes, my lord. Would you like me to—”

But William was already shouldering past his valet in his haste to get downstairs and find out why the devil Dr. Bainbridge was in house before breakfast had been served. He’d last heard from the good doctor via a monthly letter updating him on Alessandra’s progress. Not that there was much progress to be had. Alessandra remained more or less the same as when he had first brought her to Kilmister Park. Some days, Dr. Bainbridge wrote, she appeared more coherent. Other days she held rigorous conversations with a tree. But there had been nothing of note in his latest recounting of her daily activities. Certainly nothing that would warrant a personal visit at such an hour.

“Dr. Bainbridge.” With discretion in mind, William made sure to close the door behind him before proceeding across the parlor to shake the doctor’s hand. “How can I help you?”

Visibly distraught, Dr. Bainbridge pulled on the tips of his moustache. “It’s Alessandra.”

“What about her? Is she ill? Or injured?”

“She’s . . . she’s missing, Lord Radcliffe.”

“ Missing? ” Absurdly, William’s gaze traveled around the room, as if he might find Alessandra lurking behind a sofa. “For how long?”

Dr. Bainbridge pulled harder on his moustache. “Four days.”

“Four days ?” he said incredulously. “And I’m only hearing about this now?”

“We had hoped to recover her without incident. It’s not unusual for patients to hide around the grounds or even in the manor itself. But after an exhaustive search, it has become apparent that Lady Alessandra is no longer at Kilmister Park. After questioning the staff, I have some reason to think that she may be here, in London. Gossip travels, Lord Radcliffe. One of our maids believes that Lady Alessandra may have overhead her talking about your burgeoning courtship with a Lady Katherine Holden.”

Kitty .

William’s blood ran hot then turned cold as the weight of the doctor’s words—and the worry plainly displayed on his face—sank onto his shoulders with the suddenness of an anchor being tossed into the sea. Preoccupied with his growing infatuation (dare he say, even love) for Kitty, he hadn’t dwelled on Alessandra as of late. He’d even pushed back a visit in order to take Kitty on a private tour of Vauxhall Gardens. And whenever guilt had threatened to surface, he told himself that Alessandra was content where she was, that his visits might even be a hindrance to her health instead of a help, as his presence was a reminder of a life she no longer lived. Never in a million years had he imagined that Dr. Bainbridge would bloody well lose her. Or that she’d somehow travel all the way to London in order to... to what? What business could Alessandra have here? And what were the implications if she were seen and her madness discovered? These were questions that her grandfather should have been responsible for answering, but Mountbatten had washed his hands of his granddaughter once it was plain she was of no social or political use to him. It left William charged with the management of a woman that he hardly knew, but if he didn’t care for Alessandra, who would?

A human was not a toy to be cast aside once its use had expired. Clearly, it was a lesson that Mountbatten—and his own grandfather, despite how much he admired the duke—had never learned. But William had. For the entirety of his childhood, his parents had made him feel like a second thought. An inconvenience. A nuisance. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t do the same thing to Alessandra, and look what had happened the minute his head was turned by a set of soft lips and bright-blue eyes. From the moment Kitty had sauntered into his world, it had been spinning upside down. Katherine Holden was more than he had ever imagined a woman could be and no less than everything he hadn’t realized he needed.

She made him laugh. She made him scowl. She was beautiful. She was conceited. She was open with her passion. She was secretive with her emotions. She challenged him. She teased him. She was tantalizingly, unequivocally perfect for him, the countess of his wildest dreams. So he’d lost himself in her. In their courtship. In their stolen moments of desire. And while he was busy doing that, Dr. Bainbridge had lost Alessandra.

“To be honest,” the doctor continued, “I had hoped that Lady Alessandra would be here. With you.”

William raised a brow. “Why would she be here with me?”

“You are her fiancé.”

“And you’re her bloody doctor!” The leash he kept on his anger loosened a fraction, and Dr. Bainbridge visibly flinched. “I am paying you a not insignificant sum to ensure that her every need is met. That includes her safety. So where the hell is she? Where is Alessandra?”

“I...” The doctor’s hands waved uselessly. “I am not sure.”

