‘I would not be able to recognise either of those, sir. Guilt, now. I think I’d be able to recognise that.’
He blinked, and she thought he flinched a little, but could not be sure. ‘Is that so? Do you have some grounds for—?’
‘No,’ she said, sharply, wishing she had curbed her tongue. ‘If you will excuse me, I must change into my habit. You will be keeping Lady—’
‘I shall be coming with you, so don’t allow Sambrook to choose your mount. He doesn’t know one end of a nag from the other.’
‘Thank you, Sir Chase, but I believe I shall be well served by my escorts.’ Pointedly, she glared at the barrier of his arm. ‘Do I pay a toll here?’ she said.
‘If this was a more private place, Miss Chester,’ he replied in a low voice, ‘you would certainly pay a toll.’
She knew exactly what kind of toll he had in mind, but her safety was assured, and when he lowered his arm, she neither smiled nor thanked him as she walked away. Once more in the white and greenery of her own room, she took herself firmly in hand, telling herself severely that he would have said the same kind of thing to any half-passable female, that his arms were no more muscular, his chest no broader, his hips no narrower than any other half-passable male.
She was still wearing her white muslin day dress and gazing out over the lake when Sara returned to the room. ‘Cat, what are you about, love? I thought you’d be changing.’
‘I am changing,’ Caterina whispered to herself. ‘Almost hourly.’
In some respects, the excursion went according to Caterina’s plan. With her two most dedicated escorts and others close at hand, Sir Chase was kept at a distance and seemed content to have it so. He certainly did not try as hard as she thought he should, or could, to engage her in any kind of conversation, which was not quite what she’d had in mind, especially as he appeared to know more about Old Sarum than the rest of the party.
Once up beyond the massive circular earthworks on the plateau high above the rest of the countryside, Sir Chase sat his big grey like a very superior architect with a group of clients, pointing out the various features belonging to an era before the birth of Salisbury when this remote place had housed both town and cathedral, and long before that, too. Watching him from a distance while being chatted to by Lord Sambrook, closely guarded by Lord Rayne and challenged to a race by Sara and the two young Ensdales, Caterina would rather have joined the group who listened with rapt attention to their guide. Pride held her back. Not even a moment of her interest would she give him.
Winning the race round the great mound by several lengths, she asked Lord Rayne whether he had chosen her mount, sensing by the shrug of his shoulders that there was some embarrassment. ‘Oh, Chase had yours already side-saddled when I got to the stables,’ he said. ‘I suppose it would have been petty to have it changed. It’s a goer, isn’t it?’
So, she was riding his choice, after all. She looked across to the powerful yet graceful figure on the grey, admiring his ease in the saddle, the smooth fit of his coat and breeches, the set of the beaver hat upon his dark thatch. His stallion responded to every unseen movement of the hands on the reins, perfectly controlled and obedient, and she felt once more the soft caress of his finger on her arm, holding her passive and biddable for that short space of time.
‘Let’s go and listen,’ she said. ‘I want to know why it was left to ruin.’
‘Too windy to live here, I should think,’ said Lord Sambrook, as if the wind had not been blowing when it was built. ‘Come on, then.’
So it was that she found herself following Sir Chase rather than the other way round, if only to stand on the outer edges of the group to listen to snatches of the discussion on landmarks, spires and distances. Putting aside personal animosities, she had to admit that there was more to him than she had thought.
It was the same in the cathedral at Salisbury. With her two escorts and Sara’s group, she went off in the opposite direction from Sir Chase but found, after all her contrariness, that her ears strained to hear what he was saying to the others. Pointing out the vaulting, the arches and pillars, the bosses and capitals, he appeared to know every detail while she sat in a pew just near enough to hear, pretending to study the kneelers and the complex east window. Her plan to keep him at bay had worked too well for her own comfort, for now she was bound to admit that, in most respects, the morning had been a wasted opportunity.
They were back at Sevrington Hall in time to join the others on the terrace for a light nuncheon, discovering with a mixture of relief and apprehension that the absentee Lord Byron had arrived at last and was now the recipient of Lady Caroline’s attentions, whether he willed it or not.
