A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (5 page)

Araby returned her attention to Lord Iredale, tilting her head coquettishly as she lifted one corner of her mouth in a half smile. She knew it to be a fetching expression. She’d practiced it in front of her mirror until she could employ it to great effect. “What say you, Lord Iredale? Are you enjoying the morning?”

His gaze wandered over her face. “Indeed I am, Lady Arabella,” he answered softly, a sparkle in his eyes. “The morning is splendid and the company...incomparable.”

She rewarded him with a musical laugh for his play on her social title. “I’m certain that after all this exercise you gentlemen will do full justice to the breakfast Lady Katherine has planned for us.”

“Now that sounds promising,” Lord Danvers interjected. “Tell me, Lady Katherine, what delicacies have you in store for our merry cavalry?” Her answer was cut off as another rider loudly hailed Danvers and Marchwell.

“Bless me, it’s Dickie Bentley. I thought he was still hiding out...I mean, traveling on the Continent,” Marchwell exclaimed. He gestured towards his friend. “Come on lads, let’s go see what old Dickie’s been up to.” He started forward leaving the other gentlemen little choice but to follow him. Iredale tipped his hat apologetically to the ladies.

“Should we go with them?” Sarah asked.

“Absolutely not,” Katherine replied with feeling. “Richard Bentley is a ramshackle second son who ran off to Paris with his sister-in-law’s maid. It was quite a scandal. He must have decided it was safe to return. In any case, it will not do for us to be seen speaking with him. I suggest we wander a little further down the path.” She urged her mount forward trusting her friends to follow suit.

“What happened to the maid?” Sarah asked once they’d achieved a discreet distance from the men.

“She was dismissed,” Katherine retorted, drily.

“You know what I mean! Did she return as well? Did he marry her, or is she...you know...ruined?” Sarah's eyes sparkled at the thought of such scandal.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Katherine answered with an air of boredom. “Marriage to anyone in service is entirely out of the question and girls who insist on taking up with their betters always end up in a bad way. Though, what else can one expect from the lower classes? They haven’t the same capacity for moral character as we do.”

“Katherine, that’s a positively feudalistic thing to say,” Sarah exclaimed with indignation. She cast a guilty look over her shoulder at the three grooms following behind them. They were some distance back and chatting amongst themselves, but Sarah lowered her voice to make certain her conversation with Katherine could not be overheard. “Just because someone is not born with the same advantages that we enjoy doesn’t mean their character is poorly formed or that their life matters less.”

Katherine tugged her gloves into place. “According to Mama it does,” she said quietly.

“Oh, well, your mother....”

“Is the epitome of grace and all that is socially proper,” Araby said smoothly, before one of her friends said something unforgivable to the other.

Katherine arched one eyebrow as she continued studying her gloves. “Very true. Just ask her.”

Before this season Katherine had rarely, if ever, quoted her mother as a fount of wisdom. Recently, though, she’d taken to spouting some of her mother’s less savory views on life and the marriage mart. Vivian Saunders, the Countess of Bellwood, had employed a strategy for her daughter’s debut that would have done the Admiralty proud. The woman was just as ruthless as Araby's stepfather in her single-minded pursuit of a husband worthy enough for her daughter – albeit in a different way. Lady Bellwood intended to make Katherine the social leader of the ton after her marriage. She would stop at nothing to achieve her goal, nor would she settle for anything less than absolute perfection from her daughter. Araby knew that at times her friend suffered greatly under the strain of her mother’s expectations. Hopefully, Danver's interest would result in a good marriage that would undo much of Lady Bellwood's influence.

Sarah reached out to her friend. “I’m sorry Katherine. I let my mouth run away with me, but I hate it when you talk so. Those are your mother’s views, not yours. You see, you are one of the dearest, kindest people I know, no matter how carefully you try to hide it.”

