Page 4 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“Really? A house where his dead mother’s portrait is kept as some sort of macabre shrine? Where he calls his father ‘the lord’? Where he is shunted aside and ignored?”

Benjamin felt as if he’d missed a step in the dark. Put that way, Geoffrey’s situation did sound dire. But that wasn’t the whole truth! He’d made certain the boy received the best care. “How do you know anything—”

“People have sent reports to let his grandparents know how he’s treated.”

“Whatpeople?” There could be no such people. The house had lost a servant or two in recent years, but there’d been no visitors. He didn’t want visitors, particularly the repellent one who stood before him.

“I notice you don’t deny that Geoffrey is mistreated,” she replied.

Rage ripped through Benjamin. “My son istreatedsplendidly. He is fed and clothed and…and being taught his letters.” Of course he must be learning them. Perhaps he ought to know a bit more about the details of Geoffrey’s existence, Benjamin thought, but that didn’t mean the boy wasmistreated.

Two postilions entered with a valise. “Leave that on the coach,” Benjamin commanded. “Miss…won’t be staying.” He couldn’t remember the dratted girl’s name.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Take it back. I’m only here to fetch Geoffrey.”

“Never in a thousand years,” said Benjamin.

“What do you care? You hardly speak to him. They say you can’t bear to look at him.”

“They. Who the devil arethey?”

“Those with Geoffrey’s best interests at heart. And no sympathy for a cold, neglectful father.”

“Get out of my house!” he roared.

Instead, she came closer. “No. I won’t stand by and see a child harmed.”

“How…how dare you? No one lays a hand on him.” Benjamin was certain of that much, at least. He’d given precise orders about the level of discipline allowed in the nursery.

“Precisely,” replied his infuriating visitor. “He lives a life devoid of affection or approval. It’s a disgrace.”

Benjamin found he was too angry to speak.

“Please go and get Geoffrey,” the intruder said to the hovering maid.

“No,” Benjamin managed. He found his voice again. “On no account.” His hand swept the air. “Go away,” he added. The maid hurried out—someone who obeyed him, at least. Though Benjamin had no doubt that word was spreading through the house and the rest of his staff was rushing to listen at keyholes.

“Would you prefer that I report you to the local magistrate?” his outrageous visitor asked. “That would be Lord Hallerton, would it not? I inquired in advance.”

She scowled at him, immobile, intolerably offensive. Benjamin clenched his fists at his sides to keep from shaking her. While he was certain that any magistrate in the country would side with him over the fate of his son, he didn’t care to give the neighborhood a scandal. It seemed that spiteful tongues were already wagging. Who were the blasted gossips spreading lies about him to Alice’s parents? The tittle-tattle over this female’s insane accusations would be even worse.

The two of them stood toe to toe, glaring at each other. Her eyes were not simply brown, Benjamin observed. There was a coppery sparkle in their depths. The top of her head was scarcely above his shoulder. He could easily scoop her up and toss her back into the post chaise. The trouble was, he didn’t think she’d stay there. Or, she’d drive off to Hallerton’s place and spread her ludicrous dirt.

The air crackled with tension. Benjamin could hear his unwanted guest breathing. The postilion, who had put down the valise and was observing the confrontation, eyed him. Would he wade in if Benjamin ejected his unwelcome visitor? He had a vision of an escalating brawl raging through his peaceful home. Actually, it would be a relief to punch someone.

Into the charged silence came the sound of another carriage—hoofbeats nearing, slowing; the jingle of a harness; the click of a vehicle’s door opening and closing. What further hell could this be? Benjamin had long ago stopped exchanging visits with his neighbors. None would dare drop in on him.

When his uncle Arthur strolled through the still-open front door, Benjamin decided he must be dreaming. It was the only explanation. His life was a carefully orchestrated routine, hedged ’round with safeguards. This scattershot of inexplicable incidents was the stuff of nightmare. Now if he could just wake up.

His uncle stopped on the threshold and surveyed the scene with raised eyebrows. “Hello, Benjamin. And Miss…Saunders, is it not?”

“Youknowher?” Benjamin exclaimed.

“I believe we’ve met at the Phillipsons’ house,” Lord Macklin replied.

The intruder inclined her head in stiff acknowledgment.

Benjamin could believe it. His lost wife’s parents were a fixture of thehaut ton. Entertaining was their obsession. One met everyone in their lavish town house, a positive beehive of hospitality. Indeed, now he came to think of it, he was surprised they’d spared a thought for Geoffrey. Small, grubby boys had no place in their glittering lives. “And do you know why she’s here?” he demanded, reminded of his grievance.

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