…
Dark. Cold. Forsaken. Catherine could no longer contain the tears that streamed from the corners of her eyes. Though she had managed to remove the ropes binding her hands with only a tiny nick to her palm, her feet were sore and bloody from kicking the door to the wardrobe. Curse the silly, thin slippers ladies wore to balls. If she were wearing boots she would have had a chance at escape.
No one was coming to rescue her.
Surely they would have had the house searched if anyone had noticed she was missing. She had thought Nick might come, but that hope lasted only as long as her flimsy slippers had held up.
Between the darkness and her shaking hands, she had trouble determining what type of lock the wardrobe had. It had to be on the outside because she could find no place on the inside to insert her knife to try to break the lock. Or to unlock it with a hairpin. One thing was certain, it had been reinforced, perhaps for this purpose. She lifted her feet again and kicked the bottom of the door, her bruised heels causing her to cry out.
Drawing her feet under her, she huddled in the corner, shaking, sweat streaming down her back though she was ice-cold. The chamber was glacial without a fire or any source of warmth, and she imagined she would be able to see her breath if she were able to see anything in the darkness. Never having lived in a cold climate, she didn’t know how to judge how long it would be before she froze to death if no one found her.
Nick. He was the only one who knew about the tiara and journal and might be able to find her. She knew he did not love her, but had hoped he cared for her on some level. At least enough that he didn’t want her to die. She curled into a ball and chanted his name over and over in her mind, willing him to find her.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. She held her breath. A key was inserted in the lock, the door creaked open, and footsteps neared the wardrobe. A rescuer wouldn’t have a key or know where she was. Her heart sank.
“Miss Malboeuf?” Lieutenant Galkin rapped on the front of the wardrobe. Her heart thumped unevenly, and she couldn’t catch her breath. “I trust you are enjoying the accommodations. Are you ready to tell me where the journal is, or would you like to stay in there all night?”
She fought to bring oxygen into her lungs.
“Miss Malboeuf?” He banged on the wardrobe again. “Have you died of fright? That would be rather inconvenient for me.”
She fumbled around in the dark as quietly as she could, searching for her knife. Her stiff fingers closed loosely over the handle, but it was a futile effort. A child could pull it from her frozen hand. “Let me out and I will tell you the location of the journal.”
“Tell me where the journal is and I will let you out.”
“N…n…no you won’t. I won’t talk until you l…let me out.”
“Then it seems that we are at an impasse.” His footsteps moved away. “I will come back later to see if you are ready to talk.”
“No! D…don’t leave me in here!”
…
That bastard. Nick could hear everything from his position on the landing. Relief flooded his senses when he heard her voice, muffled though it was. He slipped down the corridor in the opposite direction and hid behind the door of an unlocked bedchamber. As soon as Galkin’s footfalls on the staircase retreated, he ran down the corridor. Dressed as he was to attend a ball, he had nothing with him to aid in unlocking the door. After making sure the area was empty, he kicked the door next to the lock. The wood cracked but the door didn’t open. He kicked it again with all of his concentrated fury. The door shattered and slammed into the wall.
A gust of cold air slammed against him. The bastard had left the window open. The bed linens were crumpled, but there was no sign of her.
“Catherine, mon amour, where are you?” A soft thump sounded from the wardrobe. His heart skipped a beat. Dear Lord, she must be overcome by terror.
“Hold on. I’ll get you out.” He scanned the room, searching for something to pry the door open. The fireplace poker. “Keep back from the door.” He slid the curved end of the poker between the doors and kicked the end of it until it slid into the gap, then pulled back. The wood bowed and popped back into place. He yanked again and removed a notch of wood. He kept working, tearing out chunks of wood. He moved the poker to just above the lock and yanked again and what was left of the door flew open. Catherine was huddled in the corner, her eyes closed. He scooped her up and cradled her in his arms.
The first priority was to warm her up. He dropped onto the bed and balanced her on his lap while he removed his coat. She wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself against his movements and he breathed a sigh of relief. Covering her with his coat, he pulled her tight against his chest. She was so cold. Her slippers were shredded and stained with blood. He tightened his arms around her, intending to never let her go again. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” he whispered against her temple.
“Y-you c-came,” she said, her voice raspy and hoarse.
“Of course I came.” And he was going to make Galkin pay for what he did to her. “We need to get out of here. Galkin could return at any moment.”
She nodded, still shivering.
“What happened to your feet?”
“I w-was t-trying to break the door.”
He wasn’t surprised. She was a tenacious little thing. It would be painful for her to walk, although they could move faster if he didn’t have to carry her. In any case, they needed to move. “Here,” he said, lifting the top of his coat, “put your arms in the sleeves so it won’t fall off.”
She did as he asked. He stood and carried her to the door, then checked in both directions before hurrying toward the staircase. They made it down one flight before running into Galkin on his way up. Nick moved off the staircase into the corridor and set Catherine down, shielding her behind him.
Galkin pulled a gun from his coat pocket and pointed it at Nick. “Stop right there.”
He held up a hand. “Lieutenant, you know as well as I do that you can’t fire that gun without drawing the attention of everyone downstairs.”
