by Lisa Campell
Sebastian immediately mustered a grin. He straightened in his chair, downed the last of his wine. “They ought to think this a pleasant change of pace.” Immediately, as if of their own accord, his eyes picked through the crowd for Eliza. He used the pretense of chaperoning to excuse his interest. All her life, Matthew and his friends had been there to look out for the girl. Sebastian was continuing the tradition.
When he finally located her, however, his heart turned with something other than suppressed desire. At some point, unbeknownst to him, she had been swept up by a gentleman for whom he felt nothing but distaste. If Sebastian was a rake and an outcast, Richard Griffin, the Earl of Wyhurst, was a spoiled, villainous peer. He was not well-liked among the ladies, being far too notorious a cad, but Sebastian knew far too many gentlemen who aspired to the Earl of Wyhurst’s station.
“I shan’t say I’m worried about her.” Matthew’s voice filtered into Sebastian’s ear. “She would despise the sentiment. “But I do hope society will prove fortunate for her, and that she can find a place among the ton. You know as well as I that Eliza can be…” He paused, searching for words. “She can be difficult.”
Sebastian nodded absently. His gaze was trained on the dancing couple—she in the pale blue dress that flowed like water over her figure, and Lord Wyhurst in an offensively blood-red jacket and snow-white cravat. He stood out among his more sedately dressed brethren, which Sebastian suspected was the Earl’s goal all along.
Matthew was still talking. “I think—” He paused, having finally taken stock of his friend’s distraction. “Sebastian, are you listening? Do please let me know if I’m boring you with my troubles.” Matthew laughed and shook his head, “Never mind. Your head’s been elsewhere all night. I’ll regale you with my woe some other time.”
“Do you like her associating with Lord Wyhurst?” Sebastian inquired abruptly. He cared little if the question betrayed his true thoughts, so disquieted was he by the notion that Lord Wyhurst meant to court Eliza.
“I don’t,” Judith interjected unhappily. “She ought not to have given him a second glance.”
Sebastian was in full agreement, but Matthew apparently dissented. “Now, now, darling,” he soothed. “Eliza is hardly a child; she’s seventeen. And we all know Lord Wyhurst has the means to take care of her. If that’s what she wants, so be it.” Despite his calm words, Matthew’s eye stayed on the couple as he settled back into his chair.
Sebastian looked sidelong at his friend. Surely Matthew was aware of the less savory points of Lord Wyhurst’s reputation. It struck Sebastian as nearly inconceivable that Matthew would let his sister be seen at all with a gentleman so garishly dressed and forward. But perhaps that was an inkling of jealousy speaking, which Sebastian quickly tucked away.
Besides, the dance didn’t last forever. Presently, Eliza returned to Judith’s company and Sebastian relaxed, though he decided to keep track of the earl from then on, just for his own peace of mind. It was often quite easy to spot Lord Wyhurst even across the room, what with his glaring jacket. How he got away with sporting outdated fashions, Sebastian didn’t rightly know. Any other gentleman was asking for a lashing from the ton if he went out dressed that way.
But Lord Wyhurst was hailed by his cohorts as avant-garde, a free thinker, a pioneer. Bolstered by positive reinforcement, Lord Wyhurst had grown an ego the size of his sprawling country estate. These days, he moved within the ton as if he owned it, tossing coin at anyone who spoke against him.
Sebastian had to admit, it was incredible how many problems a well-placed sovereign could solve. And that was something Lord Wyhurst knew well.
With the ladies away to socialize, Sebastian lost sight of them—and, shortly thereafter, his interest in Lord Wyhurst. He was appropriately relieved when Matthew stood up and gestured toward the ballroom exit.
“Come have a smoke with me, Seb. Fresh air would do us both some good.”
On that, Sebastian couldn’t agree more. He followed Matthew out to the back terrace of the manor, where the French doors still stood partially open to the cold night air. The draft blowing in from outside was scented refreshingly by grass and rain. Sebastian stood in its path, feeling somewhat reinvigorated.
He was not much of a smoker himself, but he didn’t mind the smell of Matthew’s pipe, or the blue smoke of cigars that often filled the rooms after dinner. The two gentlemen stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, each enjoying the relative quiet.
He could sense that Matthew was getting ready to speak. Sebastian had known his friend long enough that truly, not many words needed saying. He knew that whatever was coming had to do with Eliza, and he knew, too, that he would not like to hear it. He turned to the sliver of dark blue velvet sky that was visible through the manor doors and prepared for an admonition of some kind, gentle as it may be.
Matthew inhaled deeply and blew out a white plume of smoke. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Then he began, “Seb, about my sister…”
Sebastian sighed. “What of her, Matthew? She’s seventeen years old, well educated, perfectly groomed. She’ll have no trouble finding a good husband. Especially not after this event you’ve put on.” He stopped short of acknowledging Eliza’s beauty, her grace, her charm. That, he could tell, was what Matthew had been expecting. “You’ll have to fight off her suitors,” he said.
Matthew chuckled. “I won’t be surprised if she does it herself.” He took another puff of his pipe. “All I want is for her to be happy. It’s what she deserves after the life she’s lived so far.”
