Chapter One
1812
Pembington House, Wiltshire
“Oh, Rich, how naughty you are,” the Viscountess Benchley said with a breathless laugh.
Lord Richard George Maitland tugged her into his lap, his fingers moving with deft skill as they slipped under the skirts of her gown and inched their way up to her thighs. He moved with slow, sensual intent, allowing her to understand what he wanted and that he was about to take her. Despite the teasing way he licked at her lips and circled her inner thighs, when he tumbled her he wanted it quick and hard.
“Open your legs.”
Arousal darkened her gaze, and she dropped her forehead to his. “Here? You mean…for us to make love here, in Lady Gladstone’s gardens?”
A smile tipped the corner of his lips. “Fucking. That is what I offer you, Maria.”
She quivered, panting at his crudeness.
“Do you object?”
“No… I… Yes—my husband.”
He stilled. “Then return inside.”
“Visit me tonight,” Maria said, wetting her lips. “My husband will be at his club and I—”
“No.”
Suddenly he was bored—of her, the house party, and even with his damned charmed life. He gently pushed her from his lap, picked up his glass of champagne, and stood. Distress glittered in her gaze as if she instinctively recognized he was ending a liaison that had not even gotten the chance to be established. They had been dancing around each other for weeks, and he had been a tad bit reluctant, for he had never taken a married woman to his bed before. The idea had held enormous appeal an hour ago, but now a bitter flavor of distaste coated his tongue. How fickle women were with their love and favors. Only a few months ago, society had declared the viscountess’s marriage a love match.
God’s blood, it was laughable.
“Go inside to your husband, Maria. You made your choice when you married your viscount; do your duty to him. The damn fool reveres the very ground upon which you walk. Try to find in your inconstant heart some affection and respect for the man.”
Her face reddened and a hand fluttered to her throat. “Please, Richard.”
She stretched up on her toes and pressed a wet kiss against his lips. Not very well done at all. No doubt she meant to entice him with her passion, instead she slobbered over his chin like an eager pup. He gently eased her from him. “Return inside. Dance with your husband and reserve your passions for him. I was very foolish to even contemplate a dalliance with you.”
He ignored her gasp of hurt and turned away only to falter. Lady Aurelia, Countess Trenear, stood frozen, her eyes flitting between Richard and Maria. The countess was the epitome of beauty, sheathed in an icy blue gown that clung to her willowy frame. Her dark auburn hair curled becomingly against her cheek, and her light blue eyes glowed with wariness. Those arms had once held him close as they strained together toward ecstasy. Deep inside, he had dreaded his reaction to seeing her again, but he was now curiously indifferent.
“Hello, Richard,” she said with a tentative smile. Maria glanced between them, then, with a sob, fled.
The countess strolled closer. “Lady Benchley seems distressed.” At his silence, Aurelia continued. “How lovely to see you again, Richard. It’s been a while.”
It had been two years since he had been foolish enough to tell her he loved her and asked her to marry him. She had been mercenary enough to reject his hand because he was a second son, despite the fact she had been carrying his child. After her refusal, he had approached her father, hoping to secure his approval. The courage it had taken to face the earl after Richard had seduced his daughter and gotten her with child had been no easy feat. It hardly mattered Aurelia had been a willing participant and that there were times Richard felt as if he had been the one to fall under her charms and wiles. He had still felt like a cad, a libertine, and undeserving of her.
Her father had been even more heartless in his refusal of Richard’s offer.
“Countess,” he said flatly with a short, mocking bow.
He chuckled roughly when her hands fluttered delicately to wrap around her middle, and her lips formed a moue of regret, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. There was nothing frail about her—she had been happily persuaded by her ambitions to terminate their child and marry a man twice her age…all for a wealth and prestige he’d had no hopes of accomplishing. Every secret smile across the dance floor of a ball, the sighs of happiness and completion, the promises… God, the promises, they had all been sweet lies he’d eagerly lapped up.
The mere memory of how his heart had pounded with anguished hope as he’d tried to hammer at her resistance filled him with disgust.
“You disappeared from society’s events with no words after…after…” She laughed nervously and wetted her lips. An action that once would have filled him with raging need for her. Richard was damned grateful the only thing stirring inside of him was impatience. After her betrayal, he joined the army as a reporting officer. His love for her had been in vain, and he’d been unable to stay in London. It would have been unbearable for him to pretend indifference and idly stand by as she became the Countess of Trenear, so he had fled.
