The
first time Evangeline was widowed, it was a relief.
She
hadn’t wanted to marry Viscount Cunningham; she hadn’t even known him. He had
been her father’s choice—and very nearly her father’s age—in a vain attempt to
rein in Evangeline’s “wild and ungovernable” nature, as Sir Robert Bennet had
disapprovingly termed it. Her transgressions had ranged from sneaking a ride on
her horse in her brother’s old breeches to allowing a barrister’s son to kiss
her, rather passionately. Her mother had wept from the shame of it. Evangeline
had also cried, and promised to reform, but to no avail. She’d been barely
seventeen years old, and had met Cunningham exactly twice, when her father
marched her down the aisle of the church to become his viscountess.
The
best thing that could be said of their marriage was that it was blessedly
short. They were horribly mismatched. Evangeline, young and outgoing, liked
dancing, masquerade balls, and theater, the more outrageous the better.
Cunningham preferred fishing at his Scottish estate, drowsing by the fire over
a good book, and maligning the French with his cronies at his club. Within a
year, neither wanted anything to do with the other.
One
evening four years after they wed, Cunningham went to bed early after dinner,
complaining of indigestion. He never woke. A fatal attack of bilious dyspepsia,
the doctor informed her the next morning.
Evangeline
hadn’t been there. Always cross when unwell, Cunningham had told her to leave
him be, and she had been at a masquerade, drinking champagne with other
gentlemen and a woman she suspected was a courtesan. It had been marvelous.
“And
now you’ll have to wear black,” said her friend Fanny, Lady Woodville. Fanny
was a dozen years older, and a widow with a substantial fortune. She was
dashing and opinionated and Evangeline admired her greatly.
“Of
course I will.” She plucked listlessly at the black crepe they were attaching
to bonnets. Cunningham would have wanted a decent mourning, and Evangeline felt
remorseful enough not to deny him that.
“What
a pity you look marvelous in black,” remarked Fanny.
Evangeline
pursed her lips to keep from smiling. “You shouldn’t say that to a widow.”
“I
imagine a host of gentlemen will say it soon enough.” Fanny leaned toward her
and lowered her voice. “It’s not as though you killed him.”
“Of
course not!” Evangeline hissed back, glancing fearfully at the closed door.
“But neither am I…”
“Sorry
he’s dead?” supplied her friend when she hesitated.
“Heartbroken.”
Evangeline gave her a guilty look. “I feel as though the prison cell has been
unlocked.”
Fanny
smiled in understanding. “It has been, my dear. And a world of consolation
awaits.”
The
second time Evangeline was widowed was more upsetting.
She
observed a proper mourning for Cunningham, but then
decided she was due a little freedom… and pleasure. The Earl of
Courtenay—Court, he begged her to call him—was tall and fit, handsome and
charming. He was only thirty-one, which seemed vital and young after
Cunningham, and he pursued her with a very flattering abandon.
She
never meant to marry Court. It was
only an affair, to savor the sort of pleasures she had heard of,
but never experienced with Cunningham. Court was ardent, romantic, and
terribly good in bed, and she was careful to be discreet.
But
not discreet enough. When her father called on her unexpectedly one day, and discovered the two of them in a highly compromising
position, he threatened to call out Court. Once again, over her furious
protests, Evangeline was unwillingly married to a man she didn’t love.
It
was even worse than the first time. Court lost interest in her almost as soon
as the ink was dry in the parish register. It turned out his favorite sport was
chasing young widows and married ladies, and he didn’t mean to give it up.
Nothing Evangeline did deterred him: not pleading, not seductive attire, not
the sight of her flirting with other men. By the end of the third year,
Evangeline had realized it was hopeless, and resigned
herself to another empty marriage.
It
came to an end the night Viscount Ambrose returned home early and discovered
Court in bed with his young bride. Ambrose shot him—not in a duel, which would
have been shameful enough but widely accepted as the proper way to settle the
issue between gentlemen, but right there in the bedchamber, while Lady Ambrose
shrieked in the background. Then he’d had his servants dump Court, bleeding and
naked, on the front steps of their house. Court had died, wrapped in a
tablecloth, on his own dining table.
