The picture over the small bed he used to sleep in caught his attention. It had been a long time since he had seen this painting. His mother had painted it of his father and himself fishing with cane poles by the stream. Both had had their backs to his mother, so that was how she had painted it. He had forgotten that his father used to take him fishing. Once upon a time, they had been close, he and his father, going everywhere they could together—visiting tenants and friends in the surrounding areas, fishing, hunting.
His mother’s artistic talent was phenomenal. She had also painted the small scene above his sister’s bed that had his father, sister, and him in it. They were playing pall mall. The mallets were almost as tall as his sister. He recalled that day. Catherine had gotten frustrated with the balls not going where she wanted them. She dropped her mallet down and moved the balls through the hooped wicket with her hands, giggling with excitement as they rolled through.
When his father’s health began to falter, his sire withdrew into himself, and most of these earlier memories were hidden behind more recent ones of contention and a constant stream of criticism. He could not please his sire no matter how he tried. He and Amelia had married after her first season to please Father, but that had not produced the desired results. The relationship between father and son had suffered so much neglect that nothing seemed to help. Still, this picture reminded him there had been a different life with his parents—one of happiness and laughter—instead of the distance and frustration that had seized his memories.
Can I be that kind of father to Edward? He knew in that moment that he wanted to try. He owed it to his son and Amelia. Evan needed to be a father to his child.
“Looking at you with Edward reminds me of Mother,” he said softly as he walked up behind his sister.
“Evan, I did not hear you approach.” Catherine turned slowly and kissed the baby’s head before looking up at him. “He looks a lot like you. He is trying to walk already, you know.” She put her nephew down, and he tried to toddle to a nearby toy, quickly dropping to all fours and crawling to it.
As if trying to show his father what he had learned, his son sat up and turned around, standing and toddling a few steps in his direction. Evan swallowed, fighting a sudden roiling in his stomach.
“Where is Tom?” he asked, suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced around the room, looking for his brother-in-law.
“Tom is behind me.” She stepped aside and motioned toward the schoolroom side of the nursery where his brother-in-law leaned back in a rocker, reading a book from the small bookshelf of children’s books.
“Tom, it is very good to see you.” Evan walked toward his sister’s husband, his hand extended.
“It is good to see you looking well.” Tom shook his hand. “Although, we have been concerned.”
A moment of silence ensued. Evan bristled. His brother-in-law had never been a man to mince words. They had taken care of Edward almost since the day he was born and, like it or not, he needed to allow for their opinions.
“Would you like to hold your son?” His sister looked at him with that expression she and Mother had perfected when vexed. It was a look of condemnation. He was glad his mother had gone on tour and was not home to add to his vexation. “You have not come by to check on him in weeks—and only a handful of times since his birth. Word is you are drinking and . . .” Catherine’s ever-ready tears spilled from her eyes.
“You have been checking up on me?” He recoiled.
“I do not have to check up on you,” she retorted, drawing up at the accusation in his tone. “You have been the subject of gossip and speculation. You were in The Gazette this morning. When do you plan to begin your parental duties? It has been a year since Amelia died.”
“Easy, Catherine.” Tom rested his arms on his wife’s trembling shoulders.
Her blistering words threatened to turn Evan’s earlier resolution to dust.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Catherine gently handed Edward to him.
Evan stared. Fatherhood. Impulsively, he held his son close, feeling his heartbeat and that of his son. Warmth washed over him. A whimper drew his attention down to the cherubic face staring up at him. “I cannot take him yet, Catherine . . .”
“Evan!”
“Hear me out. Give me until the end of this week. Five days.” His own voice sounded foreign to him. “I promise. I will make things right for Edward.” He was not sure what this entailed, but surely he could hire someone to handle things.
“Understand that I am not saying I do not love this boy—I do.” She blinked back tears. “He is a wonderful baby.” She looked at Tom, who indicated agreement with her. “Fine. Take the next few days and get your head together, brother. It is time for you to become his father in more than just name.”
The nanny’s room door opened, and a graying woman stepped out.
