“Do not tell me she’s unsuitable. She has more bravery than I do.” Hart poured himself a dram of whiskey and swallowed it in one gulp.
“I agree she’s shown herself to be strong through all her losses, and she’s a lovely girl, but that is no reason to offer marriage. You barely know her. You’re a peer now. You have your family name to consider.”
“Damn the name! Damn my family. They are not fit to wipe her boots. I want to spend the rest of my life making up for the hell she’s been put through.”
Juliet’s blue eyes narrowed. “Have you compromised her?”
“I wish I had,” Hart said bleakly. “I’d never have let her go.”
“You cannot be thinking clearly.”
“I’m as clear as I’ll ever be. I must get married anyhow. Why not Eden?”
“Why Eden, Hart? You cannot claim to love her.”
No, he could not. Whatever he felt, it was not what he thought love was meant to be. His aunt was right—he barely knew her, knew only what his uncle had done to her. He would lose whatever standing in society he had should the truth come out. All the years of resurrecting the Hartford name from the abyss—for what purpose? So he could follow his uncle’s footsteps in the most literal of ways?
Maybe it was just as well Eden had disappeared. His need to play savior might dissipate given time. But he didn’t think he’d ever forget the taste and the feel of her. And he didn’t want to.
Hart had not slept but for a few hours last night, and those hours had not been restful. Page after page of the book had invaded his dreams until he scarcely knew what was real and what was imagined. He wished he’d never seen his uncle’s artwork, yet it compelled him in the most shameful way. No, he didn’t want Eden to submit to him in his uncle’s fashion, but he could not deny that he wanted her in any way he could have her.
Some could receive no pleasure unless they were humiliated. Was Eden such a woman? Did she need beatings and restraints to come? He thought not. She had melted in his arms that day in the rain, covering his hand with her artless response, as though she had been starving for his touch.
As he was now starving for hers. What had happened to him? He was most unlike himself. Where was the rational, responsible officer? The man who delayed gratification, bore hardship far worse than the absence of a woman he desired? He thought of the anxious machinations of her hands, her inability to look him in the eye, her stumbling over words. He should not want anyone so jittery. She was like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, waiting for the inevitable hurt. He understood now why she had been so ill at ease, and wondered how or if she could ever change.
There were still a few things he could do to help her, even if she had vanished. An early morning visit to Lytton’s had resulted in failure. No one there had ever heard of Miss Eden Emery, nor had there been any young lady matching Hart’s description who had asked about employment yesterday.
Hart had returned to his aunt’s guest room. He went to his saddlebag and pulled out the dark red book. He would not open it again. He sent McBride for paper and twine. When his valet returned, Hart sent him home. They would not be spending another sleepless night under his aunt’s roof. Hart wrapped the book, tying it a bit haphazardly since his hands were shaking. No doubt McBride could have done a better job, but this was something he had to do himself. With the package tucked under his arm, he then journeyed across town to the handsome offices of the Gryphon Press.
After a short wait, he was ushered into Mr. Griffin’s chamber, a dark-paneled room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one wall displaying the company’s publications. Framed sepia illustrations from said books were hung at regular intervals, but there was no trace of anything remotely resembling Hart’s uncle’s artwork. Behind the far wall the actual business of printing could be heard and felt, a muted clacking and thrum of the presses. A coal stove set into a marble fireplace threw heat into the space, enough so Hart felt a sweat break out upon his brow. A gentleman of indeterminate years but evident prosperity rose from his desk to greet Hart, his fingertips stained a permanent gray.
Despite the fact he was the publisher, there were still some printing jobs Arthur Griffin had to do himself. He was very much afraid he knew what was under Lord Hartford’s well-muscled arm. He extended a hand, but the young lord made no attempt to take it.
“Please be seated, then, Baron Hartford. I believe I know your intentions.”
“I doubt it, or you’d not be sitting behind your desk but running for your life.”
“Come now. You are not the first man to threaten me, nor will you be the last,” Griffin said mildly. He’d not been successful in business as long as he had without being an astute judge of character. He was in no physical danger from Stuart Hartford, but he did expect a blistering set-down. And who could blame the chap? Having such a relative must have been a trial. Griffin attempted to soothe him.
“If you wonder if I’ll be discreet, you can be assured I have been. I’ve been doing limited editions for the peerage for years and have not earned my reputation unjustly. No one shall learn of your uncle’s peculiarities from me. The man is dead, and his secrets buried in the grave with him.” He paused, examining his stained hands.
“I was not anxious to take on his commission, you know. Usually my most arduous task is to print a few vanity tracts of rubbishy poetry for some young blade to impress silly girls. Iambic pentameter and idiocy. Now and again, I’ve published an old man’s diary that probably is more fictional than factual. Reproducing your uncle’s artwork was most difficult, a task I handled personally. As per his request, the plates were destroyed and his drawings returned to him. And I was relieved to do so. A very unpleasant subject matter. Unpleasant for the young lady in particular, I should imagine.”
