The Sins of Lord Easterbrook Read online

  “Christian, you cannot merely prefer that a son be born and it happens. I cannot believe that I am explaining that as if you would not know, but sometimes you—”

  “It will be a son.”

  Elliot rolled his eyes.

  “And when it is, I will know the line is secure for the next generation. I refuse to be owned by the expectations of my station, but there are a few obligations that I do accept and that is one,” Christian explained. “In fact, I will step aside if I can arrange it. The title should have a more active man. A man like Hayden. There are responsibilities and—”

  “Now you are definitely not talking sense. Your own son will secure the line, not Hayden's, for one thing. For another, if you believe there are obligations to be met, then meet them.”

  “I will have no heir. I dare not.” The last words were out before he knew it. He shocked himself with the indiscretion. He paced away, toward the bookcases, and braced for Elliot's own shock to eddy toward him.

  It never came. Instead, other emotions rolled in the air behind his back. Worry. Maybe pity. Also surprise that the topic had been broached at all.

  “You are not mad.” Elliot's voice came firmly. “Nor was she. No matter what was said about Mother then, or you now.”

  “I know that I am not.” Nor was she. Christian knew that better than anyone. But he also knew the pain she had suffered, knowing what she knew about too many people. About him. She had retreated from everyone, but especially her eldest son. She had seen herself in him, and known that she could not help him.

  “Is your concern tied to Father, then? Whatever he was, whatever he did, it is not in us. He made choices you would never make.” Rather more agitation flowed on Elliot's words this time. But then Elliot was still coming to terms with the fullness of that half of the legacy.

  “I like to believe you are right, but sometimes I know you are wrong. However, this is not about him. For once.”

  Youthful memories assaulted Christian as he stared at bindings in the silent library. The horror of knowing his mother's fear of their father and her certainty of his ruthlessness. The guilt that poured off the man along with the rivers of desperate love. The misery of both as his father turned bitter and controlling and his mother gave up hope for any happiness.

  Christian had never spoken of it to anyone, but here he was, on one side of an open door with his youngest brother on the other.

  He turned and faced him. Elliot's expression showed little more than patience.

  “I know that I am not mad. Not even half so. Nor was she. I know that better than anyone. But she and I had much in common, and that suggests that our eccentricity is carried by our blood.”

  “We all carry that blood. Hayden's child might too. Nothing is resolved by your conviction to have no heir.”

  “His child might, that is true. I think that I will know soon. If so, I can help him in ways I might not be able to help my own. But I do not think it will come to that. Hayden is very.…normal, and Alexia is without any shadows at all.”

  The conversation troubled Elliot more than expected. More than intended. But then it had veered into areas not anticipated.

  “Christian, you reassure me that you are not half mad, as if I ever thought you were. But you also allude to eccentricity as if it is an affliction that cannot be escaped.”

  “It is not an affliction.” Christian had never described his condition and was at a loss to begin to do so now. “Much as Hayden and I look much like our father, I inherited this feature from our mother. Since we all also received her ability to block out the world when we tend to a task or interest, I am not without compensations.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I do not expect you to. I misspoke in alluding to it and wish I had not. I now reassure you that it is not the makings of great drama or misery. Just a bit of oddity.”

  Elliot half accepted that. With time he would decide there was no cause for worry. Right now his brother's words returned him to the topic at hand. “I doubt that

  Hayden will allow you to make him the marquess, even if you could find a way to arrange it. Best to put that idea out of your head. Take up the reins yourself if you believe they have been left hanging slackly.”

  “Are you scolding me, Elliot?”

  Elliot smiled. “It appears that I am.”

  “Since I began the conversation, I do not get to indulge in annoyance with this presumptuous turn you have given it, I suppose.”

  “That would indeed be unjust.”

  “I can, however, simply end it, which I shall now do. I will take my leave. There is one other matter before I go.”

  Elliot raised his eyebrows in question.

  “Your lovely wife is cooking a stew and I think she has just added Miss Montgomery to the pot. Find out what is going on, and let me know, but don't inform her that I asked.”

  “Christian, we do not live a marriage of mutual intrigue such as one finds in old plays. I will ask Phaedra outright, and share what I learn if she allows me to do so.”

  There was nothing to do except let it stand at that. Christian left the house, certain that Phaedra would never permit Elliot to report on whatever scheme she and Leona were concocting.

  Nor would Elliot be conveniently indiscreet. That was what happened when men fell in love. Their loyalties centered on their beloveds, not duty and family.

  Elliot would be useless. What a nuisance.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  Tong Wei took a position right in front of the carriage door. Leona rearranged her silk shawl so it dipped around the puffed short sleeves of her ivory ball gown.

  “There is no need for you to stand here the whole night,” she said. “The coachman will probably walk the horses, and you might as well ride along.”

  “I will be here.”

  He glanced at her bare skin showing above the low, straight neckline of her dress.

  “It is the fashion,” she said.

  His stony expression communicated what he thought of fashions that permitted obscene glimpses of flesh that should be covered.

