Anne Barbour (17 page)

"Sir!" Eden said again. She turned to gesture to the footman, who was still in tow, but that young man had remained outside the door, apparently unwilling to enter into such an awkward situation. He was now gazing studiously at the revelers about him. Swinging back to Belhaven, she attempted to infuse her voice with menace. "You will cease molesting Zoë, or I shall be forced to call the... the proprietors."

Belhaven, whose thin mouth had curved into a lazy smile, merely sneered. "And what do you think the proprietors will do to a duke's son? In addition, if we are to talk of molesting, it seems to me your sister was participating most willingly in our little interlude."

Zoë, by now had apparently been brought to the realization that this time she had gone too far, and that her
beau ideal
was displaying feet of mud. She tried to speak, but Eden silenced her with a sweep of her arm. "Willing!" she cried, aware that she was on the verge of hysteria. "Zoë is an innocent, you vile—"

"Innocent?" Bel's slurred laughter was an assault. "Good God, you insufferable prude, she's hot as a harlot and as ripe for plucking as a Christmas goose. I could have lifted her skirts and taken her right here on the floor." He dropped his arm to squeeze Zoë's derriere. "Couldn't I, my sweet?"

Zoë's mouth dropped open, and she wrenched away from him with a sob. Eden, a red mist rising before her eyes, stepped up to him and without thinking she delivered a stinging slap across Belhaven's mouth.

The next moment, with an enraged snarl, Belhaven raised his own hand and slammed it against Eden's cheek, sending her reeling backward, almost tumbling to the floor.

At this, the footman, at last recalled to his duty, ran into the little chamber. '"Ere!" he exclaimed. "What's all this?"

His eyes bulged in horror as he observed Eden struggling to maintain her balance, her hand pressed to her cheek.

The footman raised both fists, prepared to administer retaliation, but it was not he who surged forward in a cold rage. For the second time that day, Seth Lindow felled his brother, first with a smashing right to the center of Belhaven's face and then a left into his stomach.

Chapter Thirteen

“Oh, Seth!" sobbed Eden, so grateful to behold him at that moment that she did not pause to wonder at his sudden appearance. Seth bent over Bel, his face white with a primal fury. He delivered another blow before grasping Bel by the throat, throttling him with both hands. He lifted his brother from the floor and slammed him back again until the footman, galvanized to action, restrained him with some effort. Seth rose, his breath coming in harsh gasps. After contemplating his brother's supine form for a moment, he swung to Eden. Placing an arm about her shoulders, he drew her toward him, cupping her head in one hand.

"My God, Eden, are you all right?" He bent to examine the bruise that was already forming on her cheek.

"Yes,
but Zoë..."

Seth glanced indifferently at Zoë, still standing in frozen silence. "She seems to have suffered no harm," he said, his eyes again on Eden.

On the floor, Bel stirred. Blood was streaming from his nose, and he groped in his pocket for a handkerchief. Pressing it to his face, he struggled to a sitting position. Somewhat to Eden's surprise, he did not evince any desire to get to his feet, nor did he display an intent to retaliate. In fact, a muffled snort of laughter emerged from behind the handkerchief.

"Did you leave your snow-white palfrey parked outside, Seth? Lord, if you make it a habit to rescue any more maidens in distress, they'll be putting up a stained glass window in your honor at Westminster Abbey."

He held out a hand to the footman standing by in some bemusement, and after a questioning glance at Seth, from whom he received a permissive nod, the servant assisted Bel to his feet.

Seth raised his fists as though he would strike Bel again, but at a gasp from Eden, he halted.

"I would very much like to kill you." Seth's words were spoken in the softest of tones, but the ice in them chilled Eden to the bone. Zoë, too, shivered. "Repeat the offense," Seth continued, "and I certainly shall."

Bel's response was another brief gust of laughter—albeit shaken, noted Eden. After one look at Seth's face, white and set and undoubtedly murderous, Bel pushed past the footman, and, the handkerchief still pressed to his face, lurched from the little alcove.

Eden glanced at Seth, and once more a moment of communion passed between them. Eden felt as privy to the turmoil raging within him as though she could read through his eyes into his soul. She knew, moreover, that Seth was aware of the emotions that were tumbling about in her own mind—even though she was unable to sort them out herself. Uppermost was gratitude, certainly, and outrage at Bel's behavior, but beneath them lay a deep acknowledgment of the urge that had prompted Seth to react so unthinkingly and so violently on her behalf.