“Mrs. Donner. Your timing is perfect.” Catherine turned to her brother. “Evan, Mrs. Donner is your son’s nurse and has been a wonderful help with Edward.”
This could be the answer to his prayers. He would hire a nanny—maybe this nanny—and take his time getting to know his son.
The older woman approached the small group. “My lords, if you would like, I can take the boy.” She gestured, holding out her hands.
Evan glanced from his sister and brother-in-law to the nanny. “I understand you enjoy your services to my son. Lord and Lady Rivers are very complimentary of you, and I find I am in need of a nanny. I would very much appreciate it if you would join my staff at the end of the week.” Was this him speaking? It was his voice. An hour before, he would not have guessed he would be taking on a small boy. His small boy.
“Thank you, my lord. The young lord is an agreeable child. He has a pleasing way about him that could pull a smile from the grumpiest of men. He is a happy child.” She smiled. “I am happy to oblige.”
My son is happy? He lost his mother, and his father has done nothing but ignore him. Yet he was happy. Evan noticed that just this short period with his son had lifted his mood. Perhaps having the boy there would be exactly the tonic he needed. Or it could cause him to need a tonic. He was not sure, but it appeared the decision was largely out of his hands.
“Mrs. Donner, I want to move Edward into his nursery, and your continued services will make things easier. My housekeeper, Mrs. Hutchins, plans to freshen the room. If you have a favorite color, please let her know, and we will endeavor to obtain it for you.” It was a small price to pay for someone he was entrusting his son to. He smiled at his sister, who swiped at her eyes behind Mrs. Donner. Jesus, she cries when she is mad, and she cries when she is happy.
“Oh, Lord Clarendon, that is a wonderful offer. I should think a pale blue with hints of yellow would provide a bright and cheery background for the nursery. And if it pleases you, my lord, I am particularly partial to lavender. That would be such a nice color for my own room.”
He had committed, and there was no turning back. How on earth did I get to this moment when all I wanted to do was sleep this morning? Shaking off the self-serving thoughts, he smiled. “I believe those small requests can be arranged.” He handed his son to the nurse. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Donner.”
“You are welcome, my lord,” she said, taking the child. She looked back at his sister and bobbed her head. “I will wait in the hall, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Donner,” Tom spoke up. “Catherine, we should let your brother get to his other guest.”
Evan touched his sister’s arm. She could make him angry, but he adored his sister. She turned, and he pulled her close. “I am truly sorry that I have put you and Tom in this position. I realize that Edward is my responsibility and I need to start being accountable for him. You have been—no, you are a wonderful sister. Thank you.” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “If you can excuse me, I have kept someone waiting in my study.”
Catherine exhaled loudly and dipped her head. “We will be back later this week, Evan.
”
He watched his sister and brother-in-law leave once more with his son. This time, however, he felt a curious glimmer of hope.
Chapter Two
Evan stood on the second-floor veranda and watched his brother-in-law’s black coach with a gold-encircled R emblem depart. Finally, he turned and headed toward his study. He could not seem to rid himself of the strange knot that had formed in his stomach and simply attributed it to tension. His body still suffered from lack of sleep, but his curiosity had awakened. Good grief! He wanted to sleep. However, a young woman had demanded to see him and had waited in his study nearly an hour. Bernard had told him she refused to leave before seeing him but showed herself very appreciative of the tea and biscuits.
He paused outside his study door before entering, fortifying himself and gathering his wits. He needed a moment after the emotional tussle he had just had with Catherine and Tom. What is this about?
Determined to address the woman’s issue and send her packing, Evan opened the door and stopped. A red-headed woman wearing a black dress and a burgundy velour pelisse turned away from his picture window and stared at him through the greenest eyes he had ever seen. Her loose hair cascaded down her back in long spirals.
“My lord.” Her words were curt as she bobbed her head, wearing a look of disgust.
“You have me at a clear disadvantage, my lady,” he ventured, giving her an opportunity to provide her name and state her business.