  Leona gave up trying to placate him. Tong Wei understood that she had to enter assemblies without his protection. He just wondered about these parties that he never saw, and perhaps imagined proper formalities breaking down as people drank and men leered.

  Leona approached the door, inserting herself into the river of good society. Both Phaedra and Easterbrook had insisted she accept this invitation. A ball hosted by Lord and Lady Pennington, a baron and his wife, the sheer size of the event promised the potential for meeting many of the right people.

  Their advice on the invitations had borne fruit already. The last week Leona had enjoyed a very active social life, and harvested many tidbits that gave her some encouragement about her missions. In particular, she had sat at a dinner party last night during which she discovered some astonishing information. The man seated on her left thought that he remembered a notice published upon her father's death.

  She had not known such a notice had been printed. Her father had not been a notable in England, and it made no sense. Finding that obituary was now at the top of her list of things to do in London. She was eager to read it.

  Her hostess approached her immediately after her announcement, and guided her through the throng to a quiet spot near a wall. “We are pleased that you agreed to join us. You have been noticed for the prestigious company that you keep and we are all eager to know you better.”

  Lady Pennington smiled conspiratorially, like an old friend confiding good gossip. Only she wasn't an old friend, and Leona was the subject of the gossip.

  “The marquess is an acquaintance from my girlhood. He has been generous to aid me here in London.”

  “He is known to be most generous when he chooses to be, which is not often. And most amiable when he also chooses, which is even less common.” She looked over her shoulder meaningfully.

  Leona looked in the same direction. N
ear the opposite wall a tall man with a beautiful, severe face was being generously amiable with two elderly women who flushed like schoolgirls.

  Easterbrook appeared both very lordly and vaguely dangerous. The latter she attributed to his dark garments and reckless hair and the intensity in his eyes that he could never completely hide.

  He spotted her and walked across the room with a deliberate purpose. Eyes followed and heads turned even while conversations continued.

  She suffered it. Nor could her annoyance stop how her pulse beat harder with each of his steps. Her hostess discreetly moved away, to permit the marquess a few private words.

  “Miss Montgomery.”

  She curtsied. “Lord Easterbrook. I am astonished to see you here. I was told you never attended such functions. Dinners on occasion, but not crowded gatherings such as this.”

  “Since you would not accept the convenience of being my guest at Grosvenor Square, I am forced to pursue you through more traditional paths. In order to do so, I have had to mend my isolated ways.”

  She would never be able to accuse him of not giving her fair warning, that was certain. “Lady Pennington must be delighted to have her ball chosen for your first stitch. I daresay your presence alone makes the evening a success.” Her pique broke through her pretense. “Did you let it be known that you would attend if I were invited?”

  “I never spoke a word on the matter. If hostesses are hopeful it might work that way, it is not my doing.”

  Except it had been his doing. That ride in the park, so rare for him, had announced his pursuit to the world. He had encouraged hostesses to calculate that if they invited the object of his interest, the elusive Easterbrook might come too. The implications had been reinforced by his presence tonight.

  “It would never have happened otherwise, Leona.”

  It irritated her even more that he had all but read her thoughts. “If I have traded my reputation for a chance to meet the best of the best, I should make good use of the opportunity. I trust that you will not be a constant escort. I will never learn anything of interest if you are.”

  She excused herself and plunged into the crowd. She quickly found Lady Wallingford and exchanged a few pleasantries. Lady Wallingford in turn introduced her to some other ladies. Within an hour Leona was surrounded by a little clutch of people, regaling them with stories about Asia.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Denningham advanced on Christian, looking like a man in shock. “Are you unwell?”

  “Perhaps I am finally well, not unwell.” Denningham puzzled that, then gave up and smiled. “I am glad you are here no matter what your health. You can help me decide which young ladies I should petition for a dance.”

  “I recommend that you dance with them all, and twice with the ones who are not too impressed by your title.”

  “Easy for you to say. My title is all that is impressive.”

  “That is not true.” Although it probably was, for the ladies in question. Young girls did not favor simplicity and decency, which were Denningham's notable features.

  Denningham surveyed the girls in question. Christian struggled not to look at the knot of people twenty feet away. Leona stood in their midst and all attention was on her, in particular that of a young naval officer.

  Suddenly laughter erupted in that group, loud enough to draw many eyes, including Denningham's. He noticed the raven-haired woman with dark eyes who clearly had told the good joke.

  “Is that her? It is, isn't it?” he asked. “That is why you are here. A handsome woman, Easterbrook. Not typical, is she?”

  No, not typical. Right now the handsome, atypical Leona was favoring the naval officer with too many smiles.

  “Here comes the King of Spades, to scout out the fun,” Denningham said. “He probably cannot bear that he is not in the thick of it.”

  The Duke of Ashford's attention was on Leona's group while he approached them. He would probably ask for an introduction to her, so he could indeed be in the thick of things.

  If so, he could rot first. Christian did not think that young officer could be true competition, but Ashford was another story and not only because he was a duke.

