An overly well-bred voice spoke in the shadows of the gallery where Eamon was making a sketch of a statuette that might be worth something and might not.
He pulled his attention from the bronze Diana, who was modestly draped—an indication it was probably a modern copy—to find a willowy man in a well-tailored suit and thick golden hair staring at him with icy blue eyes.
The man’s frock coat collar was so high that the points indented his soft cheeks, which were adorned with well-trimmed sideburns. He was in his thirties if Eamon was any judge and hadn’t done anything harder in his life than ride a horse. Slowly.
Eamon noticed that Leo, who’d been helping him sort books in his mother’s absence, had vanished.
“Mr. Eamon Stone, at your service.” Eamon supposed he should give the man a deferential bow, but for some reason, his back would not bend. “As you have sprung from nowhere, unannounced, in Her Grace’s house, I should ask—who the devil are you?”
The blue eyes bulged. “How dare you, sir. Are you not beaten enough for your impertinence?”
“No one so far has managed it.” Eamon let a dangerous note slip into his answer. “I did not hear Singleton announce you. The lady of the house is out, so I suppose it has fallen upon me to turn away intruders. I’ll conclude that Singleton is taking a well-deserved nap, and you somehow managed to sidle in. Your name, sir, before I push you back down the stairs.”
The man drew himself up, the collar points scraping his chin. “You are as ignorant as you are foul. I am Rudyard Berridge, heir to the dukedom of Aylesmore. I do not sidle anywhere.”
“And yet, you walk into a house that is not yours, uninvited.” Eamon closed his sketchbook with a loud snap and set it on the table next to the Diana.
Rudyard gazed disdainfully about the dusty gallery and its high windows that let in a modicum of the evening’s light. “Uncle let me run tame in this house from the time I was a lad. That was natural, since he had no children of his own. I was his heir.”
Then pretty Caro had come along to bear His Grace a healthy son and change all that. This man was still an heir and would become duke if something happened to Leo. No wonder Leo had made himself scarce.
“I assume you’ve arrived to visit Leo’s grandmother,” Eamon suggested. “I will call Singleton to take you to her.”
Alarm crossed Rudyard’s face at the mention of the formidable dowager, whom Eamon had yet to meet. She kept herself sequestered on a floor that Eamon so far had not been allowed onto.
“Our grandmother, I am certain, is resting,” Rudyard said, a trifle nervously. “I am here to see the mother of my cousin Leo. Though I do not need to explain myself to a servant.”
This man could call Eamon a servant or any number of unpleasant names, and he’d take them in his stride. But Rudyard’s sneer of the mother of my cousin awoke Eamon’s fury.
“You mean, Her Grace,” Eamon said coldly.
Rudyard snorted. “That title applied to my grandmother and my uncle’s first wife, not an upstart chit from the country, little better than a lightskirt.”
A dark fog coated Eamon’s vision, obscuring everything but Rudyard’s symmetrical face and colorless eyes. A gentleman should call out another who’d tarnished a lady’s name, avenge the insult in a civilized manner.
Rot that. Eamon was simply going to knock Rudyard to the floor.
Rudyard held out his hand, a coin glinting between his fingers. “Be a good fellow and tell her I’m here.”
The idiot had no idea how close he came to death in that moment. Eamon would sweep the man’s legs out from under him, crash him to the floorboards, and then break his spine. He made the first step toward Rudyard when a light voice startled them both.
“Rudyard?” Caro stepped off the flight of stairs to the gallery, her eyes flashing anger, a lock of hair tumbling to her shoulder. “You are supposed to write before you call.”
“I refuse to adhere to such nonsense,” Rudyard scoffed. “I am here to see you, Aunty.” He spat the word.
Eamon took another step. “I’ll show him to the pavement, if you’d like, Your Grace.”
For a moment, Eamon thought Caro would happily accept. Then she firmed her lips and shook her head.
“I will speak to him. Briefly.” She turned to descend the staircase once more, fingers light on the banister, but Eamon saw the lock of hair tremble. “Downstairs, please. In the blue reception room.”
Chapter 8
Eamon followed Rudyard closely down the stairs as the man scurried behind Caro.
He knew it was none of his business why Caro’s husband’s nephew had come to call on her. Eamon was, as Rudyard had pointed out, the hired help, not a member of the family or even a trusted friend.
But there was no way Eamon would allow Rudyard Berridge into a room alone with Caro.
