Anne Barbour (15 page)

Bel's fellow inebriates watched in befuddled amazement as Bel scrabbled to raise himself on an elbow, one hand cradling his jaw. An ugly snarl formed on his features.

"Don't bother to get up," said Seth coldly. His eyes were like rain-washed slate, glittering with animosity. "I should only have to knock you down again, and I'd hate to take advantage of one so completely incapacitated."

So saying, he swung himself back into his saddle and, grasping Hyacinth's reins, led the mare away from the scene and into Half Moon Street. Bel called something unintelligible after him, but Seth did not so much as turn his head.

They proceeded up Half Moon Street in silence, and when they had turned up Curzon Street, Eden drew a long, shaking breath.

"I do not wish to speak ill of your relatives, Mr. Lindow, but your brother seems a most unpleasant young man."

Seth sighed. Lord, things were getting off to a rocky start indeed in his campaign to win Eden Beckett as a bride for his brother. Should he attempt to gloss over Bel's actions? No, he concluded. Let him be honest, if nothing else.

"Unpleasant hardly covers it, although," he added hastily, "he ... he is not such a ... a bad sort, really."

Eden's gaze flew to his, and she frowned doubtfully. He berated himself. For God's sake, that was no good either. Eden obviously realized that he did not believe what he was saying. Seth began again.

"Well, yes, he is ... thoroughly impossible, at least since he reached adulthood. When he was younger, he could be pleasant. In fact, until he was seven or eight years of age, he seemed a perfectly normal little boy. Oh, he had his tantrums, but he laughed more than he cried, and he lavished loving attention on his puppies and even displayed a measure of affection for me.

"Then he began to change. He would fly into rages, and soon became completely unmanageable. He ... he tortured the puppies. Now ... Sometimes, he is not so bad as others, of course, but he always has an insult or a cutting remark, and if he knows you have a tender spot, that is where he will prod." Seth shook his head. "The transformation took place so abruptly, it was almost as though an evil spirit had laid a curse on him. He began to complain of terrible headaches. His moods would swing from an almost feverish gaiety to the depths of despairing gloom, and he became violent.

"He took delight in setting up the backs of the neighbors and driving the duke and duchess to distraction. He tormented his sisters almost beyond endurance. As for me, he did his best to make my life a living hell, particularly at Eton, where he lost no opportunity to inform the student body at large of my common background. He and his friends made it their mission in life to humiliate me."

"Dear heaven!" breathed Eden. "Did your father do nothing to stop him?'

"Father made it clear early on in my life that I must fight my own battles, for he would or could not be bothered." Seth brought himself up sharply. "Good God, please forgive me. I must sound like a sniveling shag bag. Indeed, I felt abominably sorry for myself at the time, but, having survived, I emerged the stronger for Bel's tender mercies."

Seth discovered he was perspiring. What had possessed him to maunder on about the bad old days to this woman who, for all the connection he felt with her, was still a virtual stranger. What was it about her that seemed to compel him to reveal matters he hadn't discussed with another living soul? He drew a deep breath.

"At any rate, these days, even when he's calm, he seems to take pleasure in inflicting pain on others, both physical and emotional—even those he loves. At first, he would be thrown into an agony of remorse over his offenses, but as he grew into manhood, he began to flaunt them—to boast of them—to sink himself deeper into iniquity with each escapade."

"What about their other children?"

"The girls? There are three of them, all married now, and they are all of a sunny disposition. They have ... treated me with forbearance."

"And affection?"

Seth did not reply, but shrugged uncomfortably.

"And yet," said Eden tentatively, "you remain with the family."

Seth raised his brows discouragingly, but Eden would not be halted.

"Despite your being swept up and out of a life of poverty, it seems to me the family has treated you very badly. Why have you squandered all of your energy since you reached adulthood in making the duke even richer than he already is? Your devotion, while perhaps praiseworthy, seems unwarranted."

Seth drew his horse up in the middle of the crowded street. Oblivious to the traffic that surged around them, he knew an urge to give Miss Beckett the set-down of her life. How dare she question his motives? One glance into her eyes, however, told him that the remark had been made solely from concern. Moreover, he was appalled to discover that he welcomed her interest. He listened in astonishment to his next words.

