"Particularly one that began like the Seaton feud." His eyes twinkled. "I can understand my father being upset at having his fiancée swept away by his younger brother, but I happen to be quite fond of the mother he chose for me. The old boy seems rather fond of her himself."
She knew that Lord Bowden had married and had two sons, and it sounded as if the marriage was a successful one. A pity that had not been enough to mitigate her uncle's hurt pride and sense of betrayal. "I don't suppose my uncle would ever wish to meet me," she said with regret, "but perhaps someday I might make the acquaintance of Lady Bowden."
"No sooner said than done. It was she who sent me to find you." He offered his arm. "Shall I take you to meet her?"
She asked Michael to tell Kenneth where she had gone. Then she took her cousin's arm and accompanied him across the ballroom. Lady Bowden was sitting with a group of older women, but she stood and came forward when she saw her son and Rebecca approaching. She was even smaller than Rebecca, not beautiful but with lovely silver hair and a fine-boned elegance.
"Mother, meet Cousin Rebecca," Hal said.
"A pleasure, my dear." She glanced at her son. "Off with you, Hal. Fetch us some lemonade or something." He chuckled and went to do her bidding.
Lady Bowden turned back to Rebecca, her soft blue eyes studying her husband's niece with undisguised interest. "I knew you must be Helen's daughter as soon as you entered the room."
"You knew my mother?"
"Oh, yes. My father's property marched with the Bowden estate. Marcus and Anthony and I grew up together. Our fathers had some vague idea of a marriage between the families. Then Marcus met Helen and went head over heels." Lady Bowden smiled a little sadly. "I could hardly blame him. She was the most ravishing creature. All the young men were in love with her. But of course you know what she was like. My condolences on your loss."
"Thank you. She is much missed," Rebecca said quietly. "You are very good to talk to me when there has been such a schism between our families."
"I have nothing against you, child," Lady Bowden said with wry humor. "I owed Helen a great debt. If not for her elopement with Anthony, I would never have married Marcus."
In a flash of insight, Rebecca understood what had happened: Lady Bowden growing up loving Marcus and thinking she would be his bride. Silently enduring first the pain when he lost his heart to another woman, then his anguish when Anthony and Helen had run away. In the end, Marcus had turned to the girl next door—but in her secret heart, Lady Bowden carried the sorrowful knowledge that she had been second best.
Instinctively concealing her understanding, Rebecca asked, "Is Lord Bowden here tonight?"
"No. If he were, I could not have met you." A flicker of a smile crossed Lady Bowden's face. "I would do nothing that my husband forbade. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
Rebecca laughed. "I wish we could become better acquainted, Lady Bowden, but I don't suppose that is possible."
"Please call me Aunt Margaret." Her ladyship pursed her lips. "Naturally we cannot exchange calls. But perhaps, on occasion, I might send you a note mentioning some unfashionable time when I might be strolling in the park."
"I should like that." She took the older woman's hand for a moment. "Until next time, Aunt Margaret."
Smiling, Rebecca made her way around the edge of the ballroom. After the current quadrille ended, it would be time for the supper dance. Kenneth would be her partner. She looked forward to telling about her aunt and cousin.
Then, between one step and the next, her happiness shattered as she came face-to-face with the two sisters who had been Rebecca's chief tormentors during the one long, miserable year she had spent at a school for young ladies. Charlotte and Beatrice had been smugly self-righteous ten years earlier, and time had not improved them.
As Rebecca stared, her stomach churning, Charlotte said spitefully, "Merciful heaven, Beatrice, you were right—it really is Rebecca Seaton. Who would have believed that she would have the barefaced gall to try to force herself into decent society?"
"Obviously the dear duke and duchess don't know about her past," Beatrice said, her nostrils pinched as if she were smelling rotten fish. "It is our duty to inform them."
They both turned ostentatiously in the gesture of contempt known as the cut direct. Rebecca stood trembling, knowing that she should simply walk away, but unable to move. Their malice was all the worse for the fact that she had ceased to expect it.
