Bloody hell…Erik’s mouth tightened. He looked away.
“Why must you dislike her? She’s your mother, too—”
“What exactly did she tell you?”
Hesitating, Rebecca studied the lace on her wrapper. “That you bear the mark of the curse. Every Sedgwick duke for the last hundred years who has borne the mark has never lived past his thirty-fourth year.”
Becca was talking about the small silver patch in his dark hair just above his temple. Erik had listened to that same Sedgwick-curse rubbish his entire life.
No doubt his mother would like to see her words come true.
“I’m sorry. I invited her here. I wanted to see her. We had a good visit, Erik. And she misses me, too. She wants me to spend the Season with her.”
“No.”
Bloody hell, no!
Becca looked up at him, tears no longer in her eyes. “But Momma said she will give me my first Season.”
“Becca.” He did his best not to inject his own animosity toward their mother into his voice. “You are returning to Sedgwick Castle with me before the end of the month. I am not leaving you here in London. Secondly, we have already been over this. I will give you your debut next year. I promise.”
His sister’s brown eyes flashed with passion. “I have been out of short dresses for a year. I want to meet others my age, Erik. I had fun at the gala. Do you even know what that is like? You never laugh anymore. You rarely smile. If you have your way, I…I will perish an old maid.”
“You will not perish an old maid. I promise. What happened to your passion for fossils? How is it a girl who thinks she has discovered a great beast in Fife worries that she will perish an old maid?”
She sniffled, straightened, and put on a brave face. “I like Miss Sommers. Do you think she will help us?”
“I believe she might.”
“I told you I found something rare and magnificent,” she said, some of her verve returning the color back to her cheeks.
“I should never have doubted you. For that, I apologize.”
She grew quiet. “I will accept your apology only if you promise there is no such thing as curses.”
“Come here, Elf.” He pulled her into his arms. “Tell me you do not believe in such foolishness.” It pained him to find he was suddenly sitting on the sharper edges of his temper again. “Tell me, Becca.”
A shudder went through her body. “I don’t believe anything they say about you. But sometimes people are cruel. I told Momma she musn’t believe the worst of you. I know you are not a murderer. I could not love you if you were.” Her arms tightened. “Do not be angry with her. I could not bear it if you were.”
“No, Becca,” he gently reassured her. “I am not angry.”
He dared not be angry when he paid his dear mother a long overdue visit in the morning.
Chapter 5
Erik dismounted at the manse where his mother had lived since she returned to London years ago. Sturdy stone quarried from southern England fronted the quaint house that butted the gabled roof and framed the porch. He owned the dwelling where she resided, but he could count on one hand the number of times they had crossed paths in the last ten years. He handed the reins to the groomsman. “Rub him down,” he said briskly. “He’s been ridden hard.”
“Yes, your grace.”
Erik ascended the stone stairs to the house. He stepped out of the sunlight as the door swung open and the staid butler appeared. He wore the unique black-and-red livery worn by all his servants.
“Charles.” Erik stepped into the house and while removing his gloves peered up the winding staircase. Sunlight from the large leaded-pane windows above the doorway spilled into the gilt-trimmed foyer. “Is the Countess Sutherland home?” he asked, handing the man his cloak, hat, and riding gloves.
“She is still abed, your grace.”
It was not unlike his mother to be asleep at two o’clock in the afternoon. “Wake her.”
“That isn’t necessary.” His mother suddenly stood at the top of the stairway. Dressed in a red velvet morning gown, her thick blond hair pinned in curls at the back of her head, she looked first on him then on the butler. “I am quite awake, as you can see, Charles.” She placed her hand on the rail and descended. “Bring honey and milk with my tea to the salon.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And make sure the crumpets are properly warmed on the griddle.”
Without expression, Charles turned his attention to Erik.
“Nothing for me,” he said.
Nodding, the butler bowed out of the foyer, leaving Erik alone with his mother. She had stopped on the stairway a step above him, as if the added height afforded her some modicum of safety or privilege. At fifty-one, she was still considered one of the leading beauties of her time. He would agree with the critiques. It was an unfortunate circumstance she was a cold bitch, especially when she had been drinking. He could smell the sherry.
Erik nodded his head. “Mother.”
“Really, Erik. You could have given me some warning that you intended to visit.”
“Did you think I would not call on you today?”
Neither of them wasted breath on polite trivialities. The countess swept past him and down the corridor into the red salon. “If you are here to clap me in chains for seeing my Becca without first consulting you, then know that I did so at her behest, not mine.” She dropped onto a red-and-white-striped chaise longue in front of the fireplace and crossed her legs. “What else would you have me do when she sends letters asking to see me? She misses me. Is it so much to ask my daughter to come live with me?”
Erik closed the door behind him. “Leave off the melodrama, Mother. We had an agreement. And if you think for one moment that I would allow her to spend a day alone with you and your crowd, think again.”
“How could you possibly deny me my own daughter? You must know I have missed her terribly.”
“You’ve missed her so much you could not bother writing her in five years? Now you want to play the matron saint while disparaging me in my own house. I am not going to rehash an old argument. We had an agreement.”