Seb made no argument. He remembered, through the fuzzy lens of childhood, the long, protracted illnesses of first Eliza’s mother, then her father. They had been kind, compassionate souls, all too willing to extend loving charity toward the sad-eyed noble child that their son had befriended. Indeed, growing up, Sebastian had spent as many nights at the Colchester estate as his own, and though theirs was considerably more homely, he had always felt like he belonged.
“That’s very true,” he said, adding, “No one doubts your intentions, my friend. I, least of all.” He did doubt Matthew’s judgement on occasion, but he kept that part to himself. For all that Matthew appeared to encourage Eliza’s freedom, Sebastian knew the idea of giving her over to society made Matthew nervous. He was a brother, and not that much her elder, but he had always thought of Eliza as a charge in need of protection.
“I must admit, I am relieved to hear you say so.” Matthew smiled. He held his pipe in his right hand, watching the smoke wreath up from the bowl toward the ceiling.
“Ah, so you were the one doubting me.” Sebastian smiled to make sure his friend knew the comment was mostly in jest. But there was undoubtedly a kernel of truth there.
Matthew cleared his throat. He blew one more plume of smoke and extinguished the pipe, tucking it back into his pocket. “We ought to get back before Eliza realizes we’ve gone. You saw how she was when she lost sight of us.”
“She was nervous,” Sebastian replied. “I’m sure she has acclimated by now.”
As they approached the ballroom doors, Sebastian looked for Eliza’s blue gown, her dark hair and laughing green eyes. At first, he was not suspicious that she was nowhere to be found; it was a large and crowded room. Then he realized that one other person remained unaccounted for.
Richard Griffin, the Earl of Wyhurst.
Suddenly determined to locate Eliza, Sebastian separated from Matthew without saying a word, unwilling to alert him to a problem that was still only a hunch. Perhaps Judith and Eliza had nipped away to the parlor, and perhaps Lord Wyhurst had done everyone a favor and departed early. Unlikely, given how enamored the earl had seemed, but a hopeful possibility.
After a thorough search of the ballroom, he had found no trace of either lady, or of the earl. The only places left to search were in the magnificent winter gardens behind the manor, accessible through a row of doors at the back. As Sebastian angled his way toward the open terrace, he began to come upon c
lusters of ladies speaking in hushed tones, an ominous sight to anyone familiar with the ton’s voracious love for gossip.
“Have you found them?” Matthew had caught up at last, having conducted his own investigation. He was visibly worried, his brow deeply furrowed.
Sebastian shook his head. The doors to the terrace stood just ahead, through which he could see almost nothing. A trio of ladies slipped hurriedly across the threshold, glancing back over their shoulders as they rushed away.
“Oh, no.” Matthew’s face fell, and then darkened with anger. Jaw set, he strode toward the terrace.
A stone of dread had begun to grow in Sebastian’s stomach. He had no choice but to let his friend lead.
Chapter Three
After dancing twice with the Earl of Wyhurst, Eliza excused herself. The second dance, upon which he had quite strenuously insisted, left her mildly unsettled, and Judith’s warning rang in her ears. She had meant to keep a watchful eye out for him.
She went out to the terrace in an effort to escape him, to catch her breath. Her head was spinning, and she was quite warm after her exertions on the dancefloor. She leaned against the stone balustrade, looking out over the gardens. In the darkness, she could see that there were others, in small groups, walking along the paths.
It was winter, and all those others seemed to be wrapped up against the chill. Eliza shivered. After the close heat and the press of all of the bodies in the ballroom, it felt good to get a breath of the fresh air.
As she looked up at the night sky, she could see that clouds were rolling in, passing across the moon. She wondered, briefly, if it mightn’t snow. Her breath fogged the air in front of her face.
Suddenly, a hand was clamped down on her arm, grasping just above the tops of her long white silk gloves.
Eliza jumped and spun around, prepared to snatch her arm away. The sight of him sent a cold shiver down her spine that only intensified when Lord Wyhurst smiled.
“You frightened me,” she gasped. She glanced around, finding that they were alone.
“Terribly sorry, My Lady.” His eyes glittered in a way she did not like at all. Eliza craned her neck to look for Judith, or anyone else who might be able to intervene, but the Earl was already steering her toward the steps leading down and off of the back terrace. “I thought we might go for a nice little stroll. It’s a lovely night, don’t you agree?”
“Well, I—I cannot, My Lord. I must get back.” Eliza’s attempt to stammer out a refusal fell on willfully deaf ears. The gentleman’s grip on her arm was beginning to feel too tight for comfort. She desperately wished to get away somehow. She stopped walking, her feet freezing.
“Nonsense,” he interjected breezily, tugging on her arm. “Some fresh air will do the lady good, I think. And only in the worthiest of company, of course.” Again, the pointed smile slid across his face. “I’m eager to get to know you.”
That much was quite obvious. Seeing no other option aside from throwing a fit and embarrassing herself at her own ball, Eliza remained where she was. Should anyone find them there, walking alone without a chaperone, her reputation would be ruined.
The Earl of Wyhurst glared at her. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked.