Caterina was in no mood for fulsome introductions, at that moment being more interested in the spread of cold meats and hominy pies, in home-grown salads, warm cakes and biscuits, nutty fruit-breads and homebrewed cider. Sir Chase made no attempt to sit next to her or to help her to the food, which she saw as one more tedious result of Lord Rayne’s vigilance, and when Lord Sambrook vacated the chair at her side for an instant, it was Lady Dorna who came to occupy it, eager to hear how she had enjoyed the ride. Caterina did her best to overemphasise her enjoyment as soon as Sir Chase came to sit within hearing distance.
‘And did Seton play his part?’ Lady Dorna whispered, smoothing a dainty hand absently over Caterina’s dove-grey velvet sleeve.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Caterina, bearing in mind her own self-inflicted constraints. ‘I was well guarded indeed.’
‘Mm … m, I saw.’ Lady Dorna twinkled, impishly. ‘He is rather delicious, isn’t he?’ Her hand continued to smooth, sensuously.
‘Delicious? Who, Seton?’
‘No, dear, not my brother. Your other escort, the viscount,’ she hissed as her eyes followed the young man who leaned over the balcony to call to someone below. ‘Just look at those legs, Cat.’
Caterina did not look at the legs but at the lust in Lady Dorna’s eyes that not even a child could have missed. ‘Viscount … Sambrook? You’ve taken a fancy to him, have you? I thought you—’
‘More than a fancy, my dear,’ the widow continued, almost growling the word. ‘I can scarce wait for tonight. Such a lover, Cat. And what energy he has.’ Her hand flapped as she tipped her head back to soak up the sun, as if the viscount’s kisses were already pressing into her barely covered bosom.
Caterina was inexperienced, but there was no mistaking what was meant by Lady Dorna’s typically explicit tributes and, although she blushed to the roots of her hair, she had the presence of mind not to delve any deeper into the secrets of the widow’s bed when it was now quite obvious who her lover had been last night. Not Sir Chase, but the man who had clung to her side all morning like a damned leech.
To compare what she had seen last night in the shadowy passageway with what she thought she’d seen, her eyes swung of their own accord towards Sir Chase’s strong profile as he sat listening intently to one of the lively young ladies who had expressed such an interest in him last evening and who would no doubt have been with them today if they had taken carriages. The woman knew all the wiles, the sidelong looks, fingertips touching her neck and earlobes, touching him with the tip of her fan to make a point, touching her lips with the tip of her tongue, leaving her mouth agape to show him her teeth. He will not look at me with that going on before his eyes, Caterina thought angrily.
But he did. Slowly turning his head as if he could sense her distress, he looked directly into her eyes and held them. And although he could not have known in what way he had been misjudged, his regard of her contained more than a hint of amusement and sympathy, understanding her self-defeating attempts to distance herself at any cost, sharing with her the chagrin that simmered just below the cool surface. There was more in the look than that, bidding her to search more closely, to disturb her body-rhythms, to overwind her heartbeats and to find in his eyes the kind of passion she had not found elsewhere, to be shared with him, when she was ready.
Gentlemanly, he turned back to the young woman’s one-sided conversation, leaving Caterina speechless with the ache of desire. Lady Dorna had missed none of the silent exchange, and her hand had long since withdrawn from Caterina’s velvet sleeve. ‘Heavens, Cat dear, but I wish he’d look at me like that,’ she whispered.
But Caterina heard nothing, felt nothing but a strange fluttering sensation between her breasts and the slow pulsing of something in her deepest parts, something new that she had no name for.
Chapter Four
If the Sevrington Hall guests hoped that, with Lord Byron’s arrival, his insecure lover might give them some respite from her constant outpourings of devotion, they soon discovered that her next attention-seeking device was to see the younger female guests as threats to her position. At first, Caterina and Sara thought this might be another quirky side to Lady Caroline’s humour they had not seen before until her sulks and tears were followed by several turbulent exits and re-entrances, a semi-fainting fit and some irritated whispers from the guests themselves.
