Improbable Eden (5 page)

“
Am I a want or a need?” Eden asked bluntly.

Small lines showed up between Marlborough's eyebrows. “Both, it would seem. More to the point, you're an investment. I firmly believe in investments.”

“
Oh.” Eden considered his words and grew uneasy. “And how might that be?”

The Earl passed a hand across his forehead, as if charting the path of his headache. “Let me explain. Being a Dutchman, King William surrounds himself with his native countrymen. It's natural enough, but it's a mistake politically. He's a strange little fellow who, some say, prefers the company of men to women. Yet he had a mistress while the Queen was alive. Betty Villiers. Do you know the name?”

Eden didn't. She was feeling more and more inadequate as the minutes passed.

“
When Queen Mary died,” Marlborough continued, setting his cup on the floor, “William's conscience began to trouble him. He sent Betty away. It was probably not a sound decision for either King or mistress, but there it is. And now I believe His Majesty is a lonely man.”

“
No doubt.” Eden couldn't reconcile Marlborough's sympathy for the King with the estrangement between them. Either the Earl was an unusual man, or the nobility possessed a different set of emotions.

“
So,” Marlborough went on, “it has occurred to me, what better consolation for a poor widower than a beautiful young woman to share his life?” He took three purposeful steps toward Eden. “What better future for my daughter than to be the mistress of a king?”

Eden had to grasp the arms of the chair. Her Huguenot upbringing revolted at such a suggestion. She stared incredulously at the Earl, who clearly found her reaction odd.

“
Surely you don't consider my proposal shocking? Your mother was mistress to King Charles. My sister Arabella was mistress to James. It's an honor in royal circles, as revered a position as any other.”

Trying to recover, Eden struggled to her feet and faced the Earl squarely. “Milord, I must be frank. Everything you have told me this past hour has the potential to turn my life upside down. I am honored to be your daughter, but,” she stated primly, “I have been brought up to respect my virtue. I will gladly be your partisan, but I'll be no man's courtesan. The very idea unsettles my soul.”

Eden's words aroused no sign of dismay from the Earl. He had poured himself another cup of wine, but after a single sip, put it aside. “One of the terms of your upbringing was that you'd be educated.” His smile was wry. “Obviously, you've learned to think for yourself.”

“
My, yes,” Eden said, wondering what book learning had to do with morality. “Don't think me ungrateful or indifferent to your predicament, but ….” She stopped, alarmed by the sudden change in Marlborough. His forehead was damp with perspiration; his face had turned an alarming shade of gray.

“
Summon Max,” he muttered, stumbling toward the bed.

Disturbed by his relapse, Eden pivoted on one foot and made for the passageway. She called out only once before Max responded.

“
What's wrong now?” he asked, the top of his head almost even with the door's lintel.

“
His Lordship's taken ill again. He asked for you.” Eden realized that there was resentment in her tone. She was Marlborough's daughter, and he knew that she was skilled in the medical arts, yet he had asked for this arrogant foreigner. “I trust you can cure him this time,” she said as Max moved swiftly to the Earl's room.

“
I wouldn't have to if you didn't keep giving him a headache,” Max shot over his shoulder.

Annoyed, she stomped after him but tried to cool her temper when she saw the Earl's misery. He was lying on the bed, one arm flung over his face. He didn't acknowledge their presence, but waited patiently while Max mixed and measured medicine with the skill of a chemist.

Eden's concern for the man she was beginning to think of as her father prevented her from interfering or asking questions. Instead, she waited by the cupboard while Max tended the Earl. The younger man then checked on the shutters, poked back the glowing embers in the hearth and blew out the only remaining candle. With a quick movement he signaled for Eden to follow him to his quarters next door.

“
Beer?” Hoisting an enormous tankard, he indicated that Eden should join him at the square wooden table. “It's a local brew, not as good as Dutch, but it slakes the thirst when all is said and done.” Max spoke nonchalantly, clearly taking his master's ill health in stride.