Then a deep voice said, "There you are, Miss Seaton. I have someone I wish you to meet."
It was the Duke of Candover himself. He brushed by Charlotte and Beatrice as if they were invisible. Then he took Rebecca's hand and tucked it in his elbow. "Margot and I are so pleased that you have finally consented to attend one of our balls. I trust you are enjoying yourself?"
Unable to speak, Rebecca nodded. Her old schoolmates were watching the duke, their eyes wide with shock. Candover turned his head with cool deliberation and looked at them. Whatever was in his face made the sisters turn white. Then he led Rebecca away. She clung to his arm, grateful for the support.
When they were out of earshot, she said unevenly, "What did you do, your grace—turn them to stone?"
He chuckled. "My wife calls that my Medusa stare. It's a modest talent, but useful."
"I'm very grateful for being rescued, but why did you do that for a woman you've only just met?"
He regarded her with thoughtful gray eyes. "The general reason is that I don't approve of intolerance, perhaps because it has been one of my own failings. The specific reason is that Kimball wants you to be accepted socially. Since he saved my friend Michael's life, I shall do my best to oblige him."
"I didn't know that," she said, surprised. "Is that why you've all gone to such lengths to welcome Kenneth and me?"
"The initial reason." The duke smiled at her with masculine appreciation. "But it's no great hardship, you know."
As they reached the corner where her new friends were gathered, Candover said, "I hope that encounter didn't ruin your evening."
"It made me appreciate how fortunate I am," she said with a smile. "Thank you, your grace."
Kenneth had been in a group with several other men, but he broke away and came to join Rebecca. "You're looking a little strained." He put her arm on his hand and led her into a promenade about the ballroom. "Did something happen?"
Tersely she described her meeting with her relatives and the unpleasant incident with her old schoolmates. When she finished, Kenneth said, "A good thing Candover was there. Since he has conspicuously championed you, your problems should be over."
With her free hand, she used the fan to waft cooler air to her face. "The duke said you saved Michael's life."
"Perhaps I did." His expression darkened. "But Michael saved my sanity, which was rather more difficult."
She made a note to ask what that meant at some later time.
Kenneth continued, "I should have thought of this earlier. Is there any chance you'll meet your despicable poet here?"
"None at all. A year or so after our ill-fated affair, he ran away to Italy with a married woman. There he expired, very poetically, of a fever," she said dryly.
"Proving that there is poetic justice in the world."
She smiled. She had shed no tears for Frederick, whose self-love had greatly exceeded his talent.
Beginning to feel tired, she asked, "How late will we stay?"
"Michael ordered the carriage to be ready after supper. Catherine needs to get back to her baby, and I imagine that by then you'll have had your fill of socializing."
"You're a genius. After supper will be perfect." She stood on her toes to search the ballroom. "Have you seen Lavinia? She must have arrived, but I haven't found her yet."
"I saw her in the distance, dazzling several cabinet ministers." He gave Rebecca a teasing glance. "Your problem is that you need to be a foot taller."
He scanned the crowd as they continued their slow progress abo
ut the room. She held his arm and mentally did a pastel sketch of her surroundings, content to let him do the serious looking. Then an eddy of the crowd brought them face-to-face with a woman whose blond beauty and lavish jewels were familiar.
The woman halted, then gave a slow, malicious smile. "Kenneth, darling. How wonderful to see you again after so many years."
He whipped his head around to stare at her, the blood draining from his face. "I can't say this is an unexpected pleasure," he said in a voice as brittle as glass, "so I will settle for saying that it is unexpected."
Her eyes narrowed. "Your wit has quickened, darling. It becomes you." She laid a hand on her magnificent diamond necklace. "Almost as much as this becomes me."
With sudden deep foreboding, Rebecca realized that the woman was Hermione, Lady Kimball.
Chapter 17
After her first shock, Rebecca examined Kenneth's stepmother with clinical detachment. Though most would call her beautiful, an unmistakable hardness marred the handsome features.