Lady Ensdale did all a hostess could do to suggest alternative activities, but Lord Byron, languid, boyishly good looking and affable, was not inclined to share any of the responsibility, accepting Lady Caroline’s childish tantrums as one of the perks of his new fame to which he was entitled. Indeed, he appeared to be both amused and flattered by it, placing Caterina directly in the firing line by singling her out as the object of his interest, preferring her quiet company to Lady Caroline’s melodrama.
Bemused, then concerned, Lady Dorna, Lord Rayne and Sir Chase all played a part in shielding Caterina from both of the immature lovers, but Lord Byron appeared to be playing his own kind of sport when he refused to join the men in a game of cricket below the terrace. Not a sportsman, he was slightly built and lame in one foot, his dress too foppish to be either masculine or practical, his liveliness more in his subjectively poetic chatter than in general conversation. Caterina thought him rather silly and extremely affected.
Fortunately, neither Lord Rayne nor Sir Chase were inclined to accept his protestations and, with a hand under each of the poet’s arms, they hauled him out of his deep basket chair and almost carried him down the stone steps, to the laughter and applause of the assembly, pushing the umpire’s long staff into his hand with the intention of keeping him there. Needless to say, the rules of cricket were not Lord Byron’s forte, and the game became progressively more hilarious and even riotous.
But the sight of so many comely men stripped down to their shirts with rolled-up sleeves and open necks was, for the audience of women, enough to keep even Lady Caroline quiet. As the men came to join them, one by one, grinning to the applause, the glow of their exertions was prolonged by the stares that skimmed over details usually concealed by waistcoat, coat and cravat. Caterina had never seen Lord Rayne so revealed, never so handsomely tousled or accessible and, as he flopped down beside her, there was a moment when her eyes were filled with an admiration he had once kindly refused.
There was no need for words; each knew exactly what the other was thinking: if Caterina was still as interested as she once had been, he was hers for the asking. His gaze lingered and caressed, drinking in her maturing beauty and the womanly poise she had been at such pains to acquire as a fledgling swan, trying to draw from her some kind of mute agreement to begin again on a more exalted level.
But Caterina’s lovely eyes swung away from his message as another laughing player approached them from the cricket field and, watching her, Lord Rayne found his answer upon her face as clearly as if she’d spoken it out loud. It vanished in an instant as she tried to hide the parted lips, the slight widening of her eyelids and the brief flare of lust that brought a blush from throat to ears, but he had seen it, as no doubt Sir Chase had, too. Such signals, Lord Rayne thought, would be difficult to conceal from a man like him. Damn him.
Sir Chase took the steps of the terrace two at a time and, swinging a chair up with one hand, placed it firmly between Caterina and Lord Rayne, seating himself with a huff of relief. He, too, was unkempt, radiating waves of heat from his bare forearms and open shirt-front where, between white ruffles, a black fuzz pointed like a spearhead towards his waistband. He saw Caterina’s flicker of interest as he began to fasten his lower buttons while accepting a glass of cordial with his free hand, then her quickly averted gaze as the shirt sagged open. Yes, he could see the direction of her thoughts as well as the next man, though he had also seen the purpose in Rayne’s eyes and knew that the friendship of which they had both assured him was not to be underestimated.
By now it had become apparent that Caterina had innocently won Lady Caroline’s jealousy and that Lord Byron preferred not to remedy the obsession thinking, possibly, that the competition might be good for his lover. Whatever his reasoning, it caused Lord Rayne and Sir Chase to join forces in protecting Caterina from the poet’s attentions on one side and from his woman’s sniping on the other. It was partly this that brought about Lord Rayne’s assessment of the situation and a decision to stand back and allow Sir Chase to take Caterina in to dinner. He did not, of course, ask her if she liked the idea, for she would have been bound to insist that she did not.
The other part of his decision was directly linked to the discovery of her feelings for Sir Chase, which she was doing all in her limited power to disguise as intense dislike, for reasons that Lord Rayne found rather obscure. Her inability to keep hidden those magnificent passions that had always been an essential part of her character had now shown him that his promised protection of her was not exactly what she needed or desired. He would have to make it look as if only force of circumstances prevented him from being in the right place at the right time, though he had to admit that, had he not seen her expression with his own eyes and had it been any man but Chase Boston, nothing short of a whole battalion would have broken through his guard.
