The Gilded Web (3 page)

He did not know quite what always drew his eyes. The sparkle, perhaps, that was absent from the women in his own family? Alex was perhaps younger than Lady Madeline Raine, but Alex had never been as young. She had never been given the chance.

Purnell shrugged his shoulders and turned to search the crowds for his mother and his sister. He saw the former sitting in an obscure corner of the room talking to a faded creature, who was doubtless a chaperone. He crossed the room toward them and bowed.

“Good evening, ma'am,” he said to the faded creature, drawing some color to her cheeks and a surprised smile to her lips. “Have you seen Alex, Mama? I have ordered the carriage to be brought around.”

“She has gone with Deirdre and Caroline, James,” Lady Beckworth said. “They begged quite insistently that she be allowed to go. Your papa will not like it, will he? But there can be no real harm in her going, can there? Deirdre is his sister, after all.”

Her son frowned. “I think Alex might be allowed to decide such matters for herself, Mama,” he said. “She is of age, after all. Will you take my arm?”

He bowed again to the faded chaperone as his mother turned to say good night, and found his eyes straying once more to the dancers. Lady Madeline Raine was still waltzing with her twin, Lord Eden.

T
HERE WAS A SUGGESTION OF DAWN IN THE sky already before Edmund Raine, Earl of Amberley, returned home. He had spent most of the night with Mrs. Eunice Borden, his mistress. Indeed, it was becoming more and more his habit to stay with her. He found the relationship comfortable. As he was dressing and preparing to step out into the cold night, he found himself thinking, not for the first time, of suggesting to her that they marry.

It was difficult to put into words why he was finding the affair so satisfactory. And even more difficult to know why he was contemplating matrimony. Eunice was not a pretty woman. She was not even particularly attractive. She had a short, rather heavyset figure, strong features, and short, dark, very curly hair. Her manner was quite unflirtatious. She spoke in a forthright way that occasionally offended, but never left her listener in any doubt about her true feelings. She had acquired a well-deserved reputation as a literary hostess. Her salon was always worth attending during almost any evening of the week.

And she was older than he by three years. She was two-and-thirty years old, a widow for the past six years. She had never made any attempt to conceal her age.

Lord Amberley looked behind him and smiled at Eunice as she lay in bed, the blankets neatly pulled up under her arms, her hands clasped loosely over her stomach. Her legs were stretched out side by side beneath the covers.

“Thank you, Eunice,” he said, as he always did before leaving her. “You are very good to me, my dear.”

“I am glad you came, Amberley,” she said. She never called him by any other name. “I can always count on you for interesting and stimulating conversation. Do you think Mr. Denny a serious poet? I found his manner rather irritating tonight, as if he is somewhat in love with the idea of being a poet.”

“That seems to be rather a failing of poets in general, do you not think?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “Yes, you are right of course,” she said. “And one can forgive a measure of eccentricity provided the creative genius is really present. In Mr. Denny's case, I rather doubt that there is any genius at all. I do not believe I will invite him again. I would not wish to have my salon gain a reputation for mediocrity.”

“I think that is hardly likely to happen,” Lord Amberley said, sitting down on a chair and pulling on one of his Hessian boots. “Would you consider marrying me, Eunice?”

She showed no outward sign of surprise or any other emotion. “I don't believe that would be wise for you, Amberley,” she said. “I am too old to be thinking of giving you heirs. You will need to marry someone younger.”

“And what if I am not too concerned about heirs?” he said, regarding her with a half-smile. “And what if I am satisfied with a more mature and sensible wife?”

“Then you are a fool,” Mrs. Borden said. “It is your duty to beget children of your own, Amberley. Personal inclination is of small consideration when you have an earldom to pass along.”

“Are you saying no?” he asked. “Or are you open to persuasion?”

“I do not believe I am willing to give up my independence,” she said. “I am quite satisfied to be your mistress for as long as you wish, Amberley. But your wife? No, I think not. We would not be nearly as comfortable together if we were married. We would begin to wrangle. Take my word for it.”

