The Notorious Mr. Hurst

by Louise Allen

  ‘That is hardly unique,’ Maude commented drily, glancing around the room. She could see any number of young matrons with a certain reputation. Once they had provided their spouses with the obligatory ‘heir and a spare’ they had no shame in engaging in heavy flirtation, or worse, with attractive gentlemen. Anything was possible, provided they were discreet.

  ‘But they do say that he never returns to the same one twice,’ Lady Wallace confided, startling Maude. She had assumed that Eden would indulge in an affaire with the same lady for some time. ‘He invariably loves them and leaves them after the one night, despite their pleas for him to return. And given that, by all accounts, his performance in bed is quite spectacular—oh my goodness, I quite forgot you are not married, my dear. You must forget I said anything about—’ She broke off, her pale blue eyes opened wide in alarm. ‘Mr Hurst!’

  ‘Lady Wallace.’ Maude turned to find he was standing just behind them, looking quite unmoved at being confronted by two ladies, one of whom was goggling at him as though he was a pantomime demon emerging from a trapdoor, the other, Maude was only too aware, who was blushing like a peony. ‘Lady Maude.’

  ‘Sir.’ It was as much as she could manage to articulate. Quite spectacular performance? In bed? She had desired him all year, she still tingled all over when she thought of his kiss, but somehow she had never let herself imagine in detail what it would be like to be taken to bed by Eden Hurst. She knew, in theory, what happened, but it had all seemed a rather hazy concept. Rather daunting, if truth be told, and something she put off quizzing Jessica about. Now, so close to the long frame she knew was hard, muscled…

  ‘Maude?’ Lady Wallace nudged her foot with one pointed shoe. She appeared to be more than a little flustered to find herself actually in conversation with such a notorious character. ‘I was just saying to Mr Hurst how much I enjoyed the new production of How to Tease and How to Please. You have seen it, have you not?’

  ‘Yes, of course. So amusing, and Mrs Furlow was in fine voice. Papa invited Mr Hurst to our box during the interval.’ Best to establish early on that they had met in innocuous circumstances.

  ‘Oh, so that is what you meant when you mentioned the theatre at our meeting the other day.’ Lady Wallace smiled nervously at Eden, who was looking politely mystified. ‘Excellent.’ She rallied and tapped him firmly on the arm with her fan. ‘You can do so much good, young man.’

  ‘I haven’t asked Mr Hurst yet, Lady Wallace,’ Maude said, smiling through gritted teeth.

  ‘I’ve let the cat out of the bag, haven’t I? I had better take myself off and let you work on him.’ She gave a little gasp at her own choice of words and scurried off in a flurry of feathers like an affronted hen.

  ‘So, Lady Maude, you have something to ask me, have you?’ He was smiling in that disconcerting way he had, which always gave her the sensation that there was a lot more than mere amusement going on inside his head. ‘Am I going to regret accepting Lady Standon’s invitation when I hear what I am to do for you?’

  ‘What I would chiefly like you to do for me, at this very minute, is to procure me something to drink,’ Maude declared, ‘and find me somewhere to sit down. This is the most incredible crush.’

  ‘The mark of success, surely?’ Eden steered her through the crowd to an empty alcove, reaching it just ahead of another couple. Maude recognised Lord Witchell and his latest flirt, Mrs Bailey. There was an interesting moment while the two men eyed one another, then Lord Witchell bowed sharply and walked off. It did not escape her that, far from seeming put out, Mrs Bailey directed a lingering look back over one white shoulder at Eden. A look that said, as clearly as words, that she knew him. Very well indeed.

  ‘I will not be a minute.’ Maude fanned herself and studied the room while she recovered her composure somewhat. She refused to contemplate whether Mrs Bailey knew Eden in the Biblical sense or not. It was more to the point to worry about whether he had heard what, or who, Lady Wallace had been talking about.

  ‘Lady Maude.’ He was back, a bottle of champagne in one hand, glasses in the other. ‘I thought it likely I would need fortifying.’ He seemed either unaware, or uncaring, that it was more than a little fast for an unmarried lady to be drinking champagne like this, especially with him. Maude could only be grateful for the wine—the combination of embarrassment, heat and the close proximity of Eden Hurst were a dizzying combination.