"You may be surprised to discover I've given that matter some thought myself. As you say, I certainly owe His Grace a debt of gratitude, and that is one reason I have worked so assiduously on his behalf. I must repay that debt to the best of my ability. In addition," Seth continued slowly, "serving the duke gives my life purpose."

"I think I see," Eden mused aloud. "If your existence is useful to the duke, then you, as a person, must be of some value. You have a reason for taking up space on the planet and breathing God's good air."

"Yes!" exclaimed Seth. "You do understand!"

"Yes," replied Eden angrily. "And I must say it's the greatest piece of nonsense I've ever heard in my life."

"What?" asked Seth blankly.

"Has your brother been so successful in his campaign to destroy your sense of self-worth that you believe the only reason you have for existing is to serve the Duke of Derwent? It seems to me you have repaid that gentleman a hundred times over for his momentary whim. A good deed that he knew would cost him nothing."

Seth stared at her, white-faced. No one had ever spoken to him like that! He had carefully cultivated a distant, forbidding mien to discourage such encroachments as Eden Beckett had just perpetrated. He had known this female for less than a month and, while a certain intimacy had grown between them, she had no right to pick him apart like a laboratory specimen for her own amusement.

Watching him, Eden wished the ground would open and swallow her up. How could she have spoken so? To a man with whom, for all intents and purposes, she was barely acquainted. She had asked her questions out of interest in his background, but when she heard the injustices he had suffered—when she heard the anguish borne by a young boy reflected in the voice of the grown man—she had lost all sense of propriety. She was overwhelmed by a desire to make everything right for him somehow.

Now, just look at him. He no doubt wished her to the very devil, and in an instant would tell her so.

To her surprise, after an instant, his expression softened.

"It is kind of you to take an interest. Miss Beckett," he said awkwardly, if somewhat forbiddingly. He touched her hand in the lightest of caresses. "And you have given me something to think about." He urged his mount forward once again, and after a moment's hesitation, Eden followed suit.

They were by now approaching Grosvenor Square. Instead of turning his mount to the east, however, Seth maintained a course into North Audley Street.

"Mr. Lindow!" exclaimed Eden. "You are going in the wrong direction."

Seth's eyes smiled into hers. "Are you not going home?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you must permit me to escort you, Miss Beckett."

Eden felt unaccountably flustered. "But I have an escort." She gestured to the groom, following at a respectful distance.

"Nonetheless, I hope you will grant me the pleasure of a few more moments of your company." He hesitated for the barest moment. "In addition, I wonder if we might dispense with Miss Beckett and Mr. Lindow. I am becoming heartily bored with both of them." Seth moved closer to lay a hand lightly on Eden's arm. "I am perhaps being forward, but the first time we met, I had the oddest feeling that we were already known to one another."

Eden's eyes widened. So he had felt it, too. That strange sense of recognition—of connection. Her gaze fell to where his fingers had begun a slight caressing motion on her sleeve, and a trembling began deep within her. Following her gaze, he dropped his hand abruptly, but his lips still quirked in a smile that warmed her to her toes.

She opened her mouth to issue a prim rejoinder, but to her astonishment, what emerged was a weak, "That would be very nice .., Seth."

He grinned, completing her disintegration. "Good." He reached to grasp her bridle for the crossing of Oxford Street, already, despite the early hour, crowded with wagons, drays, and the carts of hundreds of vendors.

"I have been remiss, Mr.—Seth," Eden said abruptly. Seth's brows lifted.

"I have not told you what a marvelous time we had last night at Derwent House."

"Despite the advent of my brother on the scene?"

"A mere trifle. My mother and Zoë were in alt afterward."

"And you?"

"I, too, enjoyed myself immensely. After all, how often is a country mouse presented with the opportunity to rub elbows with such luminaries as the patronesses of Almack's, to say nothing of the prime minister and my lord Castlereagh. Quite dizzying, I assure you."