His fingers traced the burgeoning mark on her cheek, and hers went up to caress them in a feather-light touch. Abruptly, she swung away to go to Zoë, who had begun to cry.

Eden smiled grimly as she grasped her sister by the shoulders. "I don't know whether to shake you or hug you. Are you all right? What in God's name possessed you to creep off with that slimy libertine?"

"He's
not
slimy!" exclaimed Zoë, then smiled sheepishly as she realized the implication of her words. "I'm so sorry for what he did to you, Eden. I had no idea ..."

If Eden thought it odd that Zoë should apologize for Belhaven's actions, she said nothing, merely remarking, "I think there is nothing beneath him. At least now your eyes are opened."

"Yes," replied Zoë in a voice that to Eden's critical ear sounded unconvinced.

Eden prepared to lead her sister from the little chamber, but was stayed by Seth's hand. The rage had died from his eyes, but his features still bore traces of a cold fury.

"What the devil are the two of you doing in a place like this?"

"Oh," said Eden. "Zoë—that is, we have never been to a masquerade, and we thought it might be ... enjoyable. Mama is with us," she added hastily. "We hired a box so that we would not have to mingle if we didn't choose, and we brought two footmen."

"Indeed," Seth retorted scathingly. "I can see what wonderful protection they have been." He swung to Zoë. "Have you no better sense than to go off with a man possessing the worst reputation in London? As for you!" He turned on the hapless footman. "How could you allow your mistress to be assaulted in that manner? If you were in my employ, you'd be turned off without a character."

The footman reddened, and Zoë began to cry again—angry, unrepentant tears that threatened to blow into a full-fledged storm.

"Not now, Seth," pleaded Eden. "I must get her back to Mama, and thence home. Heavens, I only hope Papa does not hear of this contretemps."

Seth stepped back to allow the sisters through the door, then followed them, with the chastened footman following. Before they re-entered the theater proper, Eden turned once again to Seth.

"Thank you again," she said, lowering her gaze almost immediately at the expression she encountered in his. "I... I do not know what we would have done if—" She stopped abruptly. "How did you know we were here?"

Seth's lips quirked in an unwilling smile.

"During my visit to Clearsprings," he said, "my man— Moppe—made the acquaintance of your maid—Makepeace, I believe her name is. The two have been walking out since our return to London. This afternoon, she mentioned to him your proposed, er, outing. Moppe, correctly assuming I would be interested in this information, relayed it to me upon his return home."

"Makepeace?" Eden gasped. "But, how—what—?"

Seth's voice harshened once more.

"I shall accompany you home," he interrupted curtly.

"Oh, but—"

"Come," said Seth peremptorily. "Your mother must be wondering where you've got to."

Indeed, Lady Beckett was in something of a taking when they returned to the box. "Where have you
been?"
she cried, almost in tears. "I was about to send Watkins to look for you—" She pointed a wildly shaking finger at the remaining footman, stolidly retaining his post at the door to the box. "But, I was fearful of his leaving me alone in this ... this ..." Her gesture swung to encompass the melee that was taking place in the pit. The masquerade had degenerated into a complete romp, most of the dancers having left the stage to disport themselves in the pit. Couples embraced openly. Others, displaying more restraint, slapped away the exploring hands of their beaux, all the while laughing uproariously and otherwise displaying no discouragement. In one corner, a noisy mock battle took place among several damsels riding the shoulders of swains so drunk they could barely maintain their equilibrium. In another, an impromptu jig was taking place, regardless of the waltz being played by the orchestra. The dancers whisked coattails in abandon or raised skirts to their hips, depending on their sex.

Seth took one look at the proceedings and ordered the entire group, footmen included, out of the box and out of the theater. Once outside, he bundled his charges toward his carriage, which he had ordered to remain standing nearby.

"It will take an eternity to have yours brought around," he said brusquely to Eden. "Here, you," he barked at the footman. "Order up her ladyship's carriage, and when it arrives, take it home." The young men, without so much as a glance at Lady Beckett, scurried to do his bidding.

