Page 73 of The Rake Desires the Diamond

“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 hismother 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.