“Really, my lord. These interruptions are becoming intolerable.”
“My apologies, Hilliard,” Ben drawled. “I will be but a moment. Pray excuse me.”
He came toward them. “Lady Russell.” He bowed. “It is a great pleasure to see you again, ma’am. And Miss Fenton!” He took Catherine’s hand, a dangerous twinkle in his hazel eyes. “What could possibly induce you to step inside this house again, remembering what happened last time?”
Catherine snatched her hand away. Her heart was racing. “I have come to remind you of your engagement for a duel in five days’ time,” she said sarcastically. “It may have slipped your lordship’s mind, but you have not yet named your seconds.”
Ben’s smile deepened. “So I have not. And have you named yours?”
“Miss St. Clare and Lady Russell are to act for me,” Catherine said.
Ben smiled at Lady Russell. “I rue the day that you decided to be on the opposing side, ma’am!”
“Catherine is my goddaughter,” Lady Russell said, trying and failing to suppress an answering smile, “and I understand that you have upset her.”
Ben shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I fear I have, ma’am. I wish to marry Miss Fenton but she has taken against my suit. If you could see your way clear to championing my cause-”
“Just a minute!” Catherine cut in. She was outraged. “How dare you try to engage my godmother to support you? Have you forgotten, my lord, that the reason I challenged you was because you threatened to ruin my reputation?”
“Quite right,” Lady Russell agreed. “You are a scoundrel, Benjamin Hawksmoor, and I fully support Catherine in her bid to put a bullet through you.”
Ben laughed. “Have you told her what a good shot I am, ma’am?”
Lady Russell sniffed. “I have not. I do not seek to influence her decision.” She paused. “I would give a monkey to know how you escaped the French that time, though, Hawksmoor. I could have sworn you were surrounded.”
Ben laughed again. “If your goddaughter has her way, ma’am, that will be a secret I will be taking to my grave.”
Catherine stepped forward. “Fascinating as these reminiscences are,” she said frigidly, “I wonder if you might name your seconds, my lord, and then we may leave you to your business.” She glanced across at where the artist was pacing the floor, a deep frown on his face.
“Of course,” Ben said politely. He drew closer to her, so close that Catherine could feel the warmth emanating from his barely-clad body. “My cousins Gideon and Samuel Hawksmoor will act for me in this matter.”
“Thank you,” Catherine said coldly.
“Gideon Hawksmoor?” Lady Russell said disgustedly. “You might as well choose a chanting parson! Can you not do better than that?”
“Aunt Agatha!” Catherine burst out. “You are supposed to be on my side!”
Ben was laughing openly to see her annoyance. “Your godmother is an excellent judge of character,” he said, “and she has always liked me, have you not, ma’am?”
“That is nothing to the purpose,” Catherine snapped, before Lady Russell could reply and make matters even worse. She drew herself up. “We are leaving. Good day, my lord.”
She was halfway to the door when she paused, overcome by a sudden curiosity. “By the by, my lord, which historical character are you supposed to be representing here?”
“King Edward the Confessor,” Ben said unblushingly. “He was a saint.”
“Very funny!” Catherine said. “Could they not find a more appropriate model?”
“My dear Miss Fenton,” Ben said, “the pictures sell like hotcakes. Every lady wishes to have me in her bedroom.”
Catherine bit her lip, feeling the awareness run between them. She could see he was remembering having her in his own bedroom. And how could she not be disturbed by such memories, and by the tempting promise he had made:
You will not find me disappointing when we do things properly…
“Then every lady is welcome to you,” she snapped. She turned on her heels and swept out, but she heard his laughter following her down the corridor.
“Aunt Agatha,” she said, once they were back in the carriage, “how did Lord Hawksmoor evade the French that time?”
Lady Russell’s eyes gleamed. “Through cunning. And nerve.” She patted her goddaughter’s hand. “You like him, do you not, Kate?”
“No!” Catherine said. She cast Lady Russell a sideways look. “But you do and although I hate to admit it, you are a good judge of character.”
“The boy has charm,” Lady Russell conceded.
“And arrogance,” Catherine said bitterly.
