A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (8 page)

***

“Don’t tell me your faithful spaniel has left you unattended,” Michael whispered close to her ear. Her reaction was immediate. She jumped and whirled away from his reach with a startled cry. They were alone in the folly by the lake and both of her friends and their escorts, as well as her own, were out of sight.

“Get away from me,” she hissed. “You’ve caused me more than enough trouble today. Anyone could come down that path and find us alone together.”

“I suppose that’s one way to take care of you,” Michael remarked easily. “I could compromise you and that would end your reign quite effectively. Judging from that kiss earlier, you’d enjoy it, too.” She looked appalled and backed further away from him. She collected herself within a moment and she lifted her head to look down her nose at him. For some absurd reason that only made him want to plant a light kiss on the tip, but that would undoubtedly send her into a right stew. Still, remembering this morning’s kiss it might be worth it.

“I hardly think you’d want to be shackled to me,” she said.

“What makes you think I’d marry you if I did compromise you?” He chuckled at the shocked expression on her face. “I don’t give a damn about my already disreputable reputation and I certainly wouldn’t care about yours.”

“I think Lord Iredale might view the situation differently,” she declared and turned to leave. He caught her arm firmly, just above her elbow. Araby glared at his offending hand, but Michael ignored her.

“I don’t doubt you’d enjoy watching men fighting over you, but I don’t fight over women. They’re not worth the effort – far too unreliable with their affection. If a man wants fidelity he should raise hunting dogs.” Her eyes widened in shock.

“No one could ever mistake you for the chivalrous sort, sir. Drew on the other hand....”

Michael tightened his hand on her arm and he saw real fear spring to life in her eyes. The notion that she might fear him galled him and he dropped her arm as if it had suddenly turned into a snake. “You needn’t flinch. I might have a jaundiced view of the fairer sex, but I don’t strike women. Nevertheless, be warned, I won’t stand for you crying to Drew about my misdeeds.”

They stood watching each other warily. At length Araby said, “I wasn’t threatening to tell Drew anything. I was simply going to say that he enjoys playing the part of a knight errant whether it’s in his best interest to do so or not.”

“True, he’s very naive for his age. That’s why it’s so easy for someone to take advantage of his better nature.” Michael took in the pretty picture she made and thought again of how sweet she’d felt in his arms, how soft and welcoming her lips had become. He moved further away from her. “Where is Iredale?”

“Lord Phillip asked for his assistance. He’ll return shortly.” She plucked nervously at her sleeve.

“No doubt. He’s not the man for you at any rate,” Michael blurted out, wondering why he should care who in hell she married. “He’s a besotted fool. You can twist him around your finger and you’ll only end up hating him for it. Marry him and you’ll take a lover before a year is out.” He didn’t mention that he’d be waiting for just such an opportunity.

She stepped towards him, her eyes flashing with anger. “You're absolutely beastly. Just because you don’t hold with finer feelings like admiration and honor doesn’t mean that no one else does.”

“You? Doubtful. Like all your sex you’re hanging out for a title and a large income to go with it. Where’s the honorable in that?”

He watched the fire leave her eyes as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on glowing embers. “It’s realistic,” was all she said.

Michael felt his anger spike, not only for Drew, or himself, but for all second and third sons. “So you’ll take a lover to ease the loneliness of your bargain and men will stand in line for you once more.”

“No,” she declared, some of her spirit returning at his accusation. “If a gentleman is gracious enough to offer me the protection of his name I will remain a dutiful and faithful wife. It will be the least I owe him.” Her odd emphasis of the word protection caught Michael’s attention.

“Faithful marriages are not common in society. What if he strays first? Will you follow suit?”

“No.” She spoke with passion. “He can stray, that is a man’s province, is it not? I shall remain faithful. It is the honorable thing to do.”

Michael stepped closer. Damn it, she was intriguing him again. “What if you fancy yourself in love?”

“Then I shall be unhappy, but I will remain faithful to my husband.”

“And what of passion?” he whispered as he closed the gap between them.

“I’ll have my home and my children – things which count a good deal more than a few stolen moments, Mr. Lassiter.”

He gave a short, jaded laugh. “You speak with the righteous conviction of a woman who’s never been bedded.” Araby breathed sharply and her cheeks colored. He couldn’t fault her reaction. It was an outrageous thing to say.

“I speak with the assurance of a lady who knows how quickly fortunes can change, as well as a reputation. If you’ll excuse me, I must find my friends.” She turned to leave.

“Why did you do it?” Michael asked. He would have no further reason to seek her out for the rest of the day and he didn’t want her leaving – not yet.

She sighed. “I told you that Drew....”

“No, I mean the flower girl. You paid for her damaged flowers and then told her to come to the theater that night.”

