Aunt Claudia had made it clear that when Eden married, it must be to a young man of good standing in the ton, who enjoyed high rank, a generous income, and the many pleasures of Society.
Cornelius Fleming was merely a curiosity, a distraction from the dull sameness of country days and the awful pall of loneliness. Hartsmere was the original Fleming estate, least of the earl’s many holdings. Eden hated it above all the others, remote as it was from London and her friends. Her father was casually affectionate and otherwise ignored her—she, who dreaded solitude more than anything in the world.
Cornelius had paid attention to her. And, gradually, she had seen him as the perfect subject upon whom to practice her growing skills at beguiling the male sex. “You must allow men to believe they are in control but never lose it yourself,” Aunt Claudia had taught her. How could she lose control with a dull fish like Cornelius Fleming?
How odd and vexing she’d thought him at first, with his haughty airs and long silences. He had an irksome propensity to wander off into the fells like any foolish tourist who came to gape in wonder at peaks and lakes and crags. His utter lack of interest in Society might have put her off entirely, if not for his god’s looks and the sense of power that he wore like a cloak.
“Be kind to him, Eden,” her father had said in one of his rare conversations with her. “He has been long in India, unfamiliar with our ways. Should my brother and nephew die, he may very well inherit the title when I am gone.”
She’d laughed and dismissed his uncharacteristically sober words. But she could not dismiss Cornelius. She found his gaze following her wherever she went, and his glances heated her blood. Behind his reticence lay unexpected tenderness. Every day he brought miraculous gifts of exotic perfumes and fine silks. At the New Year, he presented her with a diamond of amazing size and brilliance. Little by little, against all her best intentions, she found herself in love.
Aunt Claudia had not approved. She had actually come from her apartments in London to observe this dubious suitor. But though Lady Claudia Raines had ruled her niece since childhood, Eden was no longer a child. When Cornelius asked her to elope, she hadn’t hesitated for a moment.
Now he was hers. She would teach him as Claudia taught her, mold him to become the perfect Society beau. He already possessed a Corinthian’s muscle and a remarkable way with horses. In time, he would come to love fashionable London as much as she did, and they’d nevermore return to the icy, echoing, desolate halls of Hartsmere.
First they must find a perfect London town house. Then she would tease Aunt Claudia into presenting them, making all the necessary introductions, and smoothing any awkwardness resulting from the elopement. Once Lady Claudia recognized all the advantages of the match, she must relent.
The ton would come to know, as Eden did, that Cornelius’s arrogance and retiring nature concealed boundless generosity, excellent taste, and an elegance that was natural rather than taught.
No one but she would know his more intimate skills…
Somewhere within the inn a door slammed. A stray raindrop blew through the window to kiss Eden’s cheek. Cornelius sat up, the sheets cascading from his bare chest.
“Cornelius?” Eden touched his shoulder, gripped by sudden desire. “Good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you—”
He stared at the door. “Get dressed, Eden.”
It was not the greeting she expected. She wanted him to kiss her, draw her into his arms, whisper endearments as he had last night.
A chill slipped down the collar of her night rail. She hugged herself, wanting to close the window but afraid to leave the warm sanctuary of the bed.
Afraid of what? This was only the beginning of her life. Of their lives together.
Cornelius swung his feet to the floor and went to the chair where he had laid his clothing. He dressed swiftly and efficiently, barely hesitating to glance in her direction.
“Clothe yourself,” he said. “We may need to leave quickly.”