Eliza bit her bottom lip. “Allow me to go and get a chaperone,” she said, trying and failing to get him to let go of her arm. “I cannot.”
His hand was like a lead weight on her arm, and she wished very much that he would release her. Surely it wouldn’t do to have the ton witness her being led around like a wayward puppy by a gentleman she barely knew. And at her own ball, no less!
Frightened tears spilled down her cheeks, making icy tracks down her face. “Please, sir. Let me go.”
But when she tried to get out of his grip, he only tightened his grip. The effect was subtle but immediate. He glanced at her, and there was an expression in his gaze that made Eliza feel more fearful than simply uneasy.
“You’re quite lovely, you know,” he told her now. His dark eyes burned into her face, smoldering with ugly, ill-concealed passion. “No doubt you’ll have a line of suitors out the door after tonight.” They were not far from the doors, and from where she stood, the dancing candlelight, the heat, the noise, was suddenly inviting.
Eliza knew he was waiting for a reply, and yet no words surfaced in her mind. She was frozen with fear. If anyone should come upon them, then she shuddered to think of what they would make of it. A lady, crying, an Earl, refusing to let her go back to the safety of the ball and Judith’s watchful eye.
Later, she’d revisit this exact moment as the one she regretted the most. She tried to think of a polite excuse, one that Lord Wyhurst would have no choice but to allow her to go, back to her ball, back to safety. She should have run and screamed for help.
The consequences were disastrous. One second, she was running through possible excuses, or, failing that, planning to make a break for the manor. The next, the Earl of Wyhurst’s lips were on hers.
The kiss was not sweet, pleasant, or even particularly gentle. He smelled of acrid smoke and a faint undertone of perspiration, masked by too much cologne. As soon as she realized what was happening, Eliza squeezed her eyes shut tight and struggled to get free.
She gasped upon release. The gentleman smirked at her through the deepening garden terrace shadows. Eliza felt sick to her stomach. How could she have been so careless as to allow that to happen? Almost at the same time that despondent thought crossed her mind, her eyes landed on the open terrace on the earl’s back. She covered her mouth.
Formerly empty, there now appeared to be a small horde crowding the pavement behind them. Every single one of them stared in her direction, goggle-eyed. Whispers were moving through the crowd. She could hear soft gasps of shock.
Tears welled up behind Eliza’s eyelashes. Though she knew the public shame was coming, it was wholly unnecessary. If she had had the ability to sink into the ground or fade away on the night breeze, she would have called upon it in an instant. As it was, she was left to stand awkwardly beside the foul rake who had just besmirched her name.
Half a second too late, a harried Judith burst out of the doors. Her vision immediately locked onto poor, distraught Eliza. All the color drained from her face.
“Eliza!” She ran past the onlookers, grabbed her husband’s sister by the hand, and pulled her away from the Earl of Wyhurst. “Darling, what happened? What has this…this villain done to you?” she snarled, glaring at the Earl.
“I’ve done nothing that wasn’t within my rights,” Lord Wyhurst declared smugly. “Why, you should have seen her, Lady Colchester! The girl practically threw herself into my arms!” He spoke loudly enough as to be deafening to Eliza’s ears. It was all she could do not to crumple into a heap on the spot. A hush had fallen over the entire garden.
Judith hissed, “I doubt that very much.”
Lord Wyhurst shrugged his shoulders. “Think what you will, madam. Only she and I know what truly happened.” Thoroughly self-satisfied, he puffed out his chest and began to stride away.
“And just where do you think you’re going, My Lord?” Lord Colchester’s voice shattered the stillness. Eliza winced at Matthew’s tone. She could hear the anger in it, the indignation. It didn’t take a genius to work out what sort of activity might transpire on the back terrace on the night of a coming-out ball. The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking up in her own defense.
Lord Wyhurst’s eyes narrowed. “Your only concern, should be for the conduct of your sister, My Lord.” He spat Matthew’s title back in his face as if it were a slur. “I’m afraid her reputation is sullied now. It’s all her own doing, too.”
Matthew half-turned to stare at Judith and Eliza, shocked. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Eliza, answer me.”
“Matthew—” Judith jumped to her defense, but her husband, so rarely brusque, waved her off.
Eliza couldn’t force the words to come off her tongue. She felt as though she were about to
be ill, or to faint. Her heart was racing, the sound of it a loud beat in her ears. What she wanted to say was that Lord Wyhurst had taken full advantage of her, luring her into the garden and pouncing on her while she was unaware. But then she’d have to admit that she’d been separated from her chaperone and had been alone with a gentleman on the fringes of the party. Neither option made her look as innocent as she truly was.
The Earl of Wyhurst knew that. “She’s been out in society for less than a day, and she’s already loose!” he proclaimed, laughing derisively. “I don’t see how you can trust a lady like that. Frankly, My Lord, I don’t envy you.” As he breezed by, he clapped Matthew on the shoulder. “I wish you luck, Lord Colchester. You’ll need it.”
The end of the night was blurred by tears and the excruciating pain of humiliation. Eliza’s wonderful ball dissolved in what seemed like a matter of minutes, the attendees departing with their tongues wagging.