She looked startled. “How did you know about that?”

“I was there, but at a discreet distance. You reduced Cathcart’s little sister to tears and then gave the flower girl money. I repeat, why? Don’t bother telling me it’s none of my business.” She opened her mouth to vent her fury at his intrusion, but his last words forestalled her tirade.

“If I tell you, will please keep your observations to yourself?”

“Afraid your friends might not find an act of kindness very witty?”

“Something like that,” she muttered looking at her feet. She raised her eyes and he was struck anew at the clarity, the brilliance of her golden eyes. “Muriel Cathcart is a heffer,” she said succinctly. Michael raised an eyebrow and she continued. “Muriel and her friend, Susannah Grantham have been trying to storm the walls of my set for the past two Seasons. Membership is a dubious honor at times, I’ll admit. Still, they incited Edmond Bennet and his friends to behave in a particularly foul manner to someone who couldn’t defend herself.”

“I would think you’d find their actions amusing.”

She regarded him steadily. “So did they, but I didn’t. I took it upon myself to remind Muriel that the Furies hold tremendous sway in the ballrooms of London and if she ever wished to leave Wallflower Corner again she’d refrain from hurting my friends. Then I made one or two pointed remarks about her looks.”

“Justice dispensed.”

She lifted her chin, giving him a haughty look. “Yes, I think so.”

Michael grinned at her. “And the flower girl?”

“It would have taken her days to earn enough money for even a basket, let alone the nosegays to fill it. Who knows what she might have had to resort to. I don’t like senseless cruelty.”

“So I’m to assume there’s always a point to your cruelty.”

“Yes.” She spoke in a whisper, a hint of desperation in tone as though the admission both shamed and frightened her. Michael’s amusement at her peculiar sense of honor waned and irritation took its place.

“I wonder what Damaris Kingsford would say about your notions of honor and justice,” he said quietly. She looked as if she’d been kicked in the stomach, but she recovered herself quickly.

Her voice trembled a little when she spoke. “Perhaps not as much as you think, Mr. Lassiter. After all, she landed herself a future duke, didn't she. Good day.”

Michael watched her go, his anger building – anger at her for whatever she’d done to Kingsford’s sister and anger at himself for caring that he’d hurt her.

Chapter Five

Michael handed his hat and cane to the footman and followed Lord Ambrose’s butler upstairs to the study. He felt a pang of guilt for being the reason the elderly retainer made the slow and obviously painful journey up the stairs to Lord Ambrose's study. The man should have been pensioned off long ago.

“His lordship will join you momentarily,” the older man announced, his voice as dry and brittle as a leaf on a hot desert wind. Michael acknowledged him with a nod before drifting towards the middle of the room as the butler quietly closed the door behind him. It was a heavy room, both in style and atmosphere. Although a fire burned in the large, stone fireplace, it accomplished little in removing the chill from the air. The cool grayness of the day permeated this house. It must he damned cold in winter, Michael reflected.

“Would you like a brandy?” Rafe Kingsford inquired from a chair by the fire. He saluted Michael with his glass. “It helps keep out the chill. This room feels more like a cave than a study, doesn’t it?”

“Is it always this cold?” Michael asked as he poured himself a glass. He held up the amber liquid to the firelight briefly before taking a swallow. Her eyes were a similar color.

“So you’ve decided to join our little group? Seek a little retribution of your own?”

“That remains to be seen,” Michael replied smoothly. “I’m simply here to determine facts at this point. I’ll make my decision after I know more.” Kingsford unfolded himself from his chair. He was a tall, large-framed man, but Michael had seen him move with lethal precision in the boxing ring of the athletic club they both frequented. More than one man regretted his decision to step between the ropes with Kingsford, though Michael had always held his own against him. Kingsford crossed the room to splash more brandy into his glass giving Michael his first good look at him in the library’s murky light.

“What happened to you?” He indicated Kingsford’s swollen nose and the bruises shadowing the skin underneath his eyes.

“The damned chit nearly broke my nose.”

“Araby Winston?” Michael couldn’t imagine her raising a hand to anyone in case it soiled her glove.

“No. It was her friend Sarah Melbourne.”

Michael chuckled. “I wonder what made her do that,” he drawled.

“Not nearly as much as I intended, I assure you.” One corner of Kingsford’s mouth curled up in a half smile. “She’s a feisty little thing. She could be more of a challenge then I originally thought.”

“What is your intention to the girl?” Michael asked more out of idle curiosity than anything else. Miss Melbourne was nothing to him other than a clue to this business between Kingsford and Lord Ambrose. She was also a good friend to Araby Winston, a young lady who interested him much more than was prudent.

“I intend to ruin her in a very public and permanent way,” Kingsford replied easily.

