Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
F our days later, Edward stepped out of his carriage and plucked his hat off his head to gaze at the building before him.
To call Baron Newcastle’s hunting lodge a lodge was a disservice to the word; the manor, set in the middle of Hampshire’s woods was teeming with game.
The lodge was massive; while it was luxurious, it was fashioned to be rustic with warm woods, brass furnishings, dark carpentry, and as grand upstairs as it was below. Paintings hung in gold frames, and rich ornaments sat on shelves and in cabinets.
“Newcastle,” Edward extended his hand to the tall, ex-soldier; the man’s dark, intense eyes and hooked nose showed the nooks where it had been broken once or twice. “Thank you for having me.”
“The honor is mine,” Newcastle replied. “I dare say, you carry the essence of an exotic animal, rare to find in the wild.”
Laughing, Edward pulled away, “I do like that analogy. The mysterious white stag of Arthurian legend.”
“An elusive figure, yes,” Newcastle drawled. “I can see the connection. Would you join me and the other men for a drink before the festivities begin?”
“Are you sure it is ethical to have men drink before they are armed with guns?” Edward asked while taking the steps up a billiard room; men were mingling with drinks in hand, and it took him less than a moment to find Rutledge in the mix.
As blond as the paintings of Apollo, the man drew eyes everywhere he went, but this time, the attention he drew from Edward was less admiring. He had told Alice to leave the tactic of approaching Rutledge to him and she had accepted his enigmatic answer without question; it was a good thing too because the tactic he had in mind was not exactly ethical.
What would innocent little Miss Alice think when she knows you plan to blackmail him into doing right by the girl?
While many saw his gold embroidered jackets and attended the lavish parties he threw at his country home, few people knew that the man was unsteady with his money—there were months when he was up to his eyeteeth in debt and the only thing keeping him afloat was the Club.
He would not make a good husband either, but the best thing the man could do was to marry the girl and stay with her for a year, and then annul the marriage; it was easier than forcing the girl to be found out as unchaste and then, unmarriageable.
I have two options here, personally persuade him or get the man he owes his debts to, to blackmail him. Rutledge needs his reputation, so he’ll stay quiet.
“Whiskey,” Newcastle said.
“Brandy, please,” Edward replied. “What are we hunting?”
“Grouse and brown hare,” Newcastle began while handing him the drink. “I hope you are familiar with your way around a shotgun.”
“I am,” Edward took a sip of the premium drink. “How many are taking part?”
Looking around, Newcastle deduced, “It is only twenty-six of us here, so two teams of thirteen or six quartets of four.”
Surveying the room, Edward spotted the men he wanted to ride with, and without question, Rutledge was going to be one of them. “Still decided on being a bachelor for the rest of your life?”
“No different from you,” Newcastle chuckled. “I think you know that you shocked the whole of Town when you publicly announced that your brother will take over the Dukedom while you galavant off to the lands-yonder.”
Moving to a window, Edward gazed over a long span of a trimmed lawn until the forest arched up behind the retaining wall. It was a jarring contrast looking at the sudden change.
“It is only right to hand the Dukedom off,” Edward said while swirling his glass. “While I know there are thousands who would kill to have one day in my position, I have little love for it and the traditions of the ton are hypocritical at best, and treasonous at worst.”
Sticking a hand into the pocket of his buff trousers, Newcastle nodded in agreement. “A position of privilege is not what everyone thinks it is. What they do not see is the constant suspicion and paranoia that lingers around us like a shadow. It’s an unending battle to fetter out who is a friend or who is a foe in friendly disguise.”
“Not to mention those who see your wealth instead of seeing you as you are,” Edward replied.
The derisive sound that came from Newcastle’s throat resounded with Edward. “Don’t even get me started on users and fortune hunters. Those are the two words that describe all of my family.”
Spotting a break with the men speaking with Rutledge, Edward excused himself and went over to the Viscount.
“Your Grace,” Rutledge bowed his head. “I had to question myself if it was truly you who came into the room.” He smoothed a blond lock from his hazel eyes. “How was your night at the Club? Were the girls to your liking?”
“I didn’t partake,” Edward said, glad for the fitting opening. Edging closer, he dropped his pitch, “But I did hear you had some dalliance yourself.”
The man’s grin was salacious and wicked, “Of which do you speak? I have had quite a few in the last couple of days.”
Stomach roiling with repulsion, Edward took a sip; it was one thing to be a rake and dally with women who understood the situation and knew not to expect anything from it, it was another thing entirely to lure an innocent woman who thought you loved her to bed and then throw her away.
