Anne Barbour (9 page)

"There," she said at last, stretching her fingers. "It's rather haphazard, but I think it will do."

Seth rose from the position he had obediently maintained for so long. He stretched his long limbs. "Whew!" he exclaimed, rolling his shoulders. "Who would think that merely sitting still could be so fatiguing?"

Curiously, he moved to where Eden sat with her drawing pad. After a moment's hesitation, she moved the drawing so that he could see it. Seth stared at it in bemusement.

"I... I don't know what to say," he said at last. "Do I really look like that?"

Trying to divine from his tone whether he was pleased or not with the picture, she decided that he was, if rather sheepishly. The man portrayed in the drawing looked as though he should be garbed in fringed buckskins, for he might have just arrived from the American frontier. His shirt stretched tautly over muscled shoulders, and powerful thighs were delineated by fashionably tight pantaloons. His hair, dark as midnight and slightly disheveled fell over his forehead in a cluster of crisp curls. Those compelling eyes, gazing directly at the viewer, put one in mind of a powerful predator, sizing up its prey.

Seth's glance moved once or twice from the drawing to Eden, and Eden thought she beheld a certain degree of puzzled astonishment in his countenance. Suddenly, she became aware of how it must look to him—the fantasizing of a spinster over a strong virile male. She snatched the drawing from him awkwardly, turning to place it on a nearby table. As she did so, she stumbled a little and fell awkwardly against him.

Catching her in his arms, Seth righted her and released her almost at once. The contact, however, produced an odd effect in him. Her portrayal of him had startled him, for it seemed to him that she had captured a certain wildness in his nature that he had always taken care to keep hidden. In addition, the warmth and softness of her curves could be plainly felt through his linen shirt. He felt an urge to prolong the embrace, to draw her to him and to bury his face in the sweet-scented mass of her hair. Good God, he actually burned to kiss her until she moaned with desire. He could almost picture her, rosy and, for once, disheveled. What the devil was the matter with him? He was not a womanizer, after all, to be stirred to passion merely because he was in a room alone with an attractive woman. He'd been known to engage in dalliance from time to time, but never with a gently bred female of maidenly virtue.

He shook himself, aware that Eden was speaking. Had she experienced a similar reaction to their brief contact? he wondered. A slight blush stained her cheeks, and she seemed a little breathless, but that might be merely from the embarrassment of finding herself in the arms, even if very temporarily, of a strange man.

"Perhaps, some day, while we are in London again, you will permit me to do you in oils," she said, her voice slightly strained.

"Of course. I hope to see you when you come to Town," said Seth retying his cravat.

He shrugged into his coat. Yes, indeed, Zoë would be in London, and soon. A twinge of compunction snaked through him. And she would be walking right into the wolfs den. The chit was a holy terror, but did she deserve a life sentence chained to someone like Bel? And what of her family? They loved her. A vision of Eden's expression of tender exasperation rose before him. She was aware of her sister's flaws, but she loved her anyway.

No, he must not think of that. He had promised the duke a wife for Bel, and what the duke required, he must have, no matter what the cost. There had been many times since Seth had made his vow that he regretted it, but, he reminded himself, that no matter his ... flaws, this was the man who had given him his life. He drew a breath to steady himself.

"Perhaps we shall meet again, then," he murmured.

Eden nodded noncommittally. "Perhaps."

Later in the day, Seth once more removed the coat, preparatory to dressing for the dinner party that seemed to loom over his head like the sword of Damocles. He was thoroughly weary of the Beckett family and had no desire to spend an evening with a group of persons who would in all likelihood prove to be more of the same. At least, he thought, brightening, he would have Eden's company. He had long since ceased to think of her as one of the Becketts, though he refused to contemplate the absurdity of this view. How could such a family have produced Eden? Unlike either of her parents, she was intelligent, cultured, and possessed of a keen wit—to say nothing of her astonishing artistic talent. In addition, there was that sense, irrational though it might be, of... of, well, acquaintanceship with her, as though he had known her since childhood. He smiled as a mental picture flashed before him of a hoydenish imp, dark hair in plaits and gray eyes sparkling with mischief, her skirts no doubt rumpled and stained with berries or stolen sweets.