  For a man of at least forty-five years and with hair shot through with silver, the duke wore his age with an-noyingly youthful grace. But then much about Ashford was annoying. His social skills were unsurpassed, his elegance legendary, his mind brilliant, and his political shrewdness the stuff of legends. Tall, broad, and fit, he accepted it as his right to be noticed and admired wherever he went. He fit the role of the ultimate peer, and was held up to the world as an example of the aristocracy at its best.

  They greeted each other and Ashford only noted Christian's uncharacteristic presence with one raised eyebrow. Arch still in place, he looked meaningfully at Leona.

  “I heard that you had a new interest, Easterbrook. I had no idea it was serious enough to get you to a ball.”

  “I decided to enjoy the season before it was over.”

  “You should stick close to her or she may be distracted. Young Crawford there is flirting hard. I could warn him off if you like. I still have friends in the Admiralty and he knows it. I got him his commission, after all.”

  Ashford tended to drop mention of his influence like this, another annoyance. Everyone knew the role he had played in government during the war. Re minders like this one, of his frequent consultations with the Admiralty back then, were unnecessary.

  “If he requires warning off, I can manage it,” Christian said. “If you want to insert yourself into a friend's affairs, help out Denningham here. Tell him which of these hopeful girls he should marry.”

  “Marry?” Denningham reddened. “I spoke of one dance!”

  “You were born to marry if ever a man was, and it is long past time,” Ashford said. “As for which one, let me see. …” He scrutinized the ballroom, examining girls with seriously critical eyes.

  Denningham obediently suffered it. Christian had to smile to himself. He was being too critical tonight, and too quick to feel jealousy if any man looked at Leona. Ashford deserved his praise. If he actually did choose a girl for Denningham, it would probably be a perfect match.

  Christian turned his attention back to Leona. Beside him, Ashford exuded an exhausting amount of intrusive noise.

  That was the real reason he was not fond of the man. If he welcomed the King of Spades’ frequent absences from the whist tables, it really had to do with his intensity. Within the elegance and grace a tiger waited, tensed as if to pounce.

  The noise remained abstract and did not translate into emotions. It was just there, an unceasing, unchanging hum. This eternal alertness had probably produced the incisive thought and shrewd analysis that made Ashford so useful and successful in government and politics.

  “That one there, Denningham. Near the wall in the white gown, near the woman in cerulean. That is Miss

  Elizabeth Talorsfield, third daughter of a good family in my county. She is known for her virtue, modesty, and good heart. The settlement should be at least respectable. Come with me, and I will introduce you.”

  Like a sheep to the slaughter, Denningham dutifully followed Ashford across the ballroom. Christian assumed his friend would have a fiancée soon.

  His aunt caught his eye, something she had been attempting for some time despite his resolute avoidance. She beckoned him to join her and Caroline, and angled her head toward a nearby young, unmarried peer. Aunt Hen clearly wanted introductions to be made.

  Since Hen stood close enough to Leona to keep an eye on her, Christian strolled over to do his familial duty.

  Easterbrook was never far away. She saw those eyes on her when she looked in his direction. She sensed his attention even when he was out of sight, a presence charging the air like a summer storm.

  His awareness settled around her, evoking a lively patter in her heart. She engaged in her conversations with more spirit in an attempt to thwart his power, but her heart ruefully adm
itted that his mere proximity excited her.

  People joined her circle and left, but one young man remained by her side. Blond and wiry, he wore a uniform that marked him as a naval officer. He had been introduced as Lieutenant Crawford. Since he had also traveled in the Far East, he joined in her tales to the delight of their audience.

  “Miss Montgomery, allow me to spirit you away to some refreshments,” he whispered during a lull while the guests rearranged themselves. “Some conversation with you privately would be more charming than entertaining a crowd. I daresay we share acquaintances and similar sympathies.”

  She allowed him to extricate her from the circle and guide her to the dining room where a supper could be had.

  “Where did your ship take you?” she asked once they had settled at the long table. “Were you in the East long?”

  “My commission took me to India, and from there to the China Sea.”

  “Did you go to China itself?”

  He nodded. “We anchored at Lintin. We had a passenger of some importance who had business in Canton, and we waited at Lintin while he disembarked and went there.”

  “I assume that he was someone with the Company. It is odd that he traveled upon one of His Majesty's ships and not one of the Company's own.”

  Lieutenant Crawford ate four full bites of food before he spoke again. “This passenger was not with the Company. Not officially at least. He represented other interests, I think.”

  Powerful ones, if they could gain him a berth on one of the king's ships. She itched for him to go on. When he did not, she sought to encourage him.

  “I have always been interested in the other interests in the China trade. Besides the Company's, that is. Legally they are the only traders between China and

  England, but there are ways around that. And, of course, there is trade between the countries in the East itself.”

  He noted her suggestion with a confidential, meaningful nod. “I know nothing for certain. I merely had cause to speculate. It would not do to be overheard, however.” He appeared so serious that one had to assume the revelations were dangerous. He dipped his head closer. “There should be less of a crowd on the terrace. Would you honor me by taking some air with me, Miss Montgomery?”