"I didn't expect to see you here tonight," Kenneth said coolly, his hand tightening protectively on Rebecca's arm. "If memory serves me, it is still customary to spend a year in mourning after the death of a spouse."
"I'm wearing black, darling, and diamonds rather than colored stones." Hermione gestured at her low-cut, clinging gown and the king's ransom in gems draped over her voluptuous body. "And of course I'm not dancing. But I know that your father would not have wanted me to spend a whole year in isolation. He was the most generous and indulgent of husbands."
Kenneth surveyed her costume with contempt. "Perhaps, but he was also a great believer in tradition."
Ignoring the remark, Lady Kimball said to Rebecca, "You're Anthony's girl, aren't you? I sometimes saw you scurrying around Seaton House. You look quite sweet in your mother's cast-offs."
"That's enough, Hermione," Kenneth said sharply. "Save your insults for me, not innocent bystanders."
"If you think little Miss Seaton is innocent, you haven't been listening to enough gossip, but no matter." She studied his face critically. "A pity about the scar. However, it wasn't as if you were good-looking to begin with. At least you survived. I was rather glad to hear that, for sentiment's sake."
For a moment, Rebecca feared that Kenneth might do murder, but he managed to retain his control. "Good-bye, Hermione," he snapped. "We have nothing to say to each other."
Before he could take Rebecca away, Hermione raised her hand and cupped his cheek with provocative intimacy. "Ah, Kenneth, darling. Still troubled by that boring conscience of yours. I rather hoped you had overcome it by now." Her malicious gaze slanted over to ensure that Rebecca was listening. "If you had, we could have resumed where we left off all those years ago."
The implication was unmistakable. Rebecca stared at Kenneth in shock, but there was no denial in his eyes. Only the sick horror of someone who had been dealt a mortal blow. Knowing she must get him away, Rebecca grasped his arm hard, but she spared a last glance for his stepmother. "Have a care, Lady Kimball," she said with icy fury. "Your face is beginning to reflect the ugliness of your spirit."
As Hermione gasped, Rebecca turned and guided her companion into the crowd. A dozen steps brought them to the end of the ballroom and a pair of open double doors that led into a corridor. She led Kenneth through the doors. He went without resistance, his expression numb.
Half a dozen dimly lit alcoves opened off the passage, each furnished with chairs and lamps so guests could converse in relative peace. Most were occupied, but the last was blessedly empty. She led him inside and pressed him into a chair.
Remaining standing, she rested her hand on his shoulders as she studied his face. His tanned skin was stretched taut over the underlying bones, and the scar was dead white. Quietly she said, "You and she were lovers."
His eyes closed and he drew a long, shuddering breath. "What... what happened had nothing to do with love. My father married Hermione when I was in my last year at Harrow. When I returned to Sutterton, I did my best to be civil even though I suspected that under her facade of proper young wife beat a heart of pure brass. Yet while I couldn't like her, I... I was attracted to her. She had a sexual aura no man could ignore."
Rebecca nodded. She had seen that sexuality in Hermione and could easily imagine how disturbing it must have been for a vigorous, impressionable young man.
He drew another deep breath. "Over the summer, things went well enough. Though Hermione must have realized that I disapproved of her, there was no open friction. My father was starting to neglect the estate, but I was able to take care of what needed to be done. Then I learned that he was going to mortgage Sutterton to buy a London house. I was badly worried, but decided that rather than start a row, I would tell him I didn't want to go to Cambridge. Instead, I would stay in Bedfordshire and act as his steward.
"I thought he would be glad—he'd spent years training me to manage the estate. But he guessed that I'd made the offer because I disapproved of his plans. He became enraged by my impertinence, and we had a blazing great row—the worst ever. After he slammed out of the house, I decided that for the first time in my life, I was going to get roaring drunk. I grabbed a bottle of brandy and went up to my room. About the time I emptied it, Hermione came in, crying and saying how distressed she was to have caused trouble between my father and me."
His voice broke off. When the silence had gone on long enough, Rebecca said in a matter-of-fact voice, "She fell weeping into your arms and nature took its course."