Katherine regarded the other girl as if she’d suddenly appeared at Ascot carrying a parrot on her shoulder. “You never see people as they are, Sarah. You always grant them better natures than they possess and one day you’ll suffer for it.” Any further discussion was halted by the rumbling of carriage wheels on the path behind them. The girls moved their mounts aside and turned their heads to see who approached them. Rich, feminine laughter interspersed with low, masculine chuckles flowed from an open landau.

“Oh dear,” Araby sighed, “It’s Skeffy Arlington crawling home from a night of tomcatting. Turn your backs, ladies. It appears his carriage is full of opera dancers.”

She might as well have waved a red flag in front of Sarah. “Who is with him?” Sarah lifted herself slightly in her saddle hoping for a better look.

Katherine leaned over and poked her friend’s shoulder with her riding crop. “Turn your head, you little fool,” she hissed. “We can’t so much as appear to acknowledge them. If Dicky Bentley's company is out of bounds, this carriage is beyond the pale.” She glanced towards the place they’d left their escorts, but the men appeared to have moved closer to the water, unaware of both the carriage and its exceptional occupants.

Just then the carriage drew abreast of them and Skeffy ordered his driver to halt. Araby cast a sidelong glance towards the landau. There were three men in evening dress as well as three women whom no one could mistake for ladies.

“Deuced if it isn’t the Furies,” Skeffy guffawed, mistaking his own heavily slurred words for wit. “Have a look girls,” he said to the three females in the carriage. “You’d be hard put to find more virtue any place outside of a convent.” The women laughed and Araby found herself longing to look directly at them. She’d never seen an actual lightskirt. Another man seated on the other side of Skeffy said something that drew a sharp laugh from the man riding on the opposite seat.

“It’s the same coin, Lassiter, just a different side. At least our beauties tell us the cost up front,” he said, his tone, jeering.

Lassiter. The very name made Araby snap her head towards the carriage. She sucked in her breath as she recognized Michael Lassiter as the man seated on the far side of the landau. He watched her with an open air of mockery as he tipped two fingers to his hat. The soiled dove leaning against him gave a merry laugh.

Katherine whispered Araby's name sharply. “Turn away, now,” she hissed.

The dark, brooding man seated opposite Arlington and Lassiter barked out a laugh drawing their attention. Sarah let out a gasp and covered her mouth as recognition sank in. His lips curled back in a deadly smile. “Give me an honest whore over a well-born one any day.” His teeth gleamed in a way that reminded her of a wolf bearing its fangs. A lock of his shaggy hair drooped across his forehead. If Michael Lassiter looked dangerous – and he did – this man looked completely savage. Contempt, even hatred filled his expression as he perused each of the Furies in a slow, insulting manner.

“Steady on, Kingsford,” Arlington admonished him. “Language in front of the young ladies, you know.”

Lord, protect them. It was Rafe Kingsford, Damaris’ half brother. “What ladies?” Kingsford snarled.

Araby wanted to say something – to explain, to plead with him, but it would be pointless. There was no compassion in his eyes, nothing remotely humane enough to which she could appeal. She wanted to run and hide from the violence she saw in this man’s eyes, but she couldn’t move. All she could do was sit frozen, the blood draining from her face knowing that she’d earned his hatred fairly when in her desperation, she’d made a target of his sister. If Kingsford chose to strike her down here and now there was no one close enough to aid her, save Katherine, or Sarah.

The other occupants of the carriage remained silent – no twitters, not so much as a throat being cleared to break the lethal silence. Katherine moved her horse in an attempt to make her friends move away, but it was little Sarah who urged her own mount forward in a direct challenge to Kingsford. She met his stare bravely, though Araby could see she trembled violently. Katherine glared at him, but he’d already changed his focus to Sarah. He narrowed his gaze, running his black eyes over Sarah’s length, leaving no doubt as to nature of his thoughts.

Sarah lifted her chin. “Good day...gentlemen,” she snapped. Michael Lassiter barked a command at the driver and the landau moved on. Rafe Kingsford turned in his seat to stare at Sarah until she turned away.

“Oh God,” Araby said, a sob catching in her throat. “What have I done?”