“I apologize for this interruption to your day.” She narrowed her emerald green eyes. “However, your carriage nearly ran down my brother Jason on St. James’s Street yesterday, before eventually stopping at your club so you could obtain nourishment,” she said, her tone dripping with anger and sarcasm. “He is but ten and pulled from my hand for a moment, thinking to run across to the flower vendor.”
He blinked. The wisp of a woman standing in front of him had verbally attacked him as if he was an underling of hers. She clenched her small hands into fists at her sides, and her green eyes shot daggers at him.
“What did you say your name was and”—he glanced warily around the room—“did you bring a chaperone?” Honestly, he needed a drink. “It is not my custom to entertain ladies alone in my study.”
She stammered. “I . . . I did not bring my chaperone with me this morning,” she said haltingly, as if just realizing it herself. “I am Lady Charlotte Grisham. My younger brother is the Earl of Romney, and you nearly killed him. He is a child, and your carriage did not even stop!”
Evan struggled to process what she was saying. Something with the names seemed off. “Surely you have confused . . .” Her back stiffened, causing him pause. He took a deep breath. “I apologize for my poor choice of words. May we begin again?”
She nodded.
“Lady Charlotte, I do not recall seeing you or your family carriage. I am familiar with the crest.” Realization hit him. “My God! I do know of your family. My sincerest condolences on the loss of your father.” His mother had made known to him her friendship with Lady Romney and had paid her a visit shortly before she left the country. “I know your older brother, Matthew—Lord Longueville. I will speak with him and offer . . .” The pained look on her face made him stop. “My lady? Did you say your younger brother was the Earl of Romney?” Matt had shared some of the details of his difficult relationship with his father. When they had finished school, he had enlisted in the military and left for what seemed like a friendly enough post in America. Was it the army or the navy? He could not recall. They had all been good friends in school, but no one had heard from Matt in several years. “Has something happened to Lord Matthew?” His voice rasped as he intoned his friend’s name.
She gripped the back of the chair that stood in front of his desk and looked at him with shimmering eyes. “My brother has not been heard from in over a year. He was lost in the Battle of New Orleans.” Her voice trembled. “With the death of Papa, my younger brother has been declared the heir.”
“I am sorry. I do not recall your brother or anyone darting in front of my carriage, but I intend to speak with my driver right away about the incident,” he said with concern. “However, that does not mean I do not believe it happened.” In softer tones, he continued. “Your younger brother, Jason—how is he? I mean, is he all right?” He had awoken to a day full of nightmares. Perhaps it was some weird day of reckoning. Three hours before, he had been lost to sleep and dreams. Just three hours.
“Surely you are not saying that you had no idea you were traveling at a higher rate of speed than was safe. Considering where you were heading, perhaps you were already foxed!” She regarded him with a look of total disgust.
“You forget yourself, my lady. I admit to no such thing, and you go too far to cast aspersions on my behavior. I said I would speak to my driver. I did not see your brother myself.” Evan’s jaw tightened. Truth be told, he had been more than slightly inebriated, but the woman went too far. Even so, a wave of guilt beset him.
“I do not understand how you missed him. Your driver never even slowed. If Matthew were here . . .” She paused. “A respectable person would not have driven at that speed on that road.”
“You overstep again, my lady,” Evan’s temper flared. “You continue to rebuke me for something I did not do. I informed you I will speak to my driver.”
“I do nothing of the sort, my lord. I am simply repeating for understanding. My brother was almost cut down by your carriage. Had I not seen the carriage’s path soon enough and grabbed him, he could have been killed. As it was, your carriage barely missed the two of us.” Her voice oozed disdain. “You, my lord, kept going and stopped down the road at a house known for its lascivious conduct. I thought to make you aware of the seriousness of your behavior. We both fell trying to get out of the way. A gentleman stopped for us and recognized your carriage. He helped us into our conveyance after ascertaining we had only a few scratches. Perhaps it was borne of foolishness, however we thought something was wrong, so my driver pursued you in our carriage until you arrived at your destination.” She spat the last word at him, her distaste evident. “I decided to confront you here, rather than there.”
