A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1)

by Patterson, Stephanie

  Michael’s gut twisted. “You intend to ruin her as well as the Melbourne girl? All three of them perhaps?”

  “No,” Lord Ambrose answered firmly. “Lady Arabella is the daughter and the niece of earls. Her grandfather was an marquess. Her mother’s second marriage was unfortunate, but her birth family is not without influence. Likewise, Lady Katherine’s father, the Earl of Bellwood is highly placed in the government and quite powerful. Miss Melbourne’s situation is different, however. She is merely the daughter of a knight. It would be risky to ruin the former two young ladies. Not so Miss Melbourne.”

  Michael turned to regard Rafe Kingsford coldly. “So you intend to abduct Sarah Melbourne and force yourself on her?” He was no hero, but he’d be damned if he could let something so foul happened to the girl. “I’m afraid I won’t allow you to do that,” he said coldly.

  “I’ve never forced myself on a woman in my life,” roared Kingsford, “and I’ll be damned if I’ll start now! Rest assured, she’ll be willing when she comes to me.” He wrenched himself out of his chair and stalked to the window. Michael realized then that a war raged inside the man. He remembered how Kingsford had followed the Melbourne girl with his eyes at the Delafield picnic, his gaze filled with enmity and something else. The same emotions had burned in his eyes that morning in Hyde Park now that Michael thought about it. He’d call the look desire, if he had to give it a name. He mentally shrugged. As long as Kingsford didn’t force the girl Michael had no quarrel with him. Let him seduce her if he could and let Miss Melbourne look after herself. Judging from Kingsford’s nose she was rather good at it.

  “Why not simply turn Seaton over to the law?” Michael asked. “Clearly he influenced Lady Arabella.”

  “That’s not a simple matter either,” Ambrose countered. “There’s Damaris’ reputation to consider of course, but of greater import is the reputation of the Wentworth family. The Duke of Strathmore is not precisely happy that his heir married a girl with no real fortune behind her and no lineage to recommend her. My consequence helps, naturally, but still....” Michael watched as Kingsford expression turned murderous. “She is a delightful girl and certainly not responsible for what befell her. I expect the Duchess will be able to make something of her. At any rate, with the girl being seen unchaperoned and at night in the company of Jules Wentworth there was little any true gentleman could do but offer for her.”

  So that’s what had happened. His friend Jules had an insufferable noble streak, Michael reflected, and it had brought him to grief. He would write to him immediately offering his sympathy if felicitations were not in order.

  “So in the end she made a better match than was likely,” Michael offered.

  Ambrose regarded him coldly. “Damaris was my ward and under my protection, sir. Her abduction was a danger to her, but also a very grave insult to me. I will not let the matter rest.” There was the crux of it all, Michael thought. Ambrose would never allow an insult to himself, either real or perceived, pass unanswered. Those foolish girls.

  “I’ve spoken with the duke and he concurs,” Ambrose continued. “While we must make certain no scandal attaches itself to either myself, or the Wentworth family, both Seaton and Lady Bellwood must be held accountable. Seaton will be his own downfall. We must simply make certain the girl can’t come to his aid by marrying too well. As for Lady Bellwood, her punishment will take some time and be in a slightly different form, but nothing truly harmful to Lady Katherine, I assure you.”

  Kingsford snorted in derision. “Yes, by all means, lets make certain the little vixen remains unscathed.”

  “I’ve told you before Kingsford,” Ambrose sighed. “When the limb bears bad fruit you must treat the entire tree, not simply sever the branch. Take the example of Miss Melbourne’s family. They will retire from society in disgrace and never presume themselves above their station again. As I’ve said, Lady Bellwood’s desserts will take time, but none of the young ladies will end up entirely unscathed.”