“Saved that bounder’s sister is what you did,” Katherine reminded her sharply. “I was the one who met her in the park the day she was abducted; you didn’t.” She rounded on Sarah next. “What did you think you were doing, calling attention to yourself like that? Kingsford is not a forgiving man and he’s not to be trifled with either. It’s bad enough he has a score to settle with Araby and I. At least we’ll exercise caution around the scoundrel, but you,” she made a sound of disgust, “you’re the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. Stay away from him. Don’t even look at him.”

Sarah shivered. “You don’t have to warn me twice. I thought he was going leap out of the carriage and throttle us on the spot.” Danvers called out to them from a distance and Katherine looked her companions over with a critical eye. “We’ll discuss this another time. Put your smiles in place and say nothing. She straightened her shoulders and followed her own advice, holding out a welcoming hand to Lord Danvers.

Araby remained in shocked silence, unable to so much move or even turn her head from the receding carriage. She didn’t know what frightened her more, the absolute hatred in Rafe Kingsford’s face, or the fact that Michael Lassiter had been there to witness it.

***

“Damn, me, Kingsford, what the devil was that about?” Arlington mopped his brow nervously, then shoved his handkerchief back into the breast pocket of his evening coat. “Teasing the little chits is one thing, man, but for all intents and purposes, you called those young ladies whores. That sort of thing isn’t done. No offense my dears,” he added belatedly to the demimondes in the carriage.

“None taken,” Nell Hargrave purred as she cuddled up against Michael. She was beautiful, sought after and very, very expensive. At the moment she left him completely unmoved. He was still thinking about Arabella Winston’s pale face. There had been nothing teasing in Kingsford’s regard of the three young ladies. Although the man cared less for convention than Michael himself did, Rafe Kingsford had never seemed to be the sort who enjoyed terrifying females. He enjoyed bedding them too much.

“I hate to think what will happen if Vivian, Lady Bellwood, hears how you insulted her daughter, not that Seaton will be any happier about Lady Arabella.”

Kingsford shrugged and pulled a flask out of his pocket. “Seaton knows my direction, if he cares to find it.”

Michael watched him closely. The other man was seething. Michael had ordered the driver to move on because he feared if they’d remained even a moment longer, Kingsford would have physically accosted Arabella Winslow. The question was, why? “You’ve taken exception to Lady Arabella. Care to explain, yourself?”

Kingsford gave him a dark look. “It’s a private matter, Lassiter, and best kept that way. Let’s say I’ve no stomach for any of those little bitches and leave it at that.”

“Now I recall,” Arlington nodded. “You’re sister, Damaris, debuted with the chits, didn’t she? Flirted a bit with someone they fancied, eh? I’ve heard they have a bite like an adder when they take a set against someone. Is that it, Kingsford? Did your sister run afoul of them?”

“I said, its a private matter,” Kingsford snapped, “and I’ll thank both of you not to bandy my sister’s name about.” The beauty seated next to him tried to sooth him but he shook her off. She took one look at his face and decided it would be a safer strategy to ease away.

“Steady on, Kingsford,” Arlington continued. “There’s no need to get upset. It was just an observation, that’s all. Besides, your sister had the last laugh, what? She married Arland and she’ll be a duchess one day, won’t she?” Arlington laughed loudly. “Damned if the joke’s not on those girls.”

Kingsford’s eyes narrowed. “True enough, Skeffy. The joke is most assuredly is on them.”

Michael felt his jungle instincts stir. Rafe Kingsford was not a man who let an injury go unanswered and if Araby and her friends had done something to his sister, he would make them regret it. As much as he tried to deny it, Araby Winston had aroused his protective instincts today. Judging from Ambrose’s remarks last week and Kingsford’s reaction today the chit had gotten herself into some fix and Michael was determined to find out what the hell it all meant.

Chapter Four

He watched her glide down the street with a bearing that rivaled Queen Victoria, herself. Lady Arabella clearly fancied herself the royalty of Bond Street this morning. Every now and then she tipped her head with condescension as she acknowledged this or that person, her maid trailing along after her holding several small packages. Why the devil had he bothered following her, Michael thought irritably. He would have been better off seeking his own bed after last night’s wicked pursuits – or perhaps Nell Hargrave’s bed.

