“Eden,” he said, attempting to keep his voice level, “you must see this is not an appropriate place for your charity. Hartford Hall is my family home. I’m going to make arrangements to transport the girls back to London.”
“You cannot!”
“Mrs. Brown wants them back. Except for—” For the life of him, he could not think of the name.
“Jane,” Eden said. She jumped up and flitted about the room for a few moments like a black butterfly. It was easier for him to drink his brandy than to watch her agitation. She finally came to rest against a French door, her hand flat against the pane as she stared at the rugged landscape. The only sound in the room was the pop of dry wood in the fireplace.
“Do you feel there is no hope for redemption, my lord?”
Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. He was well aware how Eden had struggled with her past transgressions, how strictly she held herself accountable for much of them. They had spent hours in each other’s arms as he had tried to assure the clergyman’s daughter that she should not abandon hope of heaven. God could not be so cruel when she had already suffered so much. “Of course. I believe as you do.”
“I very much doubt it. The one thing I have learned since I returned here is that I cannot escape my past, but I do not have to be forever scarred by it.” He remembered her body’s hellishly unique adornment. Ivor had left scars outside and in.
“What happened to me was mostly my fault. I accept the responsibility. But what has happened to my girls was never their fault, not for a moment. Their parents sold them for coin. Helen’s own father raped her, then abandoned her when she became pregnant. It was a mercy she lost the baby. These girls might be dead had they not come to Mrs. Brown’s attention. I told you she employs children like them as maids, and eventually they are old enough to take their place in the Pantheon. If they are willing, and most of them are. It’s quite a step up from what they’re used to.” She paused for breath. “You talked of offering me a chance once. If you do not permit me to keep the girls here and school them, I will go back with them to Mrs. Brown’s.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“You do not own me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We still have a contract. You agreed to be my mistress until November.”
“I agreed to nothing! Take your complaint up with Iris Brown.”
“She is inconveniently far away. I’ve missed you, Eden.”
He shocked himself. This was not what he’d planned to say at all. He was here to remove those wretched children from his house and set some guidelines for his mistress. Instead he wanted to tear down her bodice and lick the white globes of her breasts until they flushed pink and she begged him for more.
He had shocked her. “You’ve come all this way to bed me?”
Yes, he had. And he could barely wait. “I’ve come to check on the estate as well.”
“I assure you, things are running smoothly. Mr. Pinckney must have written. I’ve ridden out myself to visit the tenants.”
“Very lady-of-the-manor of you, Eden.”
“I know I have no right.”
“You could have had,” he said softly. He drained his glass.
“Oh, not all this nonsense again! I’ll sleep with you if I must, but I will not marry you. I see a few months of solitude have not improved your wits.”
“How do you know I’ve been alone? Perhaps my aunt Juliet has found me a bride,” he shot back.
He was gratified to see Eden blanch beneath her rouge. “Are congratulations in order, my lord?”
“Not quite yet.”
God, he’d been an ass. He was the son of a libertine who’d hung on to his pretensions far longer than was practical. He knew he would never be satisfied by anyone but Eden. She was his light and his dark. With her, he was finally himself, all his imperfections soothed between her thighs. She would never deny any of his urges, whatever they might be, just as he’d been unable to discourage hers. She thought him above her, but she was so wrong. How to convince her?
Despite everything she’d endured, she had an innocent heart.
Like the little girls who were working their innocent hearts out for her.
Once more he had made a mistake. It was getting to be something of a habit.
“Eden,” he said, his voice sounding foreign even to himself, “can we begin again?”
Eden looked across the room at him. She could smell leather and horse from where she stood. His boots and clothing were mud-splattered, and he hadn’t shaved in days. He appeared as though he’d slept in a ditch or not at all. He was beautiful.
“I don’t know,” she said, and walked out of the library.
Chapter 18
Hart sat alone in the dining room, the sconces lit, the silver shining, dish after dish arriving to tempt the fussiest palate. He might as well have been served dog and rat. He politely ate what was put in front of him, staring down the long table at the place where Eden should be. Was not.
As Collins served him personally, he had informed Hart she was taking a tray in the nursery with her wards. This was their evening off from household duties. His unexpected arrival had changed nothing except for unprecedented haste to get his dinner preparations done in time.
“Miss Eden is one to stick to a schedule, sir,” Collins said, looking slightly embarrassed. “The orphans rise and breakfast early, do some chores, then break for some hours in the schoolroom with a luncheon. Afterward they return to their assigned tasks. Hard workers, Lord Hartford, all of them.”
“Yes, the hall has never looked better,” Hart said vaguely. He hoped Collins wouldn’t hear it as an insult.