  Michael had known there was a reason he never cared for Lord Ambrose. The man was not merely cut from the same cloth as his own father, but stitched in a much more severe pattern. Heaven help Araby Winston if she didn’t marry that nodcock, Iredale and soon. He felt his alarm grow rather than diminish at the prospect of her marrying the man. Why should it? Certainly he had no interest in her other than keeping the girl from carving up his brother’s heart. Still, a passionate creature like her would be wasted on a bland, boring character such as Iredale and Michael meant it when he’d told her so. Still, for her own good he had to see her safely married to Iredale before the end of the Season. “And your plans for Lady Arabella?” he asked Ambrose, forcing detachment into his tone.

  “I’m afraid we’re not ready to move against her yet. You see, we’ll have to wait until she’s engaged. That is when we’ll need your help, Lassiter.” Ambrose smiled to chilling effect and Michael knew he didn’t want to hear what the old bastard had to say next. Nevertheless, he had to ask.

  “What sort of help can I give you?” Michael asked warily.

  “Why by compromising her, of course.”

  ***

  “Open it,” the baron demanded.

  His voice held a high strung quality and Araby knew that if she didn’t move swiftly enough to obey him she risked a vicious pinch or worse. She knew this handwriting, though and once the baron learned the name of the sender, a pinch would be the least of her worries. Why wouldn't Drew give up? Her stomach twisted as she unfolded the letter, half expecting her stepfather to rip it from her hands. “It's from Andrew Lassiter,”she said evenly. “He begs leave to escort me to the park today.”

  “And what else does he say, my dear?” He plucked the letter from her hands. “Have you been telling tales again?” He read through the note swiftly and thrust it back at her. She barely had time to note the telltale flair of his nostrils before he struck her cheek with the back of his hand. It was a mild slap as far as the baron's slaps went and it wouldn't leave a bruise. He was very good at knowing how much force to use and to what effect. Her cheek was red and her eyes watered from the sting, but luckily that was all.

  Araby lifted her eyes to his with no small amount of effort. She walked a fine line. Her stepfather claimed to hate cringing, but she risked another blow if she were not deferential enough. “I’ve done as you asked. I've discouraged him and held him up to ridicule. The best I can do now is ignore him.”

  He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, a favorite method of securing her attention when he wasn't slapping or pinching. “the best you can do is bring Iredale up to scratch. I warned you not to waste anymore time.”

  “And I took your words to heart, sir,” she said coolly. “You asked me to charm, I charmed. You've wanted me to fascinate, so I fascinate every man in the room. Please don't blame me if I caught a few moths along with the butterflies. I can assure you that was not my intent and I wish to waste no further time discussing Drew Lassiter or his ilk. As you say, it only distracts us from our plans.”

  He released her chin and stroke her reddened cheek with the back of his fingers. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from flinching, but even so he smiled his crocodile smile knowing that she was helpless against anything he chose to do to her. Who would help her? Who had ever helped her?

  “That's my smart, little puss. By god you're my creature, aren't you? We'll make them sit up and beg, won't we?” he crooned. “They'll rue the day they turned up their noses at me. They'll beg for my favor.” Araby doubted that was likely to happen. Seaton was known as a schemer and voracious gamester. In her mind it was a miracle that she'd become the Incomparable. Looks aside – and Araby was not one to be demure in assessing her own physical charms – she'd had to overcome the scandal of her mother's hasty remarriage to a socially inferior gentleman of questionable character who was also not at all well-liked. Thankfully her uncle, successor to her father’s earldom, hadn't cut her at her debut.

  Seat
on's hand moved downward to caress her neck and Araby grew alarmed. Even his limited scruples had balked at expressing carnal interest in a young girl, but something had changed this Season. Clearly, now he saw her as a woman and more dangerously still, one who shared his views on attaining wealth and power, one who admired him and perhaps even held him in affection.

  He glanced towards the parlor door as if wrestling with himself. “If I didn't need you pure, I swear I'd toss your skirts up here and now.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against her own. Araby held her breath. “One day, one day I'll...”

  “But you do need me untouched,” she whispered, desperate to be away from him, away from his hands and the smell of liquor on his breath. “If Iredale even thought I'd been compromised all our plans would be for naught.”