The past two years had seen him living on the edge of danger, scouting out trouble for the army, even behind enemy lines. His devil-may-care attitude had left him intact apart from a couple of minor scratches. He did not mention his commission to his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Salop, who seemed unconcerned to see so little of him. When on furlough in London he did not wear his uniform or mention the war. His friends’ questions as to his whereabouts were ignored or answered enigmatically with “Here and there.”
From the tone of his father’s letters, which Richard’s valet sent on to Portugal and reached him erratically, they assumed he was living a life of wild debauchery abroad. His man, Timmons, continued to live in Richard’s lodgings and answer social invitations on his behalf, declining those he would not be able to attend. Timmons was the only person he bothered to communicate with back in England.
Somehow the polite world thought he was a disreputable rake.
Rubbish, of course. He’d only removed the desire in his heart to marry, and he did not believe in the idiocy of love. He would never again place his trust in the sweet lies that spilled from a woman’s lips. When ladies made their choice of husband, their criteria were based on wealth and societal power, not tender sentiments.
When he was in England, he gambled, raced rather recklessly at times, and he tupped women of all classes. He’d come to realize the women of high society were just as free with their favors as those who walked the dirtiest streets of London. The ladies of the ton were simply more cunning and diabolically discreet. Did any of them truly believe in honor and fidelity? He had yet to meet a lady who was constant. Even his mother had a discreet lover to which his father turned a blind eye for reasons beyond Richard’s understanding.
“Where have you been, Richard?”
“I’m not interested in this…whatever the bloody hell this is,” he said, spreading his hands to encompass them.
“Please, you have no idea how much I’ve regretted—”
She gasped as he stepped in so close she was almost flush to his chest. “The only thing I regret, Aurelia, is that I did not see your true character before I made a fool of myself.”
She paled. “I—” Her throat worked on a swallow. “Please, listen to me.”
“What could we possibly have to say to each other?”
“I thought we could be friends. I’ve missed you. What we had was—”
His harsh bark of laughter had a flush covering her face.
“We had nothing. I offered you marriage and my love, and you refused because the earl had more wealth and influence to help your family. I am not interested in your overtures of friendship, Lady Trenear. Do not approach me again, my cordiality and forgiveness will extend only so far.”
He stepped away from her and walked deeper into the beautiful gardens, away from the revelry of the well-attended house party. Why in God’s name had he even accepted the invitation? He should have traveled down to Derbyshire with his older brother, Francis, or to the seaside. Anything would have been better than this intolerable gathering.
Richard rounded a corner and passed a maze, moving to the hidden alcove. As he drew closer, the sound of awful retching reached his ears. A few seconds later the scene came into view and the explanation for the offensive sounds made itself evident. A young lady was bent over, casting up her accounts and groaning. He considered leaving, he’d had enough interactions with females to last him the month, but a sob hiccupped from her and then more of that blasted retching.
“May I offer you any assistance?”
She muffled a squeak and lurched upright from her bent-over position so fast she stumbled. She lifted a handkerchief that was crushed in her hands to dab at her lips. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I am terribly mortified!”
Her eyes were red and a bit swollen from crying, her nose, too, if he was not mistaken. Her cheeks were splotched and even the curls caressing her cheeks were limp. Beneath the dishevelment, the young lady was ravishing with her golden hair and eyes so green they were like the grass they stood upon. Holy God, she is beautiful. Her frame was petite but elegant, with lushly sensual curves. His cock twitched and flexed, and the boredom that had been coursing through his veins dissipated.
“Who are you?” The question slipped from him before he’d even formed the thought.
A severe frown lowered her brows. “I should wait to be introduced, otherwise it will be highly improper.”
He glanced down. “I’ve seen you casting up your accounts. Under the current circumstances, I believe we have gone past the bloody need for strict formality.”
Her eyes widened, and she retreated a few steps. At least she hadn’t swooned or dissolved into a fit of hysterics at his lack of subtlety. He sent a swift prayer to the heavens for small mercies. “Will you permit me your name?”
She scowled and remained muted. Apparently, he’d encountered a young lady who did not find him charming. After an awkward silence, he said with a short bow, “Lord Richard Maitland at your service.”
She canted her head to one side, her curious eyes considering him, dissecting him with their beautiful piercing quality. “Are you a despoiler of innocence?”
Well…he’d not expected that bit of forthrightness. “I beg your pardon?”