Unfortunately, after the impromptu carriage ride through Hyde Park two mornings ago, he’d made his excuses to the distinguished courtesan rather than accept her offer to join her for a private breakfast. He’d been a damned fool. La belle Hargrave had practically started negotiations for her exclusive services there and then, an opportunity for which most men in London would have given everything they owned, their wives included. Nell hadn’t been pleased with his tactful, but firm refusal. Michael’s demurs wounded her pride and he knew it would be a cold day in hell before she granted him so much as a waltz and all because he couldn’t get a pair of frightened, amber eyes out of his mind.

Lady Arabella was a spoiled little piece, granted. She was willful, petulant and very beautiful. She also held a touch of vulnerability that surfaced at odd times. Even when he'd forced her into dancing with him, her eyes had darted warily around the ballroom as though she feared who might be watching them. She’d made an enemy of Rafe Kingsford too, no doubt about it, and that was something most men weren’t brave enough to do. His brief conversation with Lord Ambrose and the blathering of that twit, Arlington made Michael realized that what had happened between the Furies and Rafe’s half-sister, Damaris, involved much more than mere cattiness. Kingsford set great store by his sister and from what Michael knew of her she was considered to be both lovely and gracious. She’d also been Araby’s rival – just the sort of victim into whom the Furies liked sinking their teeth.

According to rumor, the Winston chit had set her cap for Michael’s good friend, Jules Wentworth, the Marquess of Arland, and the Duke of Strathmore’s heir. The Kingsford girl had caught Jules eye and the Furies hadn’t liked any girl of modest background poaching the Incomparable’s intended prey. Arlington indicated something unpleasant had occurred between the four young women, something that may have caused Jules to unexpectedly run off and marry the lovely Damaris Kingsford. Michael hadn’t seen his friend since returning to England and it might be a good idea to learn what Jules knew of his bride’s history with the Furies. For the life of him, Michael couldn’t explain why he should care one way, or another if Kingsford tore the little baggages apart, but for some inexplicable reason, he did care – at least he cared where Araby Winston was concerned.

Michael watched her pause to speak to William Cathcart’s younger sister, Muriel. Whatever she’d said made Muriel turn an unbecoming shade of red. Araby didn’t stop there, of course. She continued the conversation until the girl looked to be on the verge of tears. Only then did she nod and move on. His palm tingled to teach Araby some manners by swatting the dust straight out of her pantalets. Just as he thought he might succumb to one of his baser impulses, she paused at the street corner where a flower girl of thirteen, or fourteen stood forlornly by a crushed basket of nosegays. He moved a little closer, but stayed out of their line of sight.

Araby spoke quietly to the girl, who wrung her hands. Whatever Araby said made the girl’s face pinch up and she began to cry as well. He felt anger surge through him. Picking on a debutante was one thing, but a poor girl who’d clearly lost not only today’s wages, but many future ones as well, was outside of enough. The girl would likely go hungry for days before managing to scraped together funds to buy new stock. He determined he’d give the girl money himself when suddenly, the scourge of the ballroom set did something completely unexpected. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on the young girl’s shoulder. Next, she reached into her reticule and drew out a note. It looked to be a five-pound note at that. Araby pressed it into the girl’s hand and then leaned in to speak earnestly with her. The girl’s mouth hung open in disbelief, her eyes wide as she stared at the money. She nodded rapidly at Araby’s words and dropped a curtsey to her unknown benefactress. Araby nodded and set off across the street with her maid.

Michael lost no time in approaching the girl, using his most charming smile so as not to alarm her. “Good morning, my dear. Would you mind telling me what the lady said to you?”

She looked up at him nervously as though she feared she were in trouble and that her windfall was about to be snatched away from her. She tucked her fist behind her back. “Nuffing, me lord, nuffing at all.”

“You needn’t worry. Here,” he said reaching for his billfold. He pulled out a ten-pound note and offered it to her.

