Bluestocking Bride (3 page)

A spry, elderly country woman
rose
from a table where she had been polishing a silver tray and came forward to greet her, and she relieved Catherine of her mud-spattered cloak.

"Ah, Miss Catherine, I'm that pleased to see
ye
. Will ye have time to stay and have some refreshment?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Bates, if it's no trouble to you," Catherine replied warmly. "I see you are putting things in order for his lordship. Do you expect him soon?"

"He sent word that he would be here within the fortnight. But he'll be sending down his own town servants afore he arrives. When his lordship comes, Mr. Bates and
me
will learn what's to become of us."

Catherine put her hand on the older woman's arm and said encouragingly, "I don't think you need worry, Mrs. Bates. A house of these proportions cannot lie empty. Even if his lordship chooses not to let it, he must keep it in order."

Her reward was to see the older woman smile in appreciation.

"Eh now, Miss Catherine, you'll be going to the library. IH put the kettle on and bring you a nice dish of tea."

Catherine opened the door that led to the living quarters, making her way to a large saloon near the front entrance. She removed her bonnet, threw it on the chair, and walked to the center of the room. She turned in a circle, surveying what she considered to be her domain. How she loved this room!

Long windows opened onto a terrace, and the light streamed in on two sides. Apart from the fireplace wall, every available inch of space was covered with books. She walked to the section containing her favorites and ran her fingers along their spines, murmuring the names of the authors: Aeschylus, Euripides,
Sophocles
, as if their names were musical cadences.

In a moment she had found her favorite, the most perfect play ever written, with the character of the most perfect man. Settling herself in one of the wing chairs flanking the fireplace, she was soon engrossed in the beauty of the poetry and the tragedy of the plot. When Mrs. Bates entered quietly a few minutes later with the promised tea, Catherine gave no sign of awareness. Mrs. Bates placed the tray on a small side table and discreetly withdrew. Miss Catherine was a real bookworm. It would take a thunderbolt to get her attention now.

So it was that Catherine, curled up in her chair, did not hear the clip-clop of hooves as
Rutherston's
curricle drove up to the front door, nor was she aware of the bustle just outside the library as he gave instructions to his groom, Simpson, for the stabling of the grays and disposal of the baggage.

Some time later, a shadow fell across the page of Catherine's book. She moved it to a better light. The shadow followed, and Catherine looked up straight into the cold gray eyes of the Marquis of
Rutherston
.

"My dear Daisy, or Dolly, or Polly, or whatever your name happens to be," he began in frigid accents, "I approve of your devotion to literature, but I would be obliged if you would put your picture book away and attend to your duties. You will find Mrs. Bates upstairs in a bustle and short of hands."

Catherine, whose first reaction had been dismay, now found her own ire rising. She surveyed the young man more closely, and saw that he was above average height, dark hair rather long on the collar, broad shouldered, and of muscular physique. The cut of his coat proclaimed the aristocrat, but the effect was spoiled by the supercilious scowl that marred his handsome face. Catherine had no doubt that she was facing an enraged Marquis of
Rutherston
.

She snapped the book shut, and more slowly than she needed to, uncurled her legs from the chair and stood up. She lowered her eyes, which she knew were flashing with anger, and dropped the hint of a curtsy. She had not meant to play the role he had cast her in, but before she could stop herself she heard herself say, "If it please your lordship, I didn't mean-no harm."

It was the marquis's turn now to appraise the slip of a girl standing before him.

Rutherston
, who was accustomed to the finery of London ladies, supposed that Catherine's plain gray frock, which he had only glanced at in a cursory fashion, was the mark of a superior servant, distinguishing her from the kitchen domestics. He noticed her trim, well-formed figure, an abundance of russet hair hugging her oval face, and dark lashes curving along her cheek. She would be only a pretty chit of a thing, he thought, except for her glowing coloring. Her dark auburn hair cast a golden glow on her creamy complexion. Although her eyes were still downcast,
Rutherston
sensed that her demeanor was provocative rather than demure, but dismissed that suspicion instantly from his mind. No chit of a maid would dare to tease one of his
consequence
.

"Let me see which of my books has taken your fancy," he said in a more conciliatory tone as he drew the book from Catherine's grasp. Was it his imagination, or did he feel a slight resistance? He opened the book,
then
quickly looked down at her in astonishment. "Greek?" he demanded incredulously.

"Is that what it is, your lordship?" meeting his eyes for the first time. "I was only tracing them there squiggles with my finger. The letters are so pretty. Can you read it, sir?" she asked archly.

Amber eyes widened in mock admiration and smiled into gray. Their eyes held for a long moment and all mockery left Catherine's face as she read the expression in
Rutherston's
eyes. He heard Catherine's gasp as she turned for flight, but in an instant he had her in his arms.

His kiss was hard and
thorough,
and so shocked was Catherine that she made no move to pull away. She recognized that in some way she had been at fault and was deeply mortified to think that she had put herself into an intolerable situation.

But as his kiss lingered, and she felt his warm tongue trying to probe her lips apart, she strained back as hard as she could.
Rutherston
responded by pulling her close. Something stirred within her, her breath quickened, and she found herself parting her lips to receive his kisses.

When she found herself thrust roughly away from him her embarrassment was acute, and she could not bring herself to meet his eyes. He laughed shortly.

"You must excuse my ardor," he drawled, striving to steady his voice, "but the force of your charms quite overcame my scruples. You can go now, my girl, and in future I suggest that you keep out of my way." In an attempt to mask his own embarrassment and want of discretion,
Rutherston's
demeanor had assumed a forbidding hauteur.

