29. Chapter Twenty-nine

Kat tapped her forefinger to her chin as she contemplated what Evan would do if he were the one being shepherded away in a madman's carriage.

"Yes," she murmured to herself. "He'd most likely outsmart and then injure his enslaver." Since she was too terrified to think, she formed a fist and held her breath.

The carriage slowed to a stop. The door opened, and a man in livery reached for her. She punched with all her might, making contact with his cheek.

"Bloody hell," he yelled as his head flew back.

Before she had time to pummel him again, he wrapped his hand around her wrist. Another stranger forced his way into the coach. Thereupon, handling her roughly, the two men dragged her from the carriage.

"Let go of me," she yelled as she kicked and flailed her limbs about.

"What a fiery little hell cat," said a familiar, albeit unwelcome voice.

Chills shot up Katrina's spine. The men pushed her forward, and she tumbled to her knees.

Hoping it was all a terrible nightmare, Kat closed her eyes, opening them to find a smirking Greyson studying her. His periwinkle tailcoat and the charming country manor in front of them did not allay her horror.

Her foot caught in her skirts, making her climb onto her feet less than graceful. She steadied herself and lifted her chin. "Evan will find me."

Greyson chuckled manically. "Not when Taylor sends him in the wrong direction."

Whatever the deuces that meant, it did not sound favorable.

"I insist you take me to Yardley Manor right this instant." To prove she was serious, she stomped her foot. She'd worry about a less bratty way of expressing herself when her safety wasn't being jeopardized.

Greyson raised one eyebrow. Stars, the man was arrogant.

"First, you shall meet Lady Greyson," he said.

Did that mean he would take her back to Brighton once she met the marchioness?

Of course, he would. He wouldn't be so unwise as to try to kidnap her. Force her into his bed. Cut her into a million pieces and bury her in the flower gardens beside the grand estate she was now being dragged toward.

On second thought, this was Lord Greyson, the most odious man of her acquaintance. He was capable of anything. She was in grave danger.

She stopped fighting her captors and entered the manor like a meek prisoner. She needed to save her strength, for she would need it to carry out her escape.

Whatever that might be.

The rumors about the marchioness's unpleasant sneer and ear-ringing shrill were true. Additionally, her golden dress had not been fashionable for decades. She sat on a gaudy gilded throne, and she could have hidden a small child in her humongous wig. A fluffy cat—the same snowy-white color as her hair—stretched across her lap. Evidence of her one-time beauty lingered in her bright blue eyes and high cheekbones.

"Come closer," she demanded.

Kat stepped forward and curtsied. Mayhap it was practiced etiquette making her behave as if she were a guest in a genteel home instead of the captive of a lecherous man who was her inferior in rank.

Lady Greyson held her lorgnette to her eye, looked Kat up and down, and then wrinkled her nose.

The rude appraisal took Kat aback. It wasn't her fault her hair was in disarray or that her dress was rumpled and covered with dirt. It was entirely the fault of the woman's wicked son. Therefore, she would not apologize for either thing. She clamped her lips closed to keep from uttering an excuse for her appearance.

"Are you sure this is the woman you want to marry?" the marchioness asked, her displeasure evident with her exaggerated sniffing.

Marriage? How absurd.

"I am to wed another." It was none of this woman's business that Kat needed to convince her brothers of the suitability of her choice.

The marchioness held a finger to her lips, shushing Kat. "The girl looks as though she fought with Kitty, and Kitty won." She puckered up and pecked her cat between the ears.

Kitty hissed and tried to wriggle free. The marchioness tightened her grip with one hand while rapping the poor creature's nose with the lorgnette in her other.

It seemed Kitty and Kat found themselves in the same unfortunate situation.

"Yes, Mother, I chose Lady Katrina even though she has behaved unladylike: throwing herself at me, asking me to come to her bed…" Greyson winked at Kat.

Winking while he lied? How horrific!

Intending to scratch his eyes out, Kat lunged at him. A footman grasped her around the waist and yanked her backward.

"You untruthful beast," Kat growled between clenched teeth. "I would not touch you if you were the last man on earth."

The marchioness tsked.

"You see, Mother, she is quite the termagant."

"I see that. And yet you still want to marry her?"

"Yes. But mostly because my enemy desires her."

"Oh, ho, ho," the marchioness chuckled. "I suppose that is as good a reason as any."

Fighting a wave of nausea, Kat squared her shoulders and feigned bravery. "If you think the Duke of Astleyshire will let you get away with this, you are even more insane than I thought."

The marchioness's brow furrowed. "Why would the Duke of Astleyshire give two farthings about you?"

Hadn't Lord Greyson told his mother who Kat was? What an imbecilic imp.

"The Duke of Astleyshire is my brother. I am Lady Katrina. My father was the ninth Duke of Astleyshire." Kat held her breath, awaiting Lady Greyson's response.

"The same Lady Katrina who the queen dotes on?" the woman asked, her face contorted with worry.

This situation might be looking up. Lord Greyson might not see the error of his ways, but his mother seemed to comprehend the repercussions.

"One and the same," Kat said.

The marchioness leaped from her throne and tossed Kitty onto the floor. The cat landed on all fours, hissed, and skittered from the drawing room.

"Yes, Mother." He grinned proudly. "I have chosen Katrina Harrington." Swinging his palm upward, he presented Kat as if there was no tension in the air.

