“His wife?” Eliza asked, incredulous. “I’d no idea he’d married.”
Malcolm laughed sharply. “Yes, well, funny enough, it seems he’s married Una Moseley.”
“Una! How queer.”
“I’ve a notion he’s married her out of some ulterior motivation. At any rate, we’re still negotiating the terms of the London townhouse. It seems as if there’s some question about the terms of repayment in the original mortgage.”
“If it’s a matter of inflation, we’ll pay him whatever it takes to be off his chain. And perhaps it’s only dinner, after all.”
“With Eastleigh, it won’t only be dinner, darling. I think you know that.”
The wind tore at the carriage like a wild beast as Malcolm and Eliza made their way to Clairborne Hall, the ancestral home of the Lancashire family. Despite the muddy roads and overflowing ditches, they were soon splashing up the drive to the gaudy, overblown baroque mansion that resembled a layer cake made of limestone brick. Electric lights shone aggressively through every window, blazing in starbursts through the streaming rain.
“I’ll go in first,” Malcolm said, his hand on the butt of the pistol he’d holstered beneath his waistcoat. “I’m not expecting anything untoward, but with Eastleigh, we can’t be sure.”
She’d tried to prevent him from bringing a gun to the dinner table, but he was insistent. Eliza’s stomach lurched as she envisioned the possibilities Malcolm was anticipating.
Turner pulled up to the porte cochere at the side of the lumbering manse and hopped down from his perch to open their door. His derby was rimmed with water, only his heavy-lidded eyes visible above the scarf he’d gathered about his face.
“I’ll wait here, m’lord. If there’s any trouble ...”
“There won’t be, Turner,” Malcolm said confidently. “But if you do hear anything, remove her ladyship to Havenwood, posthaste.”
Malcolm handed Eliza down from the carriage and she followed behind him, lingering at the edge of the rain-puddled terrace. A purple silhouette appeared in the doorway. Una stood in the double-hung doors of the threshold, looking as regal as a queen. Her eyes skimmed over Malcolm, then came to rest on Eliza, her lips forming a foxlike smile.
“Do come in, Lord and Lady Havenwood. We’ve been ever so anxious for your company.”
Eliza’s head spun as Una took Malcolm’s arm, smiling up at him in a way that turned Eliza’s thoughts momentarily to violence. She imagined them in the days of their betrothal, Malcolm hovering over Una and kissing her in the places where she now enjoyed his attention.Malcolm has such sweet kisses ...
They made their way into a sumptuous drawing room hung with French green silk. Eastleigh’s butler took Eliza’s cape from her shoulders, revealing her blue velvet gown and the generous amount of décolleté it afforded.
“Lovely dress.” Una’s voice was hollow as she gave the compliment.
“You’re looking well yourself, Lady Eastleigh. Marriage agrees with you,” Eliza answered, bobbing a quick curtsy. It was true. Una’s cool, dignified hauteur suited her new station as countess.
“My husband will be down shortly, but we’ll go through without him.”
Una led them into the dining room, her hips swaying beneath her snug gown. Eliza wove her arm through Malcolm’s, jealousy at Una’s beauty seizing her heart in an unbecoming vise.
The varnished mahogany table was laden with sparkling crystal and silver chargers, each place setting pristine with its matching gold-rimmed china. Gardenias spilled over the sides of gilded chinoiserie vases, their fragrance smothering. Eastleigh had spared no expense. Eliza could only imagine how much of Malcolm’s extorted money had gone into the impressive display of wealth surrounding her.
“Strange amount of rain we’re having,” Malcolm said, filling the uncomfortable silence as they waited for their host. “I hope it won’t interfere with the winter wheat.”
“I rather like a good storm, Havenwood. It suits my mood.” Eastleigh’s sibilant baritone floated toward them as he strode into the searing brightness of the room, dressed in immaculate white tie. He paused to greet Eliza, taking her fingertips as his eyes walked all over her. “Lady Havenwood. Delighted to have you at Clairborne Hall at last. It’s the finest house in the county, you know. Made even finer by your company.”
“It’s an honor to be invited, my lord.” Eliza’s mouth went dry as he kissed her gloved hand, his lips lingering uncomfortably long.
Her husband’s eyes could have cut glass.
They sat, and liveried footmen approached, offering oysters on the half shell and caviar. Eliza was thankful for food as a distraction from Una’s dark scrutiny. The weight in the room was unbearable—like a heavy, silent sword of Damocles poised overhead.
After their dessert had been finished—a decadent charlotte russe—Charles stood. “Darling, please take Lady Havenwood into the parlor for a digestive. Lord Havenwood and I have private matters to discuss.”
Eliza looked to Malcolm, her heartbeat quickening. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with Una. And what if Eastleigh became violent?
Malcolm gave her a tight smile. “Go on, my love. It’s all right.”
Una swayed down the hallway, leading Eliza into a high-ceilinged drawing room lined with portraits. Eastleigh’s ancestors glared down with hawkish faces, every bit as unfriendly as her present company. Una tugged the bellpull near the mantel and a frantic maid came scurrying in with a decanter of brandy and a tray of ginger wafers.