Walking slowly down the white staircase in a haze of pale aquamarine and white silk, the two Chester sisters drew all eyes as they had done before, though none of the guests assembled for dinner could have known how unusually on edge Caterina was, after being the butt of such hostility that afternoon. The unsatisfactory morning had also taken its toll of her emotions, mixing and remixing them into an amalgam that refused to settle, even as Sir Chase strode forward to hand them down the last two steps.
So unlike the tumbled and perspiring sportsman she had seen earlier, he was in every way as unnervingly attractive, confusing her anger, which no one but he understood. Sauve, impeccably dressed, self-assured and coolly appreciative of her maid’s handiwork upon the deep chestnut mass of ringlets, he smiled and feasted his eyes while passing Sara’s hand to that of their hostess’s eldest son.
‘I understand,’ he said to Caterina, ‘that this is to be the evening for music. Are your nerves in good order, Miss Chester?’
Before she could help herself, her quick glance darted across to the beautiful lissome young creature who had been the cause of her discomfort that afternoon, who now clung to Lord Byron’s arm as if daring anyone to engage his attention. ‘I had almost convinced myself,’ she said, ‘that I should alter my programme. But then I changed my mind about that. If she takes exception to some of my more romantic songs, someone will have to stand by with the fire-buckets, won’t they? I can hardly be held responsible for her reaction.’
She could hardly add that it was Sir Chase’s presence that had also strained her nerves that day, nor was she looking forward to a protracted meal before singing, which was routinely the nature of these occasions. She could never eat anything, but to sit next to Sir Chase for two hours beforehand, she thought, would do little either for her appetite, her concentration, or her nerves, usually so well controlled.
‘I shall make it my business to find the nearest fire-bucket and have it filled with cold water,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘You can rely on me. My aim is tolerably good, though I’ve never doused a woman before. Have you met the musicians yet?’
The beautifully arched eyebrows twitched with annoyance. ‘No, sir. Last time I enquired, they had not arrived. I would usually have had a chance to speak to the leader by now. I don’t even know whether they’re bringing a pianist with them, so Sara doesn’t know … Oh, I’m making a fuss,’ she whispered. ‘Lady Ensdale has been more than kind, but … tch!’ She sighed.
‘Where is your music?’
‘We took it and the harp into the music room.’
‘Then we shall go and take a look.’ He offered her his arm. ‘I am about as good a pianist as I am with a fire-bucket so, if all else fails, I can step into the breach.’
Naturally, she believed he was funning, and when he pretended not to know how to lift the top off the beautiful Clementi pianoforte at the far end of the music room, her heart sank at the prospect of having to refuse his help. But when he sat at the keyboard and rippled his long fingers with effortless fluency over the keys with scarcely a glance at them and a touch as light as the best accompanist, something inside her began to melt and burgeon like new growth in springtime, bringing a smile to her eyes at last. She began to sing, coming in exactly after his broken chord as confidently as if he’d been Signor Cantoni.
From the hall, the distant gong sounded for dinner, breaking discordantly into their song, and they stopped together. ‘Your aim with a fire-bucket is no longer in question, Sir Chase,’ she said, trying not to laugh. ‘I’m sure you’re an expert at that, too.’
Closing the lid, he gathered the music together. ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘do you feel a little easier about it now? If the musicians get stuck in a snowdrift, we two and Miss Sara will manage well enough on our own.’
‘Alas, sir, in May that’s unlikely, but thank you. Now I don’t even care about Lady Caroline.’
‘Or about Lady Dorna and Viscount Sambrook?’
They had set off towards the dining-room door, but here Caterina stopped, realising that he had somehow guessed the reason for her earlier incivility. This was no time for explanations. ‘A truce?’ she said, hearing the echo of her voice in the large empty room. ‘Do you think that would be best? I really don’t want to … well …’
Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire Page 36