Silk And Steel Part 7

Jason nodded, his jaw tightening. He turned and strode down the hall, knocked briefly on the study door, then shoved it open without waiting for Lucien's permission. Even knowing how upset his friend must be, Jason wasn't prepared for the haggard, unkempt man who sat hunched over his ornate desk.

"Good G.o.d, man-you look like b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l." Jason strode toward him, didn't stop till he reached the desk, then leaned over it, bracing his big hands on the top. "When is the last time you've eaten? Not for a fortnight from the look of you. You probably aren't sleeping much, either. What are you trying to do-kill yourself?"

Lucien straightened, raked a hand through his thick black hair, which was unbound, as it rarely was, and hung down to his shoulders. It looked as dull as his eyes.

"What am I trying to do? Whatever it is, I am not succeeding. I haven't accomplished a b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.ned thing since I've been here."

"Christ, man. It isn't your fault she's in there. You didn't put her there-her uncle did."

"I gave her my word. I told her I'd get her out. It's been nearly two weeks. Can you imagine what could have happened to her in two b.l.o.o.d.y long weeks?" He sat wearily back in his chair. "By the way, what the devil are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Aunt Winnie sent word of what happened at the castle. I thought you'd have this whole thing settled by now and be back home. When I didn't hear from you and you still hadn't returned, I figured you might need some help."

"I've hired the best help money can buy. It hasn't done a lick of good."

Jason sat down in the leather chair across from him, stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Dunstan probably has half the people you're trying to deal with in his pocket. We don't even know who all of them are, so we can't very well offer them more money."

"No, I don't suppose we can, more's the pity." Lucien ran his hands over his face, which was darkened by a day's growth of beard. In all the years Jason had known him, he had never seen his friend look so weary. "I tell you, Jason, I am at my wit's end."

"I realize this may sound a little strange, since you're betrothed to another woman, but what if you simply married her?"

Lucien shook his head. "Kathryn can't marry me or anyone else-at least not for another year. Until she is one and twenty, she would have to have her uncle's permission, and considering her husband would then control her fortune, Dunstan would scarcely be willing to give it."

Jason leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "On the way here, I had time to do some thinking. I figured if you couldn't find a way to get Lady Kathryn out, there was probably little more that Velvet and I could do."

Lucien looked surprised. "Velvet is here as well?"

"She wanted to be, I can tell you. If the baby hadn't come down with the croupe, I wouldn't have been able to stop her."

A corner of Lucien's mouth curved up. "No, I don't suppose you could have."

"I got in late last night. I knew you were an early riser and I wanted to speak to you as soon as I could. I was glad Velvet couldn't come, since I wanted to talk to you alone."

Lucien c.o.c.ked a sleek black brow. "Since when did you begin keeping secrets from your wife?"

"Since I decided to suggest we do something highly illegal."

"Illegal? What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about breaking into St. Bart's and rescuing your lady."

Lucien made a rude sound in his throat. "She isn't my lady-and breaking into St. Bart's is completely absurd."

"Then you're content to leave Kathryn in there?"

"Actually, I was thinking of calling on Dunstan. I figured if I threatened him at the point of a gun-"

"Now that is absurd."

Lucien did smile then. "I know, but I'm getting more desperate every day."

"Desperate enough to ride with One-eyed Jack Kincaid? If I recall correctly, there's a hunting lodge hidden in the woods not far from Castle Running. It would be the perfect place to hide Lady Kathryn until we could find a way to remove her from Dunstan's control."

Lucien's black brows drew together. "You're serious."

"As an epidemic of the Black Plague."

A spark of interest moved over Lucien's sharp features. "Do you actually think we could do it?"

"It won't be as tough as you think. It isn't often someone wants to get into St. Bart's. They won't be expecting that sort of problem. All we have to do is figure out where Kathryn is and take her out of there."

"She's probably locked up. We'd have to have a key."

"We won't go in unprepared. It may take a few days to gather the information we need, but if Dunstan can find willing cohorts for a bit of coin, so can we. We'll have the whole thing well planned. We'll use horses to go in but have a carriage waiting at the outskirts of town." He grinned. "Trust me in this, my friend. I may play the part of gentleman once more, thanks to you and Velvet, but a man doesn't forget the things he's been forced to learn, and this is a subject I know a great deal about."

