Chapter Two
July 1815
Grosvenor Square, London
Three years later…
The war was finally over, and England was awake celebrating the Duke of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo. The street rang with jubilant cries that Bonaparte had been defeated. Relief should have been the only thing Richard felt, considering the long and brutal war was finally over, and the chance for all those affected to heal was on the horizon. Instead, he was hollow…empty, gutted. The soft voluptuous body pressing against his could not detract from the turbulent grief coursing through his veins like acid. His heart had been cleaved in two, and at this moment it felt as if nothing could mend it. His brother was dead, and the world would never hear Francis’s booming laugh again, or learn from his kind and infectious spirit.
“Oh, Richard, how I’ve missed you,” the woman in his arms said, a deep sigh slipping from her when he glided the tip of his finger over her breast, a fleeting touch, but she shivered violently in his arms, tossing her long, auburn hair.
A few months ago, he would never have imagined the woman he was tumbling to the settee was the very woman who had made him weary of the fairer sex—Lady Trenear. He wished he was eager as well, but in truth, desire hardly consumed him. Inside, he rioted with pain, and the need to lose himself in a warm, willing body was the driving force behind his decision to bed her for the night. That and the fact that she was eager to spread her legs for him again now that he was the Marquess of Westfall, heir to a wealthy and powerful dukedom. The agony that slammed into him almost buckled his knees. He released her and staggered away.
“Ah damn,” he groaned, as the monster called grief welled up once more and tried to drown him. His brother had passed three weeks previously from a fever, and every day Richard rose, there were a precious few seconds where he did not remember Francis was gone. The awareness that his brother was buried in the family crypt always had the same vile taste of despair and wrenching agony coating Richard’s tongue. His brother was dead, and now Richard possessed that which should have belonged to him. His brother was the one who deserved life—he had been the soul of kindness, honorable, a good son, while Richard had been the undisciplined and dishonorable libertine. How had the world got it so wrong?
“Why have you stopped?” Aurelia sashayed over to him, divesting herself of her high-waisted gown with practiced ease.
“Stop,” he commanded gruffly, lowering himself to the edge of the bed.
“No, my darling, you need me.”
In short order, she stripped, walked over to him, and climbed atop his lap. “Take me. It has been so long for me, and for you, I believe, as well?”
She rolled her hips, the motion sensual and sinuous. Need and grief roiled in him, a turbulent and disturbing combination. He gripped her hip, wound her hair through the fingers of his other hand, and took her mouth in a punishing kiss, hating the world, hating that he was now the marquess, hating that she was the one he was kissing. Richard spun with her, lowering her onto the bed, splaying her like a goddess he was about to feast on. Yet he was not tempted to indulge.
He felt cold, empty, and here was not where he wanted to be. A sweet smile and large green eyes framed in an enchanting face swam in his vision. Evie. It was Evie he needed more than he desired his next breath. He missed her, terribly. It had been weeks since he last saw her—he had only gotten a glimpse of her at the funeral service yesterday morning. What he would not give to have her here at this moment, holding him as he roared his pain to the heavens. She would not judge him for unraveling, for the tears burning his throat and eyes. No, his Evie would simply offer him the support he needed.
“What are you waiting on, my darling? Ravish me,” Aurelia whispered seductively.
The invitation left him unmoved. He allowed his gaze to skim over her breasts and down to her quivering stomach. Through the haze of grief and pain, awareness shimmered. He froze, his eyes cataloguing the spidery network of marks running over her stomach and hips. He shook his head to clear the fog of liquor he consumed earlier.
“What is it?”
He surged to his feet and grabbed the candle by the bed and drew it close, splashing the light across her body. She made to sit up, and he pressed a hand against her belly, ensuring she felt the strength in his action but careful not to hurt her.
“Westfall, please…”
How easily everyone had started to call him by the damnable title. It was as if his brother had never existed. Even his parents were already encouraging Richard to find a wife and secure an heir. He traced one of the marks with his fingertip. “What are these?”
