"We have not met, I believe," he said, moving to her side under the cover of the general conversation. "I am Richmond."
"And I am Lady Elizabeth Banning, and have most reprehensibly taken over your house for my debut," she replied with a twinkle, holding out her hand to him. "You are no doubt wishing me at Jericho at this very moment."
"Not at all." He kissed her gloved hand as she clearly expected him to do and released it with a widening smile. "You may be sure that you and your sister are very welcome in my home."
"Claire, Richmond assures me that we are very welcome," Beth said gaily, glancing around and then hooking her hand in her sister's arm to draw her into the conversation. Claire turned away from the woman she had been politely listening to, and her gaze encountered his. For a moment her eyes, quite unguarded, were bright with pain and longing. His heart, damned treacherous organ, seemed to skip a beat in response. Then she dropped her lids just enough to veil her eyes, and pinned a— to him at least— patently false smile on her hauntingly lovely face.
"How very charming of him," Claire murmured, her voice cool.
"Indeed, and providential too, as just this morning you were talking about the need for us to take a lease on another house in town so that Richmond might have his privacy. I am sure you would be very dull if we did so, would you not, Your Grace?" This sally by Lady Elizabeth was accompanied by a wide smile. The sheer audacity of her was charming, and Hugh was surprised into a chuckle.
"Very dull indeed," he said. "And you must call me Hugh. We are cousins now, after all, are we not?"
"Then I am Beth. And my sister is Claire."
"Beth. Claire. How I rejoice in the acquisition of such delightful new family members."
"The connection is nevertheless no excuse for us to so grossly take advantage of Richmond's hospitality by remaining under his roof for the rest of the Season," Claire said to her sister.
"But I insist," Hugh said. Claire looked at him again, only the second time in the course of the conversation that she had done so. This time her eyes held— what? a reproof?— before she glanced away. Left looking at her averted face, Hugh discovered that he was no more cut out for a clandestine relationship than she was. While morality may have been the grounds for her objection, fierce possessiveness fueled his. It was all he could do not to sweep her up in his arms and walk off with her, thus putting an end to the whole ridiculous charade. She was his, and there was an end to it.
Only she wasn't.
"Indeed, Claire, if we were to attempt such a move we would no doubt find that there are no decent houses to be hired anywhere in London at the moment. You had best leave such matters to me." David's tone as he addressed his wife was so brusque as to cause Hugh to give him a hard look, which, no doubt fortunately, he didn't see.
"Oh, lud, yes, Lady Dempsey was telling me just the other day about the truly appalling house they were obliged to take for the Season because they could find none other. If you can believe it, it is in Harley Street," Lady Langford said with a grimace. "And at such a price! Lady Dempsey swore she would not have dreamt that even St. James's Palace could be half so dear."
"You see, Cousin Claire, what a hideous fate awaits you if you remain obdurate." Hugh was quite unable to resist the impulse to get her to look at him again.
She did, but this time there was no mistaking the rebuke in the depths of those heart-stopping golden eyes. Clearly the lady wished to whisk herself out of his house and, thus, out of his life. While he might, if he were a better man, make it easy for her, he discovered that he was just base enough to refuse to assist her. Under the cover of the general conversation, which, with the aid of Lady Langford, was now involved with the impossibility of London prices in general, he smiled at Claire. Her eyes widened, warmed instinctively, then flickered with alarm and darted away from his. Seconds later she had turned a cold shoulder on him to take up a conversation with another of the visiting ladies. Watching her broodingly, he nevertheless managed to seem to be conversing with Lady Langford, largely because that loquacious lady was doing all the conversing. Though she remained partially turned away, Claire was as attuned to him as he was to her. The stiffness of her stance, her dogged refusal to turn her head in his direction, and the forced quality of her smile were dead giveaways, to him if no one else. But despite her best efforts to pretend he wasn't there, the air between them seemed charged with an invisible current so strong that it was almost palpable. Could no one else sense it? A covert glance around gave him the answer: Apparently not. Then Lady Langford said something to him that required an answer— he was not sure precisely what it was— but clearly his response was appropriate enough that she felt free to continue to chatter away.