  The Baron pulled back and nodded. “You’re right, of course. Our pleasures will have to wait until after the marriage bed. Patience,” he muttered, “patience. It won't be long now.” She was not certain whether he spoke to her, or to himself. Either notion terrified her. “Run along now, puss, and write a note telling young Lasitter to go bugger himself – politely, of course,” he added with an eerie smile, “or I may have to take matters into my own hands.”

  Araby wasted no time leaving the parlor. She hurried to her room and closed the door with shaking hands. Her maid, Dulcie gave her a questioning look, but Araby was in no mood for conversation. She dismissed the girl curtly, not her usual manner with servants. Still, something about the girl bothered her. She was new to her position, Araby’s last maid having been dismissed by her stepfather very suddenly last week. That was not in itself unusual. Servants came and went all the time in their household, mostly because of the unsteadiness of their wages. However, this girl hovered as though watching for something and sometimes her remarks bordered on insolence. Araby had no proof, but she suspected that Dulcie's interest in her mistress' wardrobe went beyond simple pressing, mending and laying out garments.

  Araby sat at her writing desk and penned a brief note to Drew. Once it was finished, she sought out a footman to deliver her missive. Instinct told her not to trust the matter to Dulcie. The less knowledge the girl had of her mistress' dealings, the better things would be. Now all she need do was convince Drew to cease his relentless attempts to save her before he caused them both harm.

  The bell above the door of Rundle and Bitcomb Jewelers tinkled merrily that afternoon as Arabella stepped inside. This was a world where the lines between artistry and magic blurred, where the notion of gems as a safeguard against an uncertain world gave way to the passion of coveting and acquiring. Rundle and Bitcomb catered to avarice, from the glittering temptations laid out in their window displays, to the seductive enticements inside their cases. All of them held something alluring for those who fancied themselves true connoisseurs of jewels and who also possessed the blunt to pay for them.

  Araby smiled as she glided across the thick, Persian carpets towards the store's central display case, her maid trailing in her wake. Light from a half-dozen crystal chandeliers illuminated the large interior and glinted off the gemstone confections encased throughout the establishment. Araby greeted a few acquaintances and nodded to several others. No sooner had she reached the main display case than Mr. Rundle Sr. excused himself from conversation with another client and rushed to greet her. She smiled graciously, adding just the proper touch of coolness in her manner. Araby loved being important. Her reception here today was a far cry from the one she'd received almost two years ago when she came to buy a new chain for her grandmother's locket. New to London, she'd had no one to recommend her to the better shops and had been ignored for almost a half hour before a junior clerk deigned to help her. Not so today. Today, no one kept The Incomparable Araby waiting.

  Mr. Rundle motioned to a clerk and in a thrice a dazzling sapphire necklace lay against a swath of black velvet for her approval. Araby gasped at the exquisite piece.The sapphires, set in gold, were used to create an elegant drape of blue flowers with diamond centers that did not simply encircled the neck of the wearer, but flowed around it, leaving a single, gold and sapphire tail meant to lay at a slight angle above the decolletage of an evening gown. He produced a matching pair of ear bobs. Rundle and Bitcomb required no payment at present he assured her. The account could be settled after the Season. After all, The Incomparable must have jewels that befit her station and there was only one establishment in London who could do her justice.

  Araby understood her obligation without anything further being said. All she need do was wear the set and let anyone admiring it know where she'd ‘purchased’ them. For this consideration Rundle and Bitcomb would graciously await payment until her marriage settlement. She studied the set thoughtfully. While they were very costly, they were not above her prospects. She accepted the unspoken arrangement. Mr. Rundle motioned one of the under-clerks to box up the pieces, then politely excused himself.

  “They will look incredible on you,” whispered a soft male voice close to her ear.

  Arabella turned her startled gaze on the young man at her side. “Drew! What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I saw you come in,” he said, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face. “I thought as long as we are in public no harm could come from mere conversation.”