“I speak of a young blond woman, very shy, large blue eyes, and who enunciates in whispers,” Edward murmured. “That is of whom I speak .”
“Ah, Penelope Winslow,” Rutledge smirked over his glass. “She was a fun one, completely incompetent in the bedroom, you had to tell her what to do and how to do it, but I made her a woman and gave her an experience she will never forget.”
Edward was tempted to forgo the hunt and put a bullet between the man’s eyes instead. His hand clenched around the thick crystal glass, and he forced himself to hold back from blackening the man’s eyes.
“How long did you court the girl for?” He asked, firmly stopping himself from substituting ‘deceive’ for ‘court’.
“Not too long,” Rutledge said with a careless shrug. “Two months or so, and it tells you the standards the girl has if she is willing to fall in bed so quickly.”
Fury swirled in concentric circles through his chest, but Edward forced himself to be calm. “Don’t you think the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do, is to finish your courtship and marry the girl?”
Rutledge stared at Edward blankly, his eyes switching between Edward’s before he threw back his head and let out the most appalling, revolting guffaw Edward had ever heard.
“Coming from a man who has been the most obstinate about staying a bachelor until death, that is very amusing,” Rutledge chortled. “Marriage is out of the question, Your Grace. That girl was an amusing time, but I have no interest in seeing her again, and God forbid , paying the pied piper.”
“The girl is an innocent,” Edward stressed. “You realize that you have potentially ruined her life and her prospects for marriage because you fooled her into thinking you loved her?”
Again, Rutledge shrugged. “It is an ancient tactic to gain the trust of a woman who yearns to feel the true pleasure of life. I am sure you have done it once or twice yourself.” This time, Rutledge’s eyes sharpened with daggers. “You know, your reputation still lingers around Town.”
“Never once have I ever lured a young girl into my bed,” Edward replied stonily. “There lies the difference.”
Setting his drink on the fireplace mantle, Rutledge asked, “Why are you pushing this issue, Your Grace? As far as I am concerned, it has nothing to do with you.”
“My brother is very close to said family, so yes—it is my business,” Edward replied. “I know the situation, Rutledge, and it bothers me a great deal. I am asking you politely to do the honorable thing and resurrect the last shred of honor you have buried inside you.”
Rutledge’s jaw stiffened. “Is there a threat in there somewhere, Your Grace?”
“That depends on your response. Think it over,” Edward replied while nodding and walking off as he saw Felton enter the room.
Felton spotted his expression as he crossed the floor and instantly reached out, held Edward’s shoulder and steered him to the nearest balcony, then closed the door behind him.
“Breathe man. Breathe three times and try not to launch yourself off the ledge,” Felton pried the glass from Edward’s stiff fingers. “And do not cuff me. I have a ball to attend in two days and I am told that black and blue does not look good on me.”
The balcony was small, barely six by six feet but Edward paced it, trying to walk off the aggravation in his stomach.
“Do you care to tell me what happened to make you so irate?” Felton asked calmly. “Or you can continue to stomp a trench into the floor.”
Finally, Edward paused and let his shoulders sink. “Why did I think that talking sense into a diehard rakehell would make any sense? Rakes are like leopards; they cannot change their spots.”
Leaning on the wall near the door, Felton lowered his brows, “What on earth are you talking about man?”
“ Rutledge ,” Edward took the glass from his friend's hand and threw back the rest of his drink before grimacing at the ungodly burn. “He ruined a young girl, and I tried to talk him into doing the honorable thing and marrying her.”
Grunting, Felton muttered, “I believe you might be at the last place in a very long line of such appeals to Rutledge. The man is notorious for ruining young women, ladies or not.”
Bracing his back on the railing, Edward rubbed his eyes, “The thing is, I do not want to force my hand, but I will if I need to do so.”
“How?” Felton cocked his head.
“Don’t worry about that,” Edward replied. “Aren’t there times when you see the hypocrisy and uneven playing field we give our women and men? The men can go and sew a thousand and one wild oats, and no one bats an eye, but when the woman is found out to be the second party in that sewing, she is nailed to a cross and crucified without mercy.”
Shaking his head, Felton added, “It is disgusting.”
Shooting a look through the frosted glass and to the room beyond, Edward admitted, “I don’t know if I can go hunting and not be tempted to put a bullet in him.”
Laughing, Felton said, “You can easily say you misfired.”
Shaking his head, Edward replied, “I don’t want you to be indicted as a co-conspirator. I’ll simply take my aggression out on the prey instead.”
Clapping him on the shoulder, Felton nodded, “Smart man.”