Catherine felt as if she would die of shame, and wondered how she could retrieve herself from such an impossible position.

It was at that moment that Charles Norton walked into the library in search of his cousin and stopped on the threshold, one hand on the door handle.

Catherine turned toward the intruder in relief.

"Miss Harland," Norton said in delight, striding toward her and taking her hand in his. "Mrs. Bates was just telling me that you were in the library, and I came at once." He glanced at the glowering marquis, suspecting that he had walked in on a confrontation. "I see you've met my cousin," he added uncertainly.

Catherine's laugh sounded forced in her own ears. "How good it is to meet you again, Mr. Norton," she managed in a normal voice, and with genuine pleasure. "I am afraid you have walked in on a scene of mistaken identity. No, I have not had the pleasure of being introduced to your cousin."

She turned to face
Rutherston
, chin high and eyes steady, daring him to reveal one scrap of what had taken place between them.

"Richard," said Norton, happy to oblige, "this is Miss Catherine Harland, you know, old
Harly's
niece. Miss Norton, may I present my cousin, Lord
Rutherston
?" Catherine curtsied deeply, and
Rutherston
gave a slight bow that just stopped short of being uncivil.

Norton was surprised to see the set of his friend's

face
, and rightly supposed that the case of mistaken identity of which Catherine spoke had been a cause of embarrassment to him.

"Old
Harly
?" asked
Rutherston
. "I don't recollect. . . ."

He looked from one to the other in polite inquiry. He didn't care whose niece the chit was. She had behaved like a hoyden and put him in a ridiculous position. He would soon put her in her place and make her wish that she had never crossed swords with the Marquis of
Rutherston
.

"Don't you remember, Richard? Old
Harly
taught classics at Oxford. Didn't you read under him? I thought you had, somehow. That's where Miss Harland and I met, when I was up at Oxford and Miss Harland was visiting her relations. Tell me, Miss Harland, how is your brother, Tom? Haven't seen him in an age, though I don't think the fault is all his."

Catherine searched his face quickly, determining at once that Mr. Norton's inquiry was not uttered as a matter of form but from genuine interest, and in a moment or two she was animatedly describing her older brother's adventures and scrapes since he had come down from Oxford to take up the life of a country gentleman. These reflections, as a matter of course, led to an exchange of reminiscences on life at Oxford, and
Rutherston
, who had been observing them covertly, a fixed smile upon his lips, heard his
i
cousin ask Catherine if she was still keeping up her Greek studies.

"Ah, that explains it," said
Rutherston
, determinedly breaking into the conversation. "I found Miss Harland reading this." He held up the copy of "
Hippolytus
." "I take it, Miss Harland, that my uncle gave you the run of his library, no doubt taking you for a kindred spirit?
A veritable blue stocking, if I'm not mistaken?"

So saying, he proffered the book which Catherine took into her hands, but he did not release it immediately. "Please feel free to continue using my library whenever it suits you. I am sure that you won't be in the way. Mr. Norton and I don't intend to be much in the house."

He had hardly uttered this uncivil speech when he regretted it. No one could doubt that he was giving her a set-down, and in so doing had betrayed his own lack of composure.

"Please do, Miss Harland," Norton interjected, trying to make amends for his cousin's discourtesy. "And if you don't mind company once in a while, I'd be delighted to
er
. . ." He waved his hand vaguely in the general direction, of the books.

"You cannot think that I will accept your kind offer," said Catherine to Norton, her voice warm with gratitude. "I know perfectly well that your love of books is in proportion to your distance from them—or so I've heard you say on many occasions."

Norton laughed and eyed Catherine in frank admiration. "Miss Harland, I had hoped to come into a part of the world where I might pass myself off as a sage. I see that I shall have to mind how I go on, since you know me so well."

Catherine joined in his laughter, but was uncomfortably aware of
Rutherston's
tense stand. She turned to face him.

"My lord," she began," I do beg your pardon for trespassing on your hospitality. You must believe that I should never have come here if I had known you were so soon to arrive. Indeed, your housekeeper assured me that you would not be here until your servants had come from town."

Rutherston
waved his hand as if to signify that it was of no consequence.

Catherine continued, "I thank you for offering me the freedom of your library, but I do believe you mistake?"

"I?" said
Rutherston
with a lift of his brow.

"I believe that this is my library, my lord, left to me under the terms of Mr.
Fortescue's
will?" Her voice was light, but her intention
unmistakable,
and
Rutherston
was completely taken aback.

Catherine gave him her sweetest smile. "Pray feel free to make use of it whenever you like, my lord, until such time as I have made arrangements to have the books transported to
Ardo
House. I collect the terms were one year?"

In a few minutes she was gone, having taken her leave, very prettily, of the two gentlemen, but not before Norton had promised to call on her family to renew their acquaintance at his earliest convenience.

He turned back into the
room,
his brows knit in puzzlement, and surveyed his cousin thoughtfully.
Rutherston
was leaning against the mantel in an attitude of studied nonchalance.

"Well, what a piece of luck meeting Miss Harland like this," Norton began.

"Do you think so?"
Rutherston
drawled indifferently. "I can't say that I approve of Miss Harland's want of propriety."

"Want of propriety? Whatever can you mean? Why she's as prim and proper as any young lady of my acquaintance. You'll have to explain yourself, Richard, for I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I was referring to Miss Harland's lack of embarrassment on finding herself
unchaperoned
in the company of two gentlemen."