Читать книгу Dishonour and Desire - Juliet Landon - Страница 7

Turning the coffee-coloured phaeton through the massive wrought-iron gates of Sheen Court, Caterina held the dapple-greys to a steady trot into the avenue of elms, bracing her feet against the footboard and seeing, from the corner of her eye, how Sara clutched at her bonnet. ‘Take it off,’ she laughed. ‘Nobody will mind. Let the wind blow through your curls, as I do.’

Good-naturedly, Sara grinned. ‘If I looked like you when it does, I would,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately, I’d only look as if I should have worn a bonnet.’

‘Rubbish. They know how pretty you are, windblown or not.’

At nineteen, Sara was very conscious of looking her best at all times while striving to emulate the poise and individuality that had radiated through her elder sister’s formative years. To Sara’s eternal chagrin, her own blonde prettiness was of the fragile kind that did not respond as it ought to attempts at the wind-blown look or to bold styles that showed off voluptuous curves, for Sara’s curves were not voluptuous. If anything, they required some assistance from handkerchiefs stuffed down the front of bodices.

There were plenty of young men who preferred Sara’s delicate frame above anything, especially when it gave them opportunities to bestow those small courtesies men have in store for such females. Bestowing them on Miss Caterina Chester did not bring quite the same satisfaction, for there was always the impression that she found them amusing rather than touching, unnecessary rather than helpful. To the fair and fairy-like Sara, romance was like a minuet, slow, studied and graceful, with everyone knowing what to expect. It gave her time to think. To Caterina, romance was more like a rite than a dance, in which being was more important than thinking. She was waiting for it to happen to her again, but this time with a man who could hear the same primitive beat.

Ahead of them, shining and silvery in the sun, the neo-classical stone façade of Sheen Court watched their approach through unadorned windows and a central portico that soared above both storeys on Corinthian columns. Three flights of wide steps rippled down to the drive between gigantic urns where Caterina brought her aunt’s phaeton to a perfect standstill. Footmen in grey livery ran to take the horses’ heads as a tall figure strolled towards them at a more leisurely pace, two brindled greyhounds loping at his heels. He was smiling.

‘It’s Lord Elyot,’ Sara whispered. ‘I never know what to say to him.’

‘It’s not Lord Elyot,’ said Caterina, ‘it’s his younger brother, Lord Rayne. Lord Seton Rayne.’

There was something in the urgency of her sister’s contradiction that opened Sara’s blue eyes even wider. ‘You mean…Seton? The one you—?’

‘Shh! That was years ago. I didn’t know he was back home.’

‘Where from?’

‘The army.’ Caterina called to him as he came alongside and held a hand up to her in greeting. ‘Lord Rayne. What are you doing here?’

‘I lived here once. Remember?’ He laughed back at her with a flash of white teeth.

‘Heavens, so you did. I’d almost forgotten.’

He was not meant to believe her. Nor did he. Holding up his other hand, he invited her down. ‘Come down here, Miss Caterina Chester, and let me remind you, then. And introduce me to your lovely companion, if you will. Or have you forgotten your manners, too?’ He caught her, returning her hug like a favourite brother, almost lifting her off her feet and whooping like a child.

She had often wondered in what ways they would have changed since their last meeting. Then, she had said the same inadequate farewell as everyone else as he went off to join his regiment, the one in which his brother had served some years earlier. Then, she had vowed to shed no more tears for a man, and she had kept her word through the pain of rejection, and through the healing.

It had been very civilised and well arranged. He had been as understanding and sorry at twenty-five as she had been at seventeen, and perhaps more kindly. He had explained that she was too young for him, that he was about to leave for a long spell of duty and that he was not the kind of man she deserved. He had been abroad, visiting seldom, and then only briefly. She had not believed then, nor did she now, that love had much to do with deserving, but she had accepted his explanation because it was sensitively given and because she had little alternative.

Both Lord Rayne and his elder brother had had mistresses and clearly she was not his style, gauche and innocent and, though pretty, nothing like the raving beauty she was now. There had never been any kind of intimacy between them and she had no reason to reproach him except for not wanting her, for his behaviour had been utterly correct, if sometimes maddeningly confusing. For the last few weeks of their friendship, when matters had been resolved between them, they had been more like brother and sister than before, where affectionate bickering was a comfortable substitute for onesided adoration.

For Caterina, it had been the hardest and most emotional lesson of her life, learned with Aunt Amelie’s help in lieu of a mother’s. Her dignity had won her aunt’s admiration, for this had all come at a time when her astonishing singing voice had just been discovered, her little feet placed on the first rung of stardom and her launch into the best society. It was for that very reason her widowed father had asked her widowed Aunt Amelie to be her chaperon.

With her feet now firmly on the same level as Lord Rayne’s, she realised that her heart was not all a-flutter as she had thought it might be, and that, although she was delighted to see him again, he was even more like the adopted brother than the one she’d left behind all those years ago. Full of curiosity about what those years had done to him, she watched as he handed Sara down from the phaeton and was introduced to her.

To anyone less familiar with every detail, the slight loss of weight would have gone unnoticed with the new soldierly bearing, the bronzed skin stretched more tautly over perfect cheekbones, the skin around the eyes rather more lined, weathered more than suffered. From what she’d heard, life in the Prince Regent’s own regiment, the 10th Light Dragoons, was never to be suffered, even at the worst of times, their reputation less for fighting than for just about every other masculine activity.

Lord Rayne had changed physically less than Caterina, but he was still as handsome as he had been before, still as immaculately dressed, dark hair as carefully disordered, neckcloth simply tied and spotless. Lord Elyot and his brother were probably the handsomest pair in the beau monde; no one had ever contradicted that in Caterina’s hearing.

