Bolitho stared at her, his heart pounding, knowing how close he had come to striking her. Catherine had told him in jerky sentences as the coach had rolled towards the other house, an unexpected rain pattering across the windows.
She had loaned Somervell most of her own money when they had married. Somervell was in fear of his life because of his many gambling debts. But he had friends at Court, even the King, and a government appointment had saved him.
He had deliberately invested some of her money in her name, then left her to face the consequences when he had caused those same investments to fail. All this Somervell had explained to Belinda. It made Bolitho's head swim to realise just how close to success the plan had been. If he had moved into this house, and then been seen at Admiral Godschale's reception, Catherine would have been told that they were reconciled. A final and brutal rejection.
Somervell had left the country; that was the only known truth. When he returned he might have expected Catherine half-mad or even dead. Like a seabird, Catherine could never be caged.
He said, 'You have killed that too. Remember what you threw in my face on more than one occasion after we were married? That because you looked like Cheney, it did not mean that you had anything in common. By God, that was the truest thing you ever said.' He stared round the room and realised for the first time that his uniform was soaked with rain.
'Keep this house, by all means, Belinda, but spare a thought sometimes for those who fight and die so that you may enjoy what they can never know.'
She moved away, her eyes on him as he wrenched open the doors. He thought he saw a shadow slip back from the stairway, something for the servants to chew on.
'You will be ruined!' She gasped as he stepped towards her as if she expected a blow.
'That is my risk.' He picked up his hat. 'Some day I shall speak with my daughter.' He looked at her for several seconds. 'Send for all you need from Falmouth. You rejected even that. So enjoy your new life with your proud friends.' He opened the front door. 'And God help you!'
He walked through the dark street, heedless of the rain which soothed his face like a familiar friend. He needed to walk, to marshal his thoughts into order, like forming a line of battle. He would make enemies, but that was nothing new. There had been those who had tried to discredit him because of Hugh, had even tried to hurt him through Adam.
He thought of Catherine, where she should stay. Not at Falmouth, not until he could take her himself. If she would come. Would she see double-meanings in his words because of what had happened? Expect another betrayal?
He dismissed the thought immediately. She was like the blade at his hip, almost unbreakable. Almost.
One thing was certain. Godschale would soon hear what had happened, although no one would speak openly about it without appearing like a conspirator.
He gave a bleak smile. It would be Gibraltar for orders very soon.
His busy mind recorded a shadow and the click of metal. The old sword was in his hand in a second and he called, 'Stand!'
Adam sounded relieved. 'I came looking, Uncle.' He watched as Bolitho sheathed his blade.
'It's done then?'
'Aye. 'Tis done.'
Adam fell into step and removed his hat to stare up into the rain. 'I heard most of it from Allday. It seems I cannot leave you alone for a moment.'
Bolitho said, 'I can still scarce believe it.'
'People change, Uncle.'
'I think not.' Bolitho glanced at two army lieutenants walking unsteadily towards St James's. 'Circumstances may, but not people.'
Adam tactfully changed the subject. 'I have discovered Captain Keen's whereabouts. He is in Cornwall. They had gone there to settle some matters relating to Miss Carwithen's late father.'
Bolitho nodded. He had been afraid that Keen would be married without his being there to witness it. How strange that such a simple thing could still be so important after all which had happened.
'I sent word by courier, Uncle. He should know.'
They fell silent and listened to their shoes on the pavement.
He probably did already. The whole fleet would by now. Offensive to many, but a welcome scandal as far as the overcrowded messdecks were concerned.
They reached the house, where they found Allday sharing a jug of ale with Mrs Robbins, the housekeeper. She was a Londoner born and bred in Bow and despite her genteel surroundings had a voice which sounded like a street trader's. Mrs Robbins got straight down to business.
'She's in bed now, Sir Richard.' She eyed him calmly. 'I give 'er a small guest room.'
Bolitho nodded. He had taken her point. There would be no scandal in this house, no matter how it might appear.
She continued, 'I stripped 'er naked as a brat and bathed 'er proper. Poor luv, she could do wiv it an' all. I burned 'er clothes. They was alive.' She opened her red fist. 'I found these sewn in the 'em.'
They were the earrings he had given her. The only other time they had been in London together.
Bolitho felt a lump in his throat. 'Thank you, Mrs Robbins.'
Surprisingly, her severe features softened.
'It's nuffink, Sir Richard. Young Lord Oliver 'as told me a few yarns about when you saved 'is rump for 'im!' She went off chuckling to herself.
Allday and Adam entered and Bolitho said, 'You heard all that?'
Allday nodded. 'Best to leave her. Old Ma Robbins'll call all hands if anything happens in the night.'
Bolitho sat down and stretched his legs. He had not eaten a crumb since breakfast but he could not face it now.
It had been a close thing, he thought. But perhaps the battle had not even begun.
Catherine stood by a tall window and looked down at the street. The sun was shining brightly, although this side of the street was still in shadow. A few people strolled up and down, and very faintly could be heard the voice of a flower-girl calling her wares.
She said quietly, This cannot last.'
Bolitho sat in a chair, his legs crossed, and watched her, still scarcely able to believe it had ever happened, that she was the same woman he had snatched from squalor and humiliation. Or that he was the man who had risked everything, including a court-martial, by threatening the governor of the Waites jail.
He replied, 'We can't stay here. I want to be alone with you. To hold you again, to tell you things.'
She turned her head so that her face too was in shadow. 'You are still worried, Richard. You have no need to be, where my love for you is concerned. It never left me, so how can we lose it now?' She walked slowly around his chair and put her hands on his shoulders. She was dressed in a plain green robe, which the redoubtable Mrs Robbins had bought for her the previous day.
Bolitho said, 'You are protected now. Anything you need, all that I can give, it is yours.' He hurried on as her fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders, glad that she could not see his face. 'It may take months longer even to retrieve what he has stolen from you. You gave him everything, and saved him.'
She said, 'In return he offered me security, a place in society where I could live as I pleased. Foolish? Perhaps I was. But it was a bargain between us. There was no love.' She laid her head against his and added quietly, 'I have done things I am too often ashamed of. But I have never sold my body to another.'
He reached up and gripped her hand. 'That, I know.'
A carriage clattered past, the wheels loud on the cobbles. At night, this household, like others nearby, had servants to spread straw on the road to deaden the sound. London never seemed to sleep. In the past few days Bolitho had lain awake, thinking of Catherine, the code of the house which kept them apart like shy suitors.
She said, 'I want to be somewhere I can hear about you, what you are doing. There will be more danger. In my own way I shall share it with you.'
Bolitho stood up and faced her. 'I will likely receive orders to return to the squadron very soon. Now that I have declared myself, they will probably want rid of me from London as soon as possible.' He smiled and put his hands on her waist, feeling her supple body beneath the robe, their need for each other. There was colour in her cheeks now, and her hair, hanging loose down her back, had recovered its shine.