Her eyes flashed. “Are you a rake, a libertine, a degenerate, a despoiler of innocence?”
Good God. He reflected on the reputation that had been following him. A libertine of the first order. “No.”
She made a skeptical sound. “How are you acquainted with my family?”
“Lord and Lady Gladstone are your parents?”
She nodded.
“I am good friends with your brother, Elliot, Viscount Ravenswood. We were friends at Eton and then Oxford. We share a love of thoroughbreds. He invited me here. Are you his little Evie who hounded him to play tea whenever he visited from school for the holidays?”
The mistrust in her eyes abated, and she took a deep breath, then offered him a radiant smile. Bloody hell.
“I never knew Elliot spoke of me with affection.”
“It was more mild annoyance.”
She sobered and he felt extraordinarily bereft to see her smile vanish. He vaguely recalled Ravenswood hammering about his younger sister with affection. Good Christ, the man had made it sound like she was an annoying child with pigtails. This young lady inspired lustful thoughts of tangled limbs atop pristine sheets. Not well done of him at all, to even have such a thought of the young lady.
“I daresay all brothers believe sisters are nuisances.”
“Though there were a few amusing anecdotes that hinted at affection,” he hurriedly said, in the event he’d bruised her sensibilities.
Her eyes twinkled as if she knew he fibbed. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Richard, though the circumstance of our acquaintanceship is rather worrisome. I’m Lady Evelyn Chesterfield. My friends call me Evie.”
“Pleased to meet you…Lady Evelyn. Would you like to rinse?” he asked, offering his champagne glass.
She stepped forward, searching his face. “I…yes, thank you,” she said so politely it pulled a smile to his lips. She clutched the glass and took a large mouthful, before turning away. Seconds later she bent slightly and spat the contents from her mouth. She faced him and held the glass to him.
“You may drink it, if you wish.”
“It would be impolite of me to do so.”
Richard arched a brow. He would never understand the infernal rules that governed women of society. “I shall not inform a soul.”
She blinked, then glanced down at the golden liquid in the glass. Without speaking, she tipped it to her mouth and consumed it all. Then she licked the small droplets from the corner of her lips. The front of his breeches tightened embarrassingly. His passions had never behaved in such an unruly manner before.
What is it about her?
It was her mouth, he finally decided. Her lips, in particular, he found alluring. Interest stirred inside him along with a dash of arousal. Now they stood so close, he realized she was much younger than he’d initially surmised. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
His heart lurched in acute discomfort, and he stepped away. His cock had gotten hard for a mere girl. Bloody hell, he was a cad. Richard scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Where is your chaperone? Your governess?” he demanded through gritted teeth. It hardly mattered some debutantes on the marriage mart married at fifteen, he found the notion distasteful. “Why are you alone in the gardens?”
“I slipped away,” she said, as if it should have been evident.
“Why?”
Her lips flattened and tears welled in her eyes, but she remained stubbornly silent.
“Should I summon the countess?”
She watched him with an air of anxiety. “No, please, my mother would not be forgiving of my disobedience. I should not be mingling with the guests.”
With a careful show of nonchalance, he folded his arms and leaned against the side of a fountain. She was Ravenswood’s sister, and Richard had not lied about the close connection with her brother. He could not in good conscience leave her in distress. It surprised him to discover he still possessed a damn conscience. “I’ve been told I am quite a tolerable listener.”
Her lids lowered, hiding her gaze from his, and her eyelashes trembled against her cheeks. “I am grateful for the kind offer, but I couldn’t impose.”
“It’s no imposition. I promise whatever we discuss shall remain with me.” He made the motion of locking his lips with a key.
Lady Evelyn remained stubbornly silent, and the need to have her confide in him welled inexplicably. “I…” He cleared his throat. “Whenever I take a bath I sing.”
Her eyes widened and then narrowed thoughtfully. “I indulge in such pastimes. That is hardly a secret.”
Devil take it. The last thing he wanted now was thoughts of her naked in a bathtub. “I once sang to a dying soldier…a friend.” And cried with the man, too, though he would not tell her that part.
Her lips parted in surprise. “Such an action is commendable. I’m sure it offered some comfort.”
“Alas, I was so terrible at it, Frankie couldn’t die in any form of peace, so he is quite alive today.”
Her lips twitched. “I’m much relieved your friend recovered.” She took a deep breath and exhaled before squaring her shoulders and meeting his scrutiny. “My birthday is tomorrow.”