Hart laid the book on the desk. “Then this is the only copy?”
“Indeed it is. And the bill for its production is still outstanding. I expect payment in full will follow this discussion. If you wish to receive a receipt, I’m sure my clerk can furnish one for you.”
Hart gritted his teeth. “I’ll see to it immediately. If I find you have lied to me—”
“I am a gentleman of my word,” Griffin replied with some annoyance. “Really, young man, everyone’s family has a few loose screws. Look at our poor king, may God and His Majesty forgive me. How a man chooses to amuse himself is his own business. Surely you knew of your uncle’s reputation. The contents of this book should not have come as a complete surprise.”
“My uncle and I were not close. Until recently, I was serving in the army.” Wondering if he should risk it, Hart had to ask. “Did my uncle confide in you as to the identity of the young woman?”
“That he did not. I assume she was a servant. No decent woman would consent to such things. It may surprise you, my lord, but I merely set the type. I did not pay close enough attention to read every word. I did not want to read every word.”
Hart allowed himself a brief hope. “Then no one else has seen this.”
“Have I not just told you so? My pressmen and their apprentices are God-fearing souls. I should not wish to disturb their sensibilities.” Griffin looked at his hands again, then placed one upon the wrapped parcel. “I have three sons at Oxford, my lord. A set of twins and their brother. They are very expensive. Their sisters even more so. Your uncle made it difficult to turn down this job. I did it with the utmost reluctance, but I did it. And I have no wish to see the results ever again.” He pushed the book back toward Hart.
“Then we are in accord. Would you mind very much if I burned this in your office?”
Griffin’s mouth twitched. “Not quite the fires of hell, but it will do. Be my guest.”
Hart crossed the room and knelt before the stove.
“Would you care for a brandy while you wait? I’m sure you will feel more comfortable when you know it’s nothing but ash. That may take some time.”
“No, but thank you.”
Hart wonder
ed where Eden was, wondered if he’d ever see her again to tell her she had nothing to fear. The future was a mystery, but the past was now in flames.
He was taking tea with his aunt when he really wanted to drown himself in the deepest bottle. She was fretting over yesterday, going over and over her interviews with Mattie and the footmen, and he almost missed the remark about the wayward maid.
“What did you say?” Hart asked, sitting straight up in his chair.
“Do listen. I know you think I am a chatterbox, but it gets tedious when one has to repeat oneself constantly. Eden wrote a letter to a runaway maid, a girl she believed to be residing at”—Juliet dropped her voice—“Mrs. Brown’s. Robert took it. There was a reply, he said, but it wasn’t with any of the things she left behind.”
Hart was aghast. “You directed her to Mrs. Brown’s?”
“Don’t be absurd. I expressly forbid her to go. Eden was naturally anxious for the girl’s welfare, that’s all. She would not be such a fool as to go there herself. I told her she would be much too late to save the poor thing’s virtue in any case. And even if she had tried to seek out the girl, Eden would certainly have come back home by now. It’s not as though Iris Brown would think to make a protégée of her. Oh, Hart. What if she left to take some air and was kidnapped? I have not been able to sleep a wink.”
Hart put the china cup down. “I have to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Mrs. Brown’s.”
“Why? Eden can’t possibly be there.”
Hart wanted to hit something. If he had felt guilty before, it came down upon him now like a lightning bolt. He had sent Eden to Mrs. Brown every bit as much as if he’d escorted her there himself.
“I’ll speak to the maid, Juliet. See if she knows anything.”
“Oh.” Juliet’s face brightened. “Perhaps that is a good idea. Do let me know, won’t you?”
By the time Hart reached the house off Arlington Street, he was disheveled and out of breath. The butler gave him a frosty glare but asked him if he had any particular goddess he wished to see. When Hart told him he wished an audience with Mrs. Brown herself, the butler left him cooling his heels on the parquet floor.
Eventually Hart was allowed to sit in a tiny green-papered room off the foyer. He imagined the butler took his break here between openings of the door. Mrs. Brown soon joined him, wearing a champagne lace dress and good-quality pearls. She curtseyed.
“Lord Hartford. I’m afraid you’ve come at a most awkward time. I can give you but five minutes.” She had come from Flora and the young housemaids, arranging a schedule for their tutoring sessions. Josie had prevailed upon Flora’s good nature, and Mrs. Brown’s latest novice seemed most eager to instruct them. Flora’s background as a gently reared young woman could not be overlooked and would work to the benefit of all. Five minutes was quite enough time to discern this man’s intentions toward her newest goddess. Perhaps Flora had somehow even contacted him herself. Iris was not prepared to be cut out of any transaction between them.
“I am looking for a girl,” he began.