Having been raised by a cider maker, Eden had never tasted beer, though she'd sampled the hard drink Monsieur Berenger brewed each autumn from a portion of his apples. “Kent has some fine beer makers,” Eden declared loyally. “Yes, I should like a drink.”

Max poured with apparent recklessness, but topped off the mug perfectly, with the foaming suds just barely lapping the rim. Eden took a big swallow and let the beer roll around in her mouth. It tasted bitter and was too cold. She preferred cider, but refused to admit as much to Max.

“
So,” he said, putting his tankard on the table, “what has His Lordship told you?”

Eden shot him a haughty look. “Ask His Lordship. When you've cured him.”

Shrugging, Max leaned back in the chair, his long, booted legs reaching to the opposite side of the table. “I know what he intended to tell you. I marvel that you're so calm.” Despite Max's casual pose, his hazel eyes were disconcertingly intense.

Eden's full mouth pursed primly. She was unaware that a thin line of foam adorned her upper lip. “I'm not easily ruffled,” she replied, and wondered why Max was suddenly smiling. “Well, do you find my encounter with the Earl a source of fun?” Taking another drink from the mug, Eden tried to look severe.

Max rubbed at his upper lip in an effort to hide his amusement. In reflex response, Eden did the same, and discovered her finger dampened by beer suds. Before she could express her irritation, Max replied, “I find anything to do with His Lordship of consequence. My future is tied in with his, after all.” His long, chiseled face clouded. “The real question is, what do
you
think?”

Eden lifted her eyebrows. “That's a matter between His Lordship and me.” Draining her mug, she slid it across to Max. “More. Please.” She tilted her head to one side as she watched him pour, then took the mug and swung it to her lips so rashly that it spilled onto the table. Paying no heed as Max got out a handkerchief to wipe up the puddle, Eden took another drink.

Her gaze wavered as she tried to study Max's face with those intriguing cheekbones, that slightly crooked nose, the mobile mouth and the strong chin. Romantic, she thought fleetingly, though less so in a valet than in a lord. If she, Eden Berenger, was really Eden Churchill, then she was an aristocrat, far above the common class. The tedious routine of the Berenger household, the spiteful gibes of her foster family, the bleak prospect of life with a village boor would all vanish. She could even tell people like Max to go to the devil. She'd enjoy that ….

Eden swallowed more beer and closed her eyes, envisioning velvet and satin, ribbons and laces, sapphires and pearls. The gilded palaces she'd dreamed of as a child, those turreted castles and handsome manor houses flitted across the stage of her imagination. It must be true. Hadn't Eden always known that her father was someone special? She righted herself in the chair and emptied the mug. But this time when she pushed it to Max, he gave her a dubious look.

“
Are you sure?”

“
Certainly.” Eden's haughty manner was flawed by a hiccup.

Max, who had just poured himself another mugful, remained skeptical, but finally relented.

“
Thank you, Max,” said Eden, in a patronizing tone. She smiled not so much at him as at her prospects, which were growing rosier with every drop of beer. “Comfort, yes—licentiousness, no.” She shook her head and hummed a bit to herself. “It's wrong. And King or not, he's old.” Taking another drink, she tried to fix her wavering gaze on Max's face. Handsome, she thought, incredibly so, and he knows it. No doubt he's bedded most of the wenches in Marlborough's household. Now if King William looked more like this Dutch valet …. Eden licked foam from her lips and giggled.

“
Holy St. Hubert.” Max was scowling as he reached out to grasp Eden's mug. Jack had proved lucky with the girl's looks, especially that insouciant quality that went beyond mere beauty. But in Max's opinion, her intelligence—or at least her judgment—was suspect. She had much to learn if she was to become an asset to the Earl. “Hold, mistress,” Max commanded. “His Lordship will be annoyed when he discovers his protégée is tipsy.”

But Eden had both hands clenched around the mug. “Give it back,” she insisted, her dark eyes steely if unfocused. “I'm still thirsty.”