Galkin shook his head. “It is very noisy and crowded in the ballroom. You should not count on anyone noticing our goings-on up here.”
“What do you want?”
The gun wavered in his hand. “I want the diamond tiara. It rightly belongs to my family.”
“What tiara?” Nick asked, stalling for time.
“Don’t play the fool. It doesn’t become you.”
“If you are talking about the tiara that belonged to one of Catherine’s ancestors—”
“You know to what I refer. The tiara that was promised to my great-grandfather and instead given to that rutting bitch.” The gun wavered in his hand. “Bukov was his stepfather and the tiara had belonged to his mother. He was left with nothing.”
Catherine leaned around Nick to glare at Galkin. “You did know who Bukov was.”
“Yes. You were a fool to trust me.”
Nick glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, keeping Galkin in his peripheral vision. “You told him about the names in the journal?”
“I’m sorry. I thought he could be trusted.”
“You should have discussed it with me first.”
Galkin shook his head. “Though I find your lover’s quarrel amusing, we need to get things moving along.”
“How did Dmitri get involved?” Catherine asked.
“He is my cousin.”
“So that’s why my cabin on the ship was searched.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Did he also search my chamber at the inn in Derbyshire?”
Galkin waved a hand at them. “Enough of this. Give me the tiara and I will let you live.”
Nick laughed at him. “You are a fool. We don’t have the tiara. We were using the journal to try to locate it. Why would we care who Bukov was if we already had the tiara?”
His face went blank, then pulled into a scowl. “I’ve had enough of your games. There is no benefit to
me if you live. I shall take the journal from your body when you are dead.”
He raised the gun.
Catherine attempted to slip in front of Nick and he shoved her to the right as he ducked to the left. She hit the ground as a shot rang out. An intense burning sensation tore through him, followed by hot blood pouring across his skin.
…
Catherine’s ears buzzed from the proximity of the shot and her shoulder ached where it had made contact with the wall. The first thing she noticed was blood on the floor. Nick popped up and went at Galkin. He kicked the gun from his hand and dove at him, landing on top of him on the floor. Blood dripped from his arm.
Her feet throbbing, she got up unsteadily and leaned against the wall for support. Nick had the advantage of weight, but Galkin was fast and unhurt. He managed to roll Nick off and scramble for the gun, but Nick caught his leg and yanked him back. “Catherine, run!”
Galkin kicked the wound on Nick’s biceps and he dropped Galkin’s leg. Catherine gathered her strength and made a lunge for the gun. Pulling the weapon against her, she rolled away from the men before jumping to her feet, ignoring the shooting pain traveling up her legs. Nick landed a blow to Galkin’s face and something cracked. They both struggled to stand, then circled each other. “Catherine, get out of here!” Nick ordered.
She would not leave him. She held the gun up, but she was a terrible shot with a pistol and was afraid she would hit Nick if she tried to fire.
Galkin kicked Nick in the thigh. He grunted and punched Galkin in the face. But Galkin merely wiped at the blood running from his nose, then punched Nick’s arm where the bullet had hit. Nick winced and circled around so Galkin had his back turned to her.
Catherine saw her chance. She grasped the muzzle of the gun and smashed the butt of the handle into the base of Galkin’s skull. He dropped to the floor and didn’t move.
Though his breathing was labored, Nick’s eyes were clear and focused. He glanced at her and then to Galkin.
“Is he dead?” she asked.
“I hope so.” Nick knelt next to him, still trying to catch his breath. “He’s still breathing. It’s a pity, that.”
The shuffle of footsteps sounded from the staircase and Lord Hartley came into view. He bent over next to Nick, trying to catch his breath. “Don’t know why” —he sucked in a breath—“they sent the old man to search the upper floors.” He took another deep breath and tapped Galkin with his foot. “Is he dead?”
“Sadly, no,” Nick huffed out.
“I have no idea what’s going on here, but I think we need to do something about that wound.” He turned his attention to Catherine. “And your feet.” He stood up straight and took Catherine’s hand. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you. Jane and her mother are frantic. I’m glad to see you are more or less all right.” He pulled on her hand to direct her toward the staircase.
Nick poked his foot into Galkin’s ribs. “We can’t leave him here alone. For all we know he’s perfectly fine and is pretending to be injured so we will leave him unattended. I will not risk letting him escape.”
Lord Hartley pointed at Nick’s arm. “You need to bind that wound. I’ll stay with him.”
“He is a soldier. I don’t like to think of you alone with him if he awakens. You take Catherine downstairs and inform the ambassador. I will join you as soon as someone arrives to deal with him.”
He turned to her. “Will you be able to make it down the stairs?”
She experimented with alternating her weight on each foot. “I think so.” She couldn’t hide her grimace.
Nick glanced at Lord Hartley and frowned. He met Catherine’s eyes. “I’ll have to carry you.”
Catherine drew her brows together. “But I thought you didn’t want to leave Galkin unattended.”
Nick looked down at Galkin and back at her.