  Arabella reached into her reticule and handed her maid a few coins. She nodded towards the door to the shop and gave the girl a speaking look. Dulcie regarded her mistress with an insolent expression, but nevertheless pocketed the coins and headed for the street.

  “That girl,” Arabella muttered. “If she's simply a maid then I'm Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

  Drew made a leg and executed a perfect bow. “My queen.” Araby laughed in spite of herself.

  “Is she a spy?” He asked.

  “Among other things, I'm sure,” she murmured, thinking that Dulcie suited her stepfather's cruder tastes.

  Drew turned back to her, the maid dismissed from his mind. “I had to see you. I had to let you know that I understand why you...why you spoke to me as you did at the Esterly's ball. I understand it was your way of protecting me.”

  Araby closed her eyes briefly against the wave of guilt washing over her. Drew was always so kind and understanding. If this was his way to make her feel even worse, it was working. “Don't make excuses for me, Drew. You have every reason to detest me. What I did to you was hateful.”

  “No it wasn't hateful,” he said quietly. “It was desperate. I know that better than anyone. That's why you should come away with....”

  He imprecation was cut short by Mr. Rundle's return. This time he displayed a pair of sapphire combs created to match the necklace. Arabella gasped and bit her lip. No, even with Mr. Rundle's terms the combs made the entire set too great an extravagance. She murmured her appreciation, but declined to add them to the box.

  “Wait,” Drew said before Mr. Rundle took them away. “I will purchase them for Miss Winston. Please have them wrapped.” Mr. Rundle knew when to clear the field. He’d achieved his goal and hurried off to order the sapphire set wrapped to include the combs.

  “You know I can't possibly accept such a gift as this, Drew. You know what people would think,” Arabella admonished him.

  “Nonsense,” he said heartily. “Think of it as an early birthday gift.”

  “My birthday was four months ago.”

  “A late one then.”

  “No, Drew,” she insisted, signaling for Mr. Rundle who was discretely ignoring her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “It's not only the type of gift, but also its value. I also know you can't afford them and for both those reasons I can't possibly accept them.”

  Drew colored slightly. “You don't have to worry about the cost, Arabella. My brother has an account here and he'll happily let me use it.”

  “Not for this he won't,” Arabella whispered harshly. “The earl would be furious with me and angering the Earl of Stowebridge will certainly not do me any good.”

/>   “First,” Drew replied calmly, “Henry is not even in the country. He has taken a trip to Italy for Fiona’s health. Secondly, it's not his account, it's Michael's and he's already told me I can use his accounts whenever I'd like.”

  Arabella opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. Her eyes narrowed. Michael Lassiter. Suddenly, the temptation to say, yes, became unbearable. This was a lovely means to an end. No, she couldn't keep the combs. That would be highly improper and it would be as good as an official announcement of an engagement. She could use the combs to tweak Michael's nose though. Oh, and how she would twist it once it was between her fingers. She gave Drew her loveliest smile, feeling another sharp sting of guilt when he smiled back at her, his heart in his eyes.

  “Very well, Drew. I will take your gift under consideration,” she said. “And while I'm considering it, I might as well wear them, don't you think?” She shivered thinking of Michael Lassiter's fury when he discovered his brother's purchase. Let him rage, she thought recklessly. It was time he learned whom he dealt with.

  ***

  “You’re making a damned fool of yourself, Drew!” Michael yelled in exasperation. He’d meant to be tactful, but after listening to the boy drivel on for eternity about Araby's beauty and wit, he’d had enough. “The chit doesn’t care about you. She didn’t care about Jules either, come to that. She’s only after a title and money – not necessarily in that order.”

  “That just shows how little you know about women,” Drew bit back at him. Michael made a scoffing sound. “Araby could have any man in London,” Drew continued, ignoring his brother's derisive sneer. “She simply wants me too woo her – to prove my devotion and resolve, that’s all.”

  “And wooing her meant buying the little tart a set of jeweled combs.” Michael gave his brother a hard stare. “Next time you wish to prove your devotion try staying within the limits of your own pocketbook.”