A bath and a nap had not been able to reverse the effects of the brandy and the encounter with Eden. It seemed he was saddled with Eden’s charity project and her disappointment. But “I don’t know” was far better than “No.” He had some groveling to do but didn’t know where to start. He was Holy Hartford no longer, certainly not in his own eyes. Even that damned cat had spat at him and clawed at his leg.
He pushed himself away from the table. The decanter of port, like the wine before it, sat untouched. The last thing he needed was a repeat of his state these past months—bedeviled with brandy and uncertain temper. Even at war, he’d been a paragon of control. One dark-eyed woman had undone years of self-discipline and order.
Hart opened the French doors to the lawn beyond and stepped outside, relishing the nip of fresh, cool air. There was no moon to show his way, just a scattering of silent stars. His eyes looked up to the second floor for the nursery windows. The curtains were drawn, but were edged by a sliver of light. He would not be welcome there.
Hart walked farther into the night, his vision honed by necessity and experience. The clipped boxwood walls of the modest formal garden loomed before him. Somewhere within was a stone bench where he could sit and feel sorry for himself. He’d had plenty of experience lately with that, too.
It was time to examine the muddle of his life. Well before he reached his majority he had been driven to scrub at the stain of his family’s reputation. He’d been, he realized, something of a prig, looking down his handsome nose at fellow officers who fell short of moral perfection. It was a wonder Des was still his friend. Although now, of course, Des himself had lost his wayward ways, thanks to Juliet. The man was becoming a dead bore.
Hart had served his king and his God well. Then Eden had dropped to her knees in front of him. How he wanted her there again.
He didn’t want an ordinary woman. He wanted Eden—Eden as she was before, when their nights were filled with exploration and discovery. When she lay in his arms and talked of her life in the vicarage, a little general bringing order to her hapless mother’s household. When she worried over the disappearance of the wretched cat he’d given her, and her joy when the beast returned, somewhat battered but apparently victorious. He had watched her grow in confidence, blossoming like a stubborn rose in winter.
A flicker of li
ght through the hedges caught his eye, and he straightened on the bench. Someone was coming. He hoped he was not to be surrounded by Eden’s little army, pinned like a butterfly to blotting paper. He started to rise, but stopped when he saw Eden herself, the lantern she carried illuminating the pale muslin beneath her shawl.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, his voice sounding hollow in the shadows.
“Oh!” Her lantern swayed. “What are you doing out here?”
“Same as you, I imagine. Thinking.” Regretting.
“I shall leave you to it then.” She turned, causing the golden glow to vanish behind her.
“No. Wait. Please stay.” He rose from the bench. “Come sit with me for a moment.”
Hart had spoken those same words to her the day they’d met. He could sense her hesitation in the dark, then saw it as the light cast its shadows on her face.
“Please. Do you remember when we met out here that first day, all those months ago?”
She nodded, placing the lantern in the center of the bench, the better to keep him at a distance lest he singe himself, and sat. She was as still and stiff as the marble beneath her.
Hart took his place, stretching his long legs in the damp grass. “Are you cold, Eden? You may have use of my coat.”
He watched her wrap herself more firmly in her shawl.
“I am warm enough.”
He doubted it. The shawl was too flimsy for the chill of the spring evening. What could she be thinking of, wandering around like this in the dark? He shrugged himself out of his coat.
“Take it. I insist.”
“Is that an order, my lord?”
Hart thought he’d heard the humor in her voice, but it was impossible to see if she was smiling.
“Yes. You know what an overbearing ass I am. I’ve proven that to you time and time again.”
Now he did hear a slight burble of laughter, a most welcome sound. He felt his wire springs within unwind just a bit. “I missed you at dinner,” he ventured.
“I keep the girls to a strict routine. They depend upon it. And me.”
“I have no wish to interfere. Hartford Hall seems to be thriving under your management.” It was true. The whole house seemed brighter somehow. Even old Collins stepped more lively.
“Mr. Pinckney has been very helpful.”
“I doubt Mr. Pinckney picked out the new wallpaper.” Wallpaper that, according to Iris Brown, matched Hart’s eyes.
“You once said you hated the pink. He assured me that the expenses incurred were reasonable. I have not exceeded your allowance.”
“I am not criticizing, Eden. I am complimenting. The house looks wonderful. The acreage as well. Even at night I can tell you’ve done something different to this garden.”
“Yes. The girls and I have been busy.”
Hart wanted to take her in his arms and carry her across the lawn and up to bed. He cleared his mind and then cleared his throat. “I hope you are not tiring yourself out.”
“Not at all. I seem to be full of energy. How long do you plan to visit, my lord?”