Lord Amberley did not argue the point. He leaned over the bed to give his mistress the usual good-night kiss on her cheek—never on her lips—and took his leave of her.

He walked home, as he generally did, noting the signs of early dawn, the almost imperceptible lightening of the eastern sky. He was glad he had worn his greatcoat when he left the house the evening before, though it had seemed foolish to be doing so in May.

Eunice was probably right. It was better that they live their separate lives. The funny thing was that he could not remember quite how their affair had started. What exactly had happened to cause them to go to bed with each other that first time? He could not recall. He had never found her particularly attractive. He had enjoyed her salon and her conversation. He had grown into the habit of lingering until her last guest left, and then even beyond that. But when had conversation first given place to physical contact? He had never kissed her on the lips. He had started sleeping with her without any big romantic moment to herald the beginning of the affair. That had been more than a year before.

He had not had any other woman since. And that in itself was surprising. During the months of each year that he spent on his estate, he always lived a celibate life. But during his months in London he had often indulged himself with several women. He had remained faithful to Eunice, though, resuming their affair this spring after his winter at Amberley Court.

It was not a passionate affair. Indeed, he was quite sure that Eunice did not derive any pleasure at all from their couplings. She certainly did not participate in them beyond receiving him in a quite matter-of-fact manner, giving what she knew he wanted without either prudishness or coquetry. He often wondered what satisfaction she got out of their liaison. But perhaps it was in her attitude that he found his own satisfaction. In his busy life of responsibility for the happiness of others, it was refreshing to find someone who seemed more intent on giving than receiving.

He had expected that she would marry him. A desire to be the Countess of Amberley, to live a life of security as his wife, would have explained her willingness to submit to his embraces. And yet he was not surprised by her refusal. Eunice was not a woman to whom position and security would be overriding goals. She had been married very young to Mr. Borden and had been left with a comfortable independence eight years later. She did not appear to regret her widowed state.

Lord Amberley let himself into his town house with his own key. He always insisted that his staff go to bed at midnight whether he and Dominic were at home or not. Why keep a poor footman standing around asleep on his feet for most of the night merely because his master was too busy bedding his mistress to come home at a decent hour?

He climbed the stairs and walked the length of the upper corridor to his bedchamber. He yawned. Perhaps if the birds did not strike up too enthusiastic a dawn chorus outside his window, he would be able to snatch another few hours of sleep before beginning his day.

He stopped and listened. Was Madeline home? She did not come very often, as he had bought his mother her own town house four years before, having decided that she would be happier in her own establishment while in London, and naturally enough, her daughter had gone to live with her. But Madeline did come home on occasion, notably when Mama was otherwise engaged. His sister had been at the Easton ball last night, he believed. Dominic had been going to put in an appearance there too. Madeline must have returned with him.

She must be still awake. She certainly was tossing and turning in her room. He could hear her from where he was. Had something happened to upset her? It seemed unlikely. Madeline had a sunny nature and was not easily upset. Lord Amberley shrugged his shoulders and proceeded on his way.

And yet, standing fifteen minutes later in his dressing gown at the window of his bedchamber, looking out onto a street that was brightening into a new day, he sipped from a glass of water and wondered about his younger sister. What was she doing at home? Mama had not said anything about going away. They had not quarreled, had they? He frowned and looked toward the door of his room. Should he go and see if she really was still awake? Would she thank him for disturbing her even if she were?

He would do it anyway, he decided. He did not like to think of Madeline unhappy. Or perhaps ill. He must see if there was something he could do to help. He opened his door and walked back down the corridor. He stopped outside the door to his sister's room and listened. She was definitely still awake and apparently moaning and loudly fidgeting. Or was she indeed asleep and having nightmares? He tapped quietly on the door.

For a moment all fell silent within, and then the scuffling sounds increased in volume. Lord Amberley turned the handle of the door, found it unlocked, and opened it.

The curtains were not drawn either at the long windows or around the bed. He stared motionless for a moment at the figure on the bed, or rather twisted around and half off the bed. Madeline?

