The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

He turned and walked slowly back to the center of the room. He wondered if Kate had ever been in his father’s library. He could picture her pouring tea dressed in a gown of, perhaps, green velvet, her beautiful thick auburn hair piled high on her head. Unaccountably, he found this picture of domesticity not at all alarming or repugnant. Indeed, he was loath to let it slip from his mind. He shook his head, bemused at himself. He very much wanted to see Katharine Brandon again.

The next several days passed pleasantly enough for Julien, though he and Hugh did not come upon Katharine Brandon on their outings. For the most part, he and Hugh rode, hunted, and fished together. Percy seemed quite content with this arrangement, planning the evening’s menus with François each morning, perusing the London papers, and napping in the afternoons.

Had Hugh told Julien that he wasn’t particularly good company, Julien would have been frankly surprised. He was an excellent host; he was known for being an excellent host. But Hugh, long accustomed to Julien’s quickness of wit and good-humored cynicism, found it quite odd that his friend seemed distracted, his responses vague and not at all to the point. He regarded Julien covertly on several occasions and speculated on the cause of his preoccupation. Finding no likely answers, he concluded that since Julien seemed not to wish to speak of what was bothering him, his as well as Percy’s presence at St. Clair was not at all what Julien needed.

And so it was Hugh who announced at dinner one evening that he really must return to London. He bent a stern eye on Percy and began to enumerate various reasons why Percy, also, should accompany him.

“After all, my dear fellow,” he said to Percy, over his goblet of claret, “we have enjoyed Julien’s hospitality for quite long enough. And you, Percy, have a horse running at Newmarket next week. Since I have wagered on your horse to win, I feel it only right of you to return with me and see to his training.” He absolved himself of this harmless lie, for his motives were, after all, only the purest.

Percy, who had a bite of creamed artichoke heart in his mouth at that moment, paused in his chewing and said with all the candor of a friend who knows that anything at all can and will be forgiven, “Don’t take me for a damned idiot, Hugh. You know very well that Julien wishes us miles from here. Your paltry reasons have nothing to do with my bloody horse, whose name, I suspect, you can’t even remember.” He turned his light-blue eyes on his host and added with a shrug, “Although I can’t imagine why.”

“Why what?” Hugh asked. “What the devil are you talking about, Percy?”

“I can’t imagine why Julien doesn’t want us here. You’re right, Hugh. He does indeed wish us to Jericho. He pays us attention, but he isn’t really here, if you know what I mean.”

“Hold, both of you,” Julien said, looking from the one to the other. “I assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. As for Percy’s horse, Hugh— why, the nag hasn’t a chance of winning. There’s no reason why either of you should think of leaving so soon.”

Julien would have said more, but he suddenly became aware that Percy was merely staring at him with disbelief. As for Hugh, he became preoccupied with the dissection of a leg of broiled chicken.

“Must be a woman,” Percy announced. “Yes, no other reason for all this wretched excess of excuses on both your parts.”

Julien felt a dull-red flush creep over his face. He had to smile, for Percy was exceedingly acute.

Percy took another bite of the creamed artichokes and pondered the problem. Upon swallowing, he said, cordial as a mother who’d just received a wonderful offer for her homely daughter, “Can’t imagine where you met a woman in such an outlandish place, but no doubt you did. You were always a dog with women, St. Clair. Not one of them, if she’s toothsome enough, can escape your eye for very long. Just fancy, a woman here who has quite besotted you.”