"Now then," began Seth again in a slightly milder tone, when the ladies were ensconced in his carriage and the vehicle was moving down Bow Street away from the unsavory confines of Covent Garden. "What were you—?"

Eden, however, interrupted him. While she was grateful for his timely arrival on the scene in the theater, she experienced a spurt of irritation at his high-handed disposal of their carriage and his peremptory manner in taking charge of the situation. "For heaven's sake, Seth. I know it was not at all the thing for the three of us to attend the masquerade, particularly with no gentleman in attendance, but we ... we thought it would be a lark."

At this, Zoë spoke up. She had stopped crying. Indeed, she looked remarkably composed for a gently bred maiden who had, only moments before, been the target of a gentleman's most sinister intentions. "There's no need to wrap it in clean linen, Eden. It was all my fault," she said to Seth. "I've never attended a masquerade, and I thought this would be great fun. I knew it wouldn't be the sort of thing a lady would attend unaccompanied, but I thought that merely meant that we wouldn't meet anyone ... well, important."

Eden glared meaningfully at her sister, for she knew full well Zoë's purpose in coming to the Opera House. It had been obvious from the moment she set foot there that the little minx had been looking for Belhaven. It was equally obvious that, in addition, Belhaven had been perfectly correct in his odious remarks about Zoë's acquiescence in her own ruination. What in the world had Zoë been about? The girl was a natural flirt, but up until now she had always remained firmly in control of the flirtee. She had never been known to allow a situation to proceed any farther than she wished. What had made her all but toss her bonnet over the windmill this evening? Dear God, could she have formed a serious
tendre
for the black-hearted Marquess of Belhaven?

She wrenched her attention to the conversation taking place between Zoë and Seth, punctuated by self-exculpatory, albeit nearly incoherent explanations by Lady Beckett. Zoë was all pretty contrition, which obviously made no dent in Seth's disapproval. It was not long before Zoë's eyes began to glitter ominously, and Eden felt obliged to step in before open war erupted.

"Yes," she said prosaically, "it was an unpleasant experience all around, but it's over, and none of us the worse for it. Zoë, I'm sure, learned a lesson tonight, and, thanks to you, Seth, no real harm came to any of us. I think we can safely say that we were not seen by anyone whose opinion counts for anything in the Polite World. Our reputation," she concluded rather grandly, "remains unblemished."

Seth snorted, but by now the carriage had rolled into Portman Square. As luck would have it, the vehicle drew to a stop before Mrs. Nassington's home just as Lord Beckett was disembarking from his own carriage, having spent an agreeable evening at his club. His expression, as he beheld the arrival of his wife and daughters, garbed in dominoes, was anything but agreeable.

"Where
have you been?" he demanded explosively. "No, never mind, you don't have to tell me. You've been to that cursed masquerade, haven't you? After I expressly forbade—"

Here Seth stepped forward, and Lord Beckett's expression underwent a marked change. "You? Here?" he blurted in puzzlement.

"Indeed, Lord Beckett," proclaimed Seth smoothly. "I fear I am at fault in your ladies' disobedience. I chanced to visit Miss Zoë earlier this evening, and she told me of her desire to participate in the masquerade. Knowing that it is not uncommon for the most respectable ladies to visit the Opera House masquerades in the company of a gentleman—at least during the earlier portion of the evening," he interposed austerely, "I volunteered to escort them there. Pray believe me, sir, when I tell you the expedition was entirely unexceptionable."

He became the focus of three worshipful gazes as the Beckett ladies breathed a sigh of relief. Eden breathed a prayer of gratitude for the night that covered the bruise she was sure must be burgeoning on her cheek.

Lord Beckett harrumphed for another moment or two, but at length barked a jovial, "Hah!" and invited Seth to join him in his study to imbibe a late evening potation. This Seth declined courteously and took himself off in a cloud of good wishes and heartfelt, if silent, gratitude.

In the house, Eden followed Zoë purposefully to the girl's bedchamber, but at the door, Zoë turned.

"I really don't feel like a lecture tonight, Eden," she said, the tearstains on her cheeks reinforcing her expression of strain. "I know everything you are going to say, so you might as well save yourself the trouble. I have some thinking to do, and we'll talk tomorrow."