Silk And Steel Part 1

Silk and Steel.

Kat Martin.

To my great friend, Meryl Sawyer, and her beloved late husband, Jeffrey, who will long be missed by all.

ONE.

Lady Kathryn Grayson slipped silently into the shadows behind the door of the old stone stable. She s.h.i.+vered, her tattered, dirty night rail little protection against the chill, the straw on the cold dirt floor scratchy beneath the soles of her bare feet. At the front of the stable, she could see a skinny, freckle-faced groom and the gleaming black of an expensive traveling carriage.

Creeping closer to the door, she saw that the conveyance was ready to depart and that it bore the gilded crest of a n.o.bleman-the head of a wolf above a silver sword. Two footmen stood in conversation with the driver a little off to the left and as she listened to their conversation, her heart began to pound. The carriage wasn't traveling to London, but preparing for a return to the country. Dear G.o.d, it was headed away from the city! If she could find a place to hide in it, she would be safe!

Her excitement increased, her breath coming faster, a frosty mist in the cold morning air. She had to get away and the sooner the better. The carriage was the perfect solution.

She watched a moment more, surveying the sleek, finely polished lines of the expensive coach, feeling a wild surge of hope. The luggage boot at the rear would work-if there was room for her inside. She prayed there was, took a deep, steadying breath to calm the tremors running through her, and prepared to move quickly, before the footmen returned to their places aboard. When she heard the men laughing, saw that their attention was focused on a pair of barking dogs, she sprinted for the back of the carriage, her bare feet flying over the muddy earth, her dark hair swirling around her, a mane of tangles that brushed against her shoulders as she raced along.

Jerking up the leather cover, she climbed inside, settled herself between the trunks and satchels, tried to calm her furiously beating heart, and said a fervent prayer that no more luggage would be added before the coach departed.

Seconds pa.s.sed. Her pulse rang in her ears. Though the morning was chill, sweat dampened the hair at her temples and trickled down her sides. She heard the men approaching, taking their places on top of the carriage. She felt it dip and sway with their weight, then the four matched blacks strained against their traces and the carriage rolled off toward the front of the inn.

It paused only briefly, long enough for its single pa.s.senger to climb aboard and settle himself against the leather squabs. Then the driver whipped up the team and they were off.

Hidden safely in the luggage boot, Kathryn breathed a sigh of relief and allowed her weary body to slump against the black laquered wood. She was tired. So terribly, incredibly tired. The night had been exhausting. Running, then walking for miles in nothing but her dirty nightgown, her legs aching, her feet cut and bleeding, terrified all the while that they would find her. When she stumbled upon a road and the ivy-covered inn, she'd said a prayer of thanks and carefully made her way to the stable at the rear.

Several hours later, asleep in a pile of straw, she'd awakened to the jangle of harness and the luffing of horses as they were led into their traces. Kathryn had known in an instant that this was her chance to get safely away.

Now, as the cool fall day began to warm, heating the s.p.a.ce in the back of the carriage, her tired muscles relaxed and she began to doze. She slept off and on, awakened once when the carriage paused at a roadside tavern late in the afternoon and its occupant departed, probably for a bite to eat. Kathryn ignored the rumble in her stomach that notion brought and relaxed once more as the coach resumed its journey, too tired to even notice when the wheels jarred into the ruts in the road.

The hours dragged past. Her legs were cramped in the tight confines of the luggage boot. Her back and shoulders ached, and a dull pain nagged at the back of her neck. As the coach rolled along, she was almost grateful she hadn't had anything to eat or drink, since there was no possible way she could stop to relieve herself.

The rhythm of the carriage heightened her need for sleep. Her head slumped forward onto her chest, her slumber deepened, and Kathryn started to dream.

She was back at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, huddled on the cold stone floor of her dingy, airless cell. Fear surrounded her like a heavy morning mist, making her throat feel tight, and she eased farther into the corner, pressing her back against the rough gray walls, wis.h.i.+ng she could disappear inside them. Along the row of cells, she could hear the other inmates and her hands crept up, covering her ears to block the screams, pretending she couldn't hear them.

Her heart beat raggedly, pounding into the silence she created inside her head. Dear G.o.d, she was living in h.e.l.l itself, or at least man's version of it. What demon had fas.h.i.+oned such a place? How much longer could she endure it? The sound of footfalls traveled toward her, the rattle of chains as the guards approached, leading some poor unfortunate back to his cell.

Or perhaps they were coming for her.

Kathryn sank down, curling into herself, wis.h.i.+ng she could disappear. She had eluded them for a time, been silent and docile enough they had left her alone. But sooner or later they would come for her as they had the others.

