by Claudia Dain
“Liberty,” Edenham said softly.
“You have your title, your heritage, your lineage. Liberty is the title they bestowed upon her. She will not give it up. Not any more than you would give up your dukedom.”
“You think I have no chance.”
“Having got Amelia, I will not say that any man may not have his chance. It is only, what shape does his chance bear? Will he know it when he sees it?”
“I will know it,” Edenham said softly.
“But will she?”
Edenham straightened abruptly in his chair, scowling at Cranleigh sitting in the fading afternoon light. “She is more than her nation. She is a woman.”
“Convince her of it, not I,” Cranleigh said, staring solemnly into his eyes.
“I shall,” Edenham said, leaning back against the chair, his eyes staring into the shadows.
Katherine found Jedidiah Elliot at one of the windows in the yellow drawing room, staring into the quiet order of the Hyde’s back garden. He was alone, his brother having gone off she knew not where. It was her chance, perhaps her only chance, and she was determined to take it. That Bernadette, Lady Paignton, was nearly nuzzling the Duke of Calbourne in the blue reception room had been the final spur, not that she enjoyed admitting that, even to herself.
She was going to beguile a man, tempt him to her with only the promise of herself to propel him. Not her name, not her title, not her money, not her lineage. Just her. Only her.
Could she do it?
A better question, would he do it?
Having watched him beat her brother to the floor, he didn’t seem the most romantic of men, though was it romance that drove men and women together, dark couplings in dark corners? There was something violent about that, wasn’t there? Violent and dangerous; Jedidiah Elliot seemed entirely suited to that.
How to approach him, that was what she couldn’t decide. Directly? She didn’t know how to do that. She also didn’t know how to indirectly encourage him to make the suggestion that they become lovers. Although even that was likely too intimate a word for what she wanted for them.
Just . . . coupling. Quickly. Passionately. A fleeting meeting of bodies in the dark. Most assuredly in the dark. She would never manage it in the light of even a single candle.
Her husband hadn’t wanted her in the light of a single candle. Always in the dark. She had thought herself beautiful, been told so from the cradle, but he hadn’t treated her as if she were beautiful. She didn’t know what to think anymore, except that beauty did not mean what she had thought it was supposed to mean, a binding charm of sorts, the kind of thing one found in fairy tales of tall towers and deep moats and dragon’s breath.
Her gaze strayed to Jedidiah’s back again. If anyone would fight the dragon, he would. If he wanted to. If he were inspired enough.
How did a woman go about inspiring a man to face dragon’s breath for her? To take her in the light of a thousand candles?
Richard had taken Bernadette in a maze at the Earl of Quinton’s at half past eleven in the morning. There had been three witnesses, one of them Edenham. That might have been the worst part of it, that her brother had seen it, seen that she could not hold her husband, the man she had married for love.
Love. It existed, she knew. It was only that she could not seem to inspire it in a man.
Desire, then. She would inspire desire. It was a start.
Perhaps she could move from there to love, tutoring herself in the amorous arts in the school of romance.
Katherine laughed silently, mocking herself. Love and romance. She was a fool, hopelessly inept at the very thing all other women knew instinctively. Just look at Jane. She had inspired Edenham’s desire, love, and devotion upon a single look. Even a beating had not dimmed his resolve, she knew that without question. He was even now working out how to attain her, in spite of Jedidiah’s rejection of his suit.
“He’s my brother, you know,” she said to Jedidiah’s back, all hope of a plan tossed beneath her feet. She had no plan. She could execute no plan. Perhaps the tie that bound their siblings would serve to tie them, however briefly.
Jedidiah turned, his cool blue eyes showing slight surprise, and regret? She did not know him well enough to read him. Could a man be seduced upon the wings of regret? Probably not, though Sophia would certainly know how to manage it.
“I didn’t know,” he said. His voice was low and solid, like ships’ timbers. She was being romantic again. He had a low voice, pleasant and resonant, that was all. “I would do it again, even knowing. She’s my sister.”
Katherine took a step nearer, looking out the window at his side. There was nothing to see. It was only a garden.
She pretended to study the gravel walks, the trees blowing in the afternoon breeze, the call of birds, ignoring the pale and distorted reflection of herself in the glass. Distorted, most assuredly. What was she doing? This was not at all like her.
Which was precisely why she was doing it.
“Of course you would,” she said. “I am a sister. I know very well what a brother will do. He will not blame you in the slightest.”
Jedidiah looked down at her, a tilting of his head that bespoke annoyance. She simply could not manage to seduce a man. It was flatly humiliating. “I suppose I should be relieved by that? He deserved it. He knows he deserved it. Frankly, he deserved more, but it’s my uncle’s house and I’m a guest in it. I would do nothing to abuse his hospital-ity. Which is what your brother did in attacking my sister.”
“He loves her,” she said.
“He desires her,” he countered swiftly, still staring at her. She kept her gaze on the subtle patterns in the glimmering glass, afraid to look into his eyes. She was the worst seductress of her generation and had no place in any fairy tale, unless it was as the toadstool. “There’s a difference.”
“Doesn’t the one lead to the other?” she said.