Something glinted in Lucien's dark eyes. "All right. I'm willing if you are." With those simple words, his hollow, defeated expression seemed to fade, replaced by a look of fierce determination.

"I'd prefer we didn't inform my wife," Jason said. "I don't want her involved in this. We both know it might be dangerous."

Lucien simply nodded. "The lady will remain uninformed, as will my aunt. For their sakes as well as our own."

"All right, then, let's get started." Jason stole a last glance at his friend, who looked once more like the self-a.s.sured, strong-willed, imposing man he was. Whatever his friend's feelings were for Kathryn Grayson, he was a man who didn't break his word and clearly he meant to keep it this time.

Jason inwardly smiled, wondering where his friend's concern might lead, more certain than ever he was doing the right thing.

Kathryn turned her head away and some of the dark, bitter liquid dribbled off her chin and ran down her neck. "No... I don't... want it."

"Shut yer mouth and drink it like I told ye." The matron ruthlessly pinched her arm, then caught her jaw and squeezed until Kathryn finally opened her mouth. The bitter brew spilled over her tongue and down her throat, forcing her to swallow. She hated the foul-tasting stuff, but in truth, she liked the way it made her feel, so languid and warm, so comfortably unaware.

The matron wiped the wetness from Kathryn's face and neck. "All right, now, that's more like it. Ye're finally learnin' to mind yer manners." She chuckled, shaking her bulky girth. "With a wee bit o' help from a friend." She lifted the empty gla.s.s that had contained the dark powder mixed with water she gave to Kathryn every day. "Ye've a visitor wantin' ta see ye-little Michael's come ta call."

Kathryn worked to recall the name. Slowly the little blond boy's image formed in her mind. "Michael... ?" For a moment, she'd thought it might be Lucien. For the past few days, she'd been seeing him in her dreams, reliving his kiss, tasting it on her lips. In the dream he came for her, appearing like a knight out of the shadows to carry her away from St. Bart's. In the dream he kissed her again and again, and oh, it felt so good.

But she was glad to see Michael. She had missed him these past few days... or perhaps it was weeks... she couldn't be sure. The minutes and hours all seemed to run together. Her mind was too fuzzy, too out of focus to know where one day ended and another began. And in truth she no longer cared.

"Kathryn?" Michael squatted down on the dirty straw pallet beside her. "Ye never come out and play no more. Are ye mad at me, Kathryn?"

"No... Michael... of course not." She didn't remind him she had never come out to play. She'd been busy scrubbing floors or was.h.i.+ng laundry, busy darning the matrons' clothes or working in the kitchen. Still, they'd talked as she worked and Michael had played at one thing or another close by. "I'm just... a bit tired... is all. Miss Wiggins has been... letting me... rest."

Standing near the door, the heavyset matron cackled some sort of response. "Bang on the bars, Mikie, when ye decide ye want ta come out." She locked the cell door, though Kathryn had no thought of escape even if she hadn't.

Michael sat down beside her on the scratchy straw. "Do ye want to hear me sing?" he asked. "I learnt a new song. I'll sing it if ye want." Kathryn nodded. They had sung songs while she was working, she recalled, to block the screams of one of the inmates down the hall. She had taught him several verses of "Greensleeves" and in the past they had sung it together.

Michael started singing his new song, his voice high and wavery, his enthusiasm making up for any notes in the tune he sang off key.

There once was a maid from Sark Who walked with me in the park.

I put me 'and on her knee, She put 'er 'and on me.

We laid down on a gra.s.sy patch, She pushed me over onto me back.

She laughed as I raised 'er skirt- "Michael-" Even in her hazy state, Kathryn recognized the bawdy lyrics were not the sort to be sung by a child. "Michael... you mustn't... sing songs like that. It isn't... proper."

"Why not?" He screwed his face to look up at her, his pale gold brows pulling nearly together. "Old Sammy Dingle taught it to me." One of the guards. " 'E used ta be a sailor."

She tried to clear her mind, concentrate on what he was saying, but her thoughts kept slipping away, returning to Lucien, remembering the taste of his kiss.