Her arms were above her head, apparently grasping the bedpost. Her head was completely swaddled in dark cloth. She was wearing a flimsy blue dress, but it was twisted awkwardly around her body and was pulled up so that her long slim legs were almost completely exposed.

“What on earth?” he said, striding toward her and putting his glass of water down on the side table so that he could help her. And she certainly needed help. Her wrists were bound to the bedpost, he saw with some horror. And it was a cloak that had wrapped itself completely around her shoulders and head.

She was a prisoner. Those mad twins! Would they never grow up? Lord Amberley felt a surge of anger.

“Hold still,” he said firmly. “I shall have you free in a moment.”

She lay still then, though it took him more than a few moments to loosen her bonds, which her struggles had doubtless tightened considerably.

“There,” he said, expecting her at any moment to burst into an indignant tirade against Dominic. He reached down and tried to lower the skirt of her gown, but it was so tightly twisted beneath her that the task was impossible. He reached up to untangle her from the twisted cloak. Her hands were on his, plucking at them, but they were cold and nerveless. He pushed them away.

When he had pulled away the folds of the cloak, she was still not free. Her head and face were almost entirely covered by the hood, which was held very firmly in place by the green gag she wore. He pushed back the hood, feeling even greater fury. She looked up at him with wide and wary eyes.

Dark eyes.

Oh, God!

“Turn your head,” he said tonelessly. “I will free you from that gag.”

His fingers fumbled with the knot and finally loosened it. He slid one hand beneath her head and lifted it so that he could both remove the scarf and put back her hood. A cascade of thick dark hair fell over his arm with the hood and waved over her shoulders. He did not think to remove his arm for a moment.

She lay still, her head resting against his arm, staring up at him warily. Perhaps she did not realize that her legs were exposed to the thighs.

“Who are you?” he asked foolishly, and he slid his arm from beneath her head and stood up.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, and tried to lick parched lips with an equally dry tongue. She made an inarticulate sound.

“Here,” he said, picking up the glass of water, “you must drink this. No, don't shrink from me. I will do you no harm.”

He put one arm beneath her shoulders again and lifted her to a sitting position. He held the glass while she drank. Her hands, he could see, were temporarily paralyzed.

She turned her head away after she had taken a few sips, and her long disheveled hair hid her face from his view. “You are Eden?” she asked, and coughed. “What do you want with me? I will not be intimidated. You may kill me if you wish, but I will not plead with my father to pay you a ransom. And I will not submit without a struggle to being ravished.”

“Eden?” he said, straightening up and standing beside the bed. “My brother has brought you here?”

Her pale handsome face suddenly flushed quite painfully, and she pulled at the skirt of her gown. She had to lift her hips in order to loosen it. He kept his eyes on her face while she did so. She sat up abruptly on the side of the bed, and one hand collapsed clumsily beneath her as she used it to push herself upright.

“This is an outrage,” she said, her voice shaking very slightly. “I demand to be released.”

“I agree with you entirely, ma'am,” he said quietly, and reached out to tug on the silk-tasseled bell-pull beside the bed. “May I know who you are so that I might communicate with your family? They must be frantic with worry.”

“My father is Lord Beckworth,” she said. “We live on Curzon Street.”

“I know him,” Lord Amberley said with a frown. “May I ask how you got here, Miss…?”

“I was abducted,” she said, “by two men. I was at Lady Easton's ball. They said that Eden would be here soon. But that must have been many hours ago.”

“Lord Eden is my younger brother,” he said. “Ah! Do come in, Mrs. Haviland. This lady has come to be here by some misadventure involving Lord Eden. Will you stay with her here, please, and see that she is made comfortable and has some refreshments, while I send for her father? She has been tied up and gagged for several hours. I believe she would appreciate having someone massage her hands.”

“Oh, please,” the dark-haired handsome girl said as he turned to leave her in some privacy, “not my father. Please, will you send for my brother instead? James Purnell. He will come.”