Page 39 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

K it put the spurs to the lazy horse and drove it hard back to the city, his mind reeling. Jane had said As you love her . Did he love her?

He had told a dozen, or more, women he loved them. They liked to hear it. The pretty words had pleased them and suited him, but what he had felt for those girls was nothing like the emotion that pulsed through his veins now.

If loving someone meant that life without them was unendurable, that thoughts of that person occupied every waking moment, then yes, he conceded, maybe he was in love with Thamsine Granville, and if that was the case he was the biggest fool in the country.

How had he allowed himself to fall in love with a woman he knew nothing about?

Above all, he didn’t need the distraction of foolish emotions such as love at this point in his life.

He returned the horse and took some refreshment at the Ship while he tried to gather his thoughts. Damn it, where was she? He was quite sure Morton had meant it when he said he would take her to Hell but where was Hell? Somewhere in the City of London or … where?

He dismissed the thought of tackling Ambrose Morton without at least a dozen armed men at his back.

Even if he knew where Morton was, he was no match for a man of Morton’s size, cunning, and formidable reputation as a swordsman.

However, there was one other person who might know where Thamsine was being held, and who could be more easily managed.

He risked overplaying his hand but the risk was worth it.

He borrowed a knife from Jem, slipping it into his sleeve, clapped his hat on his head, and strode to the house in Holborn Hill.

He found Lucy alone, working on embroidery by the window in the parlour. He paused at the door, watching her for a moment. The bitter, angry thoughts seething in his brain, provided a stark contrast to the scene of pleasant, domestic bliss that she presented.

For a moment he hesitated. What if he was mistaken and Lucy was innocent? She looked up, setting her work down in her lap.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded in a petulant tone, destroying the illusion.

He laid his hat and gloves on the table. ‘That is my concern, Lucy.’

‘I waited up for you till late last night and all today. No word, not even a note.’ She stood to face him.

‘Well, that was foolish. You should know me well enough now to know not to expect such things of me.’

‘You’re here now. That’s all that matters.’ She insinuated her arms around his neck, pressing her body to his, her mouth seeking his …once more his sweet, playful Mouse.

He broke away from her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, revolted by her.

Her eyes narrowed, her brow creasing with distress as she said, ‘Kit, dearest, is something wrong?’ She placed her hands on his chest and smiled a cherubic, wheedling smile that two days ago would have reduced him to clay in her hands. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’

Kit looked at her with disgust, seeing her for what she was: a pretty, spoiled, manipulative little woman who within a few years would lose her teeth and her looks and end up an embittered, ugly hag.

She looked up at him and her eyes widened when she recognised the grim purpose on his face. She played a desperate card, laying her head against his chest.

‘Kit, dearest Kit, you must know I love you.’

He almost laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You mistake lust for love, Lucy. You wouldn’t know what love is. I’ll have my box sent around to my new lodgings. Our little bit of fun is over.’

‘Kit, please … ’ She fell against him, clinging to him, crying soft tears. ‘What have I done for you to treat me so cruelly?’

With a deft movement, he slipped the knife from his sleeve and, seizing her by the shoulder, twisted her away from him. He wrenched one arm up behind her back and held the knife to her throat. She gave a gurgling cry, her eyes bulging with fear.

‘Where is Thamsine Granville?’ he hissed in her ear.

‘I don’t know,’ she spluttered.

‘Yes, you do. Where is she?’

His grip tightened and she let out another cry.

‘It’s no concern of yours!’

‘You’re wrong. It is every concern of mine.’

‘Why?’ Lucy’s tone was defiant through the tears of pain. ‘She’s nothing, a nobody.’

‘I suspect you know that’s not true. What has Morton told you?’

At Morton’s name, Lucy stiffened in his arms. ‘Morton?’

‘I’m no fool, Lucy. I know he’s the one who’s been warming your bed in my absence. Now, where is Thamsine?’

‘I can’t tell you. He’ll hurt me,’ she whined.

Kit twisted her arm higher and she yelped.

‘Like this? Lucy, I’ve no time for games. I am holding a very sharp knife and I am not the most patient of men. Like you, I have little aversion to removing annoying obstacles. The fact you are a woman makes no difference.’

Sweat beaded Lucy’s pretty face. ‘I c-can’t tell you,’ she stammered in one last display of bravado. ‘Kill me, if that’s what you intend!’

Kit sighed and shifted his grip on the knife, laying it against her nose.

‘You’re wrong, Lucy. I don’t intend to kill you, but I can cause you a great deal of pain before I leave you hideously scarred.

You will find it hard to woo bed-mates with the mark of the whore on your face.

Now, are you going to deal with this sensibly? ’

It went against everything he believed him to threaten a woman in this manner and he hated himself, but he hated himself more for throwing Thamsine in the path of Ambrose Morton.

Lucy swallowed. ‘You don’t know what he’ll do to me if I tell you.’

‘I couldn’t care less what he does to you!

It’s the other women I care about, the ones he takes by force, uses and throws away.

You know, you’re very alike, you and Morton.

When you see something, you take it.’ He paused, realisation dawning on him.

‘Tell me, Lucy, why you chose me. What do I have that you want so badly?’

‘I know who you are!’ she screamed. ‘You are heir to Lord Midhurst. I could have been Lady Midhurst, if it wasn’t for that milksop of a music teacher.’

The answer shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.

It wouldn’t have been hard for her to discover his true identity.

There were a few who knew his antecedents, such as Fitzjames, who was not known for his discretion when in his cups.

Morton could have extracted that information without much prompting.

‘So you know who I am, or more correctly, who I will be? Well, that explains a great deal. You want a title? Did you think to snare me into marriage with you?’ He twisted her arm a little harder, making her squeal.

‘Well, I hate to disappoint you, but you’re not the sort of woman men like me marry. ’

He twisted her arm a little harder.

There were tears in her voice. ‘Kit, please. You’ll break my arm.’

‘Good.’

‘She’s in Bedlam.’ The words were so faint he had to strain his ears to hear them.

‘What did you say?’ Kit slackened his grip and she broke away from him, rubbing her arm, tears running down her flushed face, distress and fear now displaced with anger.

‘She’s in Bedlam,’ she spat. ‘Where she deserves to be!’

Morton had taken her to Hell. Hell on Earth had a name and that name was Bedlam. No need to ask why. A few days in Bedlam would make the sanest person beg to marry Ambrose Morton.

His fingers closed over Lucy’s arm again. She shrank from him but he tightened his grip, forcing her to her knees, gasping from the new pain he was inflicting.

‘Let us fetch your cloak and your purse, Mistress Talbot, we’re going out.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To Hell.’