The
scandal had been immense.
“This
time you’re truly free, don’t you see?” was Fanny’s consoling advice after the
funeral.
Evangeline’s
father had died the previous year. After forcing Court to marry her, he’d never
lifted a finger to prevent her husband from making a mockery of their marriage.
Men were allowed all the wickedness, while women bore all the shame.
“Yes,
free,” she said bitterly. “Free to be
called the Black Widow in every drawing room in London. Two husbands dead
before their times! Young or old, no man is safe!”
Fanny
waved that away. “Rubbish. You’re still young and beautiful. You’ve got a very
handsome fortune. Enjoy it all.”
Perhaps,
Evangeline reflected, that was the only thing she could do. Scandal couldn’t
hurt her, not now. She’d grown a tough shell over the years, as people
whispered that she was a foolish, flighty young bride, then a wanton widow just
waiting to cause a scandal, then a scorned, shrewish wife who’d trapped an earl
into marriage only to drive him into another woman’s arms. If everyone already
thought her wicked and immoral, she hardly had a reputation to protect.
And
that meant… freedom. She could do whatever she wanted now—and not do anything
she didn’t want to do—such as marry
again.
Evangeline
vowed to herself that she would never make that mistake again.
No
man was worth it.
1812
She
was going to be late.
It
was her own fault, of course. She hadn’t really wanted to come. While not
exactly shunned, she was hardly a darling of society, and it was a bit of a
mystery to her why she’d been invited to the Allens’ benefit ball.
“Because
Henry Allen made a wager at White’s that he can raise more money from his benefit ball than Lady Cartwright
can,” was Fanny’s explanation.
“He
must have wagered very dear, if he’s willing to go to such lengths to win,”
Evangeline retorted.
“He
always has done,” observed Fanny. “No head for gambling, that one. Still,” she
went on, “you might as well go. It’s for a good cause, after all, and I shall
be there.” When Evangeline still hesitated, she added, “And it will give
Beatrice Allen the start of her life, to see you walk through her door again.”
“The
invitation was in her handwriting,” said Evangeline sourly.
Once
upon a time, she had considered Lady Allen one of her good friends. After
Court’s ignominious death, though, Beatrice had ceased responding to her
letters. Evangeline had always suspected that was as much Lord Allen’s doing as
Beatrice’s own wish, but it still stung. Allen had been one of Court’s bosom
bows, and Evangeline knew he had been well aware of
her husband’s predilection for seducing pretty young
women. She also suspected Allen shared it, and had
probably recoiled from the scandal as a threat to his own affairs.
Beatrice,
perhaps, had dropped her friendship as a way of keeping peace in her own
household.
Fanny
smiled in victory. “Then she must want you to come, my dear.”
So Evangeline gave in—or rather, fell for
Fanny’s manipulations yet again. And now she would be even later than could be
called fashionable, as the carriage crawled in fits and starts along the street
toward the well-lit house with footmen on the steps. Twice she nearly told the
coachman to turn around and take her home, or on to Fanny’s home, where she
regularly spent the night to avoid the long drive home. But again
she dithered, until the last side street had been crossed and there was no
alternative but to stop in front of the Allens,’ screw up her courage, and go
inside.
“Lady
Allen,” she cried warmly, clasping fingertips with the hostess. “How delightful
to see you again.”
Beatrice
Allen faltered a moment before she assumed a smile that was both simpering and
stiff. “And you, Lady Courtenay.”
“I
was delighted to receive your invitation,” she went on, unable to resist a
little vengeance. “Such a worthy cause! How very noble of you and Lord Allen to
take it up. Those poor, dear children
deserve every bit of your support.” Beatrice’s eyes flashed murder. “And ours,
of course—we fortunate society who can afford to provide for them,” Evangeline
added lightly.
The
beneficiary of tonight’s benefit was to be the Foundling Home. Evangeline
suspected Allen had contributed a few bastard children himself to such homes,
and she had to admit the irony was partly what had persuaded her to come.
