Bluestocking Bride (23 page)

Rutherston
stepped out of White's and felt the late night breeze warm against his cheek, and on the spur of the moment decided to walk to Berkeley Square. Ignoring the line of hackney coaches along St. James Street waiting for prospective fares, he swung right and directed his steps towards Piccadilly and home.

His thoughts turned to Catherine and the estrangement that had sprung up between them, and he wondered if it was folly to absent
himself
every evening and spend so much of his time at his various clubs. It was not as if he enjoyed the interminable round of gambling and drinking, he mused, nor the fatuous conversation of toad-eating bores, but his pride had been wounded by Catherine's out-of-hand rejection of his lovemaking, and he had been stung into retaliation. One word, one gesture from her, he thought morosely, would have kept him by her side, but she had never once given him any sign that his presence or absence was of the least interest to her, and he smarted under her cool indifference.

His manner toward her was everything that was proper in a husband's conduct toward a wife, and he was cautious to say or do nothing, in her overwrought condition, that might shatter the fragile truce. Perhaps, he reflected wryly, he had been too cautious. In one week, he would carry her off to
Fotherville
House, and in that secluded setting he would not tolerate the wall of civility with which she contrived to keep him at arm's length.

There were too many distractions in London, he thought irritably, as he turned briskly into Berkeley Street, and Lady Pamela and Henderson could not too soon be left behind for his peace of mind. The lady was one embarrassment that he believed he had removed, but when he remembered that she had said some few words to Catherine before she swooned, his jaw set in an implacable line. He could not believe that the lady would be so foolhardy as to court his enmity, but he would leave nothing that touched Catherine to chance. If Lady Pamela's conduct to his wife had been remiss in any way, he would take steps to ensure that in future she acted with due decorum.

The strength of Henderson's attachment to Catherine left him in some doubt. He had seen Catherine's look of pleasure when she had first caught sight of him at Carlton House, and a white-hot jealousy had been aroused in
Rutherston's
breast. He uttered a harsh profanity when he recalled that Henderson had been a moment before him to snatch Catherine when she fell, certain that his rough passage toward her had been observed by them both.

The portrait painting had been postponed indefinitely,
Rutherston
giving as his excuse that Catherine's condition forbade her traipsing all over town or sitting unmoving for hours at a time. Nor was he well pleased when she had tried to argue the point. He had become unnecessarily curt, and the hostility he had fleetingly observed in Catherine's eyes before she had lowered her lashes to conceal it had raised his hackles.

But Henderson's visits to the house he could not, with any grace, curtail, and he was acutely aware that Catherine basked in his admiration. It irked him beyond bearing to open the door of his own house to the sounds of their laughter, and to find, on entering the drawing room, their two heads bent together in conspiratorial conversation. Nor was he present for more than a few minutes before Henderson would rise to take his leave, and, thought
Rutherston
savagely, with him went all the glow of Catherine's warm nature.

If it had not been for Catherine's pregnancy, he would have ridden her with a tighter bit. But the lady was much mistaken if she thought he would dance long to her tune. He was no callow youth to be treated in such a cavalier manner, but a husband who meant to be master in his own house, and if his Catherine did not yet recognize that fact, he meant to teach it to her gently but inexorably.

Lady Pamela Symington's house was situated at the edge of Richmond, that village on the edge of London that had been at one time the residential district of the aristocracy, until the monarch had removed his Court to Kensington Palace. In the wake of the courtiers' exit had come an influx of diplomats, politicians, merchant bankers, and the occasional professional artist or writer. It was an expensive and interesting area, and most agreeable to Lady Pamela, whose flamboyant lifestyle would have been tolerated less well in the more exclusive and sedate Mayfair.

She was dressing at a leisurely pace when her maid tapped urgently at the door and on entering imparted the welcome news that Lord
Rutherston
waited impatiently below, and Lady Pamela received the information with a small smile of triumph. The abundance of dark hair, piled high on her head, she now undid and shook loose about her shoulders, and the riding habit she had been about to don was thrown carelessly aside and a slip of violet silk hastily drawn on. As her maid did up the tiny row of buttons at the back, Lady Pamela turned to the looking glass to scrutinize her reflection. Her large violet eyes were deepened to amethyst, absorbing the color of her gown, and with her glossy raven tresses framing the lily-white perfection of complexion and rounded breast, Lady Pamela's sensual beauty smiled confidently back at her.

"Quick, Sarah, the amethyst earrings. Mind, the ones Lord
Rutherston
gave me." A small blue velvet box was brought to Lady Pamela and she quickly fastened the gems to her delicate ears.

Her entrance into the blue saloon was all that she had hoped for. Lord
Rutherston
turned to greet her, his eyes smiling his approval.

"Pamela, your beauty quite unmans me." He bowed over her hand, "And as always, your taste is exquisite." He lightly fingered the amethyst drops at her ears.

"And your gallantry, as usual sir, is excessive," she replied archly, tapping his outstretched hand with a playful finger. She moved to a small sofa against the wall and patted the place beside her. "Sit down Richard, and tell me what brings you to Richmond. I thought the charms of Berkeley Square had cast a spell on you." As she saw the frown crease his brow, she thought that perhaps she had gone too far, but his voice was bland in its reply.

"Did you? No, it is not Berkeley Square that charms me, but my Berkshire estate. To tell you the truth, Pamela, I shall be very glad to remove myself from all my . . . encumbrances here." As he spoke, he moved to a chair adjacent to the sofa, ignoring the blatant invitation in Lady Pamela's eyes, and the smile hovering on her lips became hard and fixed.