The footsteps grew louder. Her heart beat with fear. Sweet G.o.d, don't let it be me. Someone else. Anyone else. Not me! Not me! She saw them then, one tall and heavy through the shoulders, with thick lips and dirty blond hair queued back from his face with a thin piece of leather. The other was short and fleshy, his stomach protruding over course brown breeches stained with grease.

Kathryn fought back a sob as they paused at the door to her cell, a pair of heavy iron shackles draped over the fat man's arm.

Through the bars in the door, he flashed her a lecherous grin. "Evenin' missy. Time for us to take a little stroll."

"Nooo!" She began to back away, desperate now, her eyes darting around for any means of escape. She knew what they wanted, what they'd done to some of the other women. She'd escaped them until now, though she wasn't quite sure why. "Leave me alone! Get away from me! I'm warning you-go away and leave me be!"

The taller man merely grinned, but the fat man laughed out loud, a harsh, cruel, bitter sound that sent chills down Kathryn's spine-and jerked her from her dream.

Her heart was pounding, her nightgown damp with perspiration and clinging to her body. She tilted her head back against the wall of the luggage boot and reminded herself the dream wasn't real-not anymore. By some miracle of fate-or perhaps divine intervention-she had tricked the two vicious guards, escaped the end they had in store for her, and managed to flee St. Bart's.

Kathryn forced herself not to think of it, to bury it deep inside and dwell instead on keeping her hard-won freedom. She was free of the hospital, free of the madhouse she had been locked up in for nearly a year.

For the moment it was all she wanted, all she could think of. The future loomed ahead, but there would be time to plan, to decide what to do. If only she could keep from getting caught.

She slept again. She had no idea how many hours had pa.s.sed when she was awakened with a fierce jerk on her arm that tumbled her forward out of the carriage. She would have landed in the mud if a second footman hadn't caught her other arm, hauling her upright with a rough jerk that snapped her head back.

"Let me go!" Kathryn struggled against him, trying to break his solid hold. "Get your hands off me!"

"It's a bleedin' stowaway!" one of the men called out, wrapping an arm around her waist and forcing her back against his chest. "More than likely, the chit's a thief." At the word, Kathryn kicked him hard in the s.h.i.+ns and he jerked backward, knocking his silver wig askew. He swore and cuffed the back of her head. "b.l.o.o.d.y beggar-do that again and ye'll be sorry."

Kathryn straightened. "Hit me again and I promise you, sir, it is you who will be sorry."

"All right, that's enough." The deep voice cut through the melee and both men instantly went still. For the first time Kathryn noticed the tall, imposing man who stood in the shadows, the owner of the carriage, she presumed. He was dressed in tight black breeches, a long black tailcoat and matching waistcoat with a fine silver thread. The frill on his snowy cambric s.h.i.+rt showed through the front, and a bit of white lace hung from each sleeve. His skin was dark, his hair even darker and slightly wavy, queued back with a broad black ribbon tied in a spreading bow.

"Let the girl go, Cedric. She seems quite able to talk. Give her a chance to speak."

They did so with some regret, releasing her arms and taking a single step backward.

"What's your name?" the tall man asked. "And what the devil are you doing in the back of my carriage?"

Kathryn squared her shoulders, trying not to think what a miserable picture she made in her filthy, dirt-stained nightgown, her hair a dark ma.s.s of tangles around her face. She summoned the lie she had concocted for just such a moment, the words tumbling past her lips with surprising ease.

"My name is Kathryn Gray and I tell you this, sir, I am not a beggar-nor am I a thief. I'm a gently reared lady who has encountered an unfortunate bit of trouble. If you are indeed the gentleman you appear, I pray that you will help me."

His black brows drew together over eyes that were equally black. In the last rays of late afternoon sunlight, they seemed to glint with silver. He surveyed her from top to bottom, taking in every inch of her seedy appearance, his gaze so intense her arms unconsciously came up to cross over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Come into the house. We can speak in my study."

She was surprised at his acquiescence. She was filthy from the top of her greasy, unwashed hair to the soles of her cold bare feet. G.o.d knew she must carry the foul stench of the madhouse in every pore. Steeling herself, ignoring the disbelieving looks of the footmen, she followed him into the house, which was actually a huge stone castle that had been added onto over the years. She stopped just inside the entry.

"I appreciate your courtesy, my lord, but there is a favor I would beg."

"You have yet to explain yourself and already you ask a boon? Whoever you are, you are not one to mince words. What is it you wish?"

"A bath, my lord. I can hardly discuss my circ.u.mstances, filthy as I am and indecently dressed. If you would allow me to bathe and borrow a change of clothing, I am certain we would both be more comfortable."

He studied her for long moments, weighing her words, contrasting her educated speech against her ragged appearance. Kathryn studied him in return, noting the well-defined angles of his face, his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped build. He was a handsome man, she saw, but there was a hardness about him, an appearance of iron-hard will that warned her to beware.