She eyed him suspiciously. “I’m a good girl, sir. I don’t go wif gentlemen.”

“Nor should you,” Michael returned gently. “I’m only offering to pay you for information about the young lady.”

The girl still hesitated and Michael found himself surprised and quite impressed with her sense of loyalty to a stranger. “I don’t want to cause ‘er no trouble, sir.”

“You won’t,” he assured her, pressing the money towards her other hand. “I just want to know what you told her and what she said to you. That’s all.”

The girl swallowed. “I told the lady that a couple of toffs kicked around me basket for sport and ‘ow I didn’t have no money to buy more flowers. She gimme five pounds, sir! Five pounds! Told me I needed to get meself a barrow. She said how her money would be a start.”

“And this will add to it,” he said kindly, offering the money again. This time the girl accepted it, her eyes again filling with tears.

“You going to the theater tonight too, sir?”

“Why do you ask?”

“The young lady, sir. She told me to buy bouquets – proper ones – and to be outside of the Royal tonight after the play’s over. She said she’d buy one from me and then everyone else would too. She said everyone likes to do what she does.” The girl studied the money Michael had given her. “Looks like she’s bloody well right.”

Michael chuckled. “I’ll be there and if you’ve any flowers left, I’ll buy the lot from you. I promise.” The girl gazed up at him with nothing short of hero worship in her eyes. He tipped his hat to her and set off for home. He smiled the entire way, anticipating an evening at the theater as he hadn’t done in ages.

Later that night he watched in amazement as the Incomparable batted her lashes at Lord Iredale and pointed to a bouquet that had caught her attention. Lady Katherine and Miss Melbourne each expressed a similar interest and by the time their carriages arrived, the girl had sold all her bouquets. Only Araby though, turned back and looked at the little flower girl beaming happily at her. She gave the girl a breathtaking smile in return, and waved the tips of her fingers before taking a footman’s hand to step into her carriage. In that moment Michael knew there was more to Araby Winston than he’d ever supposed. Impossible as it seemed, the girl had somehow managed to burrow past his defenses and he feared he might actually come to like her.

***

“I don’t wish to discuss Lady Arabella with you, Michael,” Drew ground out between his clenched teeth. “You’ve already made your opinion of her clear enough, thank you. I don’t need you badgering me.”

Michael let his exasperation get the better of him. “Perhaps if you’d stop acting like a love-starved fool I’d let the matter rest, but you refused to come to the Armitage Ball last week and now you’re crying off from the Deering's picnic. What the deuce has your tailcoat in such a twist if not Araby Winston?”

“Leave it alone, Michael. There’s nothing you have to say that you haven’t said before. Second sons will do in a pinch if they have a good income,” Drew said bitterly, “but third sons can’t compete without a title of some sort.” He turned an ugly shade of red. “I’ve heard it all before and not put nearly as diplomatically as that. I have a rather meager inheritance and Henry will settle a small income on me when I marry, but as Fiona is rather fond of pointing out, it won't be anything nearly grand enough to tempt Lady Arabella.” His voice become falsetto. “After all, Henry and I will have our own children's futures to consider.”

Michael grinned. He had Fiona’s intonation down perfectly. His sister-in-law had no intention of parting with one sovereign more than necessary to support Henry’s family. Michael thanked his own financial skills. He wouldn’t need any handouts from Henry – quite the contrary. Henry might well end up petitioning Michael for funds one day, especially if he didn’t reign in his wife’s penchant for gambling, or their mother’s constant renovations to her dower house at Stowebridge Abbey.

Drew ducked his head in embarrassment. “I suppose that was a beastly thing to say about their children, seeing as Fee lost her baby this fall.”

“You didn’t mean anything by that, Drew,” Michael offered. “Besides, by the time our fair sister-in-law returns from Italy, Henry will have her pleasantly rounded with a babe and she’ll be too occupied with becoming a mother to bother about you, or me.”