  ‘That is not very gallant, Mr Hurst,’ she said lightly. ‘It sounds as though you would be unwilling to help me.’

  ‘A few days’ acquaintance with you, Maude, has taught me caution,’ he observed, pouring the wine and handing her a glass. He lifted his in a salute. ‘Here’s to our partnership.’

  With any other gentleman Maude would be flirting lightly, and unexceptionably, by now. Fluttering her eyelashes at being toasted, teasing him charmingly as a reward for fetching her refreshment. But she could not, without jeopardising her business partnership with Eden, flirt with him. It was too soon.

  She contented herself with raising her own glass slightly and smiling at him before sipping. ‘Lady Wallace, Lady Standon and I are on the committee of a charity founded by Lady Dereham to find employment for soldiers disabled by the war.’

  She glanced at him, hoping for a nod of encouragement at least, but he was regarding her steadily, his eyes serious. Why she had the impression that he was thinking about something entirely other than the charity, she had no idea. ‘We have bought several inns that are run and staffed by our men, placed others in trades or service, but we are always looking for new opportunities. It occurred to me that you might have some vacancies at the Unicorn.’

  The dark brown eyes focused on her; he was back from wherever his mind had been wandering. ‘I don’t suppose you have an ingénue amongst them?’

  ‘No. Do not be frivolous, if you please, Mr Hurst; this is serious. Surely you can use carpenters and scene painters, doormen and so forth?’

  ‘I am rebuked, Maude. I presume I am still not forgiven for that particular decision?’

  ‘Not unless you have changed your mind.’ She should back down on the subject of Miss Golding, she knew. It was unbecoming to argue with a gentleman and, besides, there was nothing in their agreement to allow her rights of veto over Eden’s employment decisions. But the cold practicality of his action still chilled her.

  ‘No, I have not. But I expect I can employ one or two men, if they can pull their weight. I am not carrying passengers.’

  Maude nodded. ‘They will. Our concern is to restore their independence and self-respect by placing them where they can do a fair day’s work, not rely on charity. It is finding those positions that is the challenge.’

  ‘Good, I would support that. On one condition.’ He had captured her fan, a piece of spangled nonsense that looked ridiculous in his large hand, and was gently wafting it for her.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, wary of both his easy acceptance of her proposal and of what his condition might be. He was sitting back at his ease on the spindly gilt chair, legs crossed, expression relaxed. Why then did he give her the impression of being poised to spring?

  ‘That you call me Eden.’

  ‘I cannot!’ Maude glanced around, concerned he might have been overheard. The sight of one of the ladies on Bel’s committee ruthlessly cornering gentlemen and lecturing them until they opened their pocket books for the charity was so familiar that no one, so far, showed that they thought the tête à tête in any way out of the ordinary, even if they had realised with whom she was conversing, but for her to address a gentleman by his first name was simply not done.

  ‘Not where we may be overheard, of course. But when we are…negotiating?’ He furled her fan and handed it back while he refilled their glasses.

  ‘Negotiating?’ There was a caress in the way he said the word, as though they were coming to terms about something far more intimate. Maude swallowed wine without noticing, then started as Eden took the fan again, his fingertips brushi
ng the lemon kid glove that sheathed her hand so tightly.

  ‘But yes. We have, after all, a business relationship, do we not?’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled brightly, refusing to let him see how he was disturbing her. But of course, how could he guess how deep her feelings ran? ‘If we are negotiating, then I must state my terms. You may call me Maude and I will call you Eden, in private, if you both take some of the men and join our committee.’

  ‘Very well. You do not ask me to take Harriet Golding back?’

  ‘I assumed that to ask you to help her would be a lost cause.’ Vaguely she was aware that the noise level in the room had dropped—people must be moving off towards the buffet.

  ‘Not necessarily. I will not take her back, but I could probably get her employment at one of the other theatres.’ Eden’s attention was on the fan, holding it on his knee while he untangled the ornamental cord, which had twisted around his wrist. Maude found herself studying his face, the thick lashes hiding his eyes, the fine modelling of his cheekbones under the olive skin, the strong line of his jaw, the mobile mouth that looked as though it should betray so much and yet hid its secrets so well.