"So, how goes yer project?" asked Moppe, just entering the room with a freshly laundered shirt.

"My project?" asked Seth frostily, being deliberately obtuse.

"Young Miss Zoë. Though, I'm not so sure that particular miss is exactly what His Grace has in mind for his son."

Abruptly, Seth abandoned his lofty attitude. He realized that Moppe had no doubt gleaned more information on Zoë's character and habits in two days belowstairs than Seth was likely to discover in a month spent in the young lady's company. "What do you mean?"

"Only that she sounds a rare handful. By the by, didjer know yer missin' a cufflink?"

"Mm, yes, I noticed it when I returned from.…. That is, I must have lost it earlier today. I think I know where it may be. But, you were saying? About Miss Zoë?"

"Uh-huh, a decent little thing, but with a temper that would fry eggs, and her tongue can slice leather. She's kind to the staff, but if she don't get her own way, every servant in the house scampers to stay out of her path."

"Mmm." Moppe's words filled Seth with foreboding. It had seemed to him when he had begun his quest in London that Zoë fit his requirements more precisely than any of the other young women on his hurriedly contrived list. Even the duke, when Seth had described her, seemed to think she would fit the bill. Now, however, the more he came to know the young hoyden, the more unsuitable she appeared. He sighed. He could only hope that she would be willing to curb her willfulness and forgo the gratification of temper for the sake of a coronet.

He affixed the rather fine sapphire stickpin to his cravat and, upon being solemnly assured by Moppe that he was presentable, left his chamber and made his way to the drawing room.

Lord and Lady Beckett were already on hand, along with Eden and several guests. Eden, reflected Seth, his breath catching, looked extraordinarily lovely. She was garbed in the most becoming gown Seth had seen her in to date. It was of a deep carnelian, with an enticing décolletage. She had dispensed with the ubiquitous, absurd cap, and her hair, brushed into a delicate Clytie knot caught the reflection of the candlelight, which laced it with gleaming rivulets of fire.

Eden, intercepting his glance, blushed—again. She had spent an inordinate length of time on her appearance this evening, deciding at last on the carnelian silk, purchased in London, but worn only once. On that occasion, Zoë had stared at her appreciatively, noting with a grin that it was about time that she stopped dressing like a governess and started "showing off your wares a bit." Eden, feeling remarkably like a prize ewe at auction, had been uncomfortable all evening, despite the compliments from several gentlemen who had heretofore appeared oblivious to her existence.

On this evening, as she had stared into her mirror, she declined to examine the reasons why she felt it necessary to wear a gown whose color she knew to be more than somewhat exotic, even though it was exceptionally becoming, and which displayed an attractive if altogether indecent display of bosom.

Still aware of Seth's gaze on her, Eden absorbed his own splendor. Though she considered him a well-set-up gentleman in his usual sober garb, the sight of him in evening dress was quite another matter. He was undoubtedly the most handsome man in the room, concluded Eden, her pulse fluttering.

Lord Beckett, fairly bursting with satisfaction, introduced his visitor to his neighbors—those present and those who continued to arrive. It was not until a few moments before Horsley was due to announce dinner that Zoë danced into the room.

At Eden's indrawn breath, and Lady Beckett's horrified gasp, Seth swiveled to face the newcomer. Zoë's gown made her look like a very young girl done up as a bit of muslin—and in her own home.

Lord Beckett advanced on her, his face a disagreeable shade of puce.

Chapter Seven

Lord Beckett set a hammy fist on Zoë's shoulder and opened his mouth in an enraged hiss. At that moment, however, he seemed to recollect the presence of half the county gentry in his drawing room. Instead of shaking her until her teeth rattled, which was plainly his desire, he whispered sibilantly, "What the
devil do
you mean by it, missy? You will go straight upstairs and change into something more suitable!"

Zoë merely laughed into his face, and, shrugging out from under his grasp, she skipped past him to greet her friends and admirers, of which, it must be admitted there was a sizable throng. Thwarted, Lord Beckett sputtered helplessly for several moments before stamping over to his wife, who stood wringing her hands ineffectually. Eden, pale but composed, turned back to the group with whom she had been conversing before Zoë's dramatic entrance.

