If they were headed there they would have to change horses in two hours. Julian needed to force himself to remain calm until then. He would do Katrina no good if he could not think clearly. In two hours he would have her back. And Armstrong would regret the day he had planned this.
When Jonas lost sight of the carriage near St. Paul’s it was nearly impossible for Julian not to lash out at the coachman. They could not have disappeared. They had to be somewhere close by.
He gripped the rail in front of him until his knuckles were white. Dear God, please let me find her.
The streets in this part of London were not very familiar to him. Thank God Jonas appeared to know his way around. After circling the streets for what felt like hours, but had probably been less than fifteen minutes, they spotted the carriage parked on Newgate Street. He had Jonas stop far enough back that their presence would not be easily noticed.
Looking closely at his surroundings, Julian realised he knew this place. The carriage was parked in front of the Crypt of St Martin’s le Grand. He, like other people in London, had ventured out here to inspect the crypt when it had been uncovered not long ago.
The implication of where they were made his palms sweat and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This was not a forced elopement. What was Armstrong up to?
Before Julian had a chance to determine the best way to approach the situation the cloaked figure hurried out of the crypt empty-handed, and re-entered the carriage. Julian’s blood ran cold. His gut told him Katrina was in the crypt.
As the carriage pulled away Jonas spoke up. ‘Shall I follow it?’
He shook his head. He knew where to find Armstrong—and he would find him. But first he needed to reach Katrina. He only prayed he wasn’t too late.
Katrina’s head felt as if it was being squeezed between two bricks. She tried opening her eyes and found her lids exceedingly heavy. Raising her chin from her chest was also proving difficult. The air had the earthy scent of a root cellar, and the smell made her nose twitch. She should leave this place. If only she wasn’t too tired to move from this chair.
‘Oh, you’re waking up,’ a female voice drawled. ‘That should make this a bit more interesting. I suppose the ropes were necessary, after all.’
That velvety voice was familiar, but Katrina couldn’t recall who it belonged to. With much effort she forced herself to blink, and when her vision cleared Lady Wentworth slowly came into view a few feet in front of her. She was wearing a dark cape over a jonquil gown.
Katrina had no recollection of leaving the Finchleys’ with this woman. In fact she couldn’t even remember leaving the ball at all.
Lady Wentworth cocked her head, and Katrina felt like a butterfly pinned in a case.
‘I’ve tried,’ the woman mused, ‘but I still cannot fathom what he finds attractive about you.’
Katrina tried to place where in Finchley House they might be. This was not any of the beautifully decorated rooms she had seen. The floor and walls were made of crumbling stone and dirt. Aside from the chair she sat on, the only other furniture was a little table near Lady Wentworth. There were items on it, but she couldn’t make out what they were in the shadows. No windows were evident, and the only light came from a lantern on the floor.
Not far away was a deep stone box, large enough to house most of Katrina’s gowns. She tipped her head back and squinted at the arched vaulted ceiling divided by stone pillars.
Katrina swallowed hard. It did little to relieve the scraping at the back of her throat. ‘Where are we?’
‘In a crypt. A very convenient choice on my part.’
A cold chill ran up her spine. Why couldn’t she remember coming here? Her chest tightened as her muddled head started to clear, and she tried to suppress the panic that was taking hold. Why, of all places, were they in a crypt? Dead people belonged in crypts. She needed to leave.
Her arms felt numb. When she tried to lift them up she couldn’t, and realised her hands were tied behind her back. She tugged on the rope, but it wouldn’t budge. When she tried to raise her body, she saw her ankles were tied to the spindly chair.
‘You have tied me up?’ Katrina let out an incredulous breath. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘My associate did it before he left. It seemed prudent at the time.’ There was an odd, satisfied glint in Lady Wentworth’s eyes. ‘The ropes are very secure. Struggling will not help. Your waking has forced me to adjust my plan,’ she said, picking up a small bottle from the table, ‘but rest assured you won’t be leaving. The man I hired will make certain of that.’
She glanced pointedly at the large stone box in the centre of the room and Katrina realised it was a tomb.
Muscles and veins strained against Katrina’s skin as she pushed with all her might to break the ropes that bound her. Warm rivulets trailed down her hands but she barely felt the pain.
* * *
Julian had followed the darkened steps that led down into the Crypt at St Martin’s le Grand, holding the carriage lamp Jonas had handed him. The rapid pounding of his heart echoed in his ears as he navigated the underground stone passageways. Rounding the second corner, he spied the faint glow of light far up ahead and hoped it meant he had found Katrina.
Not knowing what or who he would be facing, he turned down the flame in the lantern. He crept slowly along, trying for the hundredth time to imagine why someone would take Katrina. As he made his way closer to the entrance of a chamber he could hear the sound of muffled voices and listened closely for hers. When he heard it, he almost stumbled to his knees in relief. She was alive.
He placed the lantern down outside the entrance, and when he looked inside was dumbstruck to see Katrina with Helena. None of this made any sense.
The domino wasn’t Armstrong?
‘What the bloody hell is going on?’ he bellowed, advancing into the earthen chamber and avoiding the stone coffin in the centre.
Both women let out a gasp. Helena jumped and something fell from her hand, shattering on the floor. She backed away, moving closer to the wall.
Katrina was sitting in a chair about twenty feet to his left. Her eyes were closed, probably out of relief. When she opened them she glared at him.
‘You have horrid taste in women!’ she yelled at him. ‘That’s what is going on. Now untie my hands and feet so I can beat her to a pulp!’
He took a step towards Katrina, uncertain how he would handle her when she was this furious.
‘Stay where you are,’ Helena ordered.
She was aiming a pistol at his head and looking him directly in the eye. The sound of her rapid breathing could be heard across the chamber.
This could not be happening.
He was about to extend his hand and demand she give him the gun when he noticed the dead calm in her eyes. An unsettling shiver ran up his spine and he recalled her violent temper when he had ended their affair. He had seen how unpredictable she could be. The question was, would she use that gun?
He glanced over at Katrina, who sat frozen in place. It almost looked as if she had stopped breathing. Thank heavens she had stopped talking. Her eyes darted to his and he gave her a restrained nod. Her eyes seemed to say she was willing to stay quiet and allow him to determine how best to disarm Helena.
Now, if only he knew what the best way was...
She liked expensive things—he would start there. He looked back at the woman who had a gun pointed at his head.
‘What