"All right, Miss Gray, you shall have your bath." He turned to the long-nosed butler who stood just a few feet away. "Summon Mrs. Penderga.s.s, Reeves. Have her see to the lady's needs then return her downstairs."

He turned back to Kathryn. "I shall await your presence in my study." His dark eyes sharpened. "And I warn you, Miss Gray, should your tale be anything but the truth, you will find yourself tossed out like so much rubbish. Do I make myself clear?"

A slight chill slid through her. "Yes, my lord. Perfectly clear." He nodded and turned to leave. "My lord?"

An exasperated sigh whispered out. "Yes, Miss Gray?"

"I'm afraid I don't know your name."

His brow hiked up. He made an extravagant bow. "Lucien Raphael Montaine, fifth Marquess of Litchfield, at your service." A mocking half-smile curved his lips. "Welcome to Castle Running."

He turned and walked away and this time she did not stop him. The housekeeper, Mrs. Penderga.s.s, appeared a few moments later, and she was ushered to an elegant bedchamber upstairs. Ignoring the buxom woman's disapproving glare, she made her way behind the screen and relieved herself with a sigh.

Feeling better, she walked over to the window to await her bath. From there she could see down into the courtyard. The castle was magnificent, centuries old, with crenellated towers and a goodly portion of the outer wall still intact around what must have once been the bailey.

The house itself was immaculately well cared for, the bedchamber she occupied done in royal-blue and ivory accented with elegant oriental pieces. She couldn't fault the marquess's taste.

The housekeeper's voice broke into her thoughts. "Your bath has arrived. I don't know who you are or how you managed to foist yourself off on his lords.h.i.+p, but I would advise you not to try to take advantage. His charity stems from kindness not weakness. You would do well to remember that."

She would remember, all right. One look in those hard dark eyes and she knew he was far from weak.

"I shouldn't tarry, if I were you," the woman said. "His lords.h.i.+p would not be pleased." And you do not wish to see him angry, were the words she left unspoken.

Kathryn silently heeded the warning, stripping away her soiled night rail, grateful it was one of her own embroidered gowns and not one the hospital issued with the neck trimmed in a wide band of red. Crossing naked to the bath with only a trace of embarra.s.sment, she climbed into the steaming copper tub, and sank down with quiet bliss, letting the heat soak into her aching muscles, the stench and dirt melt away beneath the scent of roses. She smiled as she settled against the metal rim, relis.h.i.+ng the simple joy that was nothing at all like the monthly scrubbings she had endured at St. Bart's.

Mrs. Penderga.s.s left as she washed her hair with the fragrant rose-scented soap that had been brought for her use, rinsed, then settled back once more. In a moment she would dress in whatever borrowed clothing the housekeeper managed to scavenge and face the black-haired lord. Before she went down she would rehea.r.s.e the lie that she had prepared. For now she would allow herself the pure pleasure of simply sitting there in the warm sudsy water, a pleasure she'd not had for nearly a year.

Seated behind the wide mahogany desk in his study, Lucien Montaine, Marquess of Litchfield, leaned back in his tufted leather chair. He steepled his fingers, his mind on the woman upstairs, in truth, little more than a girl, certainly no more than twenty. Dirty and unkempt as she was, there was something about her... something he found intriguing. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself-more like royalty than the beggar she appeared.

She was taller than the average woman, thinner than she should have been, with dark chestnut hair, and firm little upthrusting b.r.e.a.s.t.s her ragged nightgown did little to hide. Her speech was certainly that of a lady. He wondered who the devil she was.

A knock at the door distracted him. At his command, the butler, Preston Reeves, ushered the girl into his study. Lucien found himself coming to his feet, barely able to believe the woman who stood in front of him was the same bedraggled creature who'd been hiding in the back of his carriage.

Even dressed in the simple white, blouse and brown cotton skirt of a servant, there was no doubt she was a lady. The set of her shoulders, the look in her cool green eyes, said more than words ever could.

And she was lovely, he saw, her dark brows softly winged, her features fine, her nose straight, her lips full and perfectly curved. What he hadn't seen beneath the dirt on her face was more than apparent now, skin the color of honey mixed with cream, soft spots of rose tinting her cheeks.

"Perhaps you were right, Miss Gray. Your appearance is certainly improved. Why don't you sit down and tell me what this is about?"

She did as he commanded, seating herself in the chair across from him, her back ramrod straight, her hands folded neatly in front of her. He noticed they looked rough and slightly reddened, in contrast to the soft femininity of the rest of her. He wondered at the implication but let it pa.s.s, giving her his full attention.

"As I told you, my name is Kathryn Gray. I live in a village near Ripon, not far from York. My father is the vicar of the local parish church. He was away visiting friends when I was abducted."