Zoë, apparently oblivious to the upheaval she had caused in her parents' bosoms, began the always enjoyable task of drawing her usual court to her side. Among these were most of the young men of marriageable age and several damsels who slavishly followed her in manner and dress.

Horsley entered to announce dinner, and with a shrill giggle, Zoë grasped the arm of her nearest swain. Unheeding, she pushed past her father and Lady Pritchett, who should have led the procession to the dining room.

All through dinner, Seth's spirits sank lower and lower as Zoë violated, one after the other, seemingly every rule of behavior known to civilized society. She called to gentlemen seated across the table from her. She confined her conversation exclusively to young Lord Eversley on her right, completely ignoring poor old Mr. Holmes on her left. She spilled soup on a footman, and then berated the fellow on his clumsiness. Worst of all, she drank entirely too much wine and soon became giddy and flushed, her giggles growing louder and more frequent and her conversation becoming laced with improprieties.

Good God, was this what happened to the young woman when she was turned loose in a large gathering? Seth had not observed her at length when the family was in London before. Did she behave as badly, or worse, among the
beau monde
as she did in her own milieu? If so, could she be trained to conduct herself with some degree of gentility?

From her position nearer the foot of the table, Eden watched her sister's antics in growing dismay. Zoë's conduct was never what one could call decorous, but tonight she was outdoing herself. She noted that from time to time, Zoë cast covert glances at Seth. Surely, she was not behaving so outrageously in a bid for his attention! In Zoë's eyes, Seth was almost elderly. He was untitled, and he certainly gave no indication of the wealth that Zoë considered essential to a man's desirability. To be sure, Seth had been taken up by the Duke of Derwent, but Seth apparently had declined to take advantage of this fact, and was known to polite society simply as the duke's man of affairs. He had no claim to the duke's title, nor, most likely, to his wealth. So what could account for Zoë's interest?

Suddenly, Eden recalled the conversation two days before at luncheon. She believed she had succeeded in turning Zoë's incipient admiration for the degenerate Marquess of Belhaven, but—Good Lord! Did the little twit see herself as the future Marchioness of Belhaven, and, following, the Duchess of Derwent? If so, it was reasonable to assume that Mr. Lindow, the marquess's foster brother, could provide a direct path to the fulfillment of her desires.

Mr. Lindow was observing Zoë intently, which seemed to inspire Zoë to even greater heights of bumptious impropriety. Eden noted again, that his sardonic gaze was watchful rather than amorous, and certainly marked with disapproval. That was all to the good, thought Eden, though she squirmed uncomfortably at Zoë's disgraceful revelry.

After dinner, when the ladies proceeded to the drawing room, Zoë's behavior improved. She joined in the gossip that swirled about the room like a scented breeze and laughed unaffectedly with her friends. Later, when the gentlemen ambled into the chamber, she again joined her sister in playing the piano and singing several unexceptionable melodies, as did several of the guests.

Seth, mellowing under the influence of the music and Lord Beckett's fine port, allowed himself to view Zoë's volte-face with a rising hope. He would, he decided, present Zoë to Father as soon as the family was settled in London, for it was His Grace who must make the final decision regarding his son's future bride. He hoped Zoë would be so overwhelmed in the presence of the duke that she would exert herself to assume a demeanor befitting a well-bred maiden, used to the ways of the
ton.

Seth's rosy vision suffered something of a setback a few minutes later, when Zoë, jumping up from her chair, insisted that sets be formed for dancing.

"We have enough people here," she cried gleefully, clapping her hands together in girlish enthusiasm, "and Eden can play for us."

"Oh, but dearest," breathed Lady Beckett in distress. "The carpets ... ! And our guests may not wish to—"

Zoë's ingenuous smile was replaced with the mulish expression that by now was becoming all too familiar. "What nonsense, Mama. Everyone loves to dance. Why, Mr. Sedgewick was saying just a moment ago that he wished we could have an impromptu hop." She swept an arm to indicate a blushing youth who appeared to be the center of her court. "Come, let us move the furniture and roll up the carpets."