Page 33 of Against the Wind

Rutledge recognized the runner but offered no greeting. He rarely bothered with niceties when dealing with servants, and this man was little more than that. “Did she return to the house today?”

“No, milord. Only some merchant callers, and the usual messenger and servant traffic. The lady of the house and her daughters went out for a time, shopping I expect. They returned with packages. The man, Mr. de Courtenay, arrived just before dinner, as is his custom. The runner watching the house observed nothing unusual. Do you still want me and Frank to keep an eye on the place now that the bird seems to have flown?”

Rutledge clenched his teeth and pounded his fist on his desk. “Damn chit! One woman should not be so difficult to find.” His cat, freed from his grasp, hissed and leapt away.

The runner backed up, alarmed, and Rutledge considered his words. The man was probably right; Katherine had likely fled to a new hiding place. But this time she would not get away. If he had to send runners to every alley in London he would find her. She should have been his, and he never let go of what was his. Soon he would have her. Oh, yes. One day soon he would have the redhead in his bed.

“Continue to watch the house. As long as it takes. She will have to return if only for her clothes and personal items.” Reaching out, Rutledge stroked the cat now perched contentedly on the top of his desk licking its paw. “And have the nearby hotels checked for any woman matching Lady Egerton’s description. She has to be somewhere in Town. I will be traveling, but should there be any developments, any word from other runners, contact me in all haste. Should you gain any information, send a fast rider to me here.” Rutledge leaned over his cat to hand the man a piece of paper with the name of a hotel in Derbyshire.

“Yes, milord,” the runner said, accepting the note. He stuffed it in his pocket and returned to rolling his hat in his hands, looking nervously down at his feet.

Rutledge could feel himself frown. The runner’s timidity was getting on his nerves. He hated weakness. “My butler will see you out,” he said with the flick of his hand.

By the time he retired that evening, Rutledge was in a truly foul mood. The day had not gone well. Not well at all. None of his other runners had anything of substance to report, and his patience, what little there was to begin with, had grown as thin as the threadbare knees on the last runner’s breeches. His meeting with Castlereagh had been delayed due to some task or other the viscount had set upon, and the long wait in a dismal office had truly soured his disposition. Worse, upon his return, another visitor was waiting to see him, one who left him quite disturbed.

The man—John Highmore, according to his card—was a solicitor. He had come to call upon “Lady Egerton.” The gray-haired man refused to tell Rutledge the nature of his business, insisting it was a private matter.

“Is Lady Egerton at home and receiving callers, my lord?”

“No. She is not here just now.”

“When might she return, if I may ask?”

“I have no idea.”

Trying another tack, the gray-haired solicitor politely inquired, “Do you know where I might find her?”

“I do not. What business have you with my sister-in-law?” Rutledge demanded. The very idea that some solicitor would have a meeting with Katherine was absurd. He fingered the scar at his temple, an ever-present reminder of the mark left by the weapon she’d wielded against him. “I will give her the message when I see her.”

“I am sorry, my lord, but the nature of my business is personal. I am not at liberty to share it with anyone except the lady herself. Please ask her to contact me when…if she returns.”

The man had gone away leaving Rutledge unsettled and angry. What business did a solicitor have with Katherine? And what made the man suspect she might not return?

For Kit, time was suddenly moving very fast. Martin had accepted her condition to their marriage, though he had done so reluctantly and with a smirk, as if he didn’t believe she was serious. She assured him she was.

“Very well,” said Martin, disappointment clear on his face as his voice grew quiet. “We won’t make love until you agree, but know I intend to do everything I can to make certain I have your agreement soon.”

She would need all her resolve to resist him, but she was committed to doing just that.

A few days later, he obtained a special license. Then, at Mary’s request, Mrs. Singleton had her leading seamstress sewing for two days to prepare the pale golden gown that would grace Kit’s slender frame as she now dressed for her wedding.

Kit’s auburn tresses were done up in curls with a few left loose to dangle at her nape. Around her neck was an elegant necklace of gold, pearls and amber, a most unusual gift from her betrothed. There were pearl earbobs to match. She had given Martin a pocket watch that Mary helped her select, with their initials and the date of their marriage carved inside. She’d paid for the gift with her wages as a governess and part of the proceeds from the sale of her jewelry she’d carried with her when she fled Rutledge’s home. It seemed a good trade for a gift that symbolized the start of a new life.

After the maid left, Mary came to wish her good luck, placing a bouquet of white roses in her hand. “You look like a queen, Kit. Martin will be left quite speechless, I’m certain.”

Never had she been so elegantly attired and, standing alone a few moments later in front of the long oval mirror, Kit felt like a queen. A very nervous one. Her bright blue eyes burned with the anticipation coursing through her every vein, even though her other emotions were mixed. That she couldn’t share this moment with her sister saddened her. The ache from having lost Anne never subsided, another reminder of the long list of goodbyes she had been forced to endure. She was excited but wary about the man she was to wed, for she was marrying a man she did not really know. Mary had told her Martin was married before but that his young wife had died many years ago. Kit wondered if he still loved her. Their relationship felt too new for her to ask.

The wedding was to be small and held in the large stone courtyard around which the Ormond townhouse was built, which Kit had only viewed from the rows of tall windows in the upper floors. Boxwood plants, shaped into cones and set into urns, lined the perimeter. A stone archway with the Albany crest carved into the lintel led into the courtyard from the ground floor. As she walked down the few stairs to join the waiting party, Kit noticed the overcast sky above. Pale gray clouds gave a brooding but romantic feeling to the early afternoon.

Martin stood with the vicar under an arbor of ivy and white roses, watching her approach. Pen de Courtenay waved to Kit from where the twins waited with the other guests. Pris and Pen had been allowed to attend by their mother but, since the de Courtenay house was still being watched, Martin fetched them from a carriage in Hyde Park where they agreed to rendezvous. In another wonderful surprise, he had arranged for Abby to attend. She smiled broadly as Kit passed her. Having her there was almost like having a mother present. Since Kit had no family and Martin’s family was at sea, the only others attending were Hugh and Mary Ormond and Martin’s assistant, John Spencer, to whom she’d been introduced the night before.

Memories of her first wedding came flooding back to Kit, when a scared, sad young woman married a kind old man who seemed more a grandfather than a bridegroom, when all her girlish dreams lay like shards of broken glass around her feet. Was that only a few years ago? This second wedding was quite different. The man waiting for her was devilishly handsome and charming, a man in his prime who wanted to be her protector—and her lover. The mere thought made her shiver with anticipation. If only Anne had lived to see this day. Would she have approved?

The guests in place, Kit joined Martin in front of the vicar. He gave her an appreciative smile and took her hand. She felt Mary’s presence beside her. Ormond stood on the other side of Martin acting as best man. Kit handed her flowers to Mary and, as one, Kit and Martin turned to the clergyman who would marry them.

She peered out of the corner of her eye at her bridegroom. He was dressed in formal black attire, a white shirt, elegantly folded cravat and sapphire blue waistcoat nearly the color of his eyes. He must have felt her gaze, for he turned his head and winked at her, giving her hand a squeeze. He was enjoying himself!

The vicar began to drone on about the significance of their vows, about love and respect. Kit’s mind was elsewhere. It didn’t really bother her that there was no love involved. She did not expect, nor was she certain she wanted, a true heart-mate. That lesson she’d learned from her father was still a painful one. The consequences could be dire if such a love were lost. The important thing was that this had been her choice. The man who awakened her body when he merely held her hand would soon be her husband.