How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (5 page)

“Indeed, we may be quite certain that she did not,” Beatrice said, her voice filled with resentment. Then in a more agreeable tone she added, “We would be forever grateful if you would please find her, my lord.”

“Let us not waste any more time then,” he said, his voice filled with steel as he strode toward the door. “Remind me to have a serious talk with Adrian once I return.”

With that, he was gone.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

A
misty drizzle filled the air as Francis swung himself up into the saddle and kicked his five-year-old gelding into a furious gallop.

He cursed his cousin beneath his breath for his idiocy. He never should have allowed Emily to leave in such a state. Why had he not run after her and insisted that she take a carriage, if indeed she had wished to go home? Walking about on country roads in this weather—and clad in a light summer dress—was pure madness.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to clean up one of Adrian’s messes, he recalled as his jaw tightened. This would be the last, he vowed. Nothing was more disagreeable than having to come to the rescue of a woman who so clearly resented his very existence.

How had it come to this? They had been friends once. Now, she could barely stand the sight of him.

The drizzle became a sudden downpour, and Francis’s eyes narrowed as heavy drops of water ran down his face. He was soon soaked through, his cloak doing little to keep him dry. Emily . . . he thought for a moment of her cheerful smile and infectious laughter. Some people just weren’t meant to suffer, he thought, as he pushed her image from his mind and rode on.

He saw the cottage emerge through the darkness, the rain beating loudly as the wind threw torrents against the walls. Tying his horse loosely to the fence, he ran up the muddy path and proceeded to hammer on the door as water cascaded down his back. Not a single sound answered him. . . . There wasn’t even the faintest glow of light coming from within, as there should have been, had she been home.

His alarm rose. Where could she be? He knew he hadn’t passed her on the way. Cursing her recklessness, he paused to think, ignoring the cold, wet fabric of his clothes.

A faint memory came to mind. “This is my favorite place in all the world,” she had once told him. It had been many years ago . . . before her parents had died. He had gone to the estate that had been her home and that now belonged to her cousin. He’d wanted to see if she wanted to go rowing. Beatrice had told him where to find her.

With eyes as dark as the night sky and his mouth drawn tight in anger, Francis reared his horse around and set out once more. If anything bad had happened to Emily as a result of this . . . so help him God, he’d have a fine time beating some sense into Adrian himself.

Leaving the road behind, he made a sharp turn out into the fields. The soft swell of the hills rose in the distance, silhouetted against the gray clouds that thundered overhead. Wiping the rain from his face with the palm of his hand, he paused for a moment to look around. He soon spotted the outline of a partially torn-down farmhouse, resting below a towering oak. Francis nudged his horse onward.

When he reached the top of the hill, he sighed inwardly as he rode around the dilapidated stone building. She didn’t appear to be there either. Dismounting, he walked toward the house; the walls were still partially in place, though the roof was mostly gone, and the windows and doors gaped blindly at him through the darkness. Stepping carefully over some fallen bricks as he steadied himself against the doorframe, he entered.

The minute he spotted the slight figure, huddled against the far corner of what had once been the sitting room, Francis rushed forward. His chest contracted as he knelt beside her, wrapping his cloak around her delicate frame. Her hair hung in wet streaks around her face, her mud-stained dress clung against her body. She trembled slightly as he scooped her up in his arms, turning pain-stricken eyes toward him.

“How could you have been so stupid, Emily?” His voice harsh with fear for her.

He expected her to lash out at him, to berate his anger as had become a habit of hers over the years, but she didn’t respond. She merely twined her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. There wasn’t a fight left in her, he realized with sudden panic, as he briskly carried her back outside and set her on his horse.

A
rriving back at the manor, he lifted her gently down, and wishing to draw as little attention as possible, entered through the kitchen entrance. Emily registered nothing. She appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep, her head lolling slightly from side to side as he walked.

“Please have two hot baths drawn immediately,” he told a maid in passing. Then, addressing a second maid, he said, “Follow me.”