“Why would you care enough about the silly child to do that?”

“For the same reason you care about your brother,” said Lord Ambrose from the doorway. There was a fierceness in his eyes, a fervor that made Michael wary. “The Melbourne girl is one of The Furies. They are not merely a group of high-spirited debutantes, Mr. Lassiter. They are representative of the lack of moral character that blights good society and as with any blight, it must be eradicated if the orchard is to remain strong and fruitful.” He indicated for the other men to join him at a grouping of chairs by the window. Michael wished there had been a third seat by the fire. It would have been much warmer.

When they’d seated themselves, Lord Ambrose continued. “The Furies could be ignored when they confined themselves to making some young girl cry, or a young man make a fool of himself.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Every season has young ladies of that nature. What these girls have done, however, speaks of a maliciousness of spirit, an unwholesomeness that can no longer remain unchecked.” Personally, Michael thought the old man was pouring it on a bit thick, what with his orchard metaphor and talk of unwholesomeness, but he kept his opinion to himself. The young ladies he spoke of were full of themselves, granted, but once they’d married and started breeding, their reign would end.

“You and Arlington were very curious about my reaction to those witches when we happened upon them in the park, weren’t you, Lassiter?” Kingsford asked. Michael nodded. “Lord Ambrose has persuaded me to take you into our confidence,” Kingsford continued, “not only because you are a good friend of my sister’s husband, but your brother Andrew has been made a laughing stock by Arabella Winston more than once. Your setdown of her caused a minor stir at the Grantham’s affair, but if you think to scare her off from her sport by embarrassing her, Lassiter, you’ve another think coming. My sister made the same assumption and lived to regret it.”

“Just what did Lady Arabella do to your sister, Kingsford?”

“She arranged to have her kidnapped and delivered into the hands of that degenerate, Roger Dilby, Lord Elkhorn.”

“Good God,” Michael exclaimed. Elkhorn’s reputation was well known to any man who went about society. Calling the man a degenerate was a kindness. His sexual appetites were unsavory and his gaming habits bordered on madness. One day they’d find him outside some tupney whore house or gaming hell with his throat slit. How the hell could Araby Winston even know such a man existed, much less enlist his help for such a vile purpose?

“I’m certain the actual arrangements were made by her stepfather, Baron Seaton, but the fact remains that Lady Arabella and Lady Katherine persuaded my ward to meet them in the park knowing full well what would become of her,” Lord Ambrose stated. “Damaris was quite clear on that subject.”

Michael remembered Araby’s pale face when he’d mentioned Kingsford's sister. Surely the girl couldn’t have had any idea what she was doing at the time. He said as much to the other men in the room. Rafe Kingsford swore.

“She knew all right,” he snapped. “I saw the note she sent Mari requesting that they meet and make peace before their animosity grew out of hand. Mari wanted to believe it and she went to meet her.” He tossed down his drink. Lord Ambrose watched the Kingsford with a disapproving eye. That was something else Michael remembered now. Ambrose was not only snobbish and a stickler for punctuality, but he was also stringently moral and intolerant of excesses as well. Forgiveness was not in his nature. Michael realized that Araby Winston and her friends had made themselves a very dangerous and relentless enemy.

“And how have you planned to repay Lady Arabella?” he asked, keeping his tone detached.

“My primary concern is repaying Baron Seaton, her stepfather. He wishes a wealthy and entitled match for Lady Arabella to improve his own consequence and to aid in repairing his fortune. I intend to see that does not happen.”

Michael’s gut twisted. “You intend to ruin her as well as the Melbourne girl? All three of them perhaps?”

“No,” Lord Ambrose answered firmly. “Lady Arabella is the daughter and the niece of earls. Her grandfather was an marquess. Her mother’s second marriage was unfortunate, but her birth family is not without influence. Likewise, Lady Katherine’s father, the Earl of Bellwood is highly placed in the government and quite powerful. Miss Melbourne’s situation is different, however. She is merely the daughter of a knight. It would be risky to ruin the former two young ladies. Not so Miss Melbourne.”

Michael turned to regard Rafe Kingsford coldly. “So you intend to abduct Sarah Melbourne and force yourself on her?” He was no hero, but he’d be damned if he could let something so foul happened to the girl. “I’m afraid I won’t allow you to do that,” he said coldly.

“I’ve never forced myself on a woman in my life,” roared Kingsford, “and I’ll be damned if I’ll start now! Rest assured, she’ll be willing when she comes to me.” He wrenched himself out of his chair and stalked to the window. Michael realized then that a war raged inside the man. He remembered how Kingsford had followed the Melbourne girl with his eyes at the Delafield picnic, his gaze filled with enmity and something else. The same emotions had burned in his eyes that morning in Hyde Park now that Michael thought about it. He’d call the look desire, if he had to give it a name. He mentally shrugged. As long as Kingsford didn’t force the girl Michael had no quarrel with him. Let him seduce her if he could and let Miss Melbourne look after herself. Judging from Kingsford’s nose she was rather good at it.