“His father was a vile man,” Lady Russell said. “I always thought that Sarah Hawksmoor did a splendid job bringing Benjamin up on her own. It must have been intolerably difficult for her.”
“What happened to her?” Catherine asked.
There was a pause. “She died of a fever,” Lady Russell said, a little gruffly. “As soon as Benjamin got his first army pay, he arranged for her to leave London and take a small cottage in the country. But it was too late.” Lady Russell gave a long sigh. “Her health had been weakened by years of suffering. The first winter she caught bronchitis and a putrid fever and was too weak to recover.”
Catherine swallowed hard. With her own longing to create a loving family, she could feel all too sharply what the loss of his mother must have been like for the young Benjamin Hawksmoor. She had been the only one who had been there for him through the years of his childhood. And then he had lost her, too.
“They always said that Hawksmoor tried to kill himself in the Peninsular because he was mad and bad,” Lady Russell said, “but I think he was half-crazed with grief.”
Catherine was horrified to feel the tears sting her throat.
“And you are right, Kate. I do like him,” her godmother added. “Have you ever wondered how he managed to touch the hearts of so many people? For all that arrogant swagger, he can still talk to barrow boy and regent alike.” She laughed. “Unlike his cousin. A more pious, self-serving creature than Gideon Hawksmoor would be difficult to find!” Her eyes gleamed. “Can’t wait to see his face when he finds a courtesan and a cantankerous nabob’s widow in his entrance hall talking about a duel! Priceless!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It is the duty of a lady to be accomplished in all the feminine arts and practise until she excels at them.
—Mrs. Eliza Squire, Good Conduct For Ladies
“THERE ARE TWO…LADIES… requesting the pleasure of your company, sir.”
Sam Hawksmoor turned over in bed and gave a heartfelt groan. The previous night had been a hard one, involving several bottles of claret. He had been supposed to meet Ben at the Cocoa Tree, but his cousin had failed to turn up and instead Sam had fallen into even more disreputable company. He had literally gambled the shirt from his back and had wandered home in the early hours feeling the winter cold with only his jacket to protect him.
Earlier that morning he had heard Gideon leaving to spend some time at his club, followed by Gideon’s wife, Alice, and their daughter Chloe on their way out to shop in Bond Street. He had relaxed back against the pillows, savoring the peace of the house and planning a morning of blissful sleep. And then…
“Sir,” the butler said again, with rather more urgency, “the ladies—”
“I don’t know any ladies,” Sam said, muffled.
“No, sir,” the butler said, suavely urgent, “but one of them is the sort of female you do know, sir….”
Sam shot up in bed. A memory swam to the surface of his mind; a barque of frailty perched on his lap the previous night, feeding him grapes and nibbling sweetly at his ear. He felt slightly sick. Surely the silly girl had not come here to find him…. The butler had said two women, so perhaps she had brought some old Covent Garden abbess with her…. Oh, the humiliation of being so poor that he was obliged to reside with his brother….
Somehow, without him really
noticing, the butler had ejected him from his bed and, with the help of Gideon’s valet, was easing him into his clothes. Sam let them fuss about while his mind ran hither and thither like a trapped mouse. What had he promised the lightskirt the previous night? If Gideon had to buy this one off as well, he would be furious. It was only three months since the last one.
He was relieved to find that when he reached the hall, the females were nowhere to be seen. Gideon’s butler, with his customary aplomb, had tucked them away in the drawing room. He was not ready to face them, but a scared glance at the clock suggested that Alice and Chloe might return at any moment for luncheon. It would be disastrous if they arrived home when he was speaking with a couple of lightskirts. Now that was something Gideon would never forgive….
“Lady Russell and Miss Lily St. Clare,” the butler announced, throwing open the drawing-room door, and Sam suffered another paroxysm of shock so great that he tried to reverse straight out again, but was thwarted by the butler closing the door smartly behind him.
He did not recognize the older lady but it was clear that she was no bawdy-house madam. There was an imperious tilt to her chin and a martial light in her eye that belied her diminutive stature and rather eccentric gown of peacock-blue with purple turban. She fixed Sam with a sharp look.