“Yes,”
said Beatrice Allen, her face and her tone wooden. “Of course. We are so
pleased you accepted.”
You hoped I wouldn’t have the nerve,
thought Evangeline as she tipped her head graciously.
Well.
Enough of that ancient history, water so far under the bridge that it had
reached the ocean. Lately Allen had decided he was a philanthropist, and a
patron of sundry impressive causes. He’d named this event a “benefit ball,”
with the noble (somewhat ostentatiously so) goal of raising funds for the
Foundling Hospital. There would be music, a singer, and several prominent
guests of honor making short speeches about their work, and then an appeal for
funds.
Evangeline
knew she’d been invited for her wealth, not for her company. Tonight, she
decided she would not care. Defiantly she smiled and nodded at a passing matron
who was goggling at her. She’d come to enjoy herself, no matter why she’d been
invited.
“At
last!” Fanny reached for her hands and pressed them as Evangeline joined her.
“Thank God you’ve come. I thought I might perish of boredom.”
She
smiled at her friend. “You are never bored.”
Fanny
rolled her eyes. “Beatrice wanted that opera singer—do you know the one I mean?
The Italian woman?” She waved one hand impatiently at Evangeline’s blank look.
“Quite scandalous, I believe. Allen refused to have her. He’s such a tedious
fellow.” She lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and raised it in
salute.
“So there’s not to be a singer?” Evangeline also took a
glass. She adored champagne. It was one of the few unadulterated pleasures of
these ton events.
“No,
only musicians. Lord Allen invited several speakers.” Her expression said
everything about that. “It will be a miracle if I survive the evening without
dozing off.”
“Hush,”
said Evangeline with a laugh. “We mustn’t slight the speakers before they even
begin.”
“You’re
far more patient than I,” murmured the other woman. “Although one of the
honored guests is rather handsome. When he speaks, I shall be very attentive
indeed.”
“Oh?”
Evangeline flicked open her fan. “Which one?”
“An
explorer. He’s to speak of his journeys in Africa tonight. Or the Arctic. I’m
not sure, and it doesn’t matter.”
Now
that would interest Evangeline. She looked around in real hope. “How
fascinating. Who is he?”
“His
name is Campion,” said Fanny. “Swiss, and extremely handsome, did I mention
it?”
“Twice,
as a matter of fact,” Evangeline replied dryly.
Fanny
grinned. “Let us beg an introduction.”
Evangeline
laughed and agreed.
Arm
in arm, they made their way through the crowd. Fanny had embraced her
reputation as an eccentric, knowing the vast Woodville fortune made her a
highly favored eccentric. Tonight she wore peacock
feathers in her turban and a gown of printed Indian cotton that blazed brightly
in the candlelight. Evangeline aspired to be so bold.
Lord
Allen appeared in front of them. “Lady Woodville! How do you do?”
“Very
well, sir, although I was anticipating the soprano, and I hear you refused to
have her.” She turned away from his suddenly pinched face to scan the room.
“Where are our guests of honor?”
“Mr.
Cambridge, the geologist, is with Lady Allen,” said their host, recovering his
poise. “And Lord Michael Layne, the famed astronomer, is just by the windows
there.”
“I’ve
no interest in geology or astronomy,” she told him bluntly, even as he raised
one hand as if to lead her to meet either man. “Where is the explorer?”
“Ah,
Richard Campion!” Lord Allen rocked on his heels, looking pleased with himself.
“The king has just bestowed a knighthood upon him.”
Fanny
raised her brows. “Excellent! Allow me to present Lady Courtenay to Sir Richard, then. She’s been longing to
make his acquaintance—quite fascinated with the Nile, don’t you know.”
Discomfort
flitted over Allen’s face as he was finally forced to speak to Evangeline.
“Lady Courtenay. How good of you to come.”
“Thank
you, sir.” She smiled, ignoring his strained expression. “I hope we shall do a
great deal of good tonight for the orphan’s home.”