It seemed more palatable that he’d felt desire for a girl of sixteen. He thrust his hands into his pockets. “And this distresses you how?” It perplexed him that he was conversing with a girl over her vomit as if it were an ordinary undertaking.
As if she read his mind, she glanced down at the mess still too close to her satin slippers. “Would you like to leave?”
The offer was made with evident reluctance. “I’m fine if you are. I, too, wished for solitude from the crush. The lawns are filled with croquet players and the lake with row boats.”
A relieved smile lit her entire face, and Richard froze. Truly exquisite.
He cleared his throat. “However, if you would permit me to conceal the evidence?”
After receiving her quick nod of acquiescence, he moved swiftly along the path he had come until he spied a small shovel by some rosebush plants. The area had been recently tended and had loose soil. He bent, retrieved the small shovel, and scooped up some of the dirt. He hurried back, pleased to see she was still waiting, though a part of him had hoped she had scuttled away. He spread the dirt over her mishap, then placed the shovel on the stone bench. “There, now we can converse in relative normalcy.”
“Your kindness is appreciated.” She moved a few paces away and leaned against a small tree. “Tomorrow is my informal coming out ball. Mamma expects me to garner several offers, and I have already been told who to encourage.”
Her voice had a definite tremble in it and her eyes were dark with uncertainty. “I am not ready for marriage,” she said in a tiny voice. “But Mamma says I must do my duty.”
Another young lady being urged to marry where her heart did not lie. You fool, never forget Aurelia chose money and prestige. “I see.”
Lady Evelyn’s breathing hitched and she avoided his gaze. “My stomach has been in knots ever since Mamma told me the Duke of Carlyle has shown a marked interest in my coming out. He is our special guest and I am to save two dances for him.” She held up two fingers as if to emphasize her point.
The Duke of Carlyle? The man was not a day under fifty. “That is why you have been casting up?”
A sheepish smile crossed her face. She leaned forward and lowered her voice as if they were not alone in a secluded garden. “He…he kissed me this morning in the music room.” Her face turned red with apparent mortification at that admission.
Cold, disgusted fury twisted in his gut. Richard was twenty-four and felt considerable discomfort at having felt desire for her. The Duke of Carlyle was a man in his prime and had pressed an advantage. The lecherous bastard. That man already had an heir and two spares from his first marriage, why the hell did he need to marry someone so young? “You should inform your mother.”
Richard observed in amazement as every piece of her he could see flushed pink.
“I did. She… When I told her, Mamma was happy at His Grace’s marked attentions.”
He heard the unsaid words. It mattered not if she had been touched improperly and even before an engagement was announced, for the catch was a duke—a man of unmatched power, wealth, and privilege. “There are ways to discourage a suitor.”
What the hell am I doing?
“There are?”
“Yes, though it depends on the gentleman in question. Each man has flaws he would not countenance in a woman.”
“How did you come by this knowledge?”
“My source is of little consequence; however, I will admit men do converse on such matters together on occasion.”
“Upon my word, I never knew gentlemen were also taught to perfect the art of gossip.” Before he could respond, she continued, “Please, you must tell me, how do I discourage the duke?”
The Duke of Carlyle was close friends with Richard’s father, the Duke of Salop. Richard thought of what he knew of the man. Carlyle was stiff, proper, and impeccable in his mannerisms; he would expect the most severe adherence to comportment and propriety in his duchess. It was even quite a stretch to imagine the staid duke allowing passion to overcome him and kissing this girl. Though her beauty would be a temptation for any man, young or old. “Carlyle truly kissed you?”
Disgust crossed her face and she lifted her hands to her lips. “Yes. He said he had to…to taste me. After, he said he was well pleased and would speak with my father. I think my coming out ball and my presentation to Almack’s in a few weeks’ time will be a farce for the matter of my husband appears to have already been decided.”
A rush of sympathy filled him. Richard moved closer, leaning against the tree beside her, aware of how close they were. “Listen to me keenly.”
Hope brightened her green eyes. “Yes?”
“At tomorrow’s ball, when you are alone with the duke—and only when you are alone and there is no chance of anyone overhearing—blech as much as you can. In between conversation, while dancing…belch.”
She glared at him. “You expect me to behave in such an unladylike fashion?”
“Yes. If you can, will yourself to fart as well. That would settle the matter most decisively.”
