The Women of Eden (21 page)

"Andrew-"

But he was no place in sight, the arcade deserted.

Then he saw him at the center of the dancers, a plotting island of betrayal, Dhari on his arm, his head bent close to Mary and the American, obviously warning them.

He felt anger as raw as any he'd experienced in a long time. He would not abide it—was not obliged to abide it—this continuous effort on Andrew's part to circumvent his wishes.

Then he was moving, ignoring the voice inside his head which counseled prudence. Pushing through the rush of dancers, he was less than ten feet away when the four turned and saw him, a look of apprehension on Andrew's face and Dhari's, and something more complex on Mary's, a defiance. And on the other's—

"Ah, Mr. Eden . . ." The man smiled, extending his hand. "Though we met formally several days ago, I'm not foolish enough to think that you'll remember. I'm Burke Stanhope. Mr. Delane of the Times invited me as his guest, and permit me to express my gratitude to you for—"

Momentarily disarmed, John faltered. It had been easier to dislike

Pamell's arrogance than this broadly grinning gentleman. In truth, John had no quarrel with the man himself, only his preoccupation with Mary.

At the thought of her, John glanced to one side, where she'd moved in subtle retreat next to Andrew. He'd never seen her cheeks so flushed. She was so beautiful. Harriet must have looked like this when his father had fallen in love with her. These thoughts, paradoxically, left him weaker and stronger. "Come," he said, reaching out for Mary's hand with sudden force. Caught ojS her guard and finding herself ensnared, she tried to struggle free. Behind him he was aware of Andrew, ready to intercede.

To his right he was aware of the American gentleman, his earlier cordiality gone. "My apologies, Mr. Eden. We were just—"

But he wasn't interested in the American gentleman. His goal was, as it always had been, to secure Mary in some safe place, away from men's eyes and men's ambitions.

To that end, he stepped back, taking Mary with him, tightening his grasp on her wrist when again she made an attempt to struggle free.

The sound of her protest roused the American to some foolish state of misplaced chivalry, and with one stride he came down between Mary and John, dislodging her waist from his grasp and taking her place before him.

"Mr. Eden, please," the man said quietly. "I must insist that you allow the lady to walk by herself. She has done nothing to wanant such embanassment."

John ceased hearing the words. All he was aware of was the pleased look in Mary's eyes. And he was aware of the man's stance before him, defiant, the echo of his flat American voice reverberating about John's head, blocking him, as Andrew had done earher. While he owed Andrew a degree of consideration, he owed this man nothing except the concentration of fury which was building within him. Although that voice was still counseling him prudence, he felt a need to strike something, a need which had taken root long before this actual moment. In spite of the vastness of his fortune, in spite of the degree of respectability which he'd tried to restore to this scandalous family, he was what he had always been, the bastard son of the great Edward Eden.

In an exaltation of rage, defeated by his owti past, he lunged mindlessly forward, all his errors in judgment and missteps of the past

joined in that one strong, unretreating face. If he could not master the respect of an exiled American, what chance did he have in the stellar gallery of lords and ladies?

Since in his entire Hfe he had discovered that there was only one way to gain respect, and that was by force, he grasped the interloper by the jacket and was just in the process of drawing back his fist, fully prepared to deliver a killing blow, if necessary, when without warning the man raised both arms, dislodging John effortlessly, and followed through with a stunning blow to the side of John's jaw that sent him reeling backward, the chandeliers spinning above him in confusion, the rhythm of the polka interrupted by a woman's scream.

Though dazed, but still on his feet, John started forward again and this time made solid contact with the man's shoulder, spun him about and gave as good as he got, the blow dislodging the man from his center of balance, though he managed a brief look upward before John fell upon him, his hands moving to his throat, pressing until he was scarcely aware of the solid chorus of women's screams, the musicians' instruments silenced, only one voice predominant over the din, that of Andrew Rhoades' cry for the watchmen, who appeared within the minute, and the next thing John was aware of was strong hands lifting him bodily, drawing him away from the man whom he had pinned on his back and whom he joyfully would have murdered.

"My God!" Andrew gasped close to his ear. "Have you gone totally mad?"

Still, John was aware of little except the face of the man now rising to his feet, a thin trickle of blood slipping from the corner of his mouth, though his expression was as arrogant as ever, as though he too regretted the guards' rapid intervention.