“She says I should join the cavalry,” Drew said, dejectedly. “Fiona thinks she’s being subtle, telling me how handsome I’ll look in uniform astride a horse. She says I’d have my pick of wives. She just wants me out from underfoot and thinks that the cost of buying me a commission would save the estate money in the long run.”

“Absolutely not,” Michael replied flatly. He’d speak with Henry upon his return and demand he control his wife, or by God, Michael would do it himself.

Drew glared at him. “Don’t you think I could make a go of it?” he asked in a belligerent tone. “You’re not the only one in this family who can seek his fortune. I’ll have you know that I’m a bruising rider. Father always said I sat a mount better than anyone he knew. Anyone.” Drew made the last word a spiteful jab, but Michael ignored it.

“I think you can accomplish anything you set your mind on, Drew. It’s just that there’s a war on and you know how our mother would worry. She depends on you more now that Henry has married. If you leave it will be hard on her. As you know, Mother and I...don’t...get along.” It was the understatement of the year. While Michael felt that much of Drew’s problems stemmed from their mother’s strangle hold on his young life, he’d rather see his little brother enjoying the night life of Paris or Rome, not joining the military during a war. Drew needed to learn to drink, gamble and fuck, not get himself shot.

Thanks to their Mother, Drew had been pulled from Eton before he’d gotten around to any of the pleasurable pursuits that enticed the older boys. Her excuse had been their father’s failing health, but Drew knew better. She’d wanted her little courtier at her side – her favorite accessory when staging her public roles, particularly useful in her part of the devoted wife.

“You won’t have to worry about following the drum for your living, Drew,” Michael said, firmly. “Between the funds father left for you and what I plan to settle on you once you’ve chosen your bride you’ll have more than enough funds to make a good start in life. I’ll teach you to mange and invest it and soon you’ll have your own wealth to leave to your children.”

Drew’s eyes filled with hope. “Do you mean that, Michael? You’d teach me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he answered with feeling. The earnest light in his brother’s face suddenly triggered a warning. Damn, Michael thought, choose any girl but her. She’ll run you into the pauper’s house if she’ll even have you at all. An idea sprouted in his brain. It was time his brother expanded his knowledge of feminine mysteries and became familiar with the demimonde – intimately. “Little brother, what if you and I attend the Deering's picnic and then I take you out for an evening you won’t soon forget.”

Drew flushed and looked away. “I don’t think you and I have the same tastes in entertainment.” Michael could hear his mother’s disapproving tone in his brother’s voice.

“Perhaps we should,” he said drily.

“ Society has certain expectations of gentlemen,” Drew said quietly. “I choose to live up to them, not ignore them.”

So his mother had succeeded in driving a wedge between the two brothers, had she? Their father had begun the chasm when he’d first exiled Michael from the family. He tamped down the familiar pain of his father’s anger and ultimate rejection
.
“You’re more bother than you’re worth boy. You’re lazy, irresponsible and worse yet, plain damned immoral. I know what to do with you – by God, I do! I’m sending you where your antics won’t heap any more embarrassment on this family. You’ll either amount to something, or not, as you choose, but at least we won’t have to deal with you any longer.
”
He’d been thrown out of his family at twenty, deemed unworthy because he’d taken a society matron up on her offer to share her bed and had gotten caught by her irate husband – her irate duke of a husband.

“Drew,” Michael began evenly, “you are seventeen, a young man. It’s high time you learned how to get on in life outside of a ballroom. All men have their youthful exploits, even our brother Henry, the much vaunted saint of Stowebridge Abbey himself, gamed and wenched before he married. Who do you think took me to Madame Cecile’s my first time? It sure as hell wasn’t our father. Come on, Drew. Live a little.” Drew turned to look at him and Michael could see he was tempted. He grinned in encouragement. “Cecile’s girls are beautiful, all lace and silken skin. They smell like flowers and they are very, very creative. They don’t tease a man like some virginal ballroom chit.” The curious light in Drew’s eyes suddenly died. His shoulders hunched and he appeared to fold in on himself. Michael frowned. “What is it, Drew? What’s got you so knotted up inside?” he asked quietly.