“What?
Oh yes, yes.” He cleared his throat. “I see Campion now, Lady Woodville. If
you’ll pardon me, I shall bring him to make your acquaintance.” He gave a quick
bow and shot off through the crowd.
“Do
you think he’ll come near us again tonight?” asked Evangeline in amusement.
Fanny
snorted. “He wants two hundred pounds from me for the foundling home. He’d
better come near, and bring that explorer with him, if he intends to collect
it.”
“I
know you’ll give it anyway, for the children,” said Evangeline.
Her
friend gazed at her in affront. “Of course I will. But there’s no reason I
can’t make Allen work for it, is there? It was his decision to throw a party
instead of simply asking for subscriptions.” She went back to studying the
room. “Besides, he’s too young for me, but I do believe you will like him.”
“Lord
Allen?” Evangeline shuddered. “Never.”
“No,
the explorer!” Fanny tapped her arm with her fan. “Mark my words, he’s a fine
one.”
“I’ve
no need of a man, thank you.” This was an old conversation between them.
“Need!
Who said anything about need?” Fanny
scoffed. “I speak of wanting a man.”
“It
sounds to me as though you want him for yourself.”
“Don’t
be ridiculous! I’m far too old for him.” Fanny’s keen gaze swept up and down
Evangeline. “But you’re not.”
Fanny
was only twelve years older than Evangeline, but sometimes she took an
excessive delight in imagining various matches and love affairs for her. “I
feel twenty years older just hearing you say that,”
she said tartly.
“At
least you don’t look it. Here he comes.” Fanny arranged her face into a
welcoming expression as Lord Allen approached, a tall, sandy-haired man barely
visible behind him. Evangeline finished her champagne and glanced around for a
servant or table where she could dispose of the glass. It was advisable to
consume more wine, rather than less, before speaking with members of the ton,
but it was always so awkward navigating introductions and conversation while
holding a glass. A footman whisked up beside her and
she gave him the glass with a grateful look.
“Lady
Woodville, Lady Courtenay, allow me to present to you Sir Richard Campion,”
Lord Allen was saying.
Evangeline
was smiling, her hand already extended, when she looked into
Campion’s face.
Oh Lord,
she thought with a sinking heart.
“My
lady.” Campion gazed back at her with crystal blue eyes. Tall, lanky, handsome
as sin, and Evangeline felt the heat of his smile deep in her bones.
“Sir.”
She ducked her flushed face as she curtsied.
“He
has come to regale us with stories of his adventures into the dark heart of
Africa.” Lord Allen pushed out his chest proudly. “I expect you’ve seen all
manner of beasts and savages, eh, Campion?”
“Yes.”
He flashed a distracted smile at his host before his gaze veered back to
Evangeline, like a compass needle seeking north.
Still
scrambling for composure, Evangeline put up her chin. “Savages? Of what sort?”
Campion
seemed startled. “Oh—some of the tribes treat each other quite brutally, ma’am.
They are fierce warriors.”
Evangeline
thought she’d take some of the dragons of the ton over any warrior, any day,
for fierceness. God above knew they’d shredded her to pieces.
“Savages,”
drawled Fanny, sounding disappointed. “How novel. Do explorers ever encounter
anything else? Are there no civilized, gentle, or even kind peoples in the
greater world?”
“I
daresay not,” Evangeline cut in as Lord Allen’s face turned a shade of puce.
“Do the Africans cut off their peoples’ heads with guillotines, as the French
do? Or make public spectacles of hanging them, as the English prefer?” She
tipped her head to one side and tapped one finger to her lips as both men
stared at her in dumbfounded silence. “It would take some doing to surpass the
brutality of our own land, I imagine.”
Lord
Allen seemed to be choking. “Yes, well, that is a very harsh view, Lady
Courtenay. I beg your pardon, my ladies, but I must introduce Sir Richard to
our other guests.” He forced a laugh. “He’s much in demand, you know!”
“Of
course we know,” said Fanny tartly. “That’s why you invited him—to lure in the
rest of us.”