After setting Emily down on a bed in one of the spare bedrooms, Francis left the maid to undress and care for her as he himself made his way back downstairs to the ballroom.

Beatrice drew a sharp breath, then reached for Lady Carroway’s wrist when she saw him striding toward them. He was soaked to the skin, his hair plastered against his forehead and water dripping from his clothes as he walked. And yet, in spite of it all, he still looked outrageously handsome, though his eyes were fierce with a mixture of anger and concern.

“I found her inside that small farmhouse at the top of the hill,” he said, addressing Beatrice. “She’s soaked and will in all likelihood get quite sick as a result of this.”

“Where is she now, my lord?” Beatrice asked, her voice far quieter and more calm than she felt.

His eyes moved to Lady Carroway. “I took the liberty of taking her upstairs to one of your spare bedrooms. A hot bath is being prepared for her, and one of your maids is caring for her.”

Lady Carroway looked at Francis with grateful eyes. “Thank you. You did the right thing, Francis. She will stay here until we’re sure that she’s well. I hope that’s all right with you, Beatrice?”

“I’m extremely grateful for your concern and for all of your help,” Beatrice replied with a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Lord Dunhurst, for finding her and bringing her back to us.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said, his face betraying no emotion, though every fiber of his being was in turmoil. “Why don’t you go and see to her, Miss Rutherford? Take Miss Claire with you. If she’s awake, she will need comforting. Just turn right at the top of the landing—it’s the third door on your left.”

Beatrice gave him a grave but thankful smile as she took Claire’s hand and led her away toward the stairs.

“I wish to have a word with Adrian,” Francis remarked when they were out of earshot.

Lady Carroway nodded pensively. She had meant to speak with him herself, but had been busy attending to the rest of her guests. Besides, perhaps it would be best if Francis did it. “Very well . . . why don’t you take him to the library? You won’t be disturbed there.”

Wishing his aunt a good evening, Francis went in search of Adrian. He finally found him, accompanied by Kate, who appeared to be having the time of her life. “A quick word, if you don’t mind,” he said, looking Adrian squarely in the eyes.

“But of course . . . where should we . . .”

“Through here,” Francis replied in a tight voice. “We’ll go to the library.” He raised an eyebrow at Kate, then paused as though he expected her to disengage herself from Adrian and vanish.

“It’s all right if she comes along,” Adrian declared. “You may say what you wish in her presence.”

“Very well,” Francis muttered. “Two birds with one stone, I suppose . . .”

Once inside the library, Francis made straight for the side table, picked up a glass, and poured himself some scotch. “Would you like some?” he asked Adrian with a cold glare.

Adrian hesitated a moment, then shook his head as he sat down in a deep, brown leather armchair.

“How about you, Lady Kate?” Francis went on, taking a swig of his drink as he turned toward her. “Would you like something to wash away the guilt?”

A look of confusion came over Kate’s face. “I cannot imagine what you might be referring to, Lord Dunhurst.”

“I’m sure you can’t,” Francis sneered.

“What the devil . . . Francis, I have to say that I do not like your tone.” Adrian sprang to his feet, ready to take Francis head-on. “Just what exactly is the meaning of this?”

“As if you don’t know.” Francis glared at Kate and Adrian in turn. “You certainly make a fine pair.”

Kate stared back at him as if he’d gone mad. He was clearly riled about something, though she couldn’t begin to fathom what it might be.

“Would you please tell us what the blazes you’re talking about?” Adrian asked.

Francis looked over at his cousin, incredulous. “Do you seriously wish me to believe that you are so blind that you really have no idea about how much pain you’ve caused this evening?”

Adrian replied with a blank stare that spoke volumes and Francis realized that his cousin was a bigger idiot than he ever would have thought him to be. He sighed deeply, taking yet another sip of his scotch. He then took a seat in the armchair facing Adrian’s. “Emily is in love with you, you fool.” His words were calm and simple. Once they were out, Francis leaned back in his seat and waited for their full effect to take place.

