‘I need to see Morley and arrange a time to call on him.’
There was no mistaking the look that passed between Winter and Andrew. ‘And what would you have to discuss with him?’ Winter asked.
He was a tall man, of intimidating size. If Julian hadn’t know him so well, he might have taken his question as a demand.
‘I’ve decided to ask for Lady Mary’s hand.’
Andrew began to choke on his champagne, and Winter’s sharp eyes bored into him through his black mask.
‘She is a logical choice,’ Winter commented evenly. He understood the personal sacrifices one must make as a duke.
Julian rolled his shoulders and glanced around the room until he spied his grandmother. Whatever had possessed her to choose the costume she had? Then his attention shifted and every muscle in his body locked at the sight of Katrina standing next to her. He needed a deep breath, but his lungs refused to cooperate.
As if some cruel force in nature had called to her she suddenly looked up, and their eyes met through their respective masks. His dying heart gave one weak effort to stir.
He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Which he should—but he didn’t.
She was breathtaking, in a sleeveless gown threaded with gold that sparkled in the candlelight. Her hair fell past her shoulders in ringlets, and bands of gold encircled her upper arms. She was Andromeda—and he was no Perseus.
Everything he had ever wanted was across the room from him. And he could not have it.
‘Lady Mary will come into her own some day,’ Winter said.
A sharp pain stabbed at his chest. Julian blinked and Katrina turned away. The connection was gone, as if it had never existed. Two people who had known each other once—now were strangers.
He needed to go somewhere—somewhere dark—where he could be alone and lick his wounds. The Finchleys had a library. No one would go to the library in the middle of a masquerade ball. It would be his refuge.
* * *
Julian locked the door behind him after he entered the unoccupied room and untied his mask. It was dark enough that the moonlight streaming in from the terrace doors cast a bluish white light into the room. He dropped into a plump wingback chair near the fireplace and closed his eyes. There was an advantage to dressing like a pirate. They did not wear restrictive tail coats.
The rattling of the library doorknob broke the peacefulness of the room. Thank God he had had the forethought to lock the door. Let whomever it was find another room to carry on an assignation. This room was his, and he needed to be alone.
After some time he realised he must have dozed off. He stood and stretched, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension coiled tight in his body. He couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer. It was time to approach Morley.
He rubbed the ache in his chest, finding it was becoming hard to breathe. With luck the cool night air might help.
As he turned towards the French doors leading to the terrace he stumbled at the sight of Katrina’s familiar silhouette in the moonlight.
He recalled standing with her on the Russian Ambassador’s terrace the night his life had changed. No woman had ever affected him the way she did. And deep down he knew no one else ever would. Would there come a day when he stopped caring about her? Caring? It was much more than that. It was more than anything he had ever felt for anyone.
Julian gripped the back of a nearby chair. Suddenly it all made sense. He loved her—he had from the moment he’d spoken with her under the stars. That was why he had such a burning need for her. That was why no other woman could compare to her—and that was why, now they were apart, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and never let her go.
The terrace appeared to be deserted except for her lovely form. The need to know if she felt the same was consuming.
But before he could take another step towards the door, a man dressed in a black domino costume with a half mask and tricorn hat approached Katrina’s side. Julian would wager one hundred pounds it was Armstrong. His heart sank. It was too late.
His vision clouded over with images of Armstrong dancing with her at the Whitfields’ ball. It cleared just in time for him to see the man covering Katrina’s nose with something white, shortly before her body fell limply into the man’s arms.
Julian’s brow furrowed. Katrina never swooned.
Before he was able to react, the man had hoisted her into his arms and carried her off into the darkened garden.
What the bloody hell was going on?
Julian ran for the French doors, raced down the terrace steps and through the garden. Just as he charged through the gate onto South Bruton Mews a carriage pulled away. Julian was certain Katrina was inside it. His almost dead heart now pounded furiously in his chest. He ran after it, but wasn’t fast enough, and the carriage made its way over the cobblestones towards Bruton Street.
Julian slammed his fist into the garden wall, not even feeling the pain. There had to be a way to reach them.
Finchley House was one of only two houses on Grafton Street whose gardens backed directly onto the mews. All the other houses had stables separating the mews from their gardens. Julian scanned the long narrow lane, searching desperately for a horse. What he found was Hart’s driver, sitting idly on his bench in an unmarked carriage a few doors down. Thank God his friend was always prepared for a hasty departure.
Julian whistled for Jonas just as Hart ran up beside him.
‘I saw you hurry past. What has happened?’
‘Someone has taken Katrina. I’m taking your carriage.’ Julian climbed onto the driver’s box, next to Jonas, and looked down at Hart. ‘Find Miss Forrester and let her know. You both must keep this a secret. Watch for my return.’
Hart nodded, and stepped back as Julian and Jonas sped away.
The carriage rocked as it travelled over the bumpy cobblestones. There was a bend in the lane ahead. Hopefully the other carriage would be visible once they had made the turn.
‘There was a carriage here just now, Jonas. Did you see it?’
‘Aye, Your Grace. The one with the unmatched pair?’
‘That’s the one. We need to follow it.’
Jonas nodded as if chasing down another carriage was a common occurrence and then called out to the horses. ‘Come on, boys, on with you.’
The carriage picked up speed.
‘We won’t know which way they went once they reached Bruton Street,’ he pointed out to Julian over the sound of turning wheels and clattering hoofbeats.
‘I’m aware of that. Let us pray they are not that far ahead of us and we see them.’
Julian had no idea what he would do if they did not. He clenched his right hand into a fist.
Thankfully when they reached the end of the mews, they spotted the driver’s green coat and the mismatched pair of horses as they turned right onto New Bond Street. Julian knew that once they were away from the street lights of Mayfair it would be harder to track them.
‘Whatever you do, do not lose sight of them,’ he ground out.
They followed the carriage out of Mayfair towards Cheapside. He thought of trying to overtake it, but was afraid it might cause an accident and Katrina might not survive. He would follow this carriage to the far corners of the land to get her back, and when he did he was going to beat Armstrong senseless.
If it was Armstrong,