His perfection

CHAPTER ONE

Sylvester William Lloyd lay in his bed, his eyes wide open, a cold, hard knot in his belly as he stared at the shadows walking on the wall. He made no pretense at sleep, though he'd screwed his eyes shut and pretended slumber when Nurse had cracked the door ajar and peeked in on him earlier.

But then, sleep never came easily when Mama and Papa were fighting. Sylvester's window was open, for the day had been warm for late September, and his chamber was directly above Mama's suite of rooms.

And in the night, in the dark, their voices carried. It was hardly the first time he'd heard them fighting, of course. This last year had been particularly bad, not just in London during the Season, but here at Lloyd Hall. It happened often, particularly when they had visitors. And Mama loved to enter tain. They argued about Mama's infidelities. They bickered about Mama's gay, frivolous nature and unseemly behavior.

The observations came from Papa, of course, for William Lloyd, marquess of Lloyd, was not a man to turn a blind eye to anything that displeased him. He was far more likely to mete out punishment and criticism. Indeed, when Sylvester searched his mind as far back as he could remember, he could not recall a time his father had praised him-or anyone, for that matter. It was always criticism.

When Sylvester had crawled into bed tonight, he'd known a quarrel was unavoidable. Indeed, he'd tensely awaited the moment it would begin, for his parents had hosted a country house party this weekend and the last guest had departed earlier this evening.

But tonight...it was the worst of rows. Sylvester clamped his hands over his ears, but he couldn't drown out the sound. Papa raved and bellowed and cursed. Mama railed and argued and shrilled. He couldn't stop them. No one could. When they quarreled, the servants tiptoed down the corridors and kept their distance.

Finally a door slammed below stairs.

The house went utterly silent.

Papa, he knew, would remove himself to his study and a bottle of gin or some occasions, whiskey.

Oh, his mood would be vile in the morn, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Already Sylvester could envision his tight-lipped glower, and he did not relish the prospect of the coming day. His riding lesson was scheduled, and Papa always observed when they were in residence at the Hall.

He was used to Papa's brittle comments, expression and harsh disapproval, but no doubt tomorrow Papa would be more scathing than usual. The boy sighed. He would have to try to keep his younger brother, Julius away from Papa as well. Sylvester knew better than to provoke Papa when he was in a mood, but Julius...

Quietly the little boy lay in the dark, not moving a muscle. He lay there for a long, long time. Finally he crept from his bed and crossed the floor. Always he checked on his brother and sister on those nights his parents feuded. Why, he knew not. Perhaps because he was the eldest-wasn't it his duty to watch over his siblings?, to ensure they were safe?.

He crept furtively down the hall. Nurse, he knew, was already asleep-he'd heard snores coming from her room. Once she'd scolded him soundly when she'd discovered him in the library at midnight.

But Sylvester didn't fear the dark, as some children did; in fact, the night gave him a welcome opportunity for solitude seldom accorded him. His tutors weren't there to badger him. Nurse wasn't there to keep an ever vigilant eye on him. The servants weren't for ever trailing at his heels.

Silently he trod past the schoolroom and into Julius's chamber. Three years his junior, Julius was asleep and frowning sternly, his lower lip thrust out fiercely. Bad dreams? Sylvester wondered. He brushed back the dark hair so like his own. When he touched his brother's protruding lower lip, it went back in-but only for a second.

Farther down the hall, three-year-old Julianna lay curled on her side, her knees huddled to her chest, her favorite doll clutched beneath her chin. Silken, chestnut ringlets fanned out over the pillow. Sylvester tucked the lace coverlet more tightly about her form. His baby sister looked like an angel, he decided fondly. Outside, the circle of the moon had already begun its downward arc high in the night sky. The moon seemed impossibly bright, impossibly huge. A hundred stars glittered and winked, so close he fancied he had only to stretch out a hand to touch them.

Before he knew it, he was standing outside. Moving down the drive, he paused beneath the outstretched branches of a stately elm tree. He stood transfixed, still staring up at the awesome sky, when a flutter of leaves across the drive caught his attention.

He blinked. "Mama?"

His mother didn't see him standing in the shadows.