For precious seconds her face blanked, shocked awareness dawned in her eyes, and then horrified laughter spilled from her. “You are cruel to jest with me so when I desire your advice.”
“I do not jest. Carlyle is very proper and he will be grossly offended. Gentlemen such as the duke retire to their libraries with a sniffer of brandy to fart in relative privacy.”
“You reprobate,” she gasped, clearly offended.
“You wound me unjustly. I only seek to offer valuable assistance.”
“There is much to reprove in your behavior, my lord…to even suggest…” Her face crumpled. “I cannot credit you would speak so of His Grace. I am appalled, Lord Richard, at you for speaking in such an ungentlemanly manner and at myself for being amused by your ghastly vulgarity.”
“Richard,” he murmured, unaccountably pleased to see the lingering uncertainty had vanished, even if it had only been replaced by horrified humor. “Let’s not stand on formality. Please call me Richard and I shall refer to you as Lady Evie, inarguably after speaking of farts formality is no—”
She leaned over and clamped her hand over his mouth. “Please, no more.”
He nodded and she lowered her hand, a thoughtful frown on her face. “My parents would be most disappointed in my behavior if I should follow your advice.”
“So will Carlyle.”
She scowled fiercely at Richard. “You are unpardonable.”
He could see he had planted the seed, and it only needed a bit of encouragement to flourish. “If you are truly disenchanted with the idea of marrying the duke, think on my advice.”
She gave a weak nod. “I will.”
“Lady Evelyn,” a voice called to their far left.
“Mrs. Winters, my governess, looks for me. I must leave, Lord…Richard.”
He straightened from his casual pose. “Would you like me to walk back with you?”
Her smile turned wistful. “No, but I should like for us to be friends.”
Friends? With a slip of a girl? “Friends,” he repeated without inflection.
“Yes,” she said. “I do find you interesting.” Tentative hope and something akin to embarrassment swirled in her gaze.
“I would like that, Lady Evie, if our meeting permits. I sincerely doubt we will socialize often within the same circles.”
“But you will visit my brother, won’t you?”
“Yes,” he said softly.
“Will you be staying for the remainder of the house party? There is archery tomorrow in the day and hunting on Friday.”
He’d planned to leave immediately, but confoundedly that plan had just been aborted. She’s sixteen, he reminded himself sternly. Yes, and many young ladies are married at that age, the lustful devil in him said slyly. He almost stumbled. Marriage? Of course, if his interest remained he would have to act with honor. Such genteel innocence and beauty should not be debauched, no matter how terrible the temptation to be wicked. Worse, nothing could ever convince him to want to marry again, unless it was dire, and he could not imagine a situation that would necessitate him taking a wife. “Yes, I shall.”
“And will you ask me to dance?”
It was then he saw the awareness in her eyes, and he acknowledged that in this instance she was reacting as a woman would to a man. His heart lurched and distressing lust swam in his veins. He suppressed it with a willpower he’d not known himself capable of. Instinctively, he recognized she was dangerous. Though it was foolish, for she was a mere girl, an innocent child, but she made him yearn to break free from the coldness that had been slowly encasing his soul. How in God’s name that was possible from a chance meeting, he had no idea.
Emerging from that shattering awareness, Richard carefully retreated a few steps. “I have it on excellent authority the waltz will be played at tomorrow’s ball.”
“How scandalous,” she murmured, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Promise my dance to no other gentleman,” he impulsively added.
“Nothing could induce me to, not even the threat of a severe scolding from Mamma.”
Her fervent whisper rooted him to the spot and he could only stare at her helplessly.
She rushed over to him and lightly touched his arm. “Thank you, my lord.”
His entire body hardened, tensed, thrilled at the barely-there touch, and then she dropped her hand. After bestowing the sweetest of smiles, she turned and disappeared toward the insistent calling of her name.
Devil take it, she was the sister of one of his good friends, it was unpardonable he should react in such a manner to her closeness. Ravenswood would challenge him to a duel or thrash him within an inch of his life if he even knew Richard had met with her in such secrecy. He couldn’t imagine what his friend would do if he had an inkling of the lustful thoughts she had provoked. God’s blood. If Richard had any honor left or respect for his friend, he needed to marshal his thoughts into order whenever he came near her. There was an unstated code: one did not lust after friends’ sisters, nor did they befriend them. Yet he had done both.
What in damnation just happened?