Sara had already turned a pretty shade of pink as they mounted the steps with their arms tucked through Lord Rayne’s, and it was Caterina who fired the first salvo of questions. ‘How long have you been home? Have you sold out now? Have you been offered a position?’

He squeezed her arm against him, looking down at the mass of deep chestnut curls as rebellious as their owner, at the flawless skin and the sun-kissed cheeks, the sweep of thick lashes and the marvellous arch of her brows. How she had changed; her movements now every bit as graceful as her aunt’s, her manner assured and confident. ‘Only a couple of days,’ he said, smiling into her eyes. ‘But never mind that. Tell me about all these improper offers you’ve had, Cat. I thought you’d have had a clutch of bairns by now.’

‘Oh, how vulgar you are,’ she scolded. ‘And don’t fib. You didn’t think of me at all, did you?’

‘Yes, I did. Once or twice. But I didn’t imagine…well…’

‘Well what?’

‘That you’d have blossomed so. We have some catching up to do. And does Miss Chester sing?’ He looked down at Sara’s bonnet.

‘Only a little, my lord,’ Sara said. ‘I mostly play the harp when Cat sings. It’s easier.’

Lord Rayne smiled indulgently at her, thinking how very different the two sister were and how agreeable their relationship. He did not believe it would be as easy as all that to accompany Caterina when she sang, knowing what he did of her high standards. ‘Signor Cantoni is already here,’ he said. ‘Would you like an audience for your lesson?’

‘As long as you don’t disturb us with your snoring,’ Caterina replied.

Always welcoming, Lady Elyot greeted her nieces more like sisters, embracing them and keeping hold of their hands, noticing her brother-in-law’s obvious delight. ‘Now, you’ve met again at last. Any changes, Seton?’

‘Plenty,’ he said, with a teasing glance. ‘Thank heaven.’

‘Still ungentlemanly,’ Caterina snapped. ‘No change there. Don’t expect any compliments, Sara dear. Lord Rayne has even forgotten the one he knew.’

Sara giggled, understanding but unable to match her sister’s wit. ‘We’ve brought the phaeton back, Aunt Amelie,’ she said. ‘Cat thought it best because we’re away to Wiltshire tomorrow and it won’t be used for a few days. And Hannah won’t be coming with us after all, because the baby twins are coming down with something.’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry to hear that. Has Dr Beale been?’ Lady Elyot’s dark almond-shaped eyes filled with concern. She was an inch smaller than Caterina, heart-stoppingly lovely and, at thirty, still the kind of woman men hungered for, with warm brown curls falling through bands of ribbon and spiralling down her long neck. Her figure was firm and slender, even after bearing three children, showing off to perfection the blue sleeveless pelisse worn over a blue-bordered white muslin day dress. A Kashmir shawl was draped over one shoulder, which Sara would never have thought of doing. Lady Elyot was responsible for Caterina’s transformation to assured womanhood, and a special bond had grown between them of the kind that Sara and Hannah had not quite managed to forge.

‘Doctor Beale was arriving just as we left. Hannah is going to ask Aunt Dorna if she’ll take on the duties as chaperon. She was going, anyway,’ said Sara without a trace of regret.

‘Dorna as chaperon,’ said Lady Elyot with a lift of her fine brows. ‘Well, I’m sure she’ll agree, my dear, in principle if not in fact.’

Lady Adorna Elwick was not only the widow of Hannah’s late brother, but she was also Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne’s sister. The sudden loss of her husband, however, had been a tragedy only in that it obliged Dorna to wear black, which she would not otherwise have done.

‘As long as you don’t expect the onerous duty of chaperon to make the slightest difference to Dorna’s own enjoyment,’ said Lord Rayne. ‘Perhaps it’s as well that I was invited along to partner her, for I’m sure she has no intention of being saddled with her brother, and I was all set to find myself a couple of innocent young sisters to pass the time with. You two should fill the bill quite nicely.’

‘Thank you,’ said Caterina, taking her music case from the footman with a smile, ‘but we have no intention of filling your bill. We are not nearly innocent enough for you. Anyway, I didn’t know you’d been invited.’

‘Not invited to Sevrington Hall? The Ensdales would never have a house party without me. I’m one of the standard eligible males.’

‘Good. Then you’ll know your own way around the place, won’t you? Sara and I have been invited to perform.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ he groaned in mock despair.

‘And we must not keep Signor Cantoni waiting any longer. Aunt Amelie, thank you so much for lending us your phaeton. It was polished only this morning. We had such fun with it.’

‘Then you shall borrow it again, love, at any time. Go through to the gallery, both of you. May we peep in later on?’

‘Of course. We’re rehearsing our songs for the weekend.’

A lengthy glass-covered corridor led into one of the first-floor side wings where a previous Lord Elyot had added a long gallery, centuries after the fashion had disappeared, in which to house his collection of objets d’art and ancestral portraits. Lit by ceiling-to-floor windows on two sides, the room was often used for dancing and concerts; now, as the sisters entered, Signor Cantoni was already playing to himself on the small Beckers grand pianoforte, his eyes scanning the ornate plasterwork ceiling with its riot of foliage, swags and shells.

‘Are you all right, Cat?’ Sara whispered. ‘After seeing him again?’

Caterina was more than all right. There had been a time, years ago, when she had dreaded seeing Lord Rayne with a beautiful and sophisticated woman on his arm, looking down the length of a ballroom at her with pity in his eyes. It had not happened. Instead, he had picked up the old familiar sparring, the mild insults, the banter that was more acceptable than that awful pretence at politeness, a cover for regret. She had changed since then, realising for perhaps the first time that he must have known she would, that her needs would grow well beyond the dreams of a seventeen-year-old. She was grateful to him for telling her what she had not wanted to believe, that there were other men for her than him.