“Which one, to which other?” Jedidiah said on a huff of breath, turning away from her to face the window again.
“I was hoping you would tell me,” she said softly, turning her head slightly to study his profile. He had a sharp, clean profile. Richard’s profile had been softer, his chin less defined. She had found him handsome when she’d married him. Thinking of his face now, she saw him as boyishly attractive. There was nothing boyish about Jedidiah Elliot.
“Lady Richard,” he said, his face completely composed, indeed, shuttered against her, “I can’t think this is a proper conversation for us to be having.”
“I suppose it isn’t, though I am surprised that a man of your background is so very concerned about what is proper and what is not.”
“You mean because I am an American?”
It was said with a certain bite. Now she’d offended him.
She really should have asked advice of someone with more flair for this before she started, someone such as the very sheltered and very virginal Miss Elliot.
“Actually, I was referring to your experience upon the world as the captain of a merchant ship. Does your being American play any part in that? I must rely upon you to tell me. I have enjoyed limited exposure to Americans.”
A short bark of laughter escaped him. “I’m sure that’s true.”
“Everything I’ve said is true, Captain Elliot.”
“And all the things you haven’t said, Lady Richard?”
he said, turning from the window completely to give her his full attention. His face was very fine, even discounting profile.
“True as well,” she said, staring up into his eyes. He revealed nothing. His face could have been carved from stone, his eyes blue marbles, and he did not blink or fidget or waver in his attention. That was the only way she had of knowing that he did, or might, feel something. A man that intent, it had to mean something, didn’t it? Something she could build upon, something to hang her heart upon. “Can you hear my thoughts, Jedidiah? Can you hear all I have not had the c
ourage to speak?”
“I think I can . . . Katherine,” he answered.
Hope flared in her heart, or was that desire? A low pulse just below her ribs, a skittering flash just under her skin, the temptation to become lost in the power of his gaze: desire, most assuredly desire. And she could not feel desire alone. That was not possible. Not when he devoured her with his eyes, his presence blocking out everyone else in the room, though the yellow drawing room was far from crowded.
“You want me to,” Jedidiah said in a hushed voice, and she found herself lifting her weight to the balls of her feet,
“allow your brother to court my sister.”
Her heels hit the floor with an audible bump.
“No,” she said serenely, covering it all with the mask she’d worn since leaving the nursery and which she had perfected since becoming Lady Richard, “that isn’t what I was thinking. But would you?”
Fourteen
Now that Jane was looking for Edenham, she couldn’t find him anywhere. She hadn’t actually looked everywhere, but she’d looked in all the normal places; the music room, the blue reception room, and the red reception room, where they were to have dined, and would still dine, if Molly would just call for breakfast to be served. Jane supposed they were all waiting for Edenham to pull himself together, straighten his cravat, brush his hair, and wash away the worst of the bloodstains. That would take some time. Either that, or he’d left Hyde House in either a fury or a sulk and she would never see him again.
No, that wasn’t it. He was still here. No man of any salt would leave after a well-deserved setdown. And no matter what else she thought of the arrogant Duke of Edenham, she did think he had salt. Quite a lot of it. There were not many men who, having met her brothers, would kiss her upon her wish, and then, almost without complaint, endure a beating.
In fact, she could think of no one else who had done half so much. Certainly Ezekiel Biddle, while very desirous of cake . . . and other things, had not risked even a tenth as much. Why, Ezekiel had made his move whilst both her brothers were at sea. That didn’t give any appearance of effort, did it?
“Tell me the truth about that kiss.”
Jane sighed, looking over her shoulder at Joel, who’d almost magically appeared behind her. As she was in the music room, again, her second search of that particular room, and it was a very lovely room with its aqua wallpaper and display of beautifully crafted musical instruments, and as Joel didn’t have any interest in the difference between a pianoforte and a brass horn, she knew he’d been searching her out to ask her just this question.
Joel knew her too well. It was that fact which was the source of most of their disagreements. The other source was Aunt Molly, what Joel called The English Wrinkle, which had nothing to do with Molly’s appearance and everything to do with her choice of a husband. A nice girl from Boston and what had she done? Married an English duke, that’s what.
“What truth do you think there is?” she countered.
Joel gave her his don’t be ridiculous look and waited.
“You saw everything just as it happened, or nearly so,”
she said. “I can’t think what you want me to say beyond the obvious. He kissed me. He paid for it.”
“Why did he kiss you?”
“Lovely,” she huffed, walking out of the music room, ignoring the stares of the other guests, and stepping through the wide doorway into the blue reception room. “Because he wanted to? Because he found me irresistible?”
“No, that’s not why,” Joel said, dogging her steps, grinning slightly.
“Why do you kiss a woman, assuming you have?” Jane said with a sharp smile.
“Because she wants me to,” Joel countered without pause.
Oh, this wasn’t going well at all.
“I should have thought that any man would believe any woman wanted to be kissed, if he wanted to kiss her,” Jane said.
“Then you’d be wrong,” Joel said. “What did you do to make Edenham kiss you? I know you must have done something. He’s no green fool, to fall into a woman’s net.”