…
Tonight, Lady Evie was a princess at her very first ball, or so her brother, Elliot, had reassured her moments past. She certainly appeared like one in her exquisite white ball gown with tiny transparent gauze puffed sleeves trimmed with silver ribbon. The modest neckline was trimmed with matching silver ribbons that tied in a long bow at the front of her dress. She liked it better than many of her more complicated gowns because it was so classically simple. Her mother had spared no expense on Evie’s coming out wardrobe, insisting that lavish ornamentation be added onto her ball gowns, and several had been festooned with seed pearls and complex embroideries made from gold thread around their bodices. Her silver satin slippers glinted under the light of a thousand candles, and her elegantly upswept hair shone like burnished gold.
Instead of feeling joy at an occasion she’d anticipated since she had entered the schoolroom, she was a nervous wreck. She’d once again snuck into the kitchens for a few hours, where the cooks tolerated her presence and had taught her how to bake cakes herself, a very unladylike but wonderful skill she had acquired several months past. One of the kitchen maids had pounded the sugar for an hour to make the sugar paste to decorate the cakes. Evie had made mille-feuille for the first time, a classic French pastry that consisted of layers of razor-thin puff pastry and cream filling with a feather-patterned iced top. They were some of Evie’s favorite confections and now she knew how to make them herself.
Desperate to soothe the fear and uncertainty, she had lingered too long and Mamma had caught her in the act. Evie had endured the most severe scolding, and Mamma had even threatened to relieve Mrs. Potter, their cook, of her position. That incident, and the pressure of securing the duke, had her most anxious.
A lady is always refined, elegantly poised, and serene, especially when her composure has been shaken. Holding close the words of her genteel governess, Evie lifted her chin, determined for tonight to be a success, despite the potentially ruinous plan to which she had committed herself.
Her stomach pitched, and she feared she was on the brink of committing the most horrifying social gaffe, which would surely ruin her reputation before she’d even had a chance to be presented at Almack’s. Evie was about to once again cast up her accounts, in full view of the lords and ladies staring up at her with such great expectations.
“You look quite green,” a smooth, cultured voice said to her left.
Poised to descend the stairs to the wide open ballroom, Evie hovered, her heart leaping into her throat and staying there.
“Lord Richard,” she said softly, a dangerous thrill bursting in her heart. She tightened her hand on the staircase railing and shifted slightly so she could peer left.
He was partially in the shadows on the landing of the hallway, leaning against a column. He was the darkness to her purity, dressed in stark black with only a white shirt, a golden waistcoat, and an immaculately tied cravat to lighten the overall impression of darkness. He looked totally at ease and so very confident that she felt as if some of his nonchalance had been gifted to her. Scanning his lean, lithe length and striking features, a strange heat surged inside her. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of amber, the color of rich, dark honey with bright flecks of gold. Very much like the whisky her father thought he had carefully hidden in the bottom of the French rococo cabinet in his study.
“You are staring, Lady Evie,” he murmured with a slightly ragged edge to his voice. Perhaps he was not so confident after all? But his arrogant, dark head tilted back, almost as if he was inviting her bold appraisal to continue.
Color flooded her cheeks and an aching, terrifying awareness of him as a man shot through her. “You are handsome,” she said, then blushed at her forwardness. Surely he would think her gauche and unrefined in the art of flirtation.
He stiffened, amusement and something far more elusive shifting in his beautiful eyes.
“How old are you?” The question sprang from her without her making the conscious decision to ask. “I’m being impolite and improper, forgive me, my lord,” she said, each word carefully measured. It baffled Evie how much she wanted his admiration after so little time spent in his company.
A young lady must never be obvious in her regard for a gentleman. That was another gentle lesson from her governess, to which she so desperately wanted to adhere.
He strolled closer, careful to stay hidden from the view of the other guests who were peering up, no doubt wondering what kept her riveted. “I thought we were to be friends.”
“Oh, yes, most assuredly,” she said with far too much enthusiasm.
Lord Richard’s enigmatic smile was fleeting, but she could feel every nuance of his stare as it skimmed across her features. Delight stirred in her veins at the admiration she espied.
“Discourse between friends can never be improper. Trust and honesty are values I treasure. Let’s not taint our interactions with hypocrisy and false senses of propriety.”