“Mr. Hawksmoor? Mr. Samuel Hawksmoor? We were hoping to see your brother.”
Sam was left with a feeling of inadequacy at not being Gideon.
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but my brother is from home,” he stuttered. “I understood from the butler that you wished to see me?”
The elderly lady nodded. “We have business with you as well as with Mr. Gideon Hawksmoor.” She extended a hand in a rather grand gesture. “I am Lady Russell.”
Sam took her hand and resisted the impulse to bow over it. “Delighted, ma’am.”
“And this,” Lady Russell said, “is Miss Lily St. Clare.”
Lily St. Clare stood up and put back her veil. Sam swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing desperately as he took her hand. He had always carried a torch for Lily when she had been married to Lord Cavanagh and now that she was the fallen society beauty, he thought she looked thinner, sadder and even more alluring. As he took her hand, and felt himself tingle all over at the contact, he realized in some indefinable way that Lily St. Clare was way beyond his star and always had been. She was not like Paris, a hard-as-diamonds beauty who would trample on anyone and anything who came between her and her goal. Lily was softer, sweeter, and to Sam infinitely more attractive.
“Ah…Lady Ca…I mean, Miss St. Clare…How…” He cleared his throat, caught Lily’s eye and felt himself blush to the roots of his hair. “How may I be of service?” he managed to stutter, with what he recognized was a woeful lack of aplomb.
“We are here,” Lily said, smiling at him with ravishing charm, “as the seconds appointed by Miss Catherine Fenton, Mr. Hawksmoor.”
“That’s right!” Lady Russell said with an enthusiasm that Sam found quite intimidating.
“Seconds?” he repeated. “Beg pardon, madam, but I have no notion to what you refer—”
Lily sighed. “I suppose that your cousin, Lord Hawksmoor, has not told you? Miss Fenton has challenged Lord Hawksmoor to a duel, sir. He named you and your brother Gideon as his seconds.” She frowned slightly. “He did mention that Mr. Gideon Hawksmoor might refuse to act for him, but that you would certainly support him. So…” She made a slight, deprecating gesture. “We are here to discuss the arrangements for the duel with you.”
“Miss Fenton…Duel…Named Gideon…Seconds…” Sam pressed a hand to his brow.
He did not know anyone named Catherine Fenton. He wondered if she was a courtesan. And if he understood Miss St. Clare correctly, the girl had challenged Ben to a duel. But that could not be right. No woman, not even a barque of frailty, would do such an outrageous thing.
“Beg pardon, ma’am,” Sam said again, with increasing desperation. “Bad head this morning, don’t you know. I misunderstood you there. Thought you said a young lady had challenged m’cousin in a matter of honor.”
“She did,” Lady Russell said. There was a hint of severity in her voice. Clearly she had tired of his lamentable slowness. Sam felt very stupid. And he had no wish to make a fool of himself before the very lovely Miss St. Clare. Sam went hot all over again as his mind dwelled most inappropriately on all the lovely aspects of Lily. He wrenched his thoughts back to the matter in hand. Both ladies were looking at him as though he were a slow top.
“A duel,” he said, running a finger around the neck of his shirt to help ease his breathing. “Must be some mistake, ladies. Not even my cousin would do something so…so…extraordinary.”
“Your cousin has no choice,” Lily said crisply. “Miss Fenton has challenged him on a matter of honor and if he refuses she will brand him a coward.”
“Coward,” Sam said. “I see.” For the first time, he felt a small stir of sympathy for Ben. Whatever his cousin was, he was no coward.
“And Gideon, you say,” he continued. “Did my cousin truly name Gideon as his other second?” This, Sam thought, was beyond belief. Ben had plenty of other friends as reckless and rackety as he. Any one of them would stand his second and think it a great joke. If he had named Gideon, however, he must have been suffering delusions. Either that or the lightskirt was trying to extract money from him. Perhaps she had threatened breach of promise and had called Ben out in pique when he had refused to wed her. And now Ben was hoping that Gideon would pay her off to avoid scandal tarnishing the family name.
