Bluestocking Bride by Elizabeth Thornton

only to pierce her bravado and impress upon her that she could not fence with him and come off unscathed. But when he had felt her surrender so readily to his advances, her warm body clinging to his, passion had flared to a red-hot heat, and his one thought had been to possess her and damn the consequences.
    When he had soothed her in his arms as she had resisted his lovemaking, he had murmured that he would marry her on the morrow if she wished it, and he had meant it. Did she know that she could have held him to it, or hadn't she heard, or cared, or what? He was forced to conclude that Catherine discounted every word that he uttered. She had taken his measure as a gentleman and had found him wanting. The thought was not palatable to one who held himself in such high esteem.
    He considered just what it was that drew him to her. He enjoyed her lively discourse, although they never seemed to agree on a single subject. She spoke her mind forthrightly and never gave the least sign that she was overawed by his superior rank, or knowledge, or prowess in any field. Nor did she go out of her way to court his favor—quite the reverse. If he had shown half as much attention to any of the debs at Almack's as he had shown to Catherine, they would be setting their caps at him, he knew. But Catherine seemed to be ignorant of the honor he had done her in singling her out.
    He determined that when next he saw her he would begin by apologizing for his ungentlemanly behavior. What he would say after that would depend on Catherine's response. Somehow he must find the words to soothe her ruffled feathers, but he did not think she would be in humor to hear what he intended for their future. That declaration required a calmer, more receptive Catherine.
    But for the rest of that week, Catherine proved to be elusive. She was not to be found in any of the places where Rutherston might have expected, in the normal course of events, to have met her, and he was annoyed to find himself expending so much time in useless occupations that now held no pleasure for him, and consuming so many bland dinners, when his own French chef was ensconced at Branley Park eager to tempt his appetite.
    It was with studied nonchalance that he remarked to his cousin, Mr. Norton, over breakfast one morning that he hoped all went well with Miss Harland, since she had not graced any of the Breckenridge assemblies for a full se'ennight . Mr. Norton gave Rutherston his full attention.
    "Which Miss Harland?" he demanded.
    "Miss Catherine Harland, of course," snapped
    Rutherston impatiently, thinking his cousin a fool.
    "Ah, I see," said Norton knowingly. "Then I have found you out, cos , since you failed to notice that neither of the Misses Harland has been in company of late."
    Rutherston was nonplussed, and instinctively assumed his most aloof manner.
    "You can come down out of your high ropes," Norton went on, not in the least put out, "and take that devilish look off your face. I am quite willing to tell you why Catherine and Lucy are keeping to Ardo House, Tom tells me they have company, the eldest girl, Lady Mary, and since the girls are leaving next week for town, they want to spend as much time with their sister as possible."
    "Then why didn't you say so in the first place?" asked Rutherston with asperity.
    "Because I don't believe that that's the real reason Catherine is absenting herself."
    "Oh? Pray continue. What do you think, cousin?" There was a forbidding note in Rutherston's voice.
    Mr. Norton now became a trifle uneasy, but decided, in all conscience, that he could not keep silent on a matter of such importance.
    "I think that Catherine is grasping at this excuse so's her Mama won't get wind of the fact that she's trying to keep out of your way."
    "And what makes you think that Catherine—Miss Harland —is keeping out of my way?"
    At any other time, Norton would have kept his own counsel. His cousin could be a devil when his temper was roused, and he had often