  ‘Then why don’t you?’

  He did not look up. ‘That would mean asking a favour, putting myself in someone’s debt. It would need to be worth my while.’

  ‘What would make it worth your while?’ she asked. And then he did look up, straight into her eyes and she could not look away, nor, strangely, did she blush. The look went too deep for that.

  ‘Do you know what decided me to play the English gentleman for your father the other night?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ The glass was in her hand and Maude drank as though thirsty, her eyes not leaving his. She had asked herself over and over again why he had accepted her money, accepted her interference in his theatre, troubled to soothe her father’s concerns. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Because when you want something, you say so. And if you do not get it, then you put forward reasons, you negotiate. You do not wheedle or whine or pout or flutter your eyelashes. You have no idea how refreshing that is.’

  ‘Oh,’ Maude said. ‘Thank you.’ I think. It appeared to be a compliment. He liked her intelligence enough to take her investment. So to continue to influence him, to insinuate herself deeper into his life, she had to ensure she did not deploy any of the feminine armoury of flirtation or persuasion. Not that I have ever whined in my life, she added to herself. ‘What would make it worth your while to help Miss Golding?’ she asked briskly.

  ‘Dine with me after the performance on Tuesday.’

  After a second Maude became aware that her mouth was open and shut it. Then she reached out, took the fan from him and began it ply it vigorously. How much champagne had she drunk? Two glasses? Or three? Because she was surely hearing things. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Dine with me.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘You have a prior engagement?’

  ‘No.’ Her appointments book was so full for the next month that she had deliberately kept this next Tuesday night free. Papa would be out so she would have the evening to herself to curl up with a frivolous novel.

  ‘You see, Maude? How refreshingly unusual for a young lady to admit she is not engaged every night of the week. Well?’

  ‘I promised Papa I would not go behind the scenes at the theatre in the evening and you are not, I hope, suggesting I dine at your house?’ She felt her voice rising slightly and swallowed. Was she wrong about him after all? Was he simply a heartless rake who would try and seduce her?

  ‘I am not suggesting that, no. I am intent upon getting to know you, Maude,’ Eden said, ‘not ravishing you.’ He grinned, the look of genuine amusement transforming his face, taking at least five years off her estimate of his age.

  ‘How old are you?’ she blurted out.

  ‘Twenty-seven,’ he admitted.

  ‘I thought you older,’ Maude said. ‘But that is irrelevant.’ Probably. ‘Where are you proposing we dine?’

  ‘Somewhere private that is not my house and will not cause you to break any promise to your father.’ He smiled, tempting her.

  ‘If I agree, it will be because I wish to know you better as a business partner and because I desire to help Miss Golding. You should not conclude anything else about my motives,’ she stated, trying to look businesslike and not as though Lady Wallace’s words were dazzling her brain like exploding sky rockets: spectacular in bed…

  ‘You think I might jump to conclusions?’

  ‘I have heard about your reputation, Eden.’ There, she had said his name aloud. ‘You are notorious for your liaisons with married women, so I hear.’ She could feel the heat in her face, just speaking of such things.

  ‘But you are not married, Maude. Say yes.’ There had been a shadow behind his eyes when she spoke of his affaires, a fleeting darkness, gone so rapidly she thought she had imagined it.

  Distracted, she spoke before she had time to consider properly. ‘Yes, Eden. I will dine with you on Tuesday.’ It must be the wine, otherwise why had she agreed? So fast, so much faster than I thought. All my plans scattering like dust. How did I ever think I could make him fall in love with me according to a design? How could I not realise that he would set the agenda for whatever he is involved in?

  ‘Thank you. And will you be my partner for supper now?’ He glanced across the room and Maude followed his gaze. The crush had diminished greatly and the sound of the string quartet was once again clearly audible. ‘If there is any left, that is.’