Evangeline
was fighting hard not to laugh at the men’s expressions, Lord Allen offended,
Campion thoroughly nonplussed. She smiled at both of them.
“That is quite true! And see how splendidly it has succeeded. Go forth and
encourage people to donate generously, Sir Richard, for the children’s home.”
“I—“ His disconcerted gaze jumped to Fanny, then back to
Evangeline. “Naturally I will, madam.” His words were faintly clipped with an
accent she hadn’t noticed before.
Because you could barely hear him over
your own racketing pulse, ninny.
“Right,
right!” Lord Allen shuffled sideways, as if he would break into a run at any
moment. “This way, Sir Richard.” And he all but dragged the explorer away.
Fanny
watched them go. “The man was tongue-tied—almost an idiot. It seems unlikely
his speech will be exciting.” She turned to Evangeline. “Hopefully he recovers
his wits when he’s not staring at you.”
She
snapped open her fan and tried to chase the blush from her face. She could
still feel her pulse throbbing recklessly. “I’ve been rendering people
speechless for years. Why should he be any different?” She gave a tiny huff.
“Allen likely put a flea in his ear about wicked women. He must have thought
he’d encountered one in the wild tonight.”
Fanny
snorted. “If so, I think he’d like to make a closer study of the species. I may
be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”
“You
are not old,” Evangeline returned, “merely a busybody.”
Her
friend laughed. “That’s a privilege of age. I never felt at liberty to speak my
mind until I reached the age of forty.”
“And
then it all came spilling out without subtlety or discretion.” She pointed her
fan at her friend. “Do not start plotting to throw me together with Richard
Campion.”
“Plotting.”
Fanny snorted again. “As if I need to! He’ll do that himself, mark my words.”
Evangeline
said nothing. The last time a man had looked at her with such open interest,
and elicited such a response in her, had been Court. Fortunately for her, this
time she knew better than to fall for it.
The
speakers surpassed Fanny’s dour predictions. Mr. Cambridge, the geologist,
spoke with enthusiasm and energy about his studies. Lord Michael meandered a
bit, talking rather a lot about the ancient Greeks and their study of the
heavens, but Sir Richard lived up even to Fanny’s hopes, portraying himself as
a modern Gulliver, visiting foreign lands where he was both humbled and
honored, and speaking with a genuine reverence for all he’d seen.
“I
never knew ordinary rocks could be so enervating,” said Fanny as the crowd
applauded at the end. “But that Campion fellow was worth every farthing, even
before he dances with you.”
Evangeline
choked on a sip of champagne. “Fanny.”
“Don’t
scold me,” murmured Fanny, her gaze fixed over Evangeline’s left shoulder. “I’m
only giving you warning.”
Evangeline
turned around and came face to face with the explorer, just as Fanny had said.
“Lady
Courtenay.” He bowed. “I hope you remember me.”
“Of
course.” She smiled brightly—too brightly, probably. “It’s not even been two
hours since we met.”
“Indeed?”
He smiled back. Her heart took an unwanted leap at the sight. His eyes crinkled
up and an endearing little dimple appeared in one
cheek. He was, as Fanny had said, very handsome. Devastatingly so, to be
honest. “It seemed much longer to me.”
“That
must be a sad judgement on the company present.”
“Not
at all.” His smile dimmed a degree, but his eyes never wavered from her. “It is
entirely due to you.”
The
nerve he had. She found it both alarming and exhilarating. “How so?”
“I
could not stop thinking of what you said earlier. You were the only person to
encourage me to solicit donations for the children. I entreated everyone with
whom I spoke to make a generous donation to the cause—a foundling home, is it
not?”
“Well
done, sir,” she said in mild surprise. “The children deserve it.”
“Thank
you for reminding me of them,” he went on. “It added greatly to my satisfaction
with the evening to think of the unfortunate children who may be helped as a result of my speech. I confess that I do not always
attend closely to the deeper purpose behind these evenings.”