She was quite pleased with his unpretentiousness. “Of course. I shall be optimistic of our friendship, and I will endeavor to always be trustworthy and candid.” Her promise was very much in opposition to the lessons drilled into her by her mamma and governess. A lady must never be bold with the truth but should be coy and modest, even if her heart holds another sentiment. It was quite appealing to have a relationship not riddled with polite half-truths.
His eyes warmed. “Thank you, Lady Evie. I will accord you the same honor, though I shall try to be mindful of my tongue.”
“As long as your mindfulness is not in a bid to coddle my feminine sensibilities, I daresay our friendship shall be favorable indeed.”
He moved a few steps closer, the lights from the candles now splashing across the upper part of his body. “I shall be twenty-four in a few weeks.”
Eight years separated them, and quite evidently, a wealth of experience on his part. “I shall bake a cake in celebration of the event. You must call to collect it.”
“You bake?” The man could hardly disguise his surprise. “Not at all proper, are you?” he suggested drolly.
Amusement curled inside. “Quite unconventional, I know, and Mamma would surely send me to our estate in Scotland if it was made known I shared such a confidence. However, I would like to know how to prepare my favorites so I can instruct any cooks I may employ in the future.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.”
Inexplicably, she believed him. “Thank you.”
“I shall look forward to my birthday treat expectantly, and with prayers.”
“I assure you while I am quite unremarkable, I’m a capable cook. You will not be poisoned.” Though she was now regretting the impulsive offer. Outside of the kitchen staff, only her brother had been kind enough to sample whatever she created.
Footsteps alerted her, and she glanced down to spy Miss Henrietta Dawson climbing the stairs with a wide smile on her face. The cheerfulness of Miss Dawson’s nature had made them dear friends, and Evie was happy to see her.
“Oh, Evie, you are so beautiful,” Henrietta said, her blue eyes glowing with merriment.
“So are you.” Henrietta was dressed in a peach high-waisted gown, with cream lace trimmings. “I am so happy you managed to come.”
“Papa was reluctant to allow me, but dear Mamma was determined for me to have a jolly time and has accompanied me,” she said with a light laugh. Henrietta followed Evie’s quick glance toward the shadowed corner.
“Is someone there?”
Grinning, Evie looped their hands together, and they descended the staircase toward the heart of the ball. “Lord Richard Maitland. We had an occasion to meet earlier, and just now he was atop the landing.”
Henrietta frowned. “Oh, Evie, you must be careful. I overheard your mother saying he has the affable charm of a snake.”
“A very beautiful snake,” she retorted with a soft smile as they reached the last step. “And I can already tell he will be a witty and amusing conversationalist who will not be overly concerned with my sensibilities.”
“Evie!” Henrietta gasped, her eyes rounding like saucers. “He is wholly unsuitable. I’ve heard whispers he’s a rake. You ought not to favor him with any dances, should he ask.”
A rake? Earlier when she had been floundering in a sea of doubt and fear, he had been amazing. He’d comforted her instead of acting the scoundrel, lent a listening ear instead of being impatient, and in his eyes, she had seen genuine kindness. His manner had not been as cheerful as her brother’s own; instead there had been a hint of jadedness in Lord Richard’s eyes she’d not understood. Instinctively she recognized that he had many layers to his character, all wonderfully complex. He was so different from her. They were night and day, water and wine, but he was wonderfully, tantalizingly appealing.
“I would dance every dance with him if propriety permitted.” While she highly esteemed Henrietta’s opinion, Evie was still directed by her own.
Ignoring her friend’s appalled look, Evie squared her shoulders as her mother approached with the Duke of Carlyle. His eyes ran over her in a blatantly possessive scrutiny, and her stomach knotted. In quick order, he secured two dances with her mother’s beaming approval. He was also to lead her into supper, an honor that would not go unnoticed by those in attendance. The duke’s actions were informing everyone she was off the marriage mart, before she had even made her debut.
Many agreeable and affable young men swarmed to her side, and within a few minutes, all of Evie’s dances were spoken for. The night passed in a blur of dancing, conversation, and dreaded anticipation of being alone with His Grace. She’d consumed several glasses of champagne to soothe her rioting nerves, but the bubbly drink did the opposite. Evie felt on edge, jittery, her heart a beating mess.
She was now pairing with His Grace on a second dance, for he had arrogantly stolen a cotillion from a young lord who had hardly put up a fuss. They glided about the room, the duke moving with surprising grace despite his larger frame.
“Your mother informs me you are a dutiful daughter,” the Duke of Carlyle drawled as they twirled around each other. “With the accomplishments and comportment befitting a duchess.”