He clapped a hand over his heart. “Ouch. I am wounded. No longer Hart, no longer anything but a visitor in my own home.”
“I did not mean—”
“Let us be honest, Eden. Of course you want me gone. I cannot blame you. Since the first day I met you I’ve done nothing but misconstrue your every action.”
He heard her silence, could almost touch it, as tangible as the lantern between them. He let it hang about him, blocking his hope until he could bear it no more.
“If you will permit me, I should like to stay.”
“Permit you! Surely I have no say in the matter. As you have pointed out, this is your ancestral home. I am sure we can reach some accommodation.”
Hart envisioned her hiding out in the nursery with her charges, sliding just out of range around corners, locking herself in her room at night. She would make it impossible for him to woo her, for woo her again he must. This time he wouldn’t be gentling her body but her mind.
He shifted on the bench, saw her worrying her long white fingers in the lamplight.
“Your terms, Eden. I have no wish to interfere in your running of the household.”
“The girls can stay?”
Impossible to miss the surprise in her voice. “You were quite impassioned and eloquent in their behalf, Eden. Worthy of a speech in the House of Lords,” he said teasingly. “I am sure they will be of comfort to you for the time being.”
“And after?” she asked sharply.
His first step. She had to believe him. “Hartford Hall is their home for as long as you wish it.”
She rose from the damp chill of the bench. “I think we have agreed enough for one night. I am going back to the house.”
“May I accompany you?”
Eden picked up the lantern. “I’d rather you didn’t. Can you find your way back in the dark?” She was not about to lean on his arm and wind up in his bed.
“I’ll manage. Good night.”
Eden crossed the lawn unsteadily. So much for a quiet think under the stars. Her heart beat rapidly as she slowly climbed the back stairs to her room. Her first order of business was to check the bolt between her dressing room and Hart’s. When she had taken her mother’s rooms, she had not anticipated Hart would ever be beyond the walls. All traces of Ivor had been packed up long ago and assigned to the attics. Should Hart have any interest in his uncle’s personal effects, he’d have to do the rummaging on his own.
But while Ivor’s earthly possessions were safely boxed, he’d left his mark on Eden, even on Hart, who had never known him well. Her heart contracted in bitterness. A few months ago Hart had assumed that she was the sort of woman who could spend an hour on her back at Mrs. Brown’s for the pure hell of it. The seeds of distrust had been planted so early on between them that Eden doubted they’d ever be thoroughly weeded. Even if she turned into a paragon of absolute virtue, Hart would always see something missing within her. It was why she had refused him all those months, why she had to refuse him now.
Mattie tapped at the door and entered. “Can I help you get ready for bed, Miss Eden?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“What are you going to do now that Lord Hartford’s here?”
“He says the girls can stay. We’ll just go on as we have.”
She dismissed Mattie and brushed the tangles out of her own hair, wishing she had a brush for her mind as well. It was pointless to grieve for the past. She’d been more than instrumental in disposing of her innocence with Ivor. No matter that he’d played masterfully upon her own insecurities, she had been aware of every step, so eager for his kisses and compliments. What came later was only what she deserved.
If Hart wanted her to be his mistress again, she could do it. He would tire of her soon enough and long for city life again. She punched the pillows up to help her get comfortable. Eden had just settled herself when the door handle to the dressing room rattled. She would feign sleep. She couldn’t bear to see Hart’s earnest, handsome face until tomorrow.
He had expected nothing less. Hart cursed himself for a fool. Eden probably thought he had designs upon her body, which, unfortunately, he did. Even if only to just pleasure her as he first had when he won her over slowly from her fear and reticence in the early days. But tonight he had only wished to talk.
He had time. If he were to remain at Hartford Hall, he’d have the opportunity to make amends. He cast his mind back to the first time he had truly bedded her. It had been in November. They’d had but a few months together before his trust shattered and she left him. In some respects, he’d been crueler than his uncle, for he knew just how fragile Eden was, should have realized she would never betray him. He had blundered. Badly.
Hart stripped himself, tossing the covers aside. The room was warm from an unnecessary fire, probably laid by one of Eden’s girls in order to make him as comfortable as possible. Hart doubted very much he’d be co
mfortable again until he held Eden close. In the meantime, Hartford Hall would be under siege as he sought to win the battle for Eden’s affection once again. And he had a fair if frightening idea how to go about it.
Chapter 19
Hart woke up, late, with a renewed sense of purpose. His thoughts had kept him awake much of the night, as well as the knowledge that Eden was lying next door in her fragrant bed linens, as untouchable as if he were still in London.
Tempting Eden Page 29
