The Forest Lord (2 page)

Cornelius had paid attention to her. And, gradually, she had seen him as the perfect subject upon whom to practice her growing skills at beguiling the male sex. "You must allow men to believe they are in control but never lose it yourself," Aunt Claudia had taught her. How could she lose control with a dull fish like Cornelius Fleming?

How odd and vexing she'd thought him at first, with his haughty airs and long silences. He had an irksome propensity to wander off into the fells like any foolish tourist who came to gape in wonder at peaks and lakes and crags. His utter lack of interest in Society might have put her off entirely, if not for his god's looks and the sense of power that he wore like a cloak.

"Be kind to him, Eden," her father had said in one of his rare conversations with her. "He has been long in
India, unfamiliar with our ways. Should my brother and nephew die, he may very well inherit the title when I am gone."

She'd laughed and dismissed his uncharacteristically sober words. But she could not dismiss Cornelius. She found his gaze following her wherever she went, and his glances heated her blood. Behind his reticence lay unexpected tenderness. Every day he brought miraculous gifts of exotic perfumes and fine silks. At the New Year, he presented her with a diamond of amazing size and brilliance. Little by little, against all her best intentions, she found herself in love.

Aunt Claudia had not approved. She had actually come from her apartments in
London to observe this dubious suitor. But though Lady Claudia Raines had ruled her niece since childhood,
Eden was no longer a child. When Cornelius asked her to elope, she hadn't hesitated for a moment.

Now he was
hers
. She would teach him as Claudia taught her, mold him to become the perfect Society beau. He already possessed a Corinthian's muscle and a remarkable way with horses. In time, he would come to love fashionable
London as much as she did, and they'd nevermore return to the icy, echoing, desolate halls of Hartsmere.

First they must find a perfect
London town house. Then she would tease Aunt Claudia into presenting them, making all the necessary introductions, and smoothing any awkwardness resulting from the elopement. Once Lady Claudia recognized all the advantages of the match, she must relent.

The
ton
would come to know, as
Eden did, that Cornelius's arrogance and retiring nature concealed boundless generosity, excellent taste, and an elegance that was natural rather than taught.

No one but she would know his more intimate skills…

Somewhere within the inn a door slammed. A stray raindrop blew through the window to kiss
Eden's cheek. Cornelius sat up, the sheets cascading from his bare chest.

"Cornelius?"
Eden touched his shoulder, gripped by sudden desire. "Good morning. I hope I didn't wake you—"

He stared at the door. "Get dressed,
Eden."

It was not the greeting she expected. She wanted him to kiss her, draw her into his arms, whisper endearments as he had last night.

A chill slipped down the collar of her night rail. She hugged herself, wanting to close the window but afraid to leave the warm sanctuary of the bed.

Afraid of what?
This was only the beginning of her life.
Of their lives together.

Cornelius swung his feet to the floor and went to the chair where he had laid his clothing. He dressed swiftly and efficiently, barely hesitating to glance in her direction.

"Clothe
yourself
," he said. "We may need to leave quickly."

"What is wrong, Cornelius?" She could hear raised voices downstairs. "Is something—
"

"We will speak of it later." He snatched her fine white muslin carriage dress from the clothespress and tossed it onto the bed as if it were made of sackcloth.

She smoothed her hand over the skirts of her gown. "It is sadly creased," she murmured. But he was not listening. He finished tying his neckcloth and strode to the door.

"Remain here until I come for you," he said. He paused at the door and attempted a smile. "Do not worry. I will return." The door closed with ominous finality behind him.

Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Cornelius had not treated her with such negligence since their first meeting.
And after last night…

I am not a child
, she told the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She picked up her dress and resolved to put it on without asking the help of one of the maids. But the tapes defied her best attempts to tie them. She should never have left Hartsmere without Tilly.

Another door slammed, and the voices moved under her feet. One of them was her husband's. The other… was Papa's. He had come after them.
But why?
He had encouraged the match, and he was no high-stickler. He was himself impetuous enough to understand why she had not wished to wait for a formal wedding.

She threw her pelisse over the half-buttoned frock. Obedience might be a wife's duty, but she was not a wife just yet. She would not expect Cornelius to face her father alone. She slipped through the door and descended the stairs, following the voices and holding her head high in defiance of any curious stares she might encounter.

The door to the private dining room off the entrance hall was firmly closed. With utmost concentration,
Eden eased it open the merest crack.

"You agreed to the bargain," Cornelius said, his voice more harsh than she had ever heard it.
A stranger's voice.
"You knew the penalty for breaking it."

"Yes." If Cornelius spoke severely, her father was the very soul of weary despair. "Yes, I know. I was wrong to agree.
A coward."
His ragged breathing was that of a frightened old man. "I wished to save myself at my daughter's expense. She deserves far more than the sorrow you will give her. She loves you."

"Is that not what you asked, that I win her love?"

"But you do not love her. You cannot." He made a sound terribly like weeping. "I ask—I beg-—that you let
Eden go. I shall accept whatever punishment you choose."