Fear and guilt were plastered on her face. Without speaking, he considered the marks once more. He’d once bedded a courtesan for a few months, and she’d had similar marks. Helena. Though she had been sensual and possessed enough skills to make grown men weep with pleasure, she had been ashamed for him to see and kiss these slight imperfections. “You’ve had a child.”
Aurelia’s breath hitched audibly. Tension locked her body underneath his fingers. He deliberately splayed his fingers across the area of her body that bore the brunt of the stretched skin.
“I… The earl and I—”
“The ton knows the earl is impotent. The gossips speak of his visits to the pleasure gardens and of your dissatisfaction with him. When we parted, you did not marry the earl until almost a year later.” Enough time to bear my child in secret. “The delay for the marriage was not an illness as your family claimed. You were hidden away in the country because you carried our child.”
The silence became oppressive. It took such strength at that moment to lift his head and examine her features. A frantic pulse beat at her throat, and surprisingly tears streamed unchecked down her temple to her ear. His heart twisted into painful knots, and his chest damn well ached. “Was it a boy or a girl?”
Her throat worked on a swallow, and she made three attempts before she spoke. “A daughter. We have a daughter.”
Have? “She lives?”
“I…Yes.”
A strange weakness assailed him. He slowly removed his hand from her now taut stomach, distantly noting his fingers trembled. “Why did you let me believe otherwise? Where is she?”
Aurelia shuffled from the bed, scooping her gown from the floor and positioning it in front of her protectively. “Richard, please, she is being taken care of. It is best—”
“Where?” he snarled.
“She was sent away at birth. I hardly know if she resides at the same dwelling.”
“Where?”
She blanched. “At a baby farm in Willesden Green—”
A baby farm? A moan of denial rose in his throat and spilled into the room. He stumbled from her as rage, shock, and fear fought to seize his mind. Hundreds of innocent children died at the farms yearly. Such establishments only cared to make a profit, and were run with no compassion for the children they were supposed to care for. An orphanage would have been kinder, though such institutions were also harsh. The main objective of many baby farms seemed to be to deliberately cause the deaths of the youngsters without making their erstwhile relatives feel unwanted guilt. It was easier to say the child was weak and had died of natural causes. Orphanages and the workhouses would at least train the unwanted boys and girls for some menial employment. They were tough, cold, and the children were underfed but they did not actively seek to end their miserable lives.
“Why?”
She placed a hand over her mouth as if to stifle her sobs.
“You could have brought her to me, or allowed a kinder arrangement for her. Why a baby farm?” he demanded hoarsely.
“It was my father who made the arrangements. He said many of our society did that same thing.”
At that moment, Richard made his first enemy not on the battlefield. “Have you seen her? How do you know she lives? What is her name?”
“She was given the name Emily Rose.” Aurelia took several deep breaths. “I have never seen her, but I still send the money quarterly to the location.”
“What is the exact address?”
“Please, let us not stir troubled waters when it is not necessary. Society knows nothing of her, and it is best—”
“You vile, loathsome creature. How could I ever think I loved you?”
She gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat. Seconds later she wilted on the bed, sobbing, her face buried in her hands. Richard felt no pity. There had been so many other options. He would have taken his daughter and buried the scandal if that had been her family’s wish. He would never have named her mother. He would have simply claimed his child, and loved, protected, and cherished her. Instead, she had been abandoned as unwanted rubbish with barely a fuss and paid for by a few shillings per year. Aurelia lifted her face from her palms, looking even more beautiful with the tears flooding down her cheeks. She stood, tightening the sheets that had loosened across her breast.
“Please, believe me, Richard. I am haunted by regret and loneliness.”
“Do not pretend you have a heart. You lied to me about our child, and then you abandoned her to live a life of poverty and degradation, while you live in comfort and wealth. I will never forgive you, countess. Never approach or speak to me again, or I will ruin you and your earl.”