Placing an arm around her sister’s shoulders, she hugged her as they walked towards the piano, almost laughing with relief. ‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she whispered. ‘It’s gone now. Really. I mean it. I’m quite free, and we shall get on well together, the three of us.’

Greeting her singing teacher with a kiss to both cheeks, she helped Sara to uncover the harp and sift through the music sheets, settling into the seriously enjoyable music-making that had been her lifeline during the last problematical years. From the start, she had been sought to add glamour and talent to the most select house parties, soirées and private charity concerts, sometimes with Sara, sometimes with her teacher, and often with an orchestra. It was not a voice, they told her father, that one kept to oneself.

Before long, the family at Sheen Court began to gravitate towards the door that only grown-ups knew how to open silently. In a slow trickle with fingers to lips, they went to sit on the window-seat at the far end, or took up positions on the pale upholstered chairs against the cream panelling. Lured by Caterina’s rich mezzo-soprano voice, they listened entranced to the music of Mozart, Gluck and Handel and to some by her late mentor himself, who’d had a piece written for him, a castrato, by Joseph Haydn.

Standing to face the harp and the piano so that she could watch her teacher’s expressions, Caterina was hardly aware of the growing audience until Sara whispered to her during a pause, ‘Lord Elyot’s here.’

‘Don’t look, then,’ Caterina whispered back. ‘Shall we go from bar fourteen, signor? That trill needs polishing, doesn’t it?’ Taking a pencil, she made a note on her music, glancing towards the little crowd gathered in the distance. Lord Elyot was indeed there with his brother, and wife, and a guest, a man as tall as himself who she had seen only that morning at Paradise Road in circumstances very different from this.

She had never suffered unduly from nervousness while performing, but now she felt an uncomfortable churning sensation beneath her lungs, and when the piano accompaniment began on bar fourteen, her voice was not prepared for it. ‘Sorry, signor. Again, if you please?’

Watching his head lift as he counted her in, she began again, this time coming in on the beat, facing the room in a conscious effort to show that, this time, she was totally in control as she had not been earlier, when she had last spoken to Sir Chase.

She would rather have avoided another meeting with him, but it was not possible, for Lord and Lady Elyot were interested to hear from him that he and Miss Chester had already been introduced and that he would be happy to meet her again. If they had expected Caterina to share this eagerness, they soon saw that the opposite was the case when she replied to his congratulations with chilling courtesy. Taking the hand of five-year-old Adrian, Caterina led him to the piano stool for a quick two-finger duet. The last thing she wanted was a display of ill humour, for that would have raised too many questions, but nor did she wish to engage any man’s attentions who was coolly relieving her father of twenty thousand guineas for so little return.

On the way back to the green drawing room, however, it was clear that Lady Elyot had noticed. ‘What is it, Cat dear?’ she said as they walked a little way ahead of the rest. ‘You didn’t mind us bringing Sir Chase in, did you? He was very keen to hear you.’

‘It’s not that. I don’t mind who hears me. I don’t like the man, that’s all.’

‘But he tells me you only met this morning. What is it you don’t like?’

‘Oh, only what’s generally known, I suppose. He sets my bristles up. I know some think he’s all the crack, but dressing well doesn’t excuse a profligate.’

‘Cat! What are you saying? That’s coming it a bit strong, my dear. My lord would not have invited him to the house if he was as bad as all that.’

‘Lord Elyot invited him?’

‘Yes, love. They’ve been to the stables. Sir Chase was a captain in the same regiment as Nick and Seton, and they’ve been friends for years. You won’t have seen him until now because he spends most of his time in London and his other properties, when he’s not at Mortlake. Of course these men get up to all kinds of tricks, but I find it’s best not to enquire too closely about that. Even Nick won’t tell me about the pranks they played in the Dragoons, occasionally.’

‘Well, I’m sure you’re right about that part, but the less I see of him the better I shall like it.’

Lady Elyot had been watching Sir Chase while Caterina was singing and she was quite sure that his thoughts were running along different lines. It would be interesting to see, she thought, how long it would take him to win her to his side, for by all accounts Sir Chase was not a man to give up when he met opposition. And she was sure he’d set his sights on her niece. Was that why he’d been to see Stephen?

Caterina’s brush with Sir Chase was not yet over, however, for when Signor Cantoni had taken his leave of them to visit another pupil, Sara wished to delay her departure to practise her harp pieces on her own. ‘Then perhaps I could persuade you to drive me home?’ said Caterina to Lord Rayne with a smile, making a show of linking her arm through his.

‘Can’t you walk?’ he said, rudely.

‘Seton!’ said his sister-in-law. ‘How very discourteous.’

‘It’s all right, Aunt,’ Caterina assured her. ‘He’s only teasing.’

‘No, I’m not!’ he said, innocently.

Then it went slightly askew, for although Sir Chase understood the squabble well enough, he saw his chance to be alone with the unwilling lady again. ‘Allow me,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘My curricle is waiting outside, ready to go. I would be happy to drive Miss Chester back to Paradise Road.’

‘No…er, no, thank you,’ Caterina said, holding tighter to Lord Rayne’s arm. ‘There’s really no need. Really.’

‘There you are, then,’ said Lord Rayne. ‘Problem solved. He’s not a bad hand with the ribbons, Cat. You’ll be quite safe. Friend of the family, and all that.’

Angered by the way this had gone wrong, she pulled her arm from Lord Rayne’s without another word, for there was no more to be said without making a fuss which only Aunt Amelie and Sir Chase himself would understand. At the same time, the thought of sitting close to him in a curricle was both disturbing and vaguely exciting for reasons she chose not to investigate. Suffice it to say that she would rather have walked than accept a lift from Sir Chase Boston, after their earlier encounter.