"It is too late." Cornelius's boot heels drummed across the floor. "The choice is yours no longer. Last night I got her with child."

Eden
felt her throat close up, as if to strangle a scream she was too distressed to utter. Raindrops began to patter on the roof overhead. She leaned her forehead against the door.

"You swore to marry her—"

"And so I shall, this very day.
As we agreed.
And all the rest will proceed as we agreed. You will not interfere."

Eden
knew that the voices continued, but she no longer heard them. Her heart had swelled into a great, aching lump in her chest.
Is that not what you asked, that I win her love
?

A bargain.
Her father and Cornelius had made a bargain with her as the spoils.
For what?
Not for money or title or land. Cornelius cared nothing for such things. Or had he deliberately led her to believe he didn't? He spoke of her as if she were a… a horse or a fine Herdwick ewe.

I got her with child
.
Eden touched the smooth plane beneath her breasts. Was that what he had wanted? Aunt Claudia had hinted of men who might rob a lady of her virtue, but Cornelius still planned to marry her.

Marry a woman he could not love.

The ache in her chest grew bigger and bigger until it threatened to burst.

"Very well," her father said. "I cannot hope to stand against you. But I ask you to drink with me, one last time, to prove your good faith."
Footsteps,
and the tinkle of liquid pouring into a glass. "Drink to my daughter, and to her happiness."

Silence followed—one heartbeat, two,
three
. And then came the brittle shattering of glass upon the floor.

Eden
burst through the door. Her father half crouched against the far wall, an untouched glass of dark liquid in his hand. The other glass lay smashed in a pool of spilled liquor at his feet.

The man who had broken that glass raised his hand, and her father dropped to all fours.

Something was happening to Cornelius's face, his hands—something that made
Eden
betray
herself with a cry of horror.

Her father's tormentor turned sharply to
Eden, and she froze in midstep.

Her husband-to-be had vanished. In his place stood a creature with his face but dressed in animal skins and rags. From his brow grew a crown of antlers that nearly scraped the low ceiling.

He had become a monster.

She covered her mouth with her hand. The creature with Cornelius's face opened his mouth to speak, and took a single step toward her with one brown hand outstretched.

The blood rushing in her ears drowned out the steady drum of rain and her own gasping breaths. She stumbled back, feeling for the door behind her.

And she ran. Blindly, with no purpose other than escape. She passed a handful of servants and the innkeeper, following the cool, wet draft of air that meant freedom. The inn's door stood ajar, admitting a sodden pair of travelers.
Eden pushed past them without a word.

The dirty cobbles of the stable yard were already slick with mud. She dodged the horses and hostlers and dashed for the gate. In a matter of minutes, her dress was soaked through and her pelisse half fallen from her shoulders.

Still she ran, until the roar of thunder muffled even the hammering of her heart. When she could go no farther, she stopped and turned her face up to the sky. Her hair hung in knotted ropes down her back. One of her shoes was lost.
She w
as lost.

She laughed. Her mouth filled with water, and she swallowed it, wishing to be drowned. She fell to her knees and rocked back and forth, shivering, while raindrops played the role of tears that would not come.

Today is my wedding day.

Today her life was over.

"My lady, Mr. Winstowe is asking for you
." Lady Eden Winstowe turned from her bleak view of

So the time had come. How strange that it should fall at a season when most of the
ton
had left for their estates to enjoy hunting and holidays, family and friends.

Her throat tightened with the memory of grief. Spencer had been lost to her long ago, before his final illness had drained the life from his body. She had known for years that he wanted to be rid of
her,
free to marry some fresh young woman with a larger and more reliable income—though it seemed increasingly unlikely that any woman would accept the debauched, unbalanced man he had become. She would gladly have given him that freedom rather than see it end like this, in such pain and bitterness.

Once she'd hated him. Now she felt only pity and helplessness. Lady Eden Winstowe could flout anyone except Death.

"The fire has gone out, my lady. I will send a maid to light it again."

Eden
glanced at the coals in the grate, aware of the chill for the first time in hours. "It is quite unnecessary, Bailey. As long as the fire is adequate in Mr. Winstowe's chamber—"

"It is, my lady. The doctor is still with him, and Mr. Reynolds. Is there anything more I can do for you?"

The poor man had little enough to do now that they had taken the knocker from the door and closed the house to visitors. "I shall see Mr. Winstowe now, Bailey."

He bowed and retreated from the room, leaving her to face the stairs alone.
The stairs that led to yet another ending.

The doctor looked up as she entered, his eyes telling her everything she needed to know. Mr. Reynolds never paused in his silent reading of his Bible, straining to make out the words in the light of the fire. The room stank of the chamber pot, but it was a smell with which
Eden had become most familiar.

"
Eden."

Spencer lay propped up among his pillows, his sallow face gaunt as a skull. The once-handsome dandy was withered and wasted, but she could still see mockery through the swelling of his faded gray eyes and feel his barely veiled contempt. It only made her pity him the more.

"Spencer," she said, knowing that formality was pointless. She sat in the chair beside the bed and took his hand. "You wished to see me."