Now Winstowe was dead. Mortal mourning was as brief as everything else in their lives. Though Eden wore the black of sorrow, she seemed to dismiss her husband’s passing as easily as she’d forgotten Cornelius Fleming.
“Did she love him?” he asked.
“And what business is that of mine, or yours?” Mrs. Byrne narrowed her eyes. “Best banish all such thoughts from that handsome head if you want to stay at Hartsmere.”
Hartley clenched his fists, allowing himself to feel the pain of nails biting flesh. “The boy, Donal—is he the lady’s only child?”
Mrs. Byrne gave a start. “Donal is not Lady Eden’s son. He is the grandson of her uncle, who lives in Ireland and has taken ill. She is caring for him.”
Not her son? Was that what she claimed? Yet another lie, and one that only increased Hartley’s anger. Was she so ashamed of her own child that she refused to acknowledge him, as if he were some grotesque changeling?
“The family resemblance is striking,” he said between his teeth.
“Enough. As her ladyship said, we’ve the details of your work here to discuss.” She opened the servants’ door and ushered him through, ending the conversation.
For the time being. Hartley had many questions yet to be answered, and if Mrs. Byrne refused to cooperate, there were others who would. He’d decided to use no enchantment to steal Donal from Hartsmere, but that did not prevent him from putting Tod to work. The hob could listen in on every servant’s conversation within the house and never be detected.
As for Lady Eden Winstowe, she was his.
After a day in consultation with Mrs. Byrne and another night in her musty bed, Eden determined to begin restoring Hartsmere immediately.
The doctor had come and gone, Claudia remained in her room, Donal was with Nancy—who had younger brothers of her own, and was serving as temporary nursery maid—and Eden could not imagine herself remaining within these walls another minute. She had planned to wait for the new steward’s arrival before venturing out among Hartsmere’s tenants and dependents, but it had become clear that finding one might take longer than she had hoped.
With Hester’s help, Eden changed into her riding habit and sent Armstrong to the stables to see that her mount was saddled and ready. She and Claudia had each brought one riding horse, the most reliable animals in Spencer’s once-grand stables. Her own mare, Juno, would hardly be a challenge for the new groom.
Hartley Shaw. She stopped in the midst of pulling on a glove and wet her lips. Of course it was not the desire to avoid him that made her almost dread seeing him again. Why should she avoid him? His bold green eyes held no power over her, nor his broad shoulders and splendid form the means to impress one who had seen the very finest the ton had to offer.
Yet during the interview, when he had gazed at her with that mocking gleam, she had briefly imagined that she knew what he was thinking. She had envisioned herself naked, open to his view, near shameless as only a married woman of Society could be, reveling in his admiration, in being wanted, in sheer masculine lust. He swept her up in his arms and carried her away to the stables, to a bed of clean straw. She watched him undress, removing the plain laborer’s clothing as if it were the work of Bond Street’s finest tailor, and felt her heart pound with a lust that matched his own.
All that had flashed in her mind in the sitting room while he told her of his many “talents.” For years she’d pretended to be exactly what the ton judged her: an exciting, audacious woman who skirted the outermost edges of propriety with devil-may-care abandon. Yet never had she been so tempted to scorn the rules as she was now: to accept as lover a total stranger, a man of no rank who dared to cast his eyes above his station.
Spencer had taken her like a beast in rut on their wedding night. Why should she want more of the same?
Because she had known something better, once upon a time. Because she knew it would be better with Hartley Shaw.