“He did,” Lady Russell said, nodding. “It is here in a note he sent me this morning.” She took it from her reticule and read aloud. “I confirm that I would like to ask my cousin Gideon to act as my other second but I fear that his disapproval of me is so great that he may refuse me in my time of need….”
“He must have been drunk when he wrote it,” Sam muttered. “And the least he could have done was to tell me.”
Lily shrugged prettily. “I doubt that Lord Hawksmoor was taking Miss Fenton’s challenge seriously at the time, Mr. Hawksmoor. But that will change soon.” She glanced at Lady Russell. “Lady Russell has suggested that if Lord Hawksmoor has any doubts about either Catherine’s intentions or her proficiency with a pistol, he should go to Colonel Acheson’s establishment in Bond Street and watch her practice.”
“P-p-practice?” Sam spluttered. “My dear Miss St. Clare—”
“If one is intending to put a bullet through a man,” Lady Russell said with unimpaired calm, “it is kinder to practice so that one may hit him entirely where one intends.”
Sam swallowed hard at the thought.
“If this is a matter of money then I am sure we can come to some accommodation,” he said cautiously. At all costs he wanted to avoid involving Gideon, whose fury would, he felt, be utterly incandescent at this evidence of Ben’s latest outrage. He started to shepherd the ladies toward the door, opening it for them himself and trying to usher them into the hall with more haste than manners.
“If you leave me your direction then I shall speak to my brother and be in touch,” he continued.
“Mr. Hawksmoor, I think that you quite mistake the situation,” Lady Russell said, standing her ground. “This is not a case of some poverty-stricken demirep trying to make a quick fortune from your family.”
Sam flushed. “I assure you, ma’am, I had no intention of suggesting—”
The front door opened.
“Miss Fenton,” Lady Russell continued with superb disregard for the new arrivals, “is the richest heiress in London. Your cousin has insulted her, Mr. Hawksmoor, and must now pay the price.”
Sam turned, caught sight of his brother, sister-in-law and niece, and made vague panic-stricken flapping gestures with his hands.
“Lady Russell, Miss St. Clare…”
“Miss Fenton fully intends to carry out her challenge and demands that Lord Hawksmoor meet her in this matter of h
onor,” Lady Russell finished.
“Samuel!”
The chandeliers quivered with the force of Gideon Hawksmoor’s righteous wrath. He was a short, portly man clad in the most irreproachably tasteful morning dress. His expression, however, was violent.
“Samuel, what the deuce do you mean by introducing women of ill fame into this house—” he began.
“Sir!” Lady Russell drew herself up. “How dare you!”
“Samuel,” Gideon bellowed. “Explain yourself.”
Miss Chloe Hawksmoor, a lively debutante of nineteen, peered out from behind her father’s bulk and gave Lily a little wave. “How lovely to see you again, Lily! We have all missed you—”
“Chloe!” Gideon was turning purple. “Be silent! Samuel—”
“Dear me.” Mrs. Alice Hawksmoor, a woman with a sharp face and a long nose for scandal, stepped forward. “You will make yourself ill, my dear.” She laid a restraining hand on Gideon’s arm. “Chloe, go to your room. Gideon, stop bellowing. You will injure yourself. Samuel—” Sam jumped “—you had better explain yourself.”
“Please excuse us,” Lady Russell said, taking Lily’s arm and shooting Gideon a look of deep dislike. “We will leave you to explain matters to your brother and his family, Mr. Hawksmoor.”
“Leave me?” Sam looked around wildly. “But, Lady Russell, Miss St. Clare, please do not go—”
“Lady Russell?” Alice Hawksmoor’s nose quivered like a terrier. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, I did not recognize you. Nor did my husband.” Sam saw her pinch Gideon’s arm sharply. “Did you, Gideon?”
“Ouch! No!” Gideon drew himself up. “My apologies, my lady—”
Lady Russell looked disdainful. “It is of no consequence, Mr. Hawksmoor. If you cannot be civil to me when you did not know my identity, I doubt I wish to speak with you when you do. Besides, you have been unconscionably rude to Miss St. Clare. I think it would be best for us to leave your brother to acquaint you with the matter in hand.”
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