“But you have reason to believe that she is here, in London.”

“Yes, I do. We have a weekly shipment of supplies that comes directly from a warehouse on the Thames. The driver unloads, spends the night, and then leaves first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t have been difficult for her ladyship to stow away on the wagon.”

No, it wouldn’t have been difficult. Alessandra may have been trapped in her own little world, but she wasn’t lacking in intelligence. Which, in some ways, almost made her plight worse. To have the wherewithal to know that she was different, but not the ability to change.

“Have you been to the Mountbatten residence?” he asked.

Dr. Bainbridge nodded. “Yes. Her grandfather hasn’t heard from or seen her since before she was admitted to Kilmister Park. He... he was quite firm that he wanted nothing to do with finding her.”

Of course not.

William raked a hand through his hair. “If she’s not there, and she’s not here, then...” His fingers tightened reflexively at the nape of his neck, blunt nails digging into muscle. “Kitty,” he breathed. She’s gone to find Kitty .

“Pardon?”

But William had already left the parlor, slamming the door in his wake.

*

“I’m sorry, but you must be confused.” And mad as a hatter , Kitty added silently as she stared at the frail, increasingly frantic creature occupying the middle of her foyer. “Lord Radcliffe is not betrothed.”

“Yes, he is. Me. He is betrothed to me .” A hysterical note raised Alessandra’s voice an octave, causing Kitty to wince at the high, piercing sound. “He is with me. He is mine. He is not yours. He is mine .”

“Lord Radcliffe and I have been courting for more than a month. If he had a fiancée, I’m sure he would have mentioned it by now.” Still, the absolute certainty in the woman’s expression gave her pause. That, and she was sure she’d heard the name Alessandra Mountbatten before. She just couldn’t place when or where. “I’d like you to leave. I cannot help you.”

“Help?” Her girlish giggle made the fine hairs on Kitty’s arms lift straight up. “I don’t need help. I need you to go away. I need you to go away, because William is mine. Mine. Mine. Mine .”

“Need I remind you that you’re standing in my house.” Kitty’s shawl slipped to the ground as she drew herself to her full height and pointed imperiously at the door. “If you don’t leave this minute, I’ll—I’ll have a Runner fetched to make you leave.” The Bow Street Runners were charged with investigating crimes and apprehending serious criminals, but surely they’d make an exception in this case. “It is obvious that you are not well, Lady Alessandra. Perhaps if you see a doctor—”

“I’m tired of doctors. I don’t want any more doctors.” Alessandra grabbed her hair, yanking at the tangled nest of black with her fists as she stomped her feet. “I want William .”

“Well, you can’t have him,” Kitty snapped, her patience having reached its end, “because he is going to marry me.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She realized that as soon as the words were out of her mouth. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull or tossing a fish into shark-infested waters.

Dammit, when would she learn to bite her tongue?

“What I meant,” she began, lifting her palms in a placating gesture as Alessandra’s nostrils flared and her eyes rolled wildly, “is that the William you are referring to and the William that I am referring to must be two different men. That is all. It’s early. You look tired. Why don’t we—”

“NO!” Alessandra shrieked. “NO, NO, NO!”

A glint of silver flying through the air was Kitty’s only warning. She ducked instinctively to the side and the paper knife, long and pointy, struck the wall mere inches from where her face had been. Shocked, she knelt to retrieve the weapon, but before she could close her fingers around it, Alessandra barreled into her at full force and they both went tumbling across the rug while the paper knife skidded just out of reach.

“ Let... go... of... me ,” Kitty grunted, sending an elbow flying into Alessandra’s stomach and managing to buy herself a few precious moments of freedom. She went straight for the paper knife, but Alessandra jumped onto her back, and as the air left her lungs on a loud whoosh it went skittering out of reach yet again. Struggling in earnest, she tried to flip the smaller woman off her, but what Alessandra lacked in sanity she made up for in strength. It was akin to wrestling with a squirrel. If the squirrel weighed seven stone and had a penchant for deadly objects.

