The Forest Lord (10 page)

"Be that as it may,"
Eden said, as much to herself as to the housekeeper, "I must go up the stable and wait with Dalziel until the men come for him. Please watch Donal until I return."

"That I will, my lady. Here, now, let me fetch your pelisse."

"You'll be a good boy for Mrs. Byrne, won't you?"
Eden said, straightening a twist in Donal's collar. "I won't be gone long."

"Can't I come?"

She tousled his hair. "Not this time. But we will be together again soon."

With the merino pelisse drawn close about her like a suit of armor,
Eden returned to the stable. Much to her surprise, Dalziel was on his feet. Beside him stood Shaw, not touching but somehow lending support, even so.

And she saw his face.

I know this man
, she thought. The moment of recognition was brief, but it shook her to the core before she realized that it must be an illusion. She would have remembered such a face.

Hartley Shaw had looks that took her breath away. His were the sort of features one might find in a member of the
ton
, but more sharply cut, bolder, less refined. The chin was dimpled but firm, mouth generous but masculine, nose decisive.

And the eyes… the eyes were the verdant green of new spring growth, nestled in the heart of winter. For Shaw's expression was as cold as the land around them.

He met her gaze with not the slightest hint of deference, and she could have sworn that a mocking smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

"I've seen to your horse," he said, neglecting to add her title.

"Thank you." She forced herself to look away.
"Dalziel?"

"I'm better, my lady," he said, holding his shoulder. "It's still not right, but the pain is gone. Shaw helped me."

Eden
would have had difficulty imagining Shaw bending enough to help anyone, had he not stepped in to save Donal. He was as unyielding as one of
Elgin's Greek statues.

And yet he had moved with grace and suppleness when he had worked with Atlas. Could a laborer be as graceful as if he'd spent years learning to move in expertly cut clothing, and in perfect time to a quadrille at Almack's?

Dalziel cleared his throat. "My lady, by your leave, Shaw here'll help me to my bed."

"You must wait for the doctor at the house,"
Eden said firmly. "Grubb and Hindle will take you down."

"Very generous, Lady Eden," Shaw said. She had
not
imagined that touch of insolence.

"You know my name?"

"Everyone in the dale knows of your ladyship's arrival."

He flustered her far too much. Though she had a reputation for taking many lovers, no one would expect her to consider any man so far beneath her station. Yet she wanned under Shaw's gaze as if he were a man she might be attracted to.

Such notions should not even enter her head. She was in mourning, and he was a servant.

But there was more than one way to keep uncomfortable thoughts—and people—at a distance. She gave both men her best smile. "I forgot how quickly gossip travels in the country."

"We're all glad to have you back, my lady," Dalziel said.

Her reply was interrupted by the arrival of Grubb, Hindle—and Donal. The boy dashed past her and came to stand directly in front of Shaw.

"Are you going to live here with us?" he demanded.

"Donal—"
Eden began. She hadn't the heart to scold him for leaving Mrs. Byrne. She doubted she would ever be able to punish him for any misdeed. For all his solemnity, he was a high-spirited child.

Shaw cast
Eden a piercing look and smiled down at Donal. His smile dispelled the coldness of his face, bringing light and warmth to the harshness of his features. There was even something of tenderness there.

"That's to be seen," he said. "Your name is Donal?"

"Aye.
Your name is Hartley."

"So it is." He crouched to the boy's level. "How old are you, Donal?"

Donal held up five fingers. "How old are you?"

Shaw laughed. Like his smile, his laugh transformed him. Behind the sound lay the cherished warmth of summer, the smell of new-mown hay, the rush of clear water in the beck.

"Much older than you can count on these," he said, taking the boy's hand. His fingers were remarkably gentle, dwarfing Donal's. Donal rewarded Shaw with one of his own rare smiles.

Eden
felt as if they had created an invisible barricade around themselves, a world of their own that she could not enter.

"Donal," she said. "Please come to me."

Reluctantly, the boy pulled his hand from Shaw's. He backed his way to
Eden, watching Shaw all the while, and bumped against her legs.

"Grubb, Hindle," she said, "assist Mr. Dalziel to the house, and give him into Mrs. Byrne's care. Shaw—" She tried to smile, but the expression that once came so easily to her face seemed unaccountably frozen. "Our cook will provide you with a meal. It is the least we can do."

Shaw stared at her with absolutely no sense of propriety. "Aye," he said.

Donal's hand in hers, she led the way back to the house. Mrs. Byrne waited by the door.

"I am sorry, my lady. I turned my back just for a moment—"

"Never mind, Mrs. Byrne.
The men are coming with Dalziel. Have you prepared a suitable chamber?" At the housekeeper's nod,
Eden hesitated, half afraid to speak the stranger's name. "There is another, one Hartley Shaw, who succeeded in calming Atlas. He deserves a good meal, if Cook will provide one. I shall put Donal in my room for a nap, and then I'll look in on Dalziel."

Happy to leave Mrs. Byrne in charge,
Eden took Donal into her room and tucked him into the immense four-poster. He moved about restlessly, kicking at the sheets and looking toward the door.

Shaw
, she thought, though it made no sense.
How could Donal have formed an attachment so quickly
?

Indeed, how had she come to find him so disturbing?