"Do ye want to play cards?" Michael asked, tugging on the sleeve of her nightgown.

"What?"

"I said do ye want to play cards?" He rammed a small hand inside his s.h.i.+rt and pulled out a dog-eared, dirt-stained deck of playing cards. "Sammy taught me ta play. He said I could use these to practice. I bet I can beat ye."

Kathryn didn't answer, she was too sleepy for cards, too tired to notice Michael tugging again on her night rail.

"Don't ye want ta play?"

"Not now, Michael."

"Ye never want to play no more. Ye ain't no fun no more." She thought she heard him pounding on the door, thought she heard it swing open, but her eyelids felt heavy and she couldn't lift them enough to see.

Instead she sagged down even further in the dirty straw and propped her head against the wall. Her gown was twisted up above her knees, but she hadn't the energy to pull it down. Her mouth felt dry. She wet her lips, which felt oddly numb, looked down to see her hands were shaking.

Her body felt light and oddly distant, but her dreams-ah, her dreams were so pleasant. Kathryn closed her eyes and gave herself up to the warm sensation of the marquess's kiss.

SEVEN.

Dressed in tight black breeches, high black boots, a black jacket that hid the white of his full-sleeved cambric s.h.i.+rt, Lucien strode beside Jason, also dressed in black, toward the stables at the rear of the town house.

The waning moon, no more than a sliver, hid its pale light behind a dense layer of clouds hanging over the city. In silence they mounted their horses, Jason's big gelding, Blackie, and Lucien's prize black stallion, Blade. Taking the back roads through the city, they wound their way through the darkest parts of London, heading toward a ma.s.sive, stone-walled, four-story structure, St. Bartholomew's Hospital, which sat on a knoll at the outskirts of town.

Beyond the hospital, on the road that would lead them back to Surrey, a carriage awaited, ready to speed Lady Kathryn Grayson to the safety of Lucien's hunting lodge in the forests near Castle Running.

All they had to do was reach it.

Lucien's jaw tightened. What would they find when they arrived at St. Bart's? If Kathryn had been mistreated... if one of her so-called guards had put his filthy hands on her... Silently, he cursed. He had meant what he had said. If Blakemore had allowed her to be hurt in any way, he would face Lucien's wrath and the results would not be pleasant. He didn't ask himself why it mattered so much, or think, even for a moment, how Kathryn had managed to breach the distance he kept between himself and other people. Right now his only concern was getting her out of there.

Blade s.h.i.+ed beneath him as a brown and white dog broke out of an alley, its tail tucked between its legs. It whimpered when a rotund tavern-keep stepped out of a door behind him, hefted a stone and pelted the dog on the rump.

"And stay away, ye good-fer-nothin' cur!" The man shook a meaty fist, turned and disappeared back inside the tavern, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Lucien urged his horse forward and Jason did the same, the animals churning up mud beneath their hooves as they made their way along the dirt street. There were no cobblestones in this part of town, just narrow, rutted lanes piled high with garbage. The smell of rotting offal hung heavy in the air and Blade's nostrils flared in protest. Beggars huddled in doorways, and drunken sailors staggered along, singing bawdy tunes.

They rode on and eventually the area began to change. Buildings became fewer, the streets not so littered. Gra.s.s grew along the edges of the road. On the knoll up ahead, a huge structure loomed out of the night. St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

It wasn't the first time Lucien had seen it. They had come in the daytime two days ago, to survey the layout and decide on a plan. The back door of the building seemed the best route in. Jason motioned him in that direction, and Lucien urged the stallion forward. There was only one guard at the gate. He lolled at his post, half-asleep. As Jason had said, there weren't many people interested in breaking into St. Bart's.

Jason dismounted, motioned for Lucien to do the same, and they tied their horses beneath a tree out of sight in the shadows.

"Count to fifty," Jason instructed, his tall, cloaked figure rising like a specter in the darkness. "Then follow me in through the gate. It'll be safe by then."

Lucien nodded and Jason stole silently away. Beginning his silent count, Lucien untied a heavy woolen cloak from behind his saddle and draped it over one arm. The night was cold and Kathryn would need something to keep her warm until they reached the carriage. He finished his count and slipped farther into the shadows.