"Get him out," John commanded, struggling for breath. "Escort him to his carriage. And I want two riders to see him across the moors."

"My—belongings, Mr. Eden."

"—will be sent to you. The hospitality of this castle is closed to you."

"No." The soft voice belonged to Mary and came from somewhere behind him.

John ignored it and went on in an attempt to convince the carefully listening company of his rightness in this matter. "I don't know

how gentlemen behave in America/' he said, full-voiced, "but this is England, where true gentlemen—"

"He did nothing, John!" Mary cried. 'Tou were the one. You—"

''Get her out of here as welU" he shouted over his shoulder and saw Mary with Elizabeth's arm about her. Was he surrounded by enemies?

When he looked back he was pleased to see the guards obeying his command, one burly watchman on each arm, a subtle restraint but restraint nonetheless.

As the company parted for the embarrassing exit, he saw a familiar face step out of the crowd and confer with the American. John Thadeus Delane. John would have to deal with him later. Prestigious editor or not, the man must be made to understand that John did not appreciate him bringing rabble to these Festivities.

When the conversation stretched on, John shouted, "Get him out of here! If his companion wishes to accompany him, his belongings will be sent as well."

"John!" The shocked whisper belonged to Andrew, and he looked back to see his face drained of color and saw more, saw Dhari and Elizabeth escorting a sobbing Mary through the company, their arms protectively about her.

John suffered a brief remorse. Why couldn't she see that he was just trying to protect her?

Feeling a need to rest his eyes from the sorrowful trio just starting up the stairs, John looked toward the departing American. His conversation with Delane had ended, though John saw that old man peering at him with sadness.

But his primary interest was not Delane but rather the arrogant man who had successfully shaken off his guards and who was now strolling easily through the silent company, his head erect as though feeling neither humiliation nor regret.

Still watching him, as though he were a threat to keep forever in his sight, John was in no way prepared for the man's final gesture where, upon reaching the doorways which led to the inner courtyard, he turned and faced the entire company, a look of amusement on his face as he lifted his hand to his forehead in a salute to all, though his focus was fixed on John, something triumphant about his stance and manner.

Then he was gone, leaving all staring at the open door, a stunned quality enveloping the Great Hall.

Belatedly, John was aware of the shambles which once had been his magnificent ball. The musicians seemed incapable of starting together or on key, and there was no need anyway, for the company was departing in hushed groups of twos and threes, all making their way to the Grand Staircase, leaving the maids hovering over empty tables.

He glanced toward the Smoker and saw several gentlemen peering out, relaying the events to the others inside. Presently they withdrew into the room, their attack on Alma-Tadema undeterred by the events which had taken place in the Great Hall.

Looking ahead, he saw Mr. Delane still standing about twenty yards before him, his attention splintered between the empty doorway and John himself.

Weary of the evening and dreading the gossip which would whirl for months about the episode, John was in the process of retreating to the Smoker when Delane called to him.

"Mr. Eden—a word please, if I may."

While his quarrel was not with Delane, there were a few questions he would like to ask the man. He held his position, not deigning to look up at Delane's approach, and warned himself to move with greater diplomacy here. This man was powerful.

"Mr. Eden—my—apologies," Delane began. "I must confess I was occupied and did not see—" He broke off, struggling for articulation. "How-did it start?"

"With your friend, Mr. Delane," John replied without hesitation. "I have never witnessed such crude behavior, and he left me no choice." He paused, gratified by the remorse on Delane's face. "May I ask his name?"

"Stanhope," Delane murmured, "Burke Stanhope. Fve known his family for years. I can't—"

"American, I believe?"

Delane nodded. "Though he lives in London now."

"Why?"

The blunt question merely added to Delane's confusion. "Why what, Mr. Eden?"

"Why is Mr. Stanhope living in London if America is his home?**

"There wasn't a great deal of his home left after the recent hostilities. His mother is too ill to return, and—"

"Then he has abandoned his homeland."

"It's not that simple, Mr. Eden."

'Why not? His behavior here tonight was certainly cowardly."

Delane stepped closer, as though they had come full circle back to the heart of the mystery. "What, precisely, did he do, Mr. Eden?" he asked again,

"He behaved rudely toward Lady Mary," John commenced, undaunted. "He detained her against her wishes and countermanded my orders."