Max had the mug by the handle. He appeared to surrender with a shrug, but when Eden attempted to lift her drink, he jerked it from her fingers. She lunged at him, but her elbow skidded in a pool of beer. Max burst into laughter, the handsome head thrown back.

Furious, Eden sat up, making a vain effort to recapture her composure. “You stole my beer!” she accused. “Give it back, you basty nastard!”

“
You
what
?” Max could barely get the words out between hoots of laughter. He wiped his eyes, but was still grinning when he stood and placed both mugs high on a plate rail, out of Eden's reach. When he turned to face her, the grin was gone. Instead, he wore an expression of surprise, as if laughter had become an unfamiliar exercise.

Eden, however, recognized his reaction only in some dim corner of her mind. She was still furious with the Dutchman, incensed that he would have the effrontery to refuse her request. It appeared that he knew who she was; Marlborough must confide in his manservant. Surely Max ought to oblige his master's daughter, whether she was illegitimate or not.

“
Max, you are a swine.” She put her hands on the table to steady herself and stood up. “You've no right to take away my beer!” One arm flew out in the direction of the plate rail. “Give it back! Now!”

Any trace of humor faded from Max's face. Eden Berenger Churchill was a silly chit, unsuited for anything but life with a country dolt. A pity, since Marlborough had counted on her help. That disarming frankness would only be detrimental in the rarefied atmosphere of the court. And while her allure was undeniable, at least for a village lass, her utter lack of sophistication would prove catastrophic. Max almost felt sorry for her, but knew he must harden his heart. Otherwise, he might give the Earl bad advice.

He took four deliberate strides toward Eden and, without exerting any effort, shoved her into the chair. “Sit. Be quiet. Wait for His Lordship.” But when Eden popped to her feet as soon as he stepped away, his patience snapped.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he gave her a sharp shake. “Behave!” The hazel eyes were fierce. “Are you always this witless? Or this drunk?”

“
Drunk?” squealed Eden, squirming in his grasp. The big hands seemed to scorch her flesh. It was an odd sensation, yet not painful. Fleetingly, she wished her mind weren't so muddled. Too much had happened all at once, that was the problem, and if only she could sleep for a little while, it could all be sorted out ….

Somehow, her head was resting against Max's upper arm, and while he still had his hands on her shoulders, he wasn't shaking her anymore. The room was very quiet except for the wind rattling the casements. Cautiously, Eden looked up. From this perspective, Max's face was all sharp planes and angles, formidable as the Alps. For one giddy moment she had an irresistible urge to touch the long, lean jaw that jutted out above the linen shirt collar.

“
I don't drink. I never drink beer. I never had until ….” She gasped as she realized his hazel eyes seemed to be devouring her. Was he still angry? Was he trying to frighten her into proper behavior? No, it was something else, a foreign emotion that Eden had glimpsed somewhere before but couldn't quite recall ….

“
Never mind.” Max's words came out in a growl. Before he could say anything further, noises erupted in the hallway. Puzzled, Max turned toward the door, though his hands remained on Eden's shoulders. A woman called out above the deeper voices of some men, then a door banged.

“
Jack!” exclaimed Max, letting go of Eden. He grabbed his sword and dashed into the passageway.

Trying to shake off the fog of drink, Eden followed. In the corridor, Mistress Bunn was berating a half dozen uniformed men who were already charging into Marlborough's bedchamber.

“
King's men,” she said under her breath to Max as he tried to cross the threshold.

Three of the soldiers had the Earl of Marlborough under guard. While his face was still haggard, his color had returned and his composure seemed unruffled. “My waistcoat, please,” he said in his usual mild tone. “Surely you don't expect to arrest me in a half-dressed state at this time of year?”

One of the soldiers hurriedly brought Marlborough's waistcoat, along with his hat and cloak as well. To Eden's surprise, the man bowed deferentially before handing over the apparel.

Another man—the senior officer, judging from his age and amount of decoration—was not so obsequious. “What of these others?” he demanded, gesturing with a pudgy hand at Max and Eden.