There was a short silence, then a sudden roar of laughter that filled every corner of the room. Francis merely looked on with the utmost ease as he waited for it to fade.

The laughter came to a sudden halt when Adrian realized that nobody else had joined him. Eyeing Kate, he saw that his bride-to-be had suddenly turned rather pale. “You . . . you cannot possibly be serious?” he asked as he brought himself under control. “Emily’s like a sister to me. . . . I mean, come on, Francis! For God’s sake, even she knows that.”

Francis lifted an eyebrow. “Does she?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t she? She’s my best friend. . . . I mean . . . it would be ridiculous to think . . .” The words trailed off as Adrian pondered the idea.

The last words had sparked fresh anger in Francis’s veins. He clenched his hand around his glass as he glared across at Adrian. “Ridiculous? Just what exactly is so ridiculous about it? Isn’t she good enough for you, Adrian? She was good enough to be your friend, but when it comes to making her your wife, the thought of it is ridiculous to you? You should be ashamed of yourself, Adrian.”

“I didn’t mean it like that . . . I . . . Kate, did you know about this?”

Kate shook her head with incredulity. “We haven’t talked about you in years. . . . I didn’t think . . . I mean, I just assumed that her feelings for you had been a passing fancy. It never occurred to me that she still hoped to marry you.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please, Dunhurst, you must believe me when I say that I never intended to hurt Emily in any way.”

“According to her sisters, she was under the impression that she and Adrian had an understanding,” Francis ground out.

“An understanding? But I . . .” Adrian racked his brain for an answer, but it was as if a thick fog had settled. His eyes narrowed in concentration, and then out of nowhere there was a glimmer of a faint memory that caused his eyes to widen as he took a deep breath. “Oh, dear Lord,” he exclaimed.

“What? What is it?” Kate asked as she turned toward him.

“It was a long time ago . . . six years, perhaps. We’d spent most of the day together when she began talking loosely about what she hoped for her future. She mentioned that she would love nothing better than to spend the rest of her life just as we had spent that day.

“I told her that if that was the case, then perhaps I should offer for her one day . . . as long as she promised that she would say yes when I did. I mentioned something about not wanting to bruise my ego by holding out for her, only to have her say no. She promised, we laughed about it, and then I kissed her . . .”

Kate’s hands flew to her face. “You kissed her?”

“Just a friendly kiss—nothing more. As for everything else . . . it was just some childish fun, really.”

“I don’t think she saw it that way,” Kate murmured as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “She’s been waiting for you all these years, and when she heard that you planned to propose, she must have thought . . . damn it, Adrian. . . . Emily is my friend . . . or
was,
at least, until tonight.”

They had known each other most of their lives . . . had shared innermost secrets with one another. Emily had always been there whenever she had needed a friend to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, or somebody to laugh with. And this evening, she had unwillingly betrayed her in the most horrific way possible. She had crushed Emily’s dreams of marrying the man that she had loved.

“I’m such a scoundrel.” She paused for a moment before turning a sharp eye on Adrian. “Do you think we ought to call it off?”

“What? Our engagement? Absolutely not, Kate. You and I love each other . . . I cannot imagine my life without you by my side.”

Kate gave him a weak smile. “I love you, too—with all my heart.”

“Then what sense would there be in denying our own happiness?”

Francis studied the pair behind serious eyes. Should they not be allowed to be together if they both loved one another? Should they have to suffer to spare a friend’s feelings? It didn’t seem fair, and yet he didn’t want them to get away unscathed.

“You acted without thinking,” he berated them. “And as a result, you’ve hurt someone who didn’t deserve to be hurt. Emily feels everything with enormous force, whether it be joy or sadness. She wears her nerves on the outside, her heart unguarded, and you . . .” He pointed at both of them. “You spared no consideration for her feelings.”