"Indeed, and do you take your wife to
Fotherville
House, or is she one of the . . . encumbrances that you speak of?"

He ignored the question, and looked thoughtfully at her for a moment or two, lightly tapping the tips of his fingers together.

"Pamela," he began, and so kindly did he say the name that she stiffened, knowing now that the words he would say were not the words she wanted to hear. "Pamela, you were beside . . . Lady
Rutherston
when she fainted at Carlton House. Tell me what happened."

That he had called his wife by her formal title rather than her Christian name fueled Lady Pamela's anger, for she knew it was his way of protecting Catherine from the curiosity of those whom he regarded as outsiders.

"Are you implying that I said something to upset your wife?" She strove to keep her voice light.

"Did you not?" So soft and menacing were his words that Lady Pamela looked at him with startled speculation.

"Lady Catherine, sir, was unwell before she fell against me." Her reply seemed to relieve his mind, and she waited only a moment before continuing with malicious sweetness, "I remember that she gave one glance in your direction before she stumbled and
then . . ."
she broke off in confusion, as if reluctant to continue.

"And then?" He had not moved, but his fingers locked together, and she was aware of his close attention.

"And then she cried out for someone called Adrian. She said his name twice, so I am not mistaken, and some young man, I don't know who, carried her off. That's all I know." She glanced sideways at him to see the effect of her words, but his impassive countenance told her nothing of what was in his mind, and his silence provoked her to spite. "Perhaps it was her brother she called for?"

"Perhaps it was." Still his face remained bland, and she could not tell whether the barb had found its mark or not. His coolness goaded her into indiscretion.

"Then, when next I meet Lady
Rutherston
, my lord, I shall ask after the health of her brother Adrian. He visibly blanched when his sister cried his name in so piteous a tone.
Such an attractive-looking man."
She was unprepared for the violence of
Rutherston's
response. He reached out his hand to grasp her wrist, and spoke through clenched teeth.

"If you try to further the acquaintance of my wife, my dear Pamela, I shall make you sorry. Do I make myself clear?"

She tried to wrench away from him, her eyes blazing with anger. "You are transparent, my lord! Your anger is not for me, but for your wife! What is it you suspect? That perhaps she prefers another?"

The words hung in the air, and although he held her wrist as if to silence her, her fury could not be abated. She hissed the words at him, her face contorted with malice.

"It did not escape my notice that the gallant gentleman who carried off your bride was also her attentive escort at Covent Garden. You fool . . ."

Before she could utter another word,
Rutherston
pushed her back violently and stood towering over her, and for a moment, as she looked into the remorseless anger in his eyes, she felt pure terror.

"Have a care, my lady. I will not hesitate to break you and bring you down if you say or do one thing that could harm Catherine. Whatever that fertile imagination of yours has conjured up, I advise you to forget it. I came here for only one purpose—to protect my wife from any indiscreet disclosures about our relationship that you may feel compelled to utter. That, I will not tolerate."

Lady Pamela strained back into the sofa, wrenching her wrist out of his fierce grip, and in her nervousness the laughter was torn from her like convulsive sobs. "What fools men are! She knows already! No, don't give me one of your murderous stares. I did not tell her—but I tell you she knows. Did you think that you could keep it from her?"

The derisive scorn in her voice lashed him, and he stood clenching his fists, disbelief written on his face.

As the lady watched him warily through narrowed eyes, some of her confidence seemed to return, and she tried a more conciliatory approach.

"Even if she does know, Richard, what of it?
Is she such a green girl that she does not understand that a husband may weary of domestic bliss?" His thoughtful silence emboldened her to reach out and touch the edge of his sleeve. "Richard!" The word was spoken with sensual pleading, but
Rutherston
, lost in thought, neither saw nor heard. Presently, he seemed to come to himself, and cursing softly under his breath, strode out of the room without a backward glance.

Some time after
Rutherston
set out in his curricle to execute some small matter of business, the nature of which he did not divulge to Catherine, she took the opportunity of having the carriage brought round. She implied to her butler that the seclusion imposed on her by an overanxious husband had been a trial to bear, and that she wished to make an excursion to Richmond Park merely to take the air. But Catherine's motives were far from pure.

Four days had passed since she had received a cryptic message from Henderson saying that he was sorry to absent himself from town on some pressing matter, but that he hoped to return in a day or two. It was Catherine's intention to make a small detour to Chelsea where Henderson's house was located to ferret out news of her friend, for she hardly dared mention his name to her husband or disclose that she felt uneasy on Henderson's behalf.

She knew that if it came to
Rutherston's
ears that she had disobeyed him, he would be infuriated, but she was made reckless by his own evasive attitude, since he never disclosed where he had been or what he was about, and she had determined to practice a small deception of her own. It did not seem likely that he would ever be apprised her visit to Henderson's house, but she was careful to pack her pearl necklace in her reticule, reasoning that, if he challenged her, she would give as her excuse that Henderson was eager to sketch her with the pearls that
Rutherston
was adamant would grace her throat for his portrait. Had she but known that
Rutherston
was at that very moment already tooling his curricle through Richmond, Catherine would have abandoned her scheme, for she had no wish to run even the smallest risk of being discovered anywhere near Chelsea.

It was with a disapproving sniff that Simpson,
Rutherston's
groom, pulled down the steps of the carriage and gave his mistress his hand to help her alight, and at that moment Catherine looked up and was momentarily arrested. The front door of Henderson's house stood wide open, and two burly men in leather aprons were in the process of negotiating a large canvas out of the door. They were taking their instructions from a small, portly man whose sober mode of dress informed Catherine that, although he was not elegant enough to pass for quality, he was at least a member of the middle class.