Dutiful. She was heartily resenting the word and the way it implied her subservience to her mother, society, and her future husband’s expectations. Unable to proffer any answer that would suggest she was gratified to have received a compliment, Evie allowed her lips to tip into a small smile that neither implied pleasure nor dissatisfaction.
The dance ended and they dutifully clapped.
“Walk with me, Lady Evelyn,” he commanded, holding out his arm, expecting her compliance.
Her mother looked on with a keen eye, silently urging Evie to not be foolish. She barely touched his arm, and they moved through the crowd toward the section that would lead to the main entrance hall. She glimpsed Lord Richard lounging in a far corner, a ravishing lady glued to his side, gazing at him with earnest adoration. Evie’s breath hitched when she noticed he was watching her and the duke depart the ballroom. In Lord Richard’s golden eyes, she saw a dare to not conform to her family’s expectations. His lips curved, and her breath hitched. His wicked smile was not terribly reassuring.
Do not be foolish, Evie. Mamma will be very disappointed.
In short order, the duke deftly whisked her away from the crush to the drawing room, but he was correct enough to leave the door ajar.
The revelry had been left behind, and the sudden silence was quite intimidating. The duke observed her, his eyes stripping her naked where she stood. Discomfort curled through her. “Your Grace, I believe it would be best if we speak in the gardens or on the terrace.” She felt intimidated by his size in the intimate seclusion of the drawing room.
“I think after this morning, Lady Evelyn, you know why I have brought you here.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. His kiss against her closed lips had been alarming and unpleasant. Her stomach knotted even further. Surely, he did not want to speak of marriage so soon?
“I am at a loss, Your Grace,” she said, trying to postpone his proposal.
He moved closer and drew her to him. His lips muffled her squeak of surprise. Evie lurched back, distressed at his boldness. “Your Grace, I cannot permit you such familiarity!”
His dark gray eyes glittered as if he were fevered. “You have given me back my youth, dear girl. It confounds me how eager I am to kiss your enchanting lips.”
She laced her unsteady hands together, leaning away from the duke. He pressed his advantage, and her back was now flush against the wall. Dear Lord. Another quick, hard kiss was placed to her lips. She froze, her heart wildly pounding.
The duke lifted his head and smiled. “You’ll make me a wonderful duchess,” he murmured huskily.
The champagne churned in her stomach and Evie swallowed several gulps of air. She tried her very best to belch, and what came forth was a loud, embarrassing gurgle that somehow transformed into a belch that echoed around the drawing room.
Thank heavens.
The duke froze, distaste settling on his face. Before he could berate her, another belch issued forth and his nose wrinkled in distaste, outrage darkening his gray eyes.
She rubbed her clammy palms together. “Oh, forgive me, Your Grace, I…I…suffer from a delicate constitution.”
His eyes narrowed. “Delicate constitution?”
“Oh yes, my stomach has been out of sorts for several months. I seem to belch quite frequently. A distemper of my digestion, perhaps? Or delicate nerves. The doctors are mystified.”
“Lady Gladstone did not mention this,” he said stiffly.
“I am mortified to even reveal my delicateness to you, but I cannot in good conscience let you not be aware of all my peculiarities.”
He tugged at his cravat. “Your peculiarities?”
She took a bracing breath and then slowly released. “I…I…seem to also pass wind uncontrollably.” Evie wanted to die from the humiliation coursing through her. She had irrevocably lost all sense of herself.
The duke’s jaw slackened, and he seemed rendered speechless.
“Your Grace,” she started, staring at him in helpless mortification. “Forgive my vulgarity.”
His face turned florid, and she feared he was in danger of passing out. She watched in amazement as he tugged at his cravat, then spun sharply on his heel and departed the room with clipped strides.
She hurried after him to the ballroom. Anxiety pressed in on her as she waited for him to approach her mother. Instead, the duke ignored the countess and directed his attentions to a young lady who was quite grateful and excited by his regard if the speed at which she fanned herself was anything to go by.
After several minutes of the duke disregarding her presence and her mother’s severe frowns of confusion, Evie’s stomach unknotted. Her gaze scanned the crowd until she found Lord Richard. He was by the terrace door, and he was staring at her with an indiscreet intensity. He lifted his glass in salute and winked. Evie giggled, exhilaration pumping through her blood.
Oh yes…our friendship will be grand indeed.