“Because Lord Huntley was asked to create a disturbance,” she explained, “just as one dance came to a close.”
The flash of understanding burned in Lord Huntley’s eyes. “Wait a moment,” he said slowly. “You mean to say that what occurred—that scream—was engineered by another?”
“Precisely,” Catherine replied solemnly. “We spoke to Lord Huntley soon afterwards and discovered the truth.” She let her lips twitch. “Lord Huntley was eager enough to tell us such a thing, once we threatened him with a particular consequence, although he could not give us the name of the gentleman who had promised to pay his debts.”
Lord Rutherford nodded slowly. “And he did not know that you were Lord Enfield’s daughters.”
“Exactly,” Catherine answered, holding Lord Rutherford’s gaze steadily. “Do you wish to know the name of the person responsible?”
Pressing his lips together, Lord Rutherford ran one hand through his hair, only to let out a yelp of pain. Catherine stepped forward but he held out one hand, shaking his head.
“I am fine,” he told her. “The name of this gentleman, if you please?”
She let out a slow breath, feeling both excitement and anxiety chasing after her. “It was Lord Chesterton,” she said softly, seeing the shock ripple through Lord Rutherford’s expression. “He was the one who paid Lord Huntley’s debts and, thus, the gentleman who sought to create that particular disturbance.”
“But…” Lord Rutherford shook his head, his brows low over his eyes, his eyelids hooded. It was clear that he found this now particularly difficult, being thoroughly confused as to why Lord Chesterton, a gentleman he had met only once before and been introduced to only recently, would now be pursuing him in such a cruel fashion.
“I am not stating that it was he who attacked you, however,” Catherine cautioned him, wanting to bring him a little relief from the struggle that was now passing over his expression, darkness flickering in his eyes. “It is only that we know for certain that it was he who created the disturbance at the ball for whoever it was to then attack you.”
“It might well have been him,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot imagine why, but if he has gone to the trouble of ensuring that I could be taken from the room without anyone noticing, then surely it makes perfect sense to consider him responsible for this.” He gestured to the back of his head and grimaced, his face a mask of pain and confusion. “Good evening, Lady Catherine.”
Catherine stared at him, astonished, as he began to swing the door closed, stepping back from her. Had she not shoved hard at the door, it would have hit her in the face and perhaps flung her backwards, but as it was, she pushed at it hard and heard the bang as it knocked back against the wall.
“Lord Rutherford!” she exclaimed, feeling a hot anger building up within her core. “Pray, do not treat me so!”
Lord Rutherford said nothing. He did not glance back at her but rather kept his back turned as he walked further into the room, his shoulders up close to his ears and his hands clasped behind his back.
“I do not understand,” he murmured, clearly hoping to be by himself. “Why would he do such a thing?” Slowly, he turned around to face her, his expression wretched. “What harm have I done to him?”
Catherine shook her head, her anger burning away as she saw the confusion and the doubt in his face. And yet, she did not want to forget what it was she knew of Lord Rutherford, did not want to pretend that he was not the rake and the rascal that she knew him to be. Yes, he might well have begun to change, his character might have slowly begun to improve, but that did not mean that everything he had done was not hanging over his head still, the consequences far-reaching.
“Mayhap you have injured him in some way that you do not yet understand,” she said softly. “Or perhaps it is not even he who has done these things, Lord Rutherford. Mayhap he is the sort of gentleman who is willing to do certain things in order for payment.” She spread her hands. “He might only be acting as a messenger, as a laborer, for someone else.”
“I cannot think who,” he said faintly, his hands rubbing his eyes. “And Lord Chesterton is a wealthy gentleman, from what I understand. There is no need for him to gain money somehow, unless he is in some sort of dire financial strait, which I am sure he is not.”
Catherine opened her mouth to say that she was sure that there was some sort of reasonable explanation which they would be able to discover without difficulty, only for a sudden sound to catch her ears. Frowning, she turned around and made her way to the open door, leaning out into the dark corridor and listening again.
The echo of what sounded like a door closing rushed up toward her and she withdrew her head almost at once. Her heart began to pound as she rushed to the window, wanting to see if there was any sign of her father’s carriage, but she quickly realized that there was no carriage waiting outside or being turned around to be put away for the night. Her sister might still be wandering around the house, looking for something, mayhap, but she would not have expected Ann to do so. Normally, her sister went to her bedchamber and retired immediately, and she would not see her again until the morning.
Had someone come into the house?
Surely, the butler would have ensured that the front door was closed up tight for the evening. But then she recalled that her father was still due to return, leaving her wondering if the butler had locked the door at all. After all, they were not to have any great disturbances here in London and he himself would be standing guard by the door, waiting for his master, as he had always done.
Unless, she thought to herself, biting her lip, he has gone to ensure that Father’s rooms are ready for his return, given what sort of state Papa will be in when he comes home. Their faithful butler knew full well that Lord Enfield would require his bed almost the moment he was helped inside, if he had allowed himself to drink a little too much—as Catherine knew he had already done this evening.
Her heart raced and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck as she heard another small sound rushing toward her. A scuffling sound that brought her hand to her mouth, making her believe without question that someone else had hurried inside.
“I believe that a stranger has come into the house,” she breathed, walking to the mantlepiece and beginning to blow out the candles that remained there, paying no attention to Lord Rutherford’s look of shock. “Come, we must remain in darkness.”
He shook his head. “I have the key,” he said quietly, gesturing to the door. “If we can close it, then we might be able to lock ourselves inside.”
Despite her flickering fear, Catherine drew herself up. She did not want to go out into the darkness, did not want to discover who had come into their house, but she knew that this was one of her only opportunities to find them. Else they might then be left in the darkness, trying to guess who might have stepped inside. The person could leave and they would never know the identity of the intruder.
“I will not be cowed,” she told him in a strangled whisper. “Lock the door behind me if you wish, but I will not hide away. Not when there is the opportunity to discover the truth.”
Lord Rutherford swallowed hard, then nodded. Rather than hurrying to the door and waiting for her to go through it, he held out his hand to her and, after a moment, she gave it to him.