Dread pooled in her belly when Alessandra’s arm shot past her and they both grappled for the paper knife, twisting this way and that, kicking and scratching. Somehow Kitty found herself flat on her back with Alessandra’s bony knees pressing painfully into her hips. Alessandra held the paper knife and she held Alessandra’s wrist clamped in a death grip, knowing that if she wavered, if she weakened, Alessandra wouldn’t hesitate to bury the sharp point into her neck. And it would not be the first time the floorboards in this hall were stained red with blood.

This was where Kitty’s mother had died. Right here, in this very room, after being pushed down the stairs. Mara thought she hadn’t seen, but she had. She had crept out of their room, hunched down behind the stairway spindles, and watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as Mara had wept over their mother’s lifeless body. Watched as their father, struck sober by his dark deed, had rolled his wife into a rug and carried her out of the house. Watched as Mara had scrubbed at the red until it turned to pink, then to brown, then to nothing.

Their mother’s murder was Kitty’s first Big Secret. Kept out of fear of what Eriam Holden would do to her and Mara if they ever spoke of what happened that night. Over the years, that fear grew to include what High Society would think of her if they knew she was the daughter of a murderer. A daughter who had shamefully kept her silence instead of having the courage to say the truth. Now fate was making sure that she paid for her sins. By striking her down in the same place where her mother had perished, it was evening the scales. Making right what was wrong.

But Kitty wasn’t ready to die.

Not when she finally had so much to live for.

Raising her head, she sank her teeth into Alessandra’s wrist. With a howl of pain, Alessandra dropped the paper knife and fell to the side, clutching her arm. Her heart beating wildly, Kitty picked up the paper knife and waved it in front of her while she scrambled to her feet. A row of scratches burned on the side of her neck, and her hair, once plaited in a neat ribbon down the middle of her back, cascaded over her shoulders in a messy waterfall of blonde. She parted her lips, but before she could speak, the door crashed open and William came barreling through.

“ Katherine .” He stopped short and sized her up in one glance, his brown eyes burning black as he took in the red marks on her ivory skin. “Are you all right?”

“Am I... am I all right?” This time it was her voice that shook with a chord of hysteria. “No, no I am decidedly not all right . This woman”—she jabbed the paper knife at Alessandra who remained on the floor in crumpled heap, moaning and holding her bleeding wrist—“came in and attacked me! She was blabbering on about how the two of you are engaged. She’s clearly insane, and I don’t know what asylum she escaped from, but—”

“Alessandra,” said William quietly, and Kitty’s jaw dropped at the resigned tenor of recognition in his tone. “What have you done?”

“I wanted to see you,” Alessandra moaned pitifully. “I wanted to see you and she ”—she glared at Kitty—“wouldn’t let me.”

“You tried to stab me with a paper knife! ” Her gaze cut to William as her mind tried to puzzle out the impossible. “She was ranting and raving about being your fiancée. But that cannot be true. Tell me that cannot be true.”

“It’s...” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s complicated.”

Kitty sucked in a breath. “What’s complicated about it? You either are, or you aren’t. You’ve either lied to me since we met, or you haven’t.”

“Alessandra and I were betrothed. We—we are betrothed still, I suppose, but none of it was by my choice. I should get her back to Dr. Bainbridge, and then I can explain.” He reached for her hand, but Kitty pointed the paper knife at him.

“Don’t touch me.”

His mouth flattened. “Katherine—”

“Get out. Get out, both of you!” she yelled, her chest heaving on a suppressed sob of pure, wretched emotion. “I never want to see you ever again.”

Then she waited.

She waited for him to tell her it was all some kind of cruel jest. She waited for him to pick Alessandra up and toss her out the door. Because this couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t really be happening. Not when she was so close to her happily-ever-after. Not when she was so close to having all she’d ever dreamed of.

Except in her dreams, William wasn’t engaged to someone else.

“I’ll explain,” he repeated gruffly. “When I return, I’ll explain everything.”

Her hand holding the paper knife fell numbly to her side as she watched him gather Alessandra and escort her out the door. When it clicked into place, the tiny sound loud as a gunshot in the echo of his absence, the tears came, stinging the scratches on her neck as a flood of salty water rained down across her cheeks.

In her dreams, William never broke her heart.