She smiled at him coquettishly. “Then you certainly have come to the right place.”
Hart was frowning, not one bit charmed. Iris thought another tack might be necessary. “No, you misunderstand. You may have someone in your employ that worked at Hartford Hall. I need to speak to her.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Certainly what Flora had done there was not “work.”
“She may have received a letter from my—my ward. Well, she’s not precisely my ward, but a relation by marriage. She is of age, but I feel responsible for her, never more so than now.” He met Iris’s eyes.
His discomfort was acute. She kept her face passive.
“She’s missing.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Your ward is missing?”
“Yes. This whore may know where she is.”
“I’m certain none of my goddesses ever were employed at your country estate, my lord. I should know if that were the case. I perform a very thorough interview before each girl is contracted here. You must be mistaken.” She looked at her timepiece. “If that is all?”
“Please. Please ask them who received a letter. I need to find Miss Emery.”
“It must be somewhat vexing to misplace a person, particularly one to whom you owe responsibility. What is this Miss Emery like?”
“She is above average in height. Too thin. Dark hair. Gray eyes.”
Simple words, delivered with restraint, yet his passion was plain.
“I shall make inquiries, my lord. If I learn of anything, I will let you know.” She rose.
Hart rose with her. He was dismissed. The woman had showed no recognition of Eden’s name or description. There was nothing left to do but find Des at his club and get foxed to the gills.
Iris Brown stood outside Flora’s door, listening to the girl’s musical voice. She had very nearly convinced herself what to do, but wished to make absolutely sure. How fortuitous, then, to overhear Flora speak to the children about the man she desired but couldn’t have.
“But, why, Miss Flora?” Francie asked. “You said he kissed you. Most gentlemen don’t even bother with that. They just get down to business and poke it in.”
Eden swallowed a laugh. “You little girls know much too much. Yes, he kissed me, but he didn’t really want to.”
“Pooh,” Josie said. “How could he not? You’re pretty and smart.”
“Not smart enough,” Eden said shortly. “He didn’t like me. And now I’m here. Which is wonderful, yes? Because I can teach you and the other girls.”
Oh, he likes you, all right, thought Mrs. Brown. She went to her parlor and penned the letter.
Chapter 11
When he finally lurched his way downstairs, the heavy vellum paper with the purple seal waited for him on a wooden tray in the hallway. He must have missed it last night in his stupor.
Purple! No one but a woman would use such a device, and no woman of his limited acquaintance would be sending him letters. For a split second he wondered if he held a missive from Eden, but she was not apt to use such a frivolous color.
He squinted at the seal. A tiny pantheon. Mrs. Brown! Perhaps her questions to her staff had provided answers. But maybe this was only an invitation to one of her special soirees. Hart laughed out loud. Obviously he was demented from worry and lack of sleep. And a hangover of classic proportions. He had only but to open the damn letter and all his questions would be answered.
When he did, all traces of laughter vanished. If he was too late, he’d kill Iris Brown with his bare hands.
Mrs. Brown entered in a swirl of silver skirts. “My Lord Hartford, how delightful it is to see you again, even at this very early hour. I trust we may accommodate you. How may I help you?”
She could see by the tension in his face he really was in immediate need of some sort of relief. She no longer saw to gentlemen herself, of course, except on the rarest of occasions. There was a rather elderly viscount who remembered her from her brief career on the stage, upon whom she bestowed some affection twice monthly for sentimental reasons. But, she thought, if she had to, she might be persuaded to break her usual rule.
However, she had a fair idea of why Stuart Hartford was in her private parlor, and it had nothing to do with the traditional pleasure he had previously sought at her establishment. For it was she who had sent for him, after a tiny bit of deliberation—although she had expected him last night, not to wake her from a very sound and well-deserved sleep at eight o’clock in the morning. She had kept him waiting a mere half hour. Her time treading the boards had made her quite the quick-change artist, but she wished to have full maquillage and every pewter curl in place before she faced his inevitable wrath.
“You said Eden was here,” he ground out. “Apparently that fact escaped you yesterday afternoon.”
“Lord Hartford, you were rather mysterious yesterday. I was unce
rtain whether divulging the young lady’s whereabouts was prudent. Upon consideration, I changed my mind. Indeed, your Miss Emery is here. Although she’s now known as Flora.” She watched the utter despair wash over his face. Yes, she had done the right thing. She added gently, “She will make her debut in a few days.”
“She will not!”
“Miss Emery has entered into a contract with me,” she said smoothly. “Of her own free will, I do assure you. She has given me her services for a year. If you wish to see the document . . .” She made as if to go to her desk.
“I have no wish to see any damned document. You must release her from it. I’ll pay you.”
“Please sit down, Lord Hartford,” she said, making herself comfortable upon the settee. “You quite terrify me, looming and glowering.”
Tempting Eden Page 17
