Chapter 5
Keaton strode across the floor of his study.
He could swear that the woman who had kissed him was standing just behind him.
Her perfume was lodged in his mind, tantalizing his senses.
The feel of her naked shoulder, which he had so briefly touched.
The softness of her skin. Perfect, smooth, and hot.
To a blind man, touch could communicate so much, and his imagination had been fired by that oh-so-brief contact.
He rapped his shin on a table and cursed, only to kick a chair leg with his heel. Balance lost, he staggered, becoming completely disoriented for a second. Edric's broad, firm hand landed on his shoulder with the force of a falling boulder.
“Whatever is the matter with you, Keaton? First, that inexplicable behavior at the Assembly Rooms, and now staggering around like a bull in a china shop. Have you rearranged the furniture?”
Keaton stood still, breathing hard. “No—but someone bloody well has. It’s like the damned room shifted behind my back!”
“I don't think anything has been moved. I think your usually excellent concentration has slipped, and you have lost your place. Here, let me restore you. Your preferred chair is behind you, two paces.”
Keaton shrugged off his Uncle's help irritably, reaching behind until he felt the familiar fabric of his fireside armchair. He sat back, relief flooding him immediately.
How quickly fear and panic set in when I believe myself without my usual landmarks. I fancy myself so in control of everything, but that is an illusion, and this evening is the perfect example!
“Well?” Edric instigated. “This evening, I witnessed years of patient, hard work undone in one mad moment. Whatever were you thinking, man?”
There was frustration in his Uncle's voice. To be expected. Nothing could upset Edric more than a threat to the good name of Westvale.
“I was defending the honor of a lady who was being attacked by a cad, the Earl of Emsworth no less,” he gritted back, tightening his fist around his cane. “Is that not in keeping with my family name?”
“Emsworth is betrothed. Was betrothed to that young lady,” Edric barked, “which means it was not so much an assault as a prelude to married life. She had already accepted him, so I do not see how it can be construed as Emsworth forcing his attentions on her!”
Edric’s tone had slipped from one of controlled rebuke to pure, unadulterated rage now. From the proximity of his voice, he had undoubtedly prowled nearer too.
“Uncle, do not forget which of us holds the title of Duke,” Keaton reminded tightly. “I value your guidance as I always have. But you seem to think you can still lecture me as you did when I was a boy.”
The tone in the room immediately shifted.
“I apologize for overstepping the mark,” came a solemn reply. “I merely think of you, Your Grace. There is no possibility that you might not be accused of assaulting Emsworth?”
“Probably, given the kind of man he is. But it changes nothing. I did what was right. That is an end to it.”
Keaton thoughtfully cast his mind back over the incident. Over everything he had heard. The sounds of a struggle. A woman demanding to be released and a man threatening to thrash her like an animal.
No, that was no game between lovers. That was assault, and I do not care what the relationship between the two was. The law might not see it as assault, but I do.
An idea occurred to Keaton then. It immediately took seed, flowering in a mind that was primed to accept it.
“There is a way to neutralize the scandal, Uncle,” Keaton began, quietly.
Edric had turned away. Keaton heard him prodding the fire, the sound of the poker quite distinctive. Now he detected the sound of a man whirling in surprise. The poker clanged against the stone surround of the fireplace, still clutched in his hand, forgotten.
“Do not suggest it!” Edric boomed, “I forbid it... that is to say...”
He spluttered, flustered. Keaton rose calmly, orienting himself to his Uncle's voice and fixing his eyes where they would meet Edric's, just an inch below his own eye line.
“Forbid?” Keaton said with quiet authority, “Do not forbid me anything. Not ever.”
He felt an upswelling of anger like a jet of molten rock released from the unimaginable pressures of subterranean depths. It was difficult to control, and he wondered where it came from. Not from Uncle Edric overstepping the mark, not alone anyway.
“I apologize, Your Grace,” Edric reiterated with a mostly humble tone, “but I cannot recommend against your planned course of action strongly enough.”
“You do not know my planned course of action,” Keaton pointed out.
“Then tell me so that I may be confirmed correct in my guess,” Edric shot back.
Keaton smiled, pivoting and finding his way with confident strides to the sideboard where he knew a decanter of his favorite Scotch resided.
He un-stoppered it and poured one finger inside the glass to feel when the liquid had reached the required level.
Now that a resolute course of action was in his mind, he felt more in control.
His mental map of the study was now at the forefront of his mind, and he felt sure of his movements. He sipped the Scotch appreciatively, savoring the flavor and the warmth it spread down his throat to his stomach.
“I shall marry her. If Emsworth seeks to evade reproach by claiming his actions were within the context of a fiancée, then I shall do the same. It will protect my name and hers.”
“Whatever do you wish to protect her name for?” Edric asked.
“Honor demands it,” Keaton replied.
“And if her actions were blatant manipulation in order to put herself into this position?”
Keaton was silent as he poured another drink, holding it out to one side where he judged Edric to be standing. The drink was accepted.
If she is indeed a manipulator, then I will take steps to ensure she does not influence me further. I must, I will, be resolute.
“Do not worry, Uncle Edric. I will not be manipulated a second time.”