“I hardly made him! As to what I did, I don’t think I did anything at all. The man saw me and has been acting like a green fool, as you so sweetly put it, ever since. I certainly didn’t ask to be the object of his obsession.”
“But,” Joel said, his dark eyes alight, “you did ask for something. Did you ask him to kiss you?”
She might have blushed. She did seem to feel a certain warmth on her neck, just above her collarbone.
“Jane,” Joel said, shaking his head at her. “Why? You knew what would happen.”
“It’s a complicated story,” she said, refusing to look at him. As she looked across the room, she couldn’t help noticing the Duke of Calbourne and Lady Paignton. They seemed to be giggling. Or at least the duke was giggling.
Lady Paignton was smirking. “It involves Louisa.” That explained most of it, excluding the part about Edenham’s arrogance. The man had already been thrashed once; if she told Joel about what Edenham had assumed, he would almost certainly be due for another go.
“You should ignore her,” Joel said.
“Ha,” Jane deadpanned. “You should ignore Edenham.
Now we’re even.”
“Jane?” Joel said, his voice gone quite deep.
“Yes?” she said, still watching Calbourne and Lady Paignton. What were they giggling about? And why would a duke giggle? She never would have imagined it was possible. He didn’t look at all ashamed of himself either.
“I shan’t be ignoring him and neither shall you,” Joel said. “Edenham’s here.”
Jane snapped her gaze away from one duke and onto another. She saw Edenham instantly. He was striding across the blue reception room from the doorway to the red reception room. He did not look pleased, yet neither did he look angry. He looked . . . bloody marvelous, as she’d once heard her cousin George say under his breath.
His cravat had blood on it, a bright red smear lining the top of one fold. His waistcoat was wrinkled and missing two buttons. His lower lip was split and swollen and he had a purple and black bruise coming up on the left side of his jaw.
He looked not at all like a duke, but very much like a man.
He was so very, very handsome, wasn’t he, when he wasn’t looking so proud and untouchable? He looked very touchable now. Very determined and resolute and all those other words that meant a man who would not be stopped and who would not behave in any way like a man who could be stopped by civilized rules and common courtesy.
In other words, not at all like Ezekiel Biddle and those other two, whatever their names had been. She couldn’t recall a single thing about any of them, except that they had circled once, too far away from her to make any impression at all, and disappeared from her life. All that remained was this man. Edenham. Hugh.
Oh, my.
He walked straight up to her, which did strange things to her stomach, squeezing it, causing it to flop about a bit, nodded once to Joel, and then, looking deeply into her eyes, she was sure it was deeply because she found she couldn’t look away even slightly, said, “I want you to meet my children.”
“Now?” she squeaked. She cleared her throat. No more squeaking! She was an accomplished American girl, not given to squeaking at handsome men, especially not dangerously rumpled handsome men with greenish eyes and straight perfect noses and the most cleverly shaped ears she’d ever seen.
Ears. She had noticed the beauty of his ears. This was bad, wasn’t it?
He smiled briefly. “No, not now. But tomorrow? Can I expect you? Bring your brothers as well.” He glanced briefly at Joel. She didn’t know what Joel did. She couldn’t stop looking at Edenham and his bruised lip. “Bring anyone you want,” he said. “Will you come?”
She stared up at him, unable to form a word.
“Will you?” he breathed.
“Yes,” she said, though she didn’t actuall
y say it. She giggled it.
That was bad.
“It’s looking bad for poor Edenham,” Calbourne said. “I shouldn’t wonder but that he’s married by Friday.”
“This Friday or next?” Bernadette asked.
“Does it matter?” Calbourne said, looking down at her, grinning. “He’ll be married. Poor fellow. Though I can’t think he minds it, he marries so often.” Calbourne shook his head; it was inconceivable to him.
“You’ll never marry again?” Bernadette asked, her green eyes pensive.
“I’ve got my heir. Alston’s thriving. I’m thriving. I have no more need for a wife, which is not to say I don’t need a beautiful, enticing woman in my life,” he said, grinning.
“For as long as she can entice you, I assume,” Bernadette said. “How long is that, usually?”
“I haven’t given it any thought.”
“Likely because you can’t remember?”
Cal lost his grin. This was becoming more serious than he liked. Women, particularly women like Bernadette, who had married, been widowed, and now could do as she pleased, which is to say, she could please any man she chose, were the sort of women he enjoyed best. He was not interested in women who were interested in marriage. Not unless there was a wager involved, that is. He’d endure most anything to not be found on the losing end of a wager.
“Do you want to marry again, Lady Paignton?” he asked, taking a step back. They had done nothing, engaged in nothing remotely scandalous. Yet. Which was all to the good if she were marriage-minded.
“I?” she scoffed. “No, not at all. If you will excuse me, I see my sister and have yet to greet her.”
With a smile, she wound her way through the throng to her sister, Lady Lanreath, another dark haired, green-eyed widow. The women in that family had bad luck keeping their husbands alive. Cal spared a second look for Antoinette, Lady Lanreath. She was a beauty. She wasn’t the sultry seductress that Bernadette was, but almost the exact opposite, elegant and ethereal, slightly untouchable, very nearly chilly.