"Ladies, forgive me," he said abruptly as the conversation turned to upcoming social events and Lady Langford began to coyly feel him out as to which ones he meant to attend. "But my cousin and I have business that we cannot put off any longer despite the lure of such scintillating company. Pray excuse us."
Amid a cacophony of disappointed good-byes, and so many twittering urges that he be sure to do one thing or another that Hugh quite lost track of what he promised to whom, he managed to escape, hooking a friendly-looking hand in David's arm in the process and thus compelling his cousin to accompany him to his study.
"The matchmaking mamas are hot on your trail already, I see. Oh, what it must be to be young, rich, and a duke." David threw himself into the leather chair in front of the desk as Hugh closed the study door behind them. The room was not large, but it was one of Hugh's favorites, with wood-paneled walls lined with shelf after shelf of books and an immense Italian marble fireplace in which a small fire presently burned to ward off the creeping evening chill.
"There are undoubtedly worse things." Hugh moved toward the vast mahogany desk that had been his father's and his father's father's before him, back countless generations.
"Will we see you setting up your nursery soon?" David's voice was light, but there was a glint in his eyes that told Hugh how closely the matter rankled.
"Worried about being cut out, are you?" Hugh responded dryly, sitting down behind the desk. "When I have plans to supplant you as my heir, I'll let you know." He offered David a cigar from the box on his desk. When David declined, he lit up himself, and leaned back in his chair, eyeing his cousin a trifle grimly. "You've been drawing the bustle with a vengeance while I've been away, I understand."
"I don't know what you're talking about." As it had always been his wont to do when the conversation took a turn he didn't like, David's expression turned sulky.
"I think you do. Since gaining your majority, you've frittered away practically every pound of the not inconsiderable fortune your father left you, and in the nearly two years since your marriage you've managed to squander the entirety of your wife's dowry as well. All that is left to you is a trust fund set up so that the principal is untouchable, which provides you with a small income, and Labington, which came to you free and clear and is now mortgaged to the hilt. You are, to be blunt, quite rolled up. None of which would be my concern— your finances are your own, after all— were it not for the fact that six months ago my man of business began receiving bills for various repairs and services associated with the upkeep of my properties— the ones that your mother and you have occupied with my goodwill and at my expense— that were easily three times what they should have been. He and I went over them this afternoon. You've been padding expenses and pocketing the difference, haven't you?"
David, who'd been sprawling in his chair when Hugh started talking, did not change position. But his mouth contorted into a the slightest of sneers, and his eyes took on a sullen gleam. "What possible difference could a few paltry bills of mine make to you? You're rich as bloody Croesus."
"However rich I may or may not be, what is mine is mine. I have a constitutional dislike of being cheated. Even less do I relish being robbed." Hugh's voice was hard.
"What would you have had me do, oh mighty cousin?" David sat up and gave Hugh a look that brimmed with bitter mockery. "As you say, I am under the hatches. But, though my funds have unfortunately fallen victim to a series of unfortunate events, I still have to live. I still have a wife to support, too, in case you haven't noticed, and as you can no doubt tell from looking at her, her upkeep is a considerable expense. The outlay required for her gowns and gewgaws and fripperies is truly staggering, believe me. As your heir, I would have applied to you for relief if you had been in England. As you were not, knowing your generous nature and the fondness you bear me, I assumed you would not object to making me a small loan."
"You assumed wrong. And we'll leave your wife out of this, if you please. I'm quite well aware that you are a hardened gamester, and have lost it all at play. I tell you to your head— and I mean to say this only once, so take heed of it— that I will not support such folly. For the sake of your mother, and your wife, this time I will not throw you out on your ear to fend for yourself. I'll even pay the debts you have accumulated to this point, and will contribute enough to your income to allow you to maintain yourself and your family in tolerable style. But if I get wind of any more gaming, or if you again attempt to fleece me in any way, my patience will be at an end, my subsidizing of your expenditures will stop, and you may go to the devil with my goodwill. Do I make myself clear?"