“You had an agreement. One that you coerced me into signing. You have punished me long enough because I married a man of whom you did not approve. You cannot blame me for the past, when I have only done my best.”
Allowing for some manner of calm to settle between them, Erik strode to the window. He rarely raised his voice. He did not lose his temper or his self-control. His entire life, he’d witnessed the effects of emotional anarchy and swore he’d never lower himself to a level where emotions ruled actions. God help him, he’d seen enough of that in his lifetime. “It is not my intent to embark upon a battle with you, Mother. That is not why I am here.”
“Of course it isn’t.” She drummed her manicured nails in impatience. “You rarely crawl out of that wretched hellhole you call home. You must be as desperate for a wife as they said you are, seeing as you have to leave Scotland to find one. Are you here to announce you have found someone willing to wed you?”
Erik drew in a breath and swore to himself. Why did he continue to allow her to shock him? His entire life he had been only a means to an end for her. He no longer knew why he bothered with civility at all. “My personal reasons for coming to London are no one’s concern. Certainly, they are not yours. I came here this morning because I wanted to give you the courtesy of informing you personally that I will be in London for another week at most. During that time, if you want to see Becca you may, but you will go through me.” Erik moved from the window. “Do not put her between you and your hatred for me.”
“I…I don’t hate you. She asked about the Sedgwick curse. Would you have me lie? She is sixteen, not a child any longer. You will find that out soon enough one day when it is you she hates.”
“I believe we are now finished with our conversation.”
“Erik. Wait.” She rose in a swish of velvet and hurried to his side. “Don�
�t go. Please. Not yet.” She twisted her hands. “Can’t we talk? Won’t you at least remain for tea?”
He’d stopped mid-stride and, against all better judgment and instinct, turned. “For what purpose would you want to have tea?”
Her chin thrust up. “Is it your intent to deny me forever?”
“I have never denied you anything, only the pederast thief you married. I can only thank God Becca never knew her father. Or the last two you wed.”
She gasped. “You are cruel, Erik. Exactly as your father was.” She delicately dabbed the corner of a handkerchief at each eye. “He took pleasure in his spite against me as well.”
Erik looked away, refusing to allow himself to be drawn into a discussion about what his mother had been forced to endure with his heartless and arrogant father. He had long ago inured himself against her attack on a man Erik had never known.
“Wait. Perhaps if you gave me more income…I could travel. I could go away from this place. I wouldn’t have to be a bother to you.”
His mother detested traveling. She never went farther than the expensive and very private boutiques on Bond Street. “Have you already run out of your allowance, Mother?”
“You don’t give me enough. I am a pauper among my peers.”
“Three months ago, when we had this discussion, I told you I would not listen to your complaining. My accountants and solicitors go over your books and I have been reassured you have more than enough to live extravagantly. What I give you in a year is more than some families see in a lifetime.”
“Truly.” Tears filled her brown eyes and she looked away. “You cannot put me in the same category as a fishwife in Cheapside.”
“I wouldn’t insult the fishwife with such a comparison.”
He walked to the door and called for his cloak and hat before facing his mother. “If you stayed away from the cards and opium dens, you would have more to spend on your parties and your wardrobe. You could have spent more time with Becca, and Erin, if you ever cared to acknowledge my daughter’s existence.”
“Despite what you think of me, I have done my best under the extreme circumstances fate has forced upon me. Besides…” She tucked the handkerchief in her sleeve. “You owe me something for keeping silent all these years about Lady Elizabeth—”
Erik slammed shut the door.
She visibly swallowed. “It is only my intent to remind you how easily secrets can slip. Loyalty deserves compensation. Do you not agree? Five thousand more pounds a year should be no hardship for you.”
Bloody hell.
“Oh, Erik. Please.” His mother wrung her hands. “It was never my intent to push our relationship to this point.”
“What relationship, Mother? You have always been on the wrong side of every problem I have ever encountered in my life. You stood against me on the side of a man who could have hurt Becca.”
“He was my husband. Have you considered that it is you who was wrong and misjudged him?”
“Your loyalty has forever been to yourself or to the bloody useless cretins you continue to marry.”
“Please, Erik. I am in need. And I have kept your secrets.”
He lowered his voice in menace. “Whatever was between Elizabeth and me, my daughter is an innocent. I will not have her parentage questioned by the likes of you or this ton. If you ever, and I mean ever, breathe a word about anything Elizabeth wrote to you…”
Lowering her head, she nodded. “I know. I’ll do anything you ask. But I need the money, Erik.”
“Are you sure five thousand is enough, Mother?”
To her credit, she nodded and did not push him further.
Withdrawing a blank bank draft from the leather pocket book in his jacket pocket, he walked to a small secretary near the window and scratched out an order for five thousand pounds to be presented to his bank. If this was what it took to rid Becca of her influence and protect Erin, he would pay ten times the amount. He tossed the pen on the desk and held out the draft. When she suddenly seemed hesitant, he raised a brow.
“Second thoughts?”