Unfortunately, no choice was left to her but to accept his offer in silence, leaving Lord Rayne in no doubt that he had let her down badly. Taking her leave fondly of Lord and Lady Elyot, and of the children, she left Seton out.

‘Cutting me already, Cat?’ he said as she walked past him into the sunshine.

‘Yes,’ she said, throwing her shawl around her shoulders, ‘but I never did care much for your amateur style of driving, anyway.’

She heard sharp whistles at her insult, then laughter from Lord Elyot at his brother’s expense. ‘Brava, Cat!’ he said. ‘Serves the ungallant wretch right.’

But now she was being escorted towards a flashy sporting curricle, the small body of which was on a level with the top of the wheels, the cushioned seat well above the horses’ backs as it was in her aunt’s vehicle. But whereas the phaeton had four wheels, this one had only two, and instead of the usual pair of horses, Sir Chase drove four matched chestnuts as alike as peas in a pod. Her failed attempt to be unimpressed must have showed on her face for, as she stopped to stare, he watched to see her eyes widen before resuming their flinty annoyance.

Climbing up to such heights held no fears for Caterina. With one lift from Sir Chase’s steady hand, she was on the seat and already squeezing herself into the corner, suddenly remembering something to be returned. ‘Lord Rayne,’ she called down, fumbling inside her reticule, ‘would you try to be a little more obliging and pass this to Aunt Amelie for me, please? I found it in the phaeton.’

The tiny scrap of lace handkerchief fluttered down into his hand. ‘Blowing hot and cold, Cat?’ He laughed. ‘One minute the cut, next minute dropping the handkerchief? What’s a man to believe these days?’

The curricle tipped a little as Sir Chase climbed up beside her, pressing himself into the space with a closeness she had no choice but to suffer. ‘Believe what you like, whelp!’ he called to his friend. ‘You’ve missed your chance.’ He glanced at Caterina with a half-smile at her rigid posture, her grip on the edge of the hood, her feet tucked away to avoid his black boots spread into her space. ‘Ready?’ he said.

It would have made little difference, she thought, if she’d said no, when he was taking up the long whip with a quick flip, his nod to the groom coinciding with his command to the wheelers, the move-away so smooth as to be hardly noticeable. For the first few minutes, Caterina was engrossed in the business of driving a four-in-hand, and with his skill, keeping the team in perfect unison down the elm drive through flickering shadows, swinging out of the gates onto the gritty mud track leading to Paradise Road. She was impressed, though she would never have paid him the slightest compliment, nor would she have hinted at the considerable thrill she was deriving from the experience.

But it was she who broke the silence in an effort to score a point. ‘What happened to your policy, Sir Chase?’ she said, watching how he looped the reins.

‘Which policy, Miss Chester? I have several.’

‘The one that forbids you to offer lifts to your debtors.’

‘But I am not offering a lift to a debtor. Your father and I have settled the problem very amicably. And anyway, it was not you who owed me, was it?’

‘Settled? Already?’

‘Yes. Why? Isn’t that what you wanted?’

‘Yes…but…how did you do it so soon? Have you given him more time, or has he sold you something?’

‘Neither. We’ve come to an agreement. That’s all there is to it.’

‘But that can’t be all there is to it,’ she persisted. ‘He could not possibly have raised that kind of money immediately. I know he couldn’t. What has he sold you, exactly? The house?’

‘Ask him,’ he said, knowing it would get her nowhere.

‘I will.’

‘Good. Now, perhaps we can talk about pleasanter matters.’

‘Pleasanter than the sound of wagers being paid? Why, sir,’ she said, acidly, ‘what could be sweeter than that?’

‘The sound of your singing, Miss Chester, for one thing.’

She could not bring herself to snub him again while accepting his protection, so, rather than bite back, she bit her tongue instead.

It was not far from Sheen Court to Paradise Road and, as they skirted the edge of Richmond Park with a stretch of open road before them, Sir Chase drew the horses to a standstill beneath an old oak whose branches were barely in leaf. Keeping the reins in his hand, he slewed round on the seat, placing one foot on the top of the footboard, looking into her angry eyes.

For a few conflicting moments, her antagonism flared. She had never taken kindly to being placed in a situation against her will but, while she would like to have asked him why they had stopped, she would not give him the satisfaction of doing what he would expect of her. Her wait gave her another chance to glare at him and to notice again his penetrating arrogant eyes narrowed against the sun, seeming to read the language of her silence like an expert, and it was her eyes that swung away to avoid any further reading. Even then, she felt his scrutiny as she had done during her performance earlier; she felt his long legs much too close for her comfort, and she was aware of his deep chest and disconcertingly powerful physique. She gulped, suddenly breathless.

‘Well, now, madam,’ he said, softly, ‘tell me how well acquainted you are with Rayne. Is that bickering you do a cover for something deeper between you, or is it a brother-sister affair?’

Even from a friend, she might have found this question impertinent. From him, it was brazen interference. ‘Sir Chase,’ she said, as sweetly as her anger would allow, ‘being my father’s creditor does not allow you free access into my affairs, however much you may wish to the contrary. When I begin to show an interest in how many affaires you’ve had in the past year, then you may ask me again about my private life. Is that agreed?’

His mouth, firm and well shaped, broke into a wide smile just short of a laugh, his eyes widening at her bold set-down. ‘Hah!’ he yelped, throwing back his head. ‘How I love it when you bite so. How many affaires have I had? Is that what bothers you then, madam? Eh? Do you really want to know?’

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I do not.’

‘I thought not. Do you often use that kind of language?’

‘I rarely have the need to speak to people of your sort.’

‘My sort? What is my sort?’ His voice was intimately teasing, unlike the brotherly teasing of Lord Rayne.

‘This is a ridiculous conversation. Please drive on.’