By the time he reached the gate, the guard was sitting beside it, his head slumped over his chest as if he were merely asleep. Lucien guessed his slumber would last well past the time they left St. Bart's. He pa.s.sed silently through the gate and found Jason waiting just inside the door leading into the ma.s.sive stone building.

"Our sources were right. The door isn't locked. Let's just hope the rest of our information is equally correct."

It had better be, Lucien thought. Every minute they were there increased the chances of their getting caught. He could only imagine the embarra.s.sment a duke and a marquess would suffer if they should be arrested for breaking into a madhouse. Worse yet would be the knowledge that he had failed Kathryn again.

This time it might be a fatal breach of promise for Kathryn.

The heavy oak door opened soundlessly. He thanked whoever it was that kept the hinges so well oiled. He paused inside the hallway, glanced around to be certain it was safe. The smell a.s.sailed him like a blow to the stomach, the stench of unwashed bodies, the foul odor of feces. Lucien set his jaw against it and tried not to think of Kathryn living each day in a filthy place like this.

They headed down the hall, their boots ringing on the dense gray stone, but the noise was lost in the eerie sounds around them. Some of the cells were more open than others. Patients moaned and thrashed; some talked, though it was well past midnight and there was no one to listen. A woman sobbed quietly in the dim light of a single lantern. A man snored loudly, scratching himself in his sleep, then curling into a tight, jerky ball on a pile of dirty straw.

Kathryn's image arose and a tightness crept into his chest. She was here, forced to live in this h.e.l.lish place not fit for the lowliest beast. The smell of urine and vomit grew stronger as they moved deeper into the building, and the bile rose in Lucien's throat. Anger began a slow burn that licked like flame through his blood. Kathryn didn't deserve this. He wasn't sure anyone did.

What kind of a man would put an innocent young woman in a wretched, filthy, stinking place like St. Bart's?

"Dunstan." He nearly spat the word. He didn't realize he had said it out loud until he noticed the bitter taste in his mouth. "I swear I'll kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Jason's eyes swung in his direction; clearly he was thinking the very same thing. "You can deal with Dunstan later. For now, your lady is more important."

Lucien started to correct him, but decided it could wait. They had reached the staircase leading up to the second-floor block of cells and a guard was posted at the bottom.

"Leave this one to me," Lucien said, slipping silently away. Jason made no move to stop him. The hard glint of fury in his eyes was enough to warn him not to. Dealing with the guard, Jason knew, would provide some measure of release.

Lucien approached him on silent feet. He was a tall, bone-thin man with mouse-brown hair and a scar on his cheek. Lucien tapped him on the shoulder, and when the guard turned, Lucien's fist shot out, clipping him solidly on the chin. He crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and Lucien caught him before he hit the ground.

"Let's hide him under the staircase," Jason suggested from behind him.

Already heading in that direction, Lucien dragged the man into the darkness below the stairs. They climbed quickly to the second floor and started along the row of cells. Kathryn's was on the right halfway down, they had learned from one of the matrons, who had gladly given up the information to a man in Lucien's employ-along with a key-for a hefty pouch of coins.

He paused at the door, his heart thudding uncomfortably, worry making the sweat bead on his brow. A glance inside told him someone was in there, but it was too dark to see who it might be.

"Kathryn?" He called her name softly into the shadows, but whoever was there didn't answer. Perhaps she was soundly asleep. "Hand me the key." Jason complied and Lucien shoved it into the heavy iron lock. Down the hall he could hear the rattle of chains and the moan of the man who wore them.

He clenched his jaw and opened the lock. Iron clanked and the door creaked as it swung open. Lucien stepped into the darkness while Jason kept watch outside.

"Kathryn, it's Lucien." Still no answer. He moved toward the slight figure huddled in the dirty straw, saw that it was a woman, saw that it was Kathryn, and his heart squeezed hard. The moon slipped out from behind a cloud, and for a moment he could see her, the dirty white nightgown with the wide red band, the long dark brown hair that hung in tangles around her face. The nightgown was ruched up to her thighs and her legs were bare. When he touched her, her skin felt as cold as ice. Lucien swore softly.

"Kathryn, can you hear me?" He shook her gently and her eyelids slowly opened.