Her words pierced him and fed his anger. What? Who stopped? They had followed him? He wanted to ask more but bit his tongue. Evan’s driver had almost cut down a peer and a lady—with him in the carriage. A display of temper would most likely cause even more trouble. “May I ask where exactly this happened?”
“As a matter of fact, it was just a few streets from here, near Grosvenor Square,” she replied.
That was the route he usually followed to the Lyon’s Den. Had his driver nearly run the boy over without his realizing it? Impossible, surely. He could not even recall the ride to the club. Not recalling anything was as upsetting to him as what he had been accused of doing, making it impossible for him to deny. What had he become in his grief?
“Your brother, he is unhurt? And you . . . ?” He clenched and unclenched his fists, remorseful and unnerved by his own behavior. “I am sorry for my lapse. You must let me make this up to you.”
Evan’s concentration wavered as he tried to think about the incident, taking in the beauty berating him at the same time. He quietly eyed the tantalizing woman in front of him, silhouetted by the sun beaming though the window behind her. The sight of her chipped away at his preference for more generously curved women. He suddenly wondered how she might feel next to him, and this generated an immediate response from his own body. Guilt assailed him.
“Making it up would start with an apology, my lord,” she replied in a milder tone.
“I have apologized,” he rejoined tersely, suddenly frustrated at both his traitorous body and her question. He walked behind his desk and pulled a cord. “Let me prove my sincerity. I would like to meet Jason to see that he is unharmed.” When Bernard arrived, he addressed him, “Have my carriage prepared at once. And ask for one of the reserve drivers.”
“Yes, my lord. Right away.” The tall,
graying retainer nodded and backed from the room. The door clicked closed behind him.
“You want to come to my home?”
“That would be the general idea. Is there an objection? You have accused me of an unholy mistake on my part. I would like to ensure that no harm has come to your brother. I see it as a duty to Matthew as much as you.”
“You presume too—” She stopped herself. “How do you know my brother Matthew? You act like there was a friendship . . .”
“Yes.” He cut her off. “I do know your brother, or rather . . .” He paused. “Let us keep it at I know your brother. He could still be alive. Let us hope for that. Matt was a friend of mine at Eton—part of a group of friends, a foursome, that made school bearable.” Evan could not resist the smile that swept over his face at the memory.
She tilted her head up and smiled, disarming him.
She is beautiful. How had he forgotten Matthew had a sister? He used to speak of her frequently.
“Yes, my brother would write me and tell me of some of the antics he and a group of boys played together. I believe he was fifteen at the time, maybe older. I am not sure if he mentioned you, but now I find myself curious enough that I must revisit his letters.”
Her words tugged at his heart. “I am truly sorry for your family’s losses and my driver’s contribution to your angst. Has anyone gone to America to look for him?”
“My father talked about it, but I have heard nothing further. And now with father gone . . . My mother and I have met with his solicitor, and according to him, Father left no word as to whom he had engaged.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye, and she quickly wiped it away. “Father . . . my mother and I, we must be mindful of our expenses. However, if there was any way possible that I could find my brother, I would.”
“Tsk. If you will allow me to look into this for you and your mother, I would consider it a small way—a very small way—to make up for yesterday. Of course, had you or your brother been injured, nothing I could do would make up for such an accident.” Truly, he still could not recall a thing about it. He would question his driver. He judged her to be telling the truth, and no matter what, he owed this. He had a hard time imagining his driver almost hitting a boy, but not remembering the episode was entirely plausible based on his conduct of late. He squinted. “My lady, if you will pardon my manners, I would consider it a favor if you could allow me to engage an investigator. I know just the man, and he has done this for at least one other family who had a son go missing. He is familiar with the hostilities in America and has availed himself of the . . . er . . . customs. I trust his work. I do warn that it could take some time to accomplish this.” Sinclair was actually his friend Banbury’s acquaintance, but she need not know that.
Lyon's Prey: The Lyon's Den Page 2