He lowered his head a little to look into her face, where a slow surge of colour had almost reached her ears. ‘Well, then, let me tell you, Miss Chester, since you raise the question, that I never seduce chits, jades, tabbies or dowdies. There, now, that should put your mind at rest. Any other concerns?’

‘Please…’ she whispered, looking away. ‘Take me home.’

‘Have you ever handled a team of four?’

She shook her head.

‘Would you like to try?’

She would, but it would give him pleasure to teach her, and she did not want to encourage his friendship, even at her own cost. She had always wanted the chance to drive a four-in-hand, and now she looked lovingly down the reins at the beautiful restless chestnuts, at the track ahead leading to Paradise Road, to Red Lion Street, along King Street and on round The Green where strollers would see Miss Caterina Chester driving a curricle and four. They would not see a sight like that too often. Damn the man. Why must it be him, of all people?

Her too-long hesitation was her answer. Without another word, he took her left hand and placed it on top of his own. ‘Now,’ he told her, ‘take the reins up from my fingers, off-wheel between these two, near-wheel and off-lead between those two, and near-lead on top. That’s it. Now, just do as you’d do with a pair and we’ll walk them, then we’ll turn them. Use your right hand to loop the reins up when you turn, as usual. Start up the wheelers first when you’ve given the command to walk on, or the leaders will pull them off their feet. Don’t worry, I’ll take over when you start to tire.’

Talking her through each move, he murmured encouragement and instructions as the horses responded to her light contact with their mouths, walking until they reached the first bend, then turning as she drew up the reins with a roll of her hand. One hand, never with two. ‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘Very good. Are you getting tired?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Keep going. Another right turn ahead. Keep well to the left…well done.’

As if by mutual consent, they passed Number 18 Paradise Road without a glance, following the route into the town along a series of right turns to bring them along the side of the large Green, bordered by houses, where she had to admit that her arm was aching from the strain. Drawing the curricle up, she handed the reins back to Sir Chase with some reluctance, thankful that he had not insisted on changing places, but when they turned on to Hill Street instead of heading for home, she understood that he had not finished showing her the joys of driving a curricle and four.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, quietly.

He put the horses to a brisk trot up the hill. ‘They need exercise,’ he said, ‘so I thought we’d take them across the park. And you look as if you enjoy having the wind in your hair.’

‘Do I?’

He turned to smile at her before giving his attention to the horses, as if he knew how she would have protested if she had not so wanted to fly up the hill in the sunshine behind a matched team with an expert whip at her side. She did not return his smile, but her glance told him he was not wrong, and that although she was nowhere near liking him, she would put up with him for such an adventure.

Caterina was thinking that she had never seen such skill, that the thrill of hurtling along in an over-powered light curricle was rather like being shot from a bow, flying, soaring on the breeze. Past the Roebuck they went, past the workhouse, the Wick and the Queen’s until Sir Chase slowed down to pass through Richmond Park Gate.

Then he pulled up. ‘Now you,’ he said. ‘First a trot, then we can try a turn or two.’

She took the reins, searching her mind for a middle way between a show of enthusiasm and her former disapproval. The park road was open to them, the horses responsive and keen, and she would have liked to let them go. But Sir Chase knew. ‘Keep them to a trot,’ he warned her. ‘They don’t break that rhythm until you tell them to. You’re in charge, not them.’

Her arm began to ache again, but it was exhilarating, exciting and completely engrossing, not allowing her mind to wander or to think over the disturbing events that had led to this, or about what might follow.

After a mile or so, Sir Chase took over once more to gallop the team at top speed through the park where other drivers and riders stopped to watch. He was recognised by a group of the militia from the barracks at Kew who called and waved, while ladies out walking watched in admiration the lovely young woman with the flying red hair. He had no need to warn her to hold on when she swung and swayed into every turn, careering like a comet towards some distant target, bracing one foot between his on the footboard, the other on the top edge, not quite ladylike but alert, filled with a vitality so intense that it caught at her breath and tried to make her laugh. This was freedom. Escape. Sun, wind and speed. This was even better than the applause after a recital. Uncaring that she leaned on him as they took bends like a Roman chariot in the arena, or that her knee pressed his thigh, her enjoyment was heightened by his sheer skill, for not once did she feel the slightest danger with him in control.

He knew the tracks well, bringing them full circle back to the gate on top of Richmond Hill where he walked the team as far as the Terrace. From there, the view across the town and the wide silver-blue stretch of the Thames spread below them, a giant counterpane of new spring greens, and for some time they sat in silence like two eagles on a cliff, ready to take flight again whenever they pleased. Caterina felt no need to talk, and Sir Chase had no need to ask if she had enjoyed her liberty, having only to look at her to see the sparkle in her eyes, the pink in her cheeks, the wildly tumbling hair like dark fire.

‘Better move,’ he said. ‘They’re sweating.’

‘Yes.’

Without a smile, he looked intently at her. ‘Do you need to tuck your hair up before I take you home?’

There was something alarmingly conspiratorial about the question in that deep gravelly voice that implied his awareness of her parents’ censure if they were to see her wind-blown state. Once more, she found herself wondering whether he had said similar things to the women he had known. With her shawl, she made a hood to cover her hair, wrapping the ends around her neck, tucking her feet neatly into one spot, pressing her knees together, sitting primly to await his approval.

Leaning his whip against his thigh, he pulled off one kid glove with his teeth and held it in his lips while brushing a speck of dust off her nose with his thumb, catching her eyes with the merest hint of amusement.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, shocked by the tenderness of his skin, by the contact she had allowed, as if she’d taken a first step without moving.

Replacing his glove, he took up the whip and moved off at a walk down the hill. ‘That was more or less the route your brother and I took yesterday,’ he said. ‘But then it was muddy.’