Sitting in a curricle chair near a window, Alice varied her attention between the view out the window and the sewing she had on her lap. The gown on her lap was one she wanted to wear to an upcoming ball, but the style was outdated, and she had to overhaul it.
It was midday, hours when her aunt was abed napping and so was Eliza, while Penelope had gone out with two friends of hers from school, and so she had time to herself.
Was the Duke sincere in wanting to help me? He should be; I paid him with the kiss.
Looking back at the moment, she bit her lip; it had been careless of her to kiss him there, even while it had not been out in the open, those men—and woman— could have easily found them.
Dropping the needle to her lap, she slumped. The moment he’d cupped her face, the hungry, heated, intense look in his eyes had made her shiver to her slippers.
The moment his lips had touched hers, she had tasted his insatiable intent. While she had never felt a man’s lips on hers and she knew she had responded with unrefined motion, nothing about the kiss had been innocent.
It was dark, forbidden, lustful; his darkly masculine flavor permeated her senses—a hot promise of more wicked things to come had rushed through her blood.
Sighing, she redirected her attention to the dress on her lap and went to stitch the length of lace under her bust—when she heard footsteps coming near her.
“I’ll have luncheon be sent up soon, Aunt,” she said without looking up. “I just need a moment.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Eliza said, and Alice nearly skewered her opposing thumb with the needle.
Alice found herself tongue-tied for a moment. Eliza never spoke to her unless it was with a complaint. “Elizabeth?” She regained her composure. “Erm… can I help you?”
Her cousin fixed her bonnet before sitting on a chair across from her. “I want to ask you about you and Marquess Brampton. Isn’t it such a dream, Alice? It is all you, I, and dear Penelope have hoped.”
“It is,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to Eliza’s ankle. “How is your foot?”
“Oh, it all healed up,” Eliza said, her blithe tone showing how inconsequential—and false—her injury was. “But back to your Marquess. Has he given you any indication that he will seriously court you?”
“No,” she said. “Not yet, but I do hope so.”
Leaning in, Eliza asked, “What do you think about His Grace asking Penelope to be his dinner partner? Do you not think that was telling?”
“I think it was a polite thing to do,” Alice replied. “He seems to be very invested in his brother and the family of whom his brother is interested in.”
“Hmph,” Eliza pursed her lips. “I would have thought he’d have asked me to be his partner last night, I mean, I was the injured one after all. Surely, he must have some empathy.”
Ah, there it is. The self-centered reason for this conversation.
“I didn’t get to tell you,” she looked down at the sewing on her lap. “But Marquess Brampton told me that he is arranging for a friend of his to dance with you this coming ball.”
Eliza’s face perked up. “Who? Do you know?”
“No,” Alice said. “But does it matter? He told me that he trusts this man and that he is honorable.”
“I’d rather him be titled and handsome,” Eliza pouted. “But as the French say. ?a ne… feat… oh drat, that is not—that’s not right. ?a ne feen—”
“ ?a ne fait rien ,” Alice corrected her quietly. “And I don’t think that is the phrase that is best fitting for this situation.”
“Whichever,” Eliza shrugged nonchalantly.
Her fingers flexed with the needle and the cloth in hand. She wanted to shake Eliza for being so selfish, spoiled and so very, disgustingly entitled.
“I think you will like this lord,” Alice said, “If Lord Brampton trusts him, I would too.”
Sniffing, Eliza replied, “I hope you are right. I would hate to be disappointed.”
“Who is going to be disappointed?” the rough voice of Eliza’s father, Richard Thorpe, preceded the man.
When he came in, his slate grey suit was just a shade darker than the dulled silver glinting at his temple. The older man was shorter than his wife and rotund in the middle, but at fifty-seven, he was still robust and healthy.
“Papa!” Eliza shot up from her seat and went to hug him as his arms opened wide. “Welcome home. How was the journey?”
“Not too bad, not too bad at all,” Richard said, then craned his head to Alice. “Alice, dear, how are you?”
“Not too bad, Uncle,” she repeated, relieved that someone had taken Eliza’s attention away from her because she was not so sure how long she could hold her tongue anymore. “I am happy to see that you have returned safely.”
“Me too. Now ,” he turned to Eliza, “would you like to see what I brought for you?”
“Yes, please,” Eliza sang happily.
As the two left the room, Alice slumped into the side of the wall and sighed; looking down at the gown in her hand she found herself wondering what to do about Edward and Benedict.
How had she found herself in this mess or on the verge of being courted by one brother but feeling the most infuriating attraction to the other?
“What am I going to do?”