She eased her hand over the draft. He tightened his grip. “Know this now,” he warned. “If I ever learn you have kept a single letter Elizabeth sent you, I swear you do not know the meaning of true poverty. I do not care if you are my flesh and blood, I will destroy you.”
He walked to the door and slowly turned. “And the next impoverished lord you decide to marry will be the one supporting you for the rest of your life.”
“You are an unforgiving and callous man, Erik. It is no wonder Elizabeth left you. What woman would have a man with no heart?”
Despite the traffic and length of time it had taken to cross London, it was still early in the afternoon when Christine finally arrived back at the abbey. She’d spent most of the morning at the museum working on an exhibit Lord Bingham had been panicked would not be ready for next week’s opening. It annoyed Christine that she continued to allow herself to be at the curator’s disposal. She shouldered through the garden gate, barely stepping aside as a doe bounded through the trees and nearly caused her to drop the armful of books she carried.
She edged her hat higher on her forehead and continued toward the house. Amid London’s crowded urban sprawl, the enclosed abbey grounds offered a garden sanctuary to those who lived here, including the wildlife on the property, and like clockwork, the breeze brought the sound of anxious quacking to her ears. She spotted the resident ducks waddling out of the long grass to intercept her. Struggling to shift the books against one arm, she tossed bread crumbs toward her growing feathered entourage to keep them from following her to the house. It didn’t matter which gate she entered, the ducks always seemed to know where she would be, and lay in ambush for her. She’d finally simply given up trying to avoid them and made an effort to buy bread on her way home.
Her arms laden with books, her chin balancing them, she hurried past a pond. Then she stopped and backtracked three steps. A tall black horse lingered beneath the branches of a sweeping oak. Someone had gone to the trouble to keep him off the main drive. Sunlight reflected off her spectacles. Then as she looked toward the rose garden at the back of the house, her momentary hesitation vanished and something else took its place.
Erik sat with his back against a white picket fence, a blade of grass between his lips, watching her. As she turned, he tossed aside the stem and came slowly to his feet. His jacket was unbuttoned. He looked handsome in his tall boots and dark riding attire. The collar of his shirt was open, the sight of his bare throat uncivilized. His sheer masculine presence was so incompatible with Aunt Sophie’s delicate rose garden, he looked almost vulnerable to her as she approached and stopped in front of him.
But it took only one look into his sherry-colored eyes to make her feel like a blushing virgin. Because of him, she had been unable to sleep last night. All day her stomach had fluttered and her mind kept drifting from her task as she went over time and again what she would say to him when she saw him. She didn’t want to be eighteen again, when all he had to do was look at her and make her body want to violate every tenet of moral etiquette.
“Your grace.”
Without asking, he reached for the books in her arms. “Why don’t I carry these to wherever it is you are going?”
“Why?” She suspiciously watched her precious books leave her arms. “Do you intend to follow me?”
He was looking at her hard. “I think you know why I am here.”
Despite her willingness to forgive him for last night, she felt her heart skip. He didn’t ask if he was intruding on her time or offer apologies about his atrocious behavior in the carriage. Indeed, he looked as unrepentant as sin. But at the very least, she owed him back his fossils. For that reason alone, she chose not to argue with his presence. She could manage herself around him for one more day.
She cast off like a ship setting out to sea. “I am on my way to my laboratory. Your sister’s fossils are there.”
She walked i
n silence, staying ahead of him, conscious of the sound of twigs breaking against the weight of his boots, aware of the rasp of his clothes and his eyes on her back. At the back of the house, they descended into the stone stairwell until they reached the basement door. She stopped and withdrew a key. “If you will wait here a moment.” The metallic click of a lock sounded. “I need to go inside first.”
Before he could reply, she disappeared through the postern.
Adjusting the weight of the books in his arms, Erik looked back up the stairs behind him. Water dripped from a pipe to his left. He stood on a layer of green moss that had grown on the walk. He studied the stone enclosure where it met an ivy-covered wall, and he noticed structural cracks that came with age. He peered up at a second-story window with yellow curtains, then at the doorway as he heard Christine return.
“I have traps set up around my laboratory,” she explained.
He stepped into the vestibule. “Rats?”
She reached around him, her skirts whispering against his legs as she shut the door behind him. “You can say that. One can never be too careful of wily family members.” She led him down a short corridor and stopped at another heavy oak door that would have required a battering ram to break down. “Unfortunately, the only culprit I have thus far ensnared is my cat. Poor Beast has yet to forgive me for turning him green.”
“Beast?”
The first hint of a smile turned up her lips. “If you see him, he will probably startle you,” she said as if she were his own proud mam. “I had one occasion where a lady fainted. But he really is a pussy cat.”
“Indeed.”
“The fairer feline population loves him. His orange progeny run rampant on the Abbey grounds. He has helped us control our rat population.”
Once inside the sizeable room that could pass for a vault, she lit two lamps, the smell of sulphur briefly eclipsing the other unpleasant smells that came with being around dead creatures and relics of the past. The walls were lined with wooden shelves bowed by the weight of dusty artifacts and wooden crates filled with petrified bones.
Beauty and the Duke Page 8