Caterina frowned at him. ‘Four-in-hand against his pair?’

‘No! Of course not. We both had a pair, but we drove them in tandem.’

‘But Harry’s never driven tandem before. And how could he ever have passed you on that narrow track?’

‘He could if he’d been a better whip and if his team had been as good as mine. But he isn’t, and it wasn’t.’

‘I still don’t think you should have accepted his wager.’

‘And how do you think that would have been interpreted?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It does to me. Look what I’d have missed by refusing it.’

It would have been easy enough to pursue that line, to be told how her brother’s stupidity had been turned to Sir Chase’s advantage in two ways, by money and association. But she preferred not to hear anything from him except regret for his relentless pursual of the debt, which she was quite sure he would never give up.

The drive had not only blown away her cobwebs, but it had also given her a glimpse of the fearlessness and sheer proficiency that had earned him his reputation for heroics. Yet she had felt something more significant than blind courage or audacity, more than daredevil antics or the masculine urge to impress a woman. She had felt completely safe and understood, and there had been moments when her dislike and resentment of him had dissolved in their silences, intensifying her awareness of him as a companion quite unlike any other man. She could never like him, of course, but nor could she suppress the regret that they could never truly be friends. She would tell those who had seen her driving his curricle and four that he was just an acquaintance. A friend of her father’s.

Stephen Chester was understandably taken aback to hear that Sir Chase Boston had already driven his daughter around Richmond without actually abducting her. Naturally, he did not expect to see her return full of smiles and approval; she certainly did not do that. But nor did she have much to say, either good or bad, about the experience, only about the means her father had used to pay back the debt.

Closing the study door quietly behind her, she took her father by the hand and sat him beside her on the window-seat in view of the garden. ‘He told me to ask you,’ she said, ‘obviously not thinking you’d tell me. But I think you should, because I know what the debt amounts to and any demand for that kind of money is going to affect us all, not only you. We shall all have to share in any hardships it’s going to cause. Is it the house, Father? Have you decided to sell it? The other one, too?’

‘I’d like a little brandy, my dear, if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘You’ve already had one, Father. You know Hannah doesn’t like it.’

Father had had three, to be precise, and what Hannah didn’t know would hardly concern her. ‘Yes, dear, I know. Just a small one.’

Caterina obliged, sure that this would loosen his tongue, but dreading what she was about to hear. She had developed a love for this house on Paradise Road as great as that for their much larger home in Derbyshire, and the thought of losing them would be like losing two beloved friends. Gently, she removed the glass from his grasp and replaced it on the table. ‘Now, tell me the worst,’ she said. ‘I can bear it. We’re all in this together, remember, and we shall all have to do whatever is necessary to help. Harry will have to be recalled from Liverpool to start earning some money, and I shall go and see the manager at Covent Garden. He’s told me more than once that there’s a place for me with the company whenever—’

‘Caterina…stop! That’s not it. It’s not the house.’

‘Not the house?’ she said, blinking. ‘Well, what else is there?’

‘We…Sir Chase and I agreed not to say anything until your return from wherever you’re going this weekend.’

‘From Sevrington Hall? Why ever not? You mean, before you know how much you can raise…Father…what is it? What have you agreed to? What is it you don’t want me to hear immediately?’

His hand had retaken hers upon his thigh where his nervous fingers were dragging at her skin with an ungentle caress, too unfamiliar to be soothing. She drew her hand away, full of sudden misgivings and an awareness that the matter concerned her personally more than all of them, that her offers of help were about to fall with a thud at her feet. And as her father struggled to find a way of explaining, her own realisation grew that his long talk with Sir Chase, the latter’s air of satisfaction and his flippant ‘ask him,’ his interest in her reasons not to marry, his questions about dowries, his assurance that the debt had been settled ‘very amicably’ were all to do with her. Only her.

‘What have you done, Father?’ she said, breathless with foreboding. ‘This concerns me, doesn’t it? Tell me?’

‘Such a lot of money,’ he whispered. ‘I could never repay it, but it was not my suggestion, my dear, it came from—’

‘Tell me, Father,’ she snapped. ‘This agreement. What is it?’

‘You, Caterina. He wants you. He’s made me an offer for you.’

Like a sudden mountain mist, cold anger swirled around her, prickling every hair with a freezing, numbing indignation. ‘No, tell me the truth. It was a wager…a wager, wasn’t it? That’s not quite the same thing as a straightforward offer, is it, Father? He’s agreed to release you from Harry’s debt in return for Harry’s sister, hasn’t he? And if he doesn’t manage to get Harry’s sister, you’re going to have to pay up, aren’t you? That’s the top and bottom of it, and that’s not an offer, but a wager. You see, I’m not the green girl I used to be; I do understand these things. But what you don’t appear to understand is that I shall not be marrying anybody, and if I ever changed my mind, that hell-rake of a man would be the very last person I would consider.’ Panting with fury and the torrent of words, she felt his betrayal as keenly as a sword wound. ‘How could you do this, Father?’ she said, standing upright before him. ‘Will you never see that I am a woman, not a thing to be bargained with? I can go out any day and earn a good living whenever I choose. In fact, when I return from Wiltshire next week, I shall make the necessary arrangements. Any father who can rid himself so easily of a daughter doesn’t deserve to have one.’

‘You said you’d do whatever you could to help, Caterina.’

‘So I did. But I didn’t offer myself in exchange, did I? All I can do to help doesn’t mean forfeiting my entire happiness single-handed so that Harry can carry on gambling with money he doesn’t have. Surely you can see that?’

‘That’s an exaggeration. If I had disapproved of Sir Chase, I would not have agreed to his generous offer.’

‘Nevertheless, since it didn’t occur to either of you to consult me about something that affects me so closely, you will now be obliged to refuse Sir Chase’s wager, and tell him that your daughter would rather be an opera singer than marry him.’