"But were you not struck by the melancholy truth that these high-flown personages were like unto you and me—that is, extraordinarily commonplace?"

Eden chuckled. "A lowering reflection, sir, but quite true."

"By the by," said Seth, deriving no little enjoyment from the sound of her laughter. "I hope you will allow me to show you whatever sights that may have escaped you in your previous visits. I understand a new exhibit is opening up at the Royal Gallery."

"Oh," breathed Eden, "I would like that above all things. The gallery is always my first priority when I come to town, and I've been looking forward with particular interest to the new exhibition. However, I have such a time persuading Mama or Zoë to accompany me there, for it takes me hours to view all the paintings." Her eyes widened with a twinkle, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. "There, I am undone. Now you will retract your offer like a baker pulling loaves from the fire."

"You wrong me. I shall merely pack a lunch and bring a camp stool with me, thus ensuring myself a reasonable degree of comfort while you browse to your heart's content."

How pleasant this was, reflected Eden, as she laughed at this absurdity. She had many acquaintances in the neighborhood of her father's estate, and she was on excellent terms with most of them. However, there were few whom she could call friend— and with none of them did she feel this warm rapport. Here was a man to whom she felt she could say anything and he would understand. She had already confided in him more of her dreams and hopes than she had to any other human being.

She glanced once more into the eyes that smiled so warmly into hers. If there was a light in the back of those eyes that caused her breath to quicken, she thought it must be merely a trick of the sun—which was, to be sure, shining with unusual brilliance this morning.

On drawing up before Aunt Nassington's town house, Seth dismounted and helped Eden from her saddle. He refused her polite invitation to join her for coffee in the breakfast room, saying with a grin, "No, indeed. Your Mama would be justifiably incensed at the prospect of receiving a visitor at such an ungodly hour. Perhaps later this week, however, we might venture to the Royal Gallery."

"That would be lovely."

They set a time for two days hence, and Seth with a tip of his hat mounted his horse once again and trotted away toward Grosvenor Square. Eden gazed after him for a moment before entering the house.

"Who was that?" a voice called from the head of the stairs. Zoë was just descending, applying a last-minute adjustment to her curls. "Seth Lindow?" Her brows rose in response to Eden's reply. "What could he be doing here at this hour of the morning? Did he come to see me? Oh, dear, why didn't you tell me? I know it's early, but since I am downstairs, I would have received him."

Eden smiled broadly. "No, Miss Beau-catcher. The gentleman was here on my behalf. He escorted me home from the park."

Zoë's eyes widened. "You?"

Eden described her encounter with Seth, omitting the confrontation with Bel.

"Well!" exclaimed Zoë. "And he brought you all the way back to Portman Square? Humph!" she declared with saucy grin, "I can't imagine that he could have hoped to see me at what is little more than the crack of dawn, so I can only conclude he is smitten with you."

"I think not," replied Eden, laughing. "He was merely acting out of... of friendship."

Zoë's delicate brows rose. "Really?" Her rosebud mouth opened in a yawn. "Well, I have no objection to your having him. As far as I'm concerned, he fulfilled his purpose. He arranged to have us invited to Derwent House, where I met the duke's son."

Eden glanced sharply at her sister. "For heaven's sake, Zoë, I trust you do not plan to pursue that venue. The Marquess of Belhaven is the last man in London with whom you should consider starting up a flirt."

"Oh, no, m'dear. Never fear, I do not intend to flirt with the man."

So far from being assured by Zoë's words, Eden was made extremely uneasy by the wickedly sparkling expression that accompanied them. Her foreboding was further increased when, that afternoon, she and Zoë took the air in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of five o'clock. The attention paid to the two sisters on this occasion as they proceeded in an open carriage was more than satisfactory. Eden was at once relegated to her position of foil to Zoë's beauty, as first one gentleman then another stopped their carriage for what passed as conversation in the Polite World.

They had met some of these tulips of fashion at Derwent House the previous night. They received the full treatment of Zoë's fluttering lashes and flashing dimples. Others were acquaintances from previous visits to town and were accorded a slightly less enthusiastic response.