"There's nothing natural about bedding your father's wife." His mouth twisted. "I did it from an unholy combination of anger and lust and drink, coupled with a desire to prove to myself that Hermione was as vile as I suspected. Yet in doing so, I behaved with equal vileness."
His eyes opened, pain clouding the smoky depths. "After that, I couldn't possibly stay at Sutterton. I said good-bye to my sister, Beth, took what little money I had, and left. Two days later, I enlisted. Partly because it was a practical way to support myself, but more as a kind of self-punishment for what I had done. God knows, I'd never had any desire to be a soldier."
"You shouldn't have been so hard on yourself." Rebecca's hands tightened on his shoulders. "Hermione did it deliberately, you know. She knew you would be crippled by guilt. The bitch probably hoped you'd hang or shoot yourself, but leaving was good enough. With you gone, there was no one to oppose her wishes."
"Good God," Kenneth said, startled. "You think she was that cold-blooded?"
"I'm sure of it—she reeked of smug triumph."
"And well she should," he said bitterly. "Because of my weakness, she was left unchecked to rip the heart out of Sutterton. In the process she destroyed the livelihoods of dozens of people and deprived my sister of the life she should have had. If I had controlled my anger and lust, I would have been able to stay. I had some influence with my father. I could have prevented the worst excesses."
"Don't count on it," Rebecca said slowly. "I think Hermione would go to any lengths to get her own way. If you had resisted her that time, she would have tried other methods to get rid of you. Perhaps she would have arranged a little scene where your father would find the two of you together, her with ripped clothing and screaming rape."
"Christ," Kenneth said, shaken. "I hadn't thought of that, but it sounds horribly plausible."
"Because of that woman, you spent a dozen years in hell, fighting and killing when that was the last thing on earth you should have chosen." Rebecca slid her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his, aching. "Oh, my dear."
"Rebecca. God, Rebecca." He pulled her down into his lap and crushed her in his embrace, his breathing harsh. "I'm sorry for falling to pieces. Most of the time, I've been able to bury what happened in some dark corner of my mind, but seeing her unexpectedly... it brought the whole hellish business back."
"She knew you were honorable, and she used that against you." Rebecca buried her face against his neck, feeling the h
ard rhythm of his pulse. It was sheer madness to sit in his lap when they were visible to anyone who might walk down the corridor and glance their way. Yet she could not bring herself to move.
He held her for the space of a dozen heartbeats. Then he turned his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that she guessed was fueled more by a need to drown his haunted memories than by passion. Yet passion followed in an instant, swift and hot. She kissed him back, hungry for the taste of his mouth, the melting surrender and fierce pleasure she had known with him before.
It was all there, and more. Sensual heat, living fire. His hand slid to her hip and crushed the amber silk as he drew her hard against him. Beneath her the muscles of his thighs tensed, subtle and erotic, as she twisted in his lap to bring herself closer. When they were pressed breast to breast, she slipped her arms under his coat, cursing the fabric that separated them.
Then a female voice behind her gasped, "Shameless! Utterly shameless."
Rebecca froze and Kenneth muttered a curse under his breath. She pivoted in his lap to see that a whole group of people were staring into the alcove. Sickly she realized that the dance music had stopped and guests were coming down the corridor to the supper room. The cry had come from an aging dowager who stood with her hand pressed to her mouth in disgust. Flanking her were the Duke and Duchess of Candover, Michael and Catherine Kenyon, and a dozen other guests, all of them riveted by the scandalous sight of Rebecca sitting on Kenneth's lap.
Rebecca began to shake. After a mere three hours of respectability, she had ruined herself again, this time forever. Worse, people like Catherine and Michael who had offered their support in spite of her past were going to feel that she had betrayed their trust. She wished the floor would open and swallow her.
Then Lavinia pushed to the front of the group. "Well, my little lovebirds, you won't be able to keep your betrothal private any longer," she said with indulgent humor. "Sir Anthony will be glad to finally send out the notices."