"Abducted?" Lucien leaned forward in his chair. "You are saying someone broke into your home and carted you away?"

She nodded. "Exactly so, my lord. That is the reason I was dressed in my nightclothes. Who they were, where they came from, or why they chose me I couldn't say. I do know they had nefarious plans for me."

"Indeed. And just what plans were those?"

The girl cleared her throat but continued to face him squarely. "I overheard one of them say they were taking me to a... a house of ill repute. Of course, I didn't know at first what the man meant... being the daughter of a vicar and all. But after a while I began to understand what they were talking about. My father had preached sermons against such places, so I was able to discern their intentions."

"I see." Something about her story gave him pause, but he was fascinated at the cool control with which she told it, and under it there was an unmistakable hint of desperation. Considering her circ.u.mstances, a.s.suming she was telling the truth, it was amazing she could hide it as well as she did. "Go on, Miss Gray."

"The men intended to sell me. I suppose that is the reason they left my... my person alone. Apparently there is a market for such things."

His mouth curved faintly. "So I've heard." And she would certainly have brought a fetching price. For an instant the annoying thought arose that he wouldn't have minded being a patron at such a house. He would indeed have enjoyed a night in the arms of the intriguing Miss Gray.

"Fortunately, I escaped," she continued in that cool, controlled way that made him wonder what emotion it was that seethed just below the her surface calm. Her breeding was evident in every movement, every gesture. If she hadn't told him otherwise, he would have been certain she was a member of the n.o.bility.

"I ran as far and as fast as I could," she was saying. "I was hiding in the stable when-"

"How?" Lucien broke in. "How did you escape?"

"How?" she squeaked, for the first time unnerved.

"That is what I asked. How did you escape the men who abducted you? You are a lady and obviously no match for them. How did you manage to get away?"

Her hands trembled for a moment where she clutched them in her lap. She took a deep breath and straightened, once more in control. "We'd been traveling for days, staying in one foul place after another. The night before we reached London, we stopped at an inn. One of the men-a fat man with foul breath-dragged me into a room behind the kitchen. He and his friend-a tall, thick-shouldered man with dirty blond hair-must have decided that they would... that they would..."

She moistened her lips, her control slipping a bit. "The fat man took me into this room while the tall man waited outside. He started swearing, unable to unfasten the b.u.t.tons on his breeches. While he was distracted, I hit him over the head with a chamber pot and escaped out of the window."

Lucien leaned back in his chair. "Very clever."

She nodded. "I was desperate. I had to escape. I walked through the night and finally ran across the stable in back of the inn. I was exhausted. I hid in the straw and for a while I fell asleep. When I woke up, I saw your carriage and... well, you know the rest."

"Yes, I suppose I do." Lucien stood up from his chair and rounded the desk, stopping right in front of her. "I'm going to presume, Miss Gray, that you are telling me the truth. You are, aren't you?" He looked at her hard and could have sworn he saw a slight hesitation.

Then she stood up as well. "I'm telling you the truth, my lord. And I am asking you, as the gentlemen you obviously are, to help me."

Lucien pondered that. He had decided to help her the moment she had walked through the door of his study, perhaps even before that. "All right, Miss Gray. In the morning I'll arrange for a carriage to take you home to your father. I'll have one of the housemaids accompany you and-"

He felt her hand on his arm. "Please, my lord. My father is not at home and I... I would be afraid to return while he is away. Perhaps you could send word to him, and in the meantime, I could wait here for him to come and get me. I realize it is asking a lot but-"

"Is there no one else you can go to for help?"

She shook her head. "Not really. My father will be back in a few more days. If you would send word, he would be happy to come for me."

Lucien watched her closely. He wasn't really sure how much of her story he believed. There was something incongruous about the woman in the carriage, the one in his study, and the one she had just described. No, he wasn't convinced she was telling the truth, though parts, at least, were certainly delivered convincingly. Still, as a gentleman, he was obliged to help a lady in distress-and there was no doubt this one was. And the mystery she posed continued to intrigue him.

"Staying here isn't a problem. My aunt will be home in the morning. She can serve as chaperone. In the meanwhile, I'll send word to Ripon to your father." He gave her a mocking half-smile. "Will that suffice, Miss Gray?"

"Yes, my lord, it will more than suffice. I shall be forever in your debt."

"Once my aunt arrives, she can find you more appropriate clothing. You and she are about the same size. In the meanwhile, riding in the carriage for as long as you did could hardly have been comfortable. You may occupy the room you used to bathe. We will speak again on the morrow."

She smiled with obvious relief. "Thank you, my lord." Turning, she started for the door.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?"

She whirled to face him and her posture suddenly drooped. For the first time he realized how much will it had taken to maintain her iron control. "I'm afraid it is difficult to remember."