Their gazes met and held. There was anger in David's expression, and resentment too. Hugh recognized that his cousin, never counted as a friend, might well have become his enemy instead. Had it not been for Claire, and Lady George, who was after all innocent of any wrongdoing save being David's mother, he would have turned his cousin out of doors forthwith. But for their sakes, he did not.
"Very clear, cousin." David stood up, thrusting one hand in his pocket and twirling his eyeglass on its ribbon with the other. "Having just been raked over the coals like an errant schoolboy, I feel it incumbent on me to beg to be excused before I dare to remove myself from your august presence."
"As long as you believe that I mean what I say, you may go about your business with my goodwill." As tempting as it was to lose his temper with David, Hugh managed to refrain. He dismissed the younger man with a curt nod, then watched with a slowly knitting brow as his cousin sauntered with insolent grace from the room.
After David was gone, Hugh finished his cigar, leaning back in his chair, and thoughtfully pondered the smoke that swirled above his head. A suspicion had entered his mind, and the more he considered it the more solid it became.
Had David, in some kind of convoluted scheme to make money, arranged for the attack on Claire's carriage? Perhaps hoping to collect a ransom for her safe return? Or, perhaps, hoping for something worse?
He meant to make it his business to find out.
Chapter 27
"Claire, there, look! You see! It
is
Cousin Hugh, just as I said." Seated in the family laundau with Claire and Twindle, Beth practically broke her neck to get a final glimpse as a shiny black curricle traveling in the opposite direction along Piccadilly shot past them at a spanking pace, its driver doing a deft job of weaving in and out among the slower-moving traffic that clogged the street. It was a bright sunny morning some three weeks after Beth's ball, and the ladies were returning home from a successful shopping expedition in Bond Street. "Oh, my, isn't he looking slap up to the mark? And did you see the lady he has with him? Who can she be, I wonder?"
Seated beside Beth in the open carriage, Claire nearly choked at Beth's naive question. She had indeed seen the "lady" her sister referred to as soon as Beth had pointed out Hugh's equipage barreling toward them through the crush of vehicles crowding the road. Frozen into place, doing her best to keep her face absolutely expressionless in case he should glance their way, she was powerless to prevent Beth's cheery waves at the approaching carriage. Fortunately Hugh either had not observed or had been gentlemanly enough to choose not to acknowledge Beth's signals. Despite the brief nature of the encounter, Claire had seen enough to have the female's image burned into her brain: guinea-gold curls bouncing around a flawless face tilted up to laugh at some remark of Hugh's; a smooth white neck and ample bosom swelling lushly above a gown of sky-blue silk that was more than a little daring for daytime wear; ropes of pearls and colored stones around her neck that glinted in the sunshine; an enormous hat with a curling brim and a trio of quivering ostrich plumes so large they brushed her shoulders with each sway of the carriage. No lady of Claire's acquaintance would have dreamed of stepping out in public thus attired. Indeed, Claire knew what such a costume portended: the type of female that Hugh would never introduce to Beth— or herself. In short, the lady was no lady. Hugh had clearly decided to console himself with a tart.
The knowledge hit Claire with all the force of a body blow.
"He is so handsome, Claire, don't you think, and most agreeable too. I declare, I am of half a mind to set my cap at him. I would make a capital duchess, and should quite enjoy being top of the trees."
"Miss Beth, that I should live to listen to such vulgarity from the mouth of a young lady I helped raise!" Twindle shook her head despairingly. Seated opposite the pair of them, the older woman, looking neat as a pin in a soft gray gown with matching bonnet, fixed Beth with a reproving stare. "You will never win a husband of any rank do you not learn to keep a guard on that unruly tongue, and so I warn you."
"Indeed, Beth, Richmond is far too old for you," Claire said.
"Why, I would not have thought him much above thirty." Beth frowned, her expression thoughtful as she settled her newly purchased Norwich shawl more closely about her shoulders. Made of heavy white silk with a long, knotted fringe, the wrap was just the thing for a young lady in her first Season, they had all agreed. Admiring its effect when paired with her gown of primrose-sprigged muslin, she had elected to wear it rather than have it sent with the rest of the morning's purchases.