Not
many people did. There were some genuine patrons of charitable causes, but
Evangeline would have guessed that most of the guests tonight had come for the
entertainment. They would donate fifty pounds for the benefit of the orphans, and then spend several times that at the wine
merchant or the modiste.
“May
I beg the pleasure of your hand in the next dance?” asked Sir Richard.
Evangeline
looked at his extended hand, in its pristine glove. Fanny, the traitor, had
managed to melt into the crowd and leave her alone with the man. “I don’t think
that would be wise, sir.”
“No?”
He lowered his voice. “Are you a dangerous creature?”
“Why,
yes!” She pursed her lips in irritation, even though she’d meant to smile and
laugh it off. “I am. I thought Lord Allen would have warned you.”
“I
have scaled Mont Blanc and sailed around the Cape of Good Hope.” His dimple
reappeared. “I am not afraid of a beautiful woman.”
She
hesitated. Merciful God, he was attractive. He met her gaze so directly. His
eyes were such a startling blue because his face was tanned. His hair was not
blond, but brown, bleached by the sun. At his collar, where it curled, she
could see the darker color. Most London gentlemen were as pale as the ladies.
This
man was not a Londoner, though. He had climbed mountains and sailed oceans and
ventured deep into uncharted territories.
If
Fanny were right about him…
Perhaps
she might not mind being studied more closely for one evening.
“Once,”
she said, placing her hand in his.
“Only
once?” He led her to join the formation of couples. Evangeline caught the
startled glances of the fellow guests and dancers.
“We
are not acquainted, sir.”
The
smile he gave in reply was nothing short of wicked. “We shall become so, while
dancing.”
She
sighed and tried to look unmoved by his flirting even as it made her heart
speed up. It had been a long time since a man flirted with her like this.
With
some effort she concentrated on the dance. It was a long country dance, where
all the couples took their turns going up and down the set, which gave her
plenty of opportunity to see the shocked expressions around her. Evangeline had
stopped caring what the matrons of society thought of her, but it still irked
her that they couldn’t even allow her this one, eminently ordinary and
respectable, dance without openly displaying their horror. She told herself it
must be envy, because Sir Richard was without doubt the most gorgeously virile
man in the entire room.
Perhaps in
the entire country.
“What
brought you to England?” she asked when the dance brought them together for a
few moments.
“My
sister,” he replied. “She married an Englishman and begged me to visit her
here. She wished me to meet my young nephews.”
“How
very devoted.”
He
grinned. “She encourages me to attend events like this. It is her hope that I
will become attached to English society and not wish to leave.”
“Do
you wish to leave?” She smiled as she said it. “Of course you do. An explorer
won’t discover much of interest in England.”
He
gave her a searing look. “I would not say that.”
The
dance sent them separate ways. Evangeline caught Fanny smiling—smirking—at her,
and it took real effort to keep from glaring back at her friend. She went
through the motions of the dance, newly aware of the curdling glances sent her
way by every other woman in the set. That wasn’t right. She hadn’t done
anything remotely scandalous tonight.
When
she was back by her partner’s side, she tried to talk of mundane things. “Your
presentation was well-received,” she told him.
“Was
it?” He smiled faintly. “It seems my travels are the most interesting thing
about me.” He lifted one shoulder in an almost Gallic shrug.
I doubt very much that’s true.
Evangeline’s pace slowed as her interest grew. “You must know they are
fascinating, especially to the British who have felt penned in by wars these
last several years.”
“Then
they should go where the wars are not. Do you find my travels fascinating?”
“Yes,”
she said before she could remember to be sophisticated and disinterested.
“Very.”
He
touched her arm, even though the dance didn't require it, and she felt it like
the hot burn of a candle flame, passing too near her skin. “I would be very
pleased to tell you more about them.”
She
should be wary. He was wildness and temptation and sin, his fingertips barely
brushing the skin above her glove and setting off the most ferocious want she’d
felt in years. She saw his flirting for what it was, recognized the desire in
his focused gaze, and that should have protected her against all of it.
It
did not.