‘No…no! You cannot do that.’

‘Yes, I can, Father. That way, I get to choose who I go to bed with.’

The gasp of shock was audible, but the words that followed were cut off by the slam of the door and a loud crash as the brass knob bounced across the polished oak floor like a pomegranate.

The door reopened with a grating sound, and there she stood, holding its partner in her hand with an extension protruding from it like a dagger. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ she said in a voice too sweet to be anything but sarcasm. ‘Why not sell Harry to the highest bidder? The problem is of his making, after all. It certainly isn’t mine.’ Placing the weapon carefully on the polished table, she turned away quickly before he could see how her eyes were flooding with tears. ‘Better have that repaired before you sell the house,’ she whispered.

Early on the next day, the journey to Sevrington Hall was undertaken in two stout travelling coaches, one of which belonged to Lady Dorna Elwick, Hannah’s sister-in-law, and the other to Lord Rayne’s elder brother. And since that one had the Elyot cypher and crest upon the doors, spaces for two large trunks, Venetian blinds with tassels, fringed cushions, carpets, straps to hold and pockets to put things in, that was the one occupied by Lady Dorna, Caterina and Sara, and Lord Seton Rayne, Lady Dorna’s younger brother. The two maids and one valet rode in the second carriage with two brindled greyhounds lying across their feet, and more luggage. Strapped to the fourth seat of that coach sat a harp in its leather cover, rocking gently over each bump in the road.

It was not long before both Lady Dorna and her brother noticed that Caterina had spoken only to answer questions, and then briefly, and that Sara was casting sympathetic glances at her sister as if she were ailing. Caterina was usually more than happy to accept invitations to sing when it provided a way of meeting established friends and making new ones. Even better was the prospect of escaping for a few days from her harassed father and Hannah’s eternal carping about the duties of marriageable daughters.

Today, however, appeared to be an exception, for Caterina had not had time to recover from her father’s drastic solution to his problem, despite what she had said about sharing it. In her view, this was not sharing it but landing it on her, and her resentment had burned all night. Not that she had any intention of complying with his intolerable agreement, but there was no escaping the fact that she could expect some stormy weeks ahead before either her father or Sir Chase would acknowledge defeat. Since yesterday’s unhappy interview, she had not spoken to her father, all her meals having been taken in the room she shared with Sara. Surprisingly, Hannah had not tried to make contact with her, though she must by now have been told of the offer.

‘Headache, love?’ said Lady Dorna, laying her cream kid-gloved fingers upon Caterina’s knee. ‘Are you not looking forward to this weekend?’

‘More than ever,’ said Caterina. ‘No, not a headache. You know how it is at home these days. Even our dear Sara is glad to get away.’

Sara’s smile agreed with this, although her reasons were not quite what her sister had implied. Lord and Lady Ensdale had two very handsome and eligible sons.

‘You’re not still blue-devilled about yesterday, are you, Cat?’ said Lord Rayne. ‘I could see you didn’t much like Boston’s offer of a lift, but by that time there was not much I could do about it. Amelie tells me you’ve taken a dislike to him. If I’d known…’

‘I dislike what I’ve heard,’ she agreed, finding it impossible not to smile at the pretty face opposite her. Except in their remarkably good looks, the brother and sister were not otherwise much alike. Whereas Seton’s dark and strikingly masculine features were strong, Dorna’s were feminine in the extreme, fair and blue-eyed and very lovely. Complete to a shade in the most daring modes, she was used to showing off her physical attributes with a candour that some of the older generation thought was taking things a little too far. ‘And I certainly didn’t care to be seen,’ said Caterina, ‘with a man of his repute. Not in Richmond, anyway. You know how people talk.’ Immediately, she was aware of her feminine hypocrisy. To be seen in his curricle had been the greatest excitement.

‘Only too well,’ said Lady Dorna, squeezing her hand in sympathy. ‘Sir Chase told Seton that he’d called on your father and that you’d already been introduced. So Mr Chester approves of him, does he?’

‘I suppose so. What do you know about him, Lady Dorna?You and his parents are neighbours, are you not?’

‘Know about him, my dear?’ The wide blue eyes were almost violet in the shady coach, gleaming with laughter. She would have liked to have known much more than she did about the man her brothers admired, but the opportunity had never presented itself. Her mouth pouted, prettily. ‘Ooh, only that half the women in England would like to have driven home with him, even if it was only half a mile. That’s all.’

‘And the other half probably have been, and that’s not all,’ drawled Lord Rayne to himself, glancing out of the window. ‘No.’ He revised the caustic remark. ‘That’s doing it too brown. Boston’s bang-up to the mark. A real out-and-outer. He and I were together for a while in the Dragoons and all the men admired him then, and probably still do.’

‘Wasn’t he a captain, like you and Nick?’ said Lady Dorna.

‘He was. Prinny still thinks the sun shines out of him. Did you know he belongs to the Four Horse Club, Cat?’

‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ she said. ‘He certainly is a master with the ribbons, isn’t he? But you must know more than most about his other side, the gambling, the adventures. The affaires,’ she added, unable to hold back the word.

Lord Rayne was dismissive. ‘Oh, Cat! He does everything more than most men. He’s that kind of cove. Larger than life. Rides like the devil, but as good with horses as anyone I know. He’s an amazing athlete, fencing, boxing, beats the rest of us hollow every time, wins his wagers, yet is as generous as the day. And he’s extremely wealthy, too.’

‘And women? Is he as generous to them?’

‘Is that what’s bothering you?’ he said, peering at her.

‘It’s not bothering me at all,’ she replied. ‘I merely mention it as an addition to his long list of accomplishments. Or do I mean activities?’