He was aware of movement to his left and caught a glimpse of Andrew's shocked face.

Now in a concihatory manner John extended his hand. "My quarrel is not with you, Mr. Delane." He smiled. "You have caused me no offense except perhaps an error in judgment which motivated you to bring such a man to Eden."

"He is a gentleman," Delane protested hotly.

"Not tonight he wasn't," John contradicted. "He behaved like a predator, as all Americans are predators. They simply lack the leavening wisdom of centuries of civilization. The present turmoil in their own country bears witness to that."

As he spoke, he was aware of a new expression on Delane's face, one of astonishment. "So you see, Delane, he didn't belong here, had no business here, and certainly no right to offend the members of this family."

"No, of course not," Delane murmured courteously, backing away from the encounter, "and whatever the nature of his offense, Mr. Eden, I do apologize."

Then he was gone, taking his astonishment with him, leaving John with the painful sensation that somehow he'd lost again.

Whatever the nature of his offense . . .

Hadn't he just stated the nature of the man's offense? How much clearer need he make it?

"Andrew-"

But as he turned he saw Andrew hurrying after Delane, catching up with him on the stairs, talking rapidly, though Delane in no way acknowledged his presence.

"Damn!" John cursed, and felt the sense of unrest increase within him. He stood at the center of the now empty Great Hall. Along the edges of the arcade a few guests remained, chatting nervously, their eyes lifting to him, then turning away.

In the sudden absence of noise, in those embarrassed half-glances, in the painful sense of betrayal and in the continuing sense that he

had lost and the American had won, John looked about, his mind in chaos. Feeling a need for escape, he walked steadily toward the corridor which led to the Library and the painting of "The Women of Eden/'

He closed the door behind him and felt the breath catch in his throat. Ignoring the sensation, he started through the clutter of chairs, not looking where he was going, never once lifting his eyes from the four women fixed for all time in the painting.

Voices in the corridor outside the door went past, hesitated, then moved on. . . .

"What in the-"

Abruptly Richard stopped in the doors which led from the inner courtyard into the Great Hall. Less than an hour ago he and Bertie had left a formal ball comprised of over two hundred guests. They had taken a brief, mind-clearing walk along the headlands, enjoying the May evening, and had only just returned to find—

"This is the right castle, isn't it?" Bertie joked, a step behind him.

"I—don't understand. . . ." Richard faltered, leading the way into the hall, which was empty now except for the maids who were clearing the tables of half-filled wineglasses.

About thirty yards ahead he spied Bates, the dignified old butler. "Bates," he called out.

"Milord," Bates murmured, after taking a backward glance at the place where a dozen stewards were lowering one of the massive chandeliers.

"Would it be possible for you to tell me what happened?"

Bates adjusted his white gloves. "I can't say, milord. An early end to the Festivities, that's all."

"For what reason?"

"I'm sure I don't know, milord," the man replied cautiously.

"Where is Mr. Eden?" Richard asked.

"I'm not certain, milord," Bates told him, standing ramrod straight. "I believe I saw him entering the Library. Would you like for me to—"

"Was he alone?"

"As best as I can remember, milord. I'd be happy to—"

"No. No, thank you, Bates. That will be all."

His alarm increasing, Richard led the way across the Great Hall, amazed at the rapid transformation. Behind him he was aware of

Bertie. "Perhaps it's nothing/' he soothed, "the company merely fatigued after several days of—"

While Richard appreciated this attempt, nothing he was saying made sense. John had said earlier that he expected the ball to go until dawn.

Outside the Library door he stopped. He leaned closer, trying to hear, but the large room gave back silence. As he listened he felt Bertie's hand on his shoulder.

"Come," he suggested quietly. "Let's retire early, as the others have done. The mystery can be solved come morning."

Richard looked back, having heard clearly the invitation. Both men stood motionless outside the Library door. Richard glanced about and, seeing the corridor deserted, he Hfted a hand to Bertie's forehead.

"Would we be safe?" he whispered, recalling how in the past they had always denied themselves when in residence at Eden. The risks were too great.

"I think so," Bertie replied. "I suspect that the routine of the castle has been—"

They walked a few steps beyond the Library door, Bertie just reaching for his hand, when a steward appeared at the far end of the corridor.