Murmurs emerged from the stairwell, and Lord Cavanaugh appeared, closely followed by several other men.
“Thank goodness.” Lord Hartley gestured toward Galkin. “Guard him while we go downstairs. These two need to have their wounds seen to, and I must speak with the ambassador. Watch him, and do whatever you need to do to keep him contained until the authorities arrive.”
“Yes, my lord.” Cavanaugh nodded.
Slumped against the wall, Catherine let out a sigh of relief, finally feeling safe again. Nick swept her off her feet and pulled her tight against his chest. “You shouldn’t be carrying me with your wound. You could at least let me attempt to negotiate the stairs on my own.”
“Not a chance.”
Chapter Eighteen
It had been two days since the ball at the embassy. And two days since Catherine had seen Nick. After their wounds were tended to at the embassy, he had accompanied them to Hartley House so they could share their story with Lord and Lady Hartley and Jane, and she had received a gorgeous bouquet of flowers from him the next day. But that was it. She had heard nothing from him since.
An overwhelming sadness permeated her. She had made mistake after mistake with Nick. First she started off their association by breaking into Walsley, and then she ended it without any explanation. No wonder he hadn’t come to see her. As an honorable man he had to make sure she was safe, but he had no further obligation to her.
Catherine sat on the chaise longue in the parlor. Sighing, she absently watched most of London’s population outside enjoying the fine weather. Cay growled at a passing dog, then settled back onto her lap. Her feet were bruised and painful, so she tried to stay off them as much as possible.
“Diana will take you for a walk later,” she promised him.
The front door opened. She strained to hear who had arrived, but was rewarded with only indistinct voices. “Jane, go see who it is.”
She glanced up from her book. “I will not. If it is someone coming to visit you, you will find out who it is soon enough.”
Travers cleared his throat and stepped into the room. “The Duchess of Boulstridge and The Duke of Boulstridge.”
Catherine’s heart leapt to attention, and she straightened against the back of the chair.
The duchess came directly to her and wrapped her into a hug. “My dear, I am so relieved that you have recovered from your ordeal.”
Catherine returned her embrace. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am glad to see you well again after your illness.”
“That was nothing compared to what you have endured. Have you been using the lotion I gave you for your face to heal your feet? Nick said they were bruised and cut from when you tried to escape from the wardrobe. I can send more if you need it.”
She smiled at the duchess. “Yes, thank you. My feet seem to be on the mend and I have plenty of lotion.”
The duchess shuddered. “I cannot imagine how harrowing your experience must have been. You are very brave.”
She glanced over at Nick, who sat pensively in a chair near Jane, watching them, but not engaging in the conversation. She straightened the quilt Diana had insisted on placing over her legs. It was unlike him to remain quiet.
“I don’t know about that, but thankfully His Grace was there to rescue me.”
Lord and Lady Hartley entered and the duchess rose to greet them. Then Jane stood and they all exited the parlor in a single, intricate movement that almost appeared to have been choreographed in advance.
Catherine’s stomach dropped. What could Nick want? Now that Galkin and Dmitri had been caught, there was no need for him to associate with her.
He stood and approached her.
“I have something that belongs to you.”
She crinkled her nose as he reached into his coat. Though she had deliberately tried to forget the events that had occurred at the embassy, she didn’t remember losing anything that night. He handed her a large envelope and sat in the chair opposite her. After breaking the seal, she removed a thick document. She skimmed the contents, not understanding at first. It was the deed to Walsley Manor. Her heart struggled to keep beating
.
“My apologies for being away for so long, but I had to retrieve it from Walsley.”
“I cannot accept this. I did not win our wager.” She tried to hand it back to him, but he wouldn’t take it. “Walsley belongs to you. You are the one who painstakingly restored the house and grounds.”
“I have long regretted the impulse that compelled me to offer you the wager. I was a boor to even suggest it and never should have done so.” He knelt before her. Her heart took a leap as if it had been launched from a bow.
“What I do not regret is the time we spent together as a result of the wager.” He took her hands in his and pulled her into a sitting position. “Catherine, I love you, and I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life atoning for my atrocious behavior. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She looked into his eyes, scarcely believing she had heard him correctly. Surely her mind was playing tricks on her. Or perhaps it was her heart.
He leaned closer, until his nose nearly touched hers. “I suggest you accept my offer. It will fulfill the terms of our wager and you can take the deed to Walsley without reservation.”
Her pulse roared across her temples. “I’m not required to accept the offer in order to win our wager.”
His expression wavered. “That is true. Nonetheless, I would very much like for you to accept.”
She could scarcely think. “But…you said you would never marry.”
He shrugged. “I have changed my mind.”
“But you can’t marry me. A duke cannot marry the daughter of a pirate.”
He nodded. “I was wrong about that.”
She leaned away from him. “Wait. Did you just admit that you were wrong?”
“I did, but as there are no witnesses, I shall deny it if you dare mention it again.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “You see, it turns out that a girl with pirate blood was just what I needed in my life.” He cupped her face with both hands. “And I find that I cannot go on without her.”
How to Beguile a Duke (Entangled Scandalous) Page 20