For a moment, the marchioness stood statue still, her mouth agape. Then she flung her hand out so quickly it was a blur. "You fool." She slapped her son's cheek a second time. "You cannot force the queen's favorite niece to marry you."

"But I want her."

Greyson kicked a nearby stool. It flew across the room and crashed against the wall.

The marchioness caressed the red splotch on the cheek she'd just slapped. "Honey bear, we do not want trouble from the Duke of Astleyshire or his—" she cringed—" insane wife."

"You should also be afraid of my brother Ethan and the man I am betrothed to, Evan Eaton, the Earl of Trent's younger brother. He is my brother's unstable wife's brother." Since Kat found Georgiana's eccentricities refreshing, she'd beg for her sister-in-law's forgiveness later. For now, she'd use the duchess's reputation to her advantage.

"Evan?" The countess worked her jaw from side to side. "Evan," she said again as if she could not quite believe it. "The youngest of The Troublesome Eatons of Trent."

"Yes, and their sobriquet is quite apt. They are beyond troublesome," Kat declared, intending to stoke fear in the dastardly pair.

The marchioness huffed. Turning her back to Kat, she paced the room, her heels clicking every time they stepped off the plush carpet. Meanwhile, Lord Greyson stuck his bottom lip out and mumbled under his breath.

At long last, the marchioness faced Kat. "I have an idea." Her smile grew more demented as she strode closer. "Prepare to have your reputation ruined, Lady Katrina."

"That is what I hoped you would say." Lord Greyson hopped and clapped. Being around his mother seemed to bring out the petulant child in the grown man.

Kat conjured her spirited cousin. "One cannot ruin your reputation if you do not give two figs about it."

"Is that so?" the marchioness asked.

"'Tis so," Kat said, trying to convince herself that she gave less than half a fig.

"We will see about that. Oh, ho, ho, we shall see about that." The marchioness called her footmen to her. "For now, take her to the Crimson Room and guard the door."

"Shall I go with her, Mother?"

"Mayhap later. For now, you shall stay with me, and we shall scheme."

Bile rose up Kat's esophagus, and her legs shook as the men escorted her through the halls. They pushed her into a blood-red chamber that was so stifling she'd think she was in Hades if it were not for the large window showcasing a blue sky.

One of the footmen posted himself inside the room. "I am sorry, my lady. I don't want you to come to any harm."

Kat placed a hand on her hip. "Then help me escape."

"Her ladyship would dismiss me." He cringed. "Or his lordship would shoot me in the back and hide me body, so no one ever knows. That would break me mum's heart."

Kat had no desire to be the reason for a servant's death, so she would have to think of something else. Strolling across the room, she considered her options. Knocking her guard out with the vase on the dresser, then tearing the counterpane into strips, tying them together, climbing down the homemade rope, and running to safety might work. Hopefully, the footman would not be shot if it looked as though she'd incapacitated him.

She peered out the window. No way would her plan succeed. She'd fall to her death.

After plopping onto the bed, she stretched out and cradled her head in her arms. Her guard stood in front of the door, sweating profusely, and shuffling his feet.

Finally, she made her decision. Plummeting to her death was a better demise than whatever the marquess and his mother had planned for her. And, just mayhap, it wasn't as much of a drop as it appeared, and she'd survive. After crawling off the bed, she took the vase in hand and approached the guard.

"I am sorry for this," she said.

His eyes widened. "My lady, what do you intend to do?"

"Hit you over the head. They cannot punish you if you try to stop me. We shall make it look convincing. There shall be a broken vase, and mayhap a small cut or bruise on your forehead. If someone comes to check on me, you can lie on the floor and pretend to be knocked out."

"But there are more footmen acting as guards in the hall. You will not be able to escape."

The less he knew, the better chance he had of evading his master's wrath. Therefore, she'd keep her window escape a secret.

He chewed on his lip as he watched her lift the vase above his head. It seemed the shaking man was going to let her whack him.

Before she could strike, the door flew open. Lord Greyson sauntered in, stared at her weapon, then knocked it from her hands. It crashed to the floor, splintering into chunks and shards.

"Be gone," he said to the servant.

"No." Kat grasped the footman's forearm. "I implore you, please do not leave me alone with him."

Although her grip was tight, Greyson pried her fingers from the servant. "Go. Now. Do not let anyone enter," he commanded.

Kat's pleas and whimpers were to no avail. The footman averted his gaze from hers and left the room.

Within seconds, Greyson had her cornered. "At last, my lady, we are alone together."

She ducked beneath his arm and fled to the far corner. "Do not come near me, or I will kill you." She'd use her hands, feet, and teeth. She'd even ram her head into his stomach if she had to.

"Surely your mother will not approve of this?" She might be a conniving shrew, but she was too concerned about her standing within the ton to allow harm to come to a woman of Kat's station.

"I shall tell Mother you wanted this." Grinning wickedly, he skulked toward her. "Do not worry. I shall be quick. Although, I cannot promise it will be painless." He reached for the fall of his trousers.

Crouching low, Kat charged toward him. Leaping like a leopard, she slammed into him. He flew backward. She took advantage of him being knocked off balance to kick him in his unmentionables.

Grasping his crotch, Lord Greyson yelped.

Kat raced to the door, threw it wide, and then ran headfirst into the frowning marchioness and her absurd wig.