“Why not simply turn Seaton over to the law?” Michael asked. “Clearly he influenced Lady Arabella.”

“That’s not a simple matter either,” Ambrose countered. “There’s Damaris’ reputation to consider of course, but of greater import is the reputation of the Wentworth family. The Duke of Strathmore is not precisely happy that his heir married a girl with no real fortune behind her and no lineage to recommend her. My consequence helps, naturally, but still....” Michael watched as Kingsford expression turned murderous. “She is a delightful girl and certainly not responsible for what befell her. I expect the Duchess will be able to make something of her. At any rate, with the girl being seen unchaperoned and at night in the company of Jules Wentworth there was little any true gentleman could do but offer for her.”

So that’s what had happened. His friend Jules had an insufferable noble streak, Michael reflected, and it had brought him to grief. He would write to him immediately offering his sympathy if felicitations were not in order.

“So in the end she made a better match than was likely,” Michael offered.

Ambrose regarded him coldly. “Damaris was my ward and under my protection, sir. Her abduction was a danger to her, but also a very grave insult to me. I will not let the matter rest.” There was the crux of it all, Michael thought. Ambrose would never allow an insult to himself, either real or perceived, pass unanswered. Those foolish girls.

“I’ve spoken with the duke and he concurs,” Ambrose continued. “While we must make certain no scandal attaches itself to either myself, or the Wentworth family, both Seaton and Lady Bellwood must be held accountable. Seaton will be his own downfall. We must simply make certain the girl can’t come to his aid by marrying too well. As for Lady Bellwood, her punishment will take some time and be in a slightly different form, but nothing truly harmful to Lady Katherine, I assure you.”

Kingsford snorted in derision. “Yes, by all means, lets make certain the little vixen remains unscathed.”

“I’ve told you before Kingsford,” Ambrose sighed. “When the limb bears bad fruit you must treat the entire tree, not simply sever the branch. Take the example of Miss Melbourne’s family. They will retire from society in disgrace and never presume themselves above their station again. As I’ve said, Lady Bellwood’s desserts will take time, but none of the young ladies will end up entirely unscathed.”

Michael had known there was a reason he never cared for Lord Ambrose. The man was not merely cut from the same cloth as his own father, but stitched in a much more severe pattern. Heaven help Araby Winston if she didn’t marry that nodcock, Iredale and soon. He felt his alarm grow rather than diminish at the prospect of her marrying the man. Why should it? Certainly he had no interest in her other than keeping the girl from carving up his brother’s heart. Still, a passionate creature like her would be wasted on a bland, boring character such as Iredale and Michael meant it when he’d told her so. Still, for her own good he had to see her safely married to Iredale before the end of the Season. “And your plans for Lady Arabella?” he asked Ambrose, forcing detachment into his tone.

“I’m afraid we’re not ready to move against her yet. You see, we’ll have to wait until she’s engaged. That is when we’ll need your help, Lassiter.” Ambrose smiled to chilling effect and Michael knew he didn’t want to hear what the old bastard had to say next. Nevertheless, he had to ask.

“What sort of help can I give you?” Michael asked warily.

“Why by compromising her, of course.”

***

“Open it,” the baron demanded.

His voice held a high strung quality and Araby knew that if she didn’t move swiftly enough to obey him she risked a vicious pinch or worse. She knew this handwriting, though and once the baron learned the name of the sender, a pinch would be the least of her worries. Why wouldn't Drew give up? Her stomach twisted as she unfolded the letter, half expecting her stepfather to rip it from her hands. “It's from Andrew Lassiter,”she said evenly. “He begs leave to escort me to the park today.”

“And what else does he say, my dear?” He plucked the letter from her hands. “Have you been telling tales again?” He read through the note swiftly and thrust it back at her. She barely had time to note the telltale flair of his nostrils before he struck her cheek with the back of his hand. It was a mild slap as far as the baron's slaps went and it wouldn't leave a bruise. He was very good at knowing how much force to use and to what effect. Her cheek was red and her eyes watered from the sting, but luckily that was all.

Araby lifted her eyes to his with no small amount of effort. She walked a fine line. Her stepfather claimed to hate cringing, but she risked another blow if she were not deferential enough. “I’ve done as you asked. I've discouraged him and held him up to ridicule. The best I can do now is ignore him.”

He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, a favorite method of securing her attention when he wasn't slapping or pinching. “the best you can do is bring Iredale up to scratch. I warned you not to waste anymore time.”