He stepped out from behind the tree. As always, Mama was dressed in the height of style.She wore a plaid pelisse and carried a matching reticule, a feathered cap jauntily poised atop raven-dark curls.

Just as Julianna resembled an angel, he decided, his mama was surely the most divinely beautiful creature on earth.

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Sylvester!" She sounded peeved. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Sebastian crossed to where she had halted. Tilting his head, he regarded her. Though his years on this earth numbered eleven, he already he stood slightly taller than his petite mother.

"I couldn't sleep, Mama."

Mama made no answer. Instead she appeared rather vexed.

Beyond her shoulder, he saw a carriage roll to a halt just beyond the bend in the drive. His eyes narrowed. He glanced from the carriage to the port manteau in her hand.

"Are you going somewhere, Mama?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, love, I am."

"Where are you going, Mama?"

Mama's expression underwent a lightning transformation. "La, but I don't know! To Paris perhaps," she said gaily. "Or Venice. Ah, yes, Venice. The weather will be lovely this time of year. And it's been ages since I've been there. Why, it's been ages since I've been anywhere on the Continent."

There was a strange feeling tightening the middle of his stomach. Young as he was, that mama should depart in the middle of the night didn't seem quite right.

"Venice is very far away, Mama. Don't you like it here at Lloyd Hall?"

That someone might not like the stately manor house, the neatly trimmed gar dens and rolling hills that surrounded Lloyd Hall, was difficult for Sylvester to comprehend. He loved his ancestral home. Why, seven generations of Lloyd's had been born here.

When he wasn't at his lessons, he loved nothing more than to race his pony up the hills and down the other sides.

Someday, he thought proudly, when he was a man, Lloyd Hall and all the other family estates would be his. That was why he must apply himself diligently to his lessons,why he could not shun re sponsibility. The title of marquess and all that it entailed was not something to be taken lightly. And it was Lloyd Hall he cherished most.

Still waiting for his mother's response, he gazed at her. Mama glanced over her shoulder toward the carriage. The door was open now; he had no trouble discerning the outline of a man's form.

Mama turned back. "I just...I don't know how to put this. I simply can't stay with your papa anymore. I thought I could be a mother and a wife, but ...well, it's just not my way. Your papa is too strict and . . .

well, I know you're young, but you're acquainted with his temper. I need more, my love. I need life and gaiety and parties and pleasure. And if I stay, he will surely stifle the life from me!"

Sylvester knew his mother loved being adored above all else. She loved being the center of attention. And he knew that Mama had lovers. Not so long ago, guests from London had visited. Sylvester had seen one man in particular gazing boldly at Mama. He knew that men liked to look at Mama. And that Mama gazed back. Before long, Mama and the man had slipped out onto the terrace.

They weren't aware of it, but Sylvester had followed.

It was there he saw them kiss. One ...two... three...four ardent kisses.

Kisses never shared with Papa.

Mama didn't know he had seen, of course. He hadn't told her. He hadn't told anyone, certainly not his father, for he was well aware another row would ensue. It was then that Sylvester first began to comprehend the meaning of the word infidelity ...

And Mama's lovers.

It was a secret he'd tucked away deep in his soul...

He had the awful feeling that tonight was another secret he would keep.

"Eloise!"

It was the man inside the carriage-the same man whom he'd seen kiss Mama so ardently? he wondered. He couldn't tell.

Mama spun around and gave a wave, then turned back to Sylvester, who pressed his lips together.

"I must go," she said briskly. "Now come. Give Mama a hug."

Sylvester remained where he was, the wet grass soaking the hem of his nightshirt and chilling his bare feet. "Papa will be displeased," he said.

"Your papa's always displeased. Now go inside and scurry back to your bed. And look after your brother and sister for me, will you, love?" She gave a tinkling little laugh. "La, why am I even asking? I know you will. You're such a good little boy."

She smiled and pinched his cheek, then dropped a kiss atop his head, almost as if it were an afterthought. And then she was running toward the carriage.

A moment later the man handed her inside, then followed her up. For an instant, just before the door was swept shut, their silhouettes were clearly visible in the moonlight. The man's head swooped down. Mama eagerly lifted her face for his kiss, and the familiar tinkle of laughter drifted on the air...

It was the last he saw of his dear Mama.