She stroked Donal's forehead, smoothing back his hair and marveling that she had fallen in love overnight.
I can still love. Not a man
—
never again
—
but I have more than enough for my son
.

As much to distract herself as quiet Donal, she reached back in her memory for a lullaby her own nurse had sung to her when she was little.

Her lullaby succeeded. Donal slept deeply in the way of young children, his mouth half open and his thick brown lashes shadowing his cheek.
Eden glanced at the mantel clock. Two hours had passed; surely Shaw would be gone. Aunt Claudia must still be in her room.

What
she
would make of Shaw didn't bear thinking of.

Eden
checked Donal once more and went downstairs. Hartsmere was as still and empty at midday as it had been at dawn. The small but cheerful fire did little to warm the sitting room.
Eden picked up a copy of
La Belle Assemblee
brought from
London and leafed through it idly, unable to summon up any interest in the latest fashions.

"Lady Eden, I have good news."

Mrs. Byrne bustled into the sitting room, looking flushed and very pleased with
herself
.

"Has the doctor come?"
Eden asked.

"Not as yet, my lady. But I've found someone able to take Dalziel's place until he's better."

Eden
knew who that someone was before Mrs. Byrne could speak the name. A chill spiked through her body. "Shaw," she said.

"Aye.
I've been speaking to him in the kitchen. Seems he's quite experienced with horses. More than that, he's a man of all work, able to do whatever is needed around the place—gardening, gamekeeping, repair work." She smiled broadly. "We couldn't ask for better, my lady, and he's a practical lad. His wages won't be dear." She caught herself. "That is, of course, if you approve."

So he has won you over as well
,
Eden thought. "What do we know of him, Mrs. Byrne?" she asked in a reasonable tone. "Is he from this parish? Can anyone speak for him?"

"I can speak for myself."

Shaw walked into the room as if he made a habit of visiting the homes of his betters. His cap was in his hands, but that was his only concession to her rank. The green eyes held hers with the same insolent directness.

"Would you care to hear my credentials, my lady? Where shall I begin?"

During countless years of life in the mortal realm
, Hartley had learned to read human faces and bodies as mortals read their books, and with far greater comprehension.

Yet he could not read
Eden's. He still expected to see in her the vivacious, uninhibited girl he had courted and won.

That
Eden was no more.
In her rapid journey from child to woman, she had perfected the art of deception. She smiled at him with all the graciousness of an aristocrat to an underling and seated herself in the chair near the fire.

"Ah, Mr. Shaw," she said. "I trust that you have been well looked after in the kitchen?"

Even the music of her voice had changed; it was more resonant but a little satirical, as if she had learned to wield it as mortals used their tools of Iron, to cut and twist.

"Aye, your ladyship," he said. The honorific stuck in his throat, but it was all a part of the game.

"Excellent. We owe you great thanks for your help this morning."

We
, she said. But she didn't mean Donal and herself, or even Dalziel. She used words as she used her rank, to keep him at a distance, and that told him that her mask of indifference was as much a deception as anything else.

She still did not recognize him.
That
she could not hide. But he disturbed her. And now, when he was no longer distracted by the shock of finding his son, when they were facing each other with nothing between, he knew why.

His long-dormant senses woke to their full power. He smelled the answer in the air swirling about her body. He heard it in the pounding of her heart. He felt it in his belly like a draught of heady mortal ale.

To Eden Fleming, he was a servant. But he was also a man, and once he had taken her as a man takes a woman. Her body remembered what her mind did not. Her very bones and blood were imprinted with his spirit as her womb had been branded with his seed.

She wanted him. It was the primal dance that had existed since men had worn skins and worshiped the Fane as gods.

Many times, in their millennia upon the earth, Fane had taken willing mortal lovers. Occasionally it was with no thought beyond a moment's pleasure, but more often it was because of the unique enchantment that mortals alone wielded: the magic of their emotions, made vivid and powerful by their brief, fire-bright lives.

How many lovers had
Eden taken since their one night together? That she had taken them he had little doubt. Many mortals were as fickle as Fane in their desires. And why should it matter? If she were experienced in the ways of love and eager to have a new man in her bed, he would oblige her.

By Titania's wings, he wanted her. One night had not been enough to purge
himself
, nor was hatred a barrier to his lust. It urged him to make her suffer, as he had suffered.

Once he had deigned to court a mortal woman. Let her debase herself to love a servant, and realize her mistake too late.

Hartley smiled, making no attempt to hide his thoughts.

Eden
's eyelid twitched. One less acute of vision might not have noticed.

Mrs. Byrne moved up beside him, glancing from his face to
Eden's. "Well, now. Tell her ladyship what you can do, lad."

Shall I, indeed
? Hartley caught the sudden wariness in
Eden's eyes.
Remember the part you play. If you step too far beyond your place, she will run before you've caught her
.

He tempered his challenging stance. "I do seek employment, your ladyship," he said. "I can do all that Mrs. Byrne says. I've a way with dogs and horses, I've experience in foresting and gamekeeping, and growing things do well under my hand."

Eden
arched a brow. "Quite the paragon—just as you said, Mrs. Byrne." Without relaxing her posture,
Eden gave the impression of indolent amusement.