Growing pale, she staggered back.
He moved away, refusing to look around as she called his name. A dark cloud of anger and pain seemed to hug him close, refusing to let go.
Richard was hardly aware of where his steps took him, and it was several minutes later he recognized he was standing in front of the Gladstones’ townhouse. With a start, he saw that several carriages lined the street, music spilling from the house along with gaiety. They were holding a ball.
He fished for his pocket watch and considered the time. It was almost four in the morning. Evie was most likely to be abed. With stealth, he jumped the side gate and stumbled around the back to where he knew her window stood. He was certainly foolhardy, but he could not fight the urgent need to see her.
Stooping in the dark and searching for some pebbles, he grabbed a handful. He stood and gently pinged them against the windows. Several seconds passed before she appeared. The window was shoved up, and her head peeked out. Everything turbulent inside him righted itself.
“Richard! I’ll be right down. I’ve only just retired and am still dressed.”
Without answering, he grabbed the trellis leading to her window and efficiently climbed up to her balcony, thankful the trellis had creepers and not climbing roses riddled with thorns. He grabbed onto the balcony and hung suspended before using his foot against the column for purchase to haul himself up.
“Whatever are you doing?” she whispered furiously, leaning over and peering down the street.
With a grunt, he made it onto the small balcony and climbed through her window.
“Good heavens, hurry before someone sees you.” She all but grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him farther into her room. The sight of her filled him with an intense rush of pleasure. At nineteen, Lady Evie was even more ravishing than when he’d first met her. She had become a well sought after social butterfly, stunningly beautiful with her golden hair, elegant yet voluptuous figure, and intelligent without making it too obvious to the rest of the ton. She had even been featured in the Gazette several times, the society pages admiring her ball gowns and fashionable hairstyles.
They had discussed everything from politics to the weather, and he genuinely admired her mind. She was clever, amusing, and a lady of thoughtful manners. She reigned at musicales and dinner parties, enthralling the attendees with her exquisite singing and skill at the pianoforte. Evie was a darling of the ton who had managed to keep herself with a single-minded determination from becoming engaged, a perplexing and frustrating situation for her parents.
“You could have announced yourself,” she gently admonished.
“I had no desire to join the crush or to field their unending questions. I…needed to see you.”
Her eyes kissed over his face, searching his expression. “You look quite a fright. What has happened?”
He stood muted, letting his despair wash over him.
Compassion softened her features. “We cannot stay here, I’ve already rung for my maid to assist me in preparing for bed. She’ll be here shortly. Perhaps it’s best we sneak down to the library. It will surely be unoccupied.”
She hurried to her door and gently eased it open. After a quick check to ensure the corridor was empty, she rushed out, and he had no choice but to follow. Evie dashed down the hallway and then the winding stairs. She glanced back at him, her eyes glowing with humor. “I feel quite naughty. How Mamma would swoon in horror to know you had been in my chamber.”
Evie did not wait for a response, only ran ahead, gliding down the stairs like a graceful gazelle. They made it to the library without any incident. She faced him as they entered, her eyes warm and concerned. “Is it about Francis?”
For once, the name of his brother did not fill him with a gut-wrenching pain. The idea of a daughter seemed to have overshadowed everything. An unnamed emotion closed his throat. “It is not that.”
“What troubles you?”
“I have a child.”
Evie jerked as if he had slapped her, and her eyes widened. In the depths of her gaze he spied hurt, and it confounded him. They had developed a friendship that he trusted and relied on, despite her tender age. A friendship that even transcended the camaraderie he had with her brother. Evie was the light, the kindness, the innocence, the balance to his jadedness. She moved to sit by the chaise close to the windows, never taking her regard from him.
“Are you to be married then?”
He scoffed. “You know I have no interest in marriage.”
Her lips parted and her brow furrowed in confusion. “But if you are going to have a—”
“She is already here, and by my accounts, she is at