  ‘You have obviously never been to one of the Standons’ soirées before.’ Maude stood up, still holding her glass. Eden lifted his and the champagne bottle in one hand and offered her his arm. She took it, smiling up at him. ‘They are famous both for quality and quantity—you need not fear going hungry.’

  The queue into the refreshment room was not great and footmen were hurrying back and forth replenishing the long tables. Eden stretched up, looking over the sea of heads. ‘I can see a table for two over there in the far corner. If you trust me to choose for you, you could take it now.’

  ‘Anything except crab,’ Maude told him, gathering her skirts ready to slip through in the direction he was looking. ‘And lots of marchpane sweets, please. Give me the bottle and glasses.’

  A young lady should pretend to have the appetite of a bird, of course, she acknowledged ruefully as she found the table and set out the wine. And, given that she wanted Eden to fall in love with her, she supposed she ought to be employing all the ruses at her disposal to make him see her as attractive.

  ‘Why are you frowning?’ Eden enquired, placing a platter laden with what must be a selection of every savoury on the buffet in the middle of the table. He was followed by a footman with two plates, forks and a dish brimming with marchpane sweetmeats. ‘Enough?’

  ‘A feast! Thank you, but I couldn’t eat a tenth of it.’

  ‘I will help.’ He poured more wine. ‘Now, why the frown?’

  ‘I was thinking—’ Could she tell him? Oh, why not? He professed to like her lack of feminine tricks. ‘Any lady will tell you that it is most unbecoming to display any appetite at all. I should be nibbling on one patty, perhaps, and you could then, with much persuasion, tempt me to sample a sweetmeat.’

  ‘I see.’ Eden’s lips quirked into a smile. ‘And you have just given yourself away? I have often wondered—and seeing that we are being so frank, perhaps I may ask—are all young ladies, except yourself, possessed of incredible will-power or are your stays laced so tight there is no room to eat?’

  Chapter Nine

  Maude burst into laughter. Not a giggle, not a titter, but genuine, uninhibited laughter. Heads turned, one or two grey heads were shaken, but no one seemed too shocked. This was, after all, Lady Maude Templeton and much would be forgiven to the Earl of Pangbourne’s charming daughter. Even, apparently, taking supper with him.

  Eden watched her, his own amusement fading away to be
replaced by something quite unfamiliar: affection and a kind of warmth. Maude, he realised, made him feel good inside. He gave himself a little shake, wondering if he was sickening for something, as he had suspected the other day. But it was a very strange fever that seemed to come and go like this.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ She struggled with her reticule and produced a handkerchief, which she used to dab at her eyes. The tears of laughter made them sparkle as she looked at him. ‘Stays indeed! No, and it is not will-power either—we are expected to eat a large supper before we come out. Didn’t you realise?’

  ‘How should I?’ he countered. ‘I have no sisters.’

  ‘And little to do with unmarried girls in the Marriage Mart, I would assume.’ Maude studied the platter and pounced on a salmon tartlet.

  ‘Are we back to the married ladies again?’ he enquired, wary.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, making the loose curls that spilled from the combs set high on her crown tremble. ‘That’s just your guilty conscience.’

  ‘I doubt I have one,’ Eden admitted, biting into a savoury puff and wondering how far Maude’s hair would tumble down her straight white back and gracefully sloping shoulders if he pulled out those jewelled combs. Slowly, one by one.

  ‘Then how do you know what is right?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘I don’t know. Judgement, experience, assessment of the alternatives, I suppose.’ It was not something he ever thought about. ‘There is no good business sense in being capricious or dishonest. You keep your word because otherwise no one trusts you; you deal honestly, or they don’t come back a second time.’

  ‘But in your personal affairs?’ Maude pressed, choosing a cheese patty.

  Eden shrugged. ‘The same thing. One does not get involved with anyone who does not understand the rules, then no one gets hurt.’

  ‘Your rules,’ she said, raising one eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, my rules, in everything, business and pleasure.’ To have the power to make your own rules and live your life by them, not to be dependent on cold, grudging duty. Yes, that was freedom. ‘Except with you, Maude—you set your own rules.’ She looked at him, faintly troubled, it seemed, then the long lashes swept down to hide her wide brown eyes and she smiled.