She
had been tarred by scandal before, sometimes for things she had done but also
for things she had not done; she had tossed her head and declared she didn’t
care, but the gossip and stares had left their mark. Tonight
it felt as though the part of her that had been weighed down by all that had
finally reached the breaking point.
“Indeed,”
she murmured, letting her fingers slide through his as she released his hand.
“I believe I would like that.”
The
dance was ending; they made their bow and curtsey and
Sir Richard offered his arm to escort her from the floor. “May I call on you?”
he rasped, ducking his head slightly until his lips almost brushed her ear.
Evangeline shivered; he wasn’t much taller than she, just enough that if she
turned her head and raised her chin, her lips would meet his.
She
could barely think; her skin prickled and her breath
seemed to sear her throat dry. “Yes,” she said. “Good evening, sir.” She
slipped free to hurry to Fanny’s side, reaching for her fan.
Fanny
glanced at her, then looked closer. “My dear, are you ill?”
“Yes.”
Evangeline seized a glass off a passing footman’s tray and gulped down the
champagne, hoping it would cool the fever sizzling inside her. “I feel a fit of
madness coming on.”
Keenly
Fanny peered past her. “Heavens above,” she said, sounding pleased. “He has
aroused your interest.”
Aroused
was a terrible word to use now. Evangeline gave her friend a dark look.
Fanny
turned fully toward her and took her hand. “My dear, you have spent your whole
adult life as a resentful wife or an unhappy widow,” she said quietly. “You are
not dead. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”
Evangeline
hesitated. “But I made such a mistake with—”
“This
is a different man.”
“And
it ended so very badly with—”
“Break
it off with Campion before he can break it off with you,” replied Fanny, who
knew all her history with men, as well as all her fears and worries. “The man
is leaving England within the week,” she added gently. “He won’t be here to
cause a scene or become a nuisance. Really, he is quite perfect for your
needs.”
She
was having a hard time arguing with that. “I don’t dare,” she whispered.
Fanny,
the old busybody, understood again. “Take him to my house. Your usual room is
always kept ready for you.” She released Evangeline with a final squeeze. “And
Brumley will throw the man out, forcibly if necessary,
if he causes any trouble.”
Evangeline’s
mouth was dry. Could she really do this? Without thinking, she glanced toward
the man in question, and found his vivid blue gaze fixed on her.
Fanny
waved one hand. “You may thank me later.” And she strolled away without a
backward glance.
Evangeline
felt as if every candle in the room was shining on her, highlighting the sinful
desire warming her blood. Taking a strange man home to bed him, with no thought
of anything else! Of course other women had done it,
but she’d never been this wicked herself. She had always let the men pursue
her; even Court had had to woo her for a month before she gave in to his
seduction.
Sir
Richard hadn’t even tried to seduce her. She felt his desire like the heat of a
red-hot stove, but all he’d actually asked was to call
on her…
Strangely,
that calmed her. He hadn’t pushed her—nor would he. This time, she would be in charge. This time she
would set the rules, and this time she would not get burned by it. She was a
widow; she was her own mistress; and she hadn’t had a lover in over a year. She
wanted Richard Campion with an intensity that both unsettled her and thrilled
her, and he wanted her in turn—and he was leaving London, virtually on the
morrow. From his speech, she knew he was gone for years at a time, plenty of
time for him to forget one wicked widow in London. There was no risk of
consequences.
She
turned on her heel and looked his way. He hadn’t moved since she left him, and
as if he’d heard a summons, he came straight to her, winding efficiently
through the crowd.
“Perhaps,”
she said to him, “you would care to pay your call on me tonight.” Her heart
thudded as she gazed at him. “Perhaps… now.”
His
breath caught. His throat worked. “Now,” he repeated.
Feeling
like a different—wilder, reckless, lust-crazed—person, Evangeline nodded. “My
carriage is outside. Will you come?”
Color
rose in his face. “Now?” he asked again in a guttural tone fraught with
meaning.
She
nodded, meeting his eyes squarely.
“Yes,”
he said. “I will.”