‘Oh! So that’s what it’s all about? He’s put out a line for you, has he? And you don’t want to be reeled in.’

‘Seton,’ said his sister, ‘will you please try not to be so vulgar? Cat has been angled for quite enough while you’ve been away. She must be getting tired of it. You surely cannot expect her to welcome his advances, after all that.’

‘Is Boston making advances, Cat?’ Lord Rayne persisted.

‘Answer my question first. It makes no difference who makes advances, I’m not interested. I’m simply curious to know whether the reputation is deserved or just gossip. I don’t see why I should like a man simply because everyone else does.’

‘Your father, you mean.’

‘Anyone.’

‘Well, then, if you really want to know, he’s probably had more women than I’ve had suppers, and I shall not say another word on that subject while Miss Chester’s cheeks are so flushed. So there.’

‘I don’t think there’s any more I need to know, thank you. Shall we change the subject then? How well do you know Lord and Lady Ensdale?’

‘Well enough to know that their house parties are never dull. They used to entertain the regiment at Brighton, you know. Kept open house there. Look, Cat…’ Lord Rayne said, leaning forward a little from the buttoned velvet seat, ‘if you’re concerned about Boston, about him…you know…calling on you, you send for me, eh? I’m at home for a while and we can always ride out, or drive, and if you need an escort I shall more than likely be available. If you need an excuse, use me.’

‘Thank you,’ Caterina said. ‘That’s very thoughtful. I may well do that. It will only be temporary.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘In that case,’ said Lady Dorna, jauntily, ‘send Sir Chase on to me at River Court and I’ll do my best to take his mind off you.’

Privately, Lord Rayne did not believe his lovely widowed sister would succeed in diverting Chase Boston from anything he had set his mind to. But if Caterina was as unhappy with the possibility as she appeared to be, he himself would gladly help her out, for they had once been good friends and he had not made a promising start of their second phase. Besides that, he would not mind being seen with her on his arm.

With that offer in mind, a certain peace was established for the first time in twenty-four hours and, because she did not want to put a damper on a weekend so much looked forward to, Caterina brightened up. The five days ahead would surely be enough time to displace thoughts of Sir Chase Boston and her father from her mind. She wished Hannah’s youngest twins no harm, but their high temperatures had been a godsend in forcing their mother to relinquish her duties as chaperon, duties she took far too seriously for most people’s enjoyment. Lady Dorna, known to her friends as The Merry Widow, had quite different ideas about what a chaperon ought (and ought not) to do, and the two sisters had no doubts who was most in need of a duenna.

The journey through the rolling countryside of Hampshire and Wiltshire, however, provided ample opportunity for memories of Sir Chase’s unforgettable presence to intrude upon Caterina’s peace, whether she wanted them or not. In the light of Lord Rayne’s high opinion of him, heard at first-hand, it was hardly surprising that he should have taken it for granted that a woman would jump at the chance of being driven behind his team of chestnuts in a curricle, of all things.

Not surprisingly, Lady Dorna had noted only Sir Chase’s most memorable features, but then, she had not suddenly discovered herself to be indebted to him by twenty thousand guineas. She might have looked upon matters less facetiously if she had not been proposed by her father as the means of paying him off, simply because her brother was not in a position to do so.

Caterina and Sara had visited Sevrington Hall once before, but that had been two years ago when snow had prevented their return home on the appointed day, and the delayed house-guests had made good use of the new plaything by arranging snowball fights, sledging on trays, snowman-building and skating on the lake. Now it was early May, with pink and white blossom lying thickly on the roads instead of snow, whitening the hedges and flying behind the wheels. With two rests and a change of horses along the way at Farnham and Winchester, it was almost dinnertime when they came in sight of Sevrington Hall near Salisbury, gleaming like a golden ingot on the blossomed hillside.

Turning through a solid Renaissance gatehouse, they drove through herds of deer in the parkland towards the Elizabethan house whose many window-panes flashed apricot in the late sun. They were neither the first nor the last guests to arrive, but to judge from the ecstatic welcome of their ebullient hostess, they might have been the first people she had seen for a year.

Lady Ensdale was one of those rare aristocrats about whom no one spoke unkindly except, on occasion, about her voice, which any regimental captain would have been proud to own. One also had to accept her slight tendency to overdress, though there was no hint of cheapness in the finery. Her quiet husband and two charming sons adored her as, it seemed, did everyone else. Still blooming well into middle age, she possessed an enviable energy and zest for life, and now her welcome rang through the Great Hall, where the odd mixture of Tudor minstrels’ gallery and Georgian staircase epitomised the whole house and its eclectic contents.

‘You’ll know almost everybody,’ she called over her shoulder as she led them up the wide white staircase. ‘Only a small gathering this time. I’ve put all the ladies in the west wing and you, Seton dear, are in the east wing with the other men. Now don’t pull a face like that, wicked boy. What you get up to in the middle of the night is your business, but don’t trip over your hounds and wake us all up, that’s all I ask.’ Her laughter was infectious; even when they had closed the doors of their rooms, it could still be heard over the barking of dogs.

Millie, the sisters’ maid, opened one of the small casement windows to see a flight of honking swans with peachy wings on their way towards the lake, the rippling V-shaped ribbon dropping lower and lower until it shattered the mirror of water with a splash and a flurry of feathers. Caterina and Sara leaned out to watch. ‘Only a small gathering this time,’ Sara murmured, smiling.

Dressing for dinner as a guest in someone else’s house was always more fun than dressing for one’s own family, and Millie’s expertise was such that she could easily attend to both her charges at the same time, having once been a dressmaker’s talented apprentice. There was nothing she didn’t know about the latest fashions, accessories and hairstyles, or the art of wearing them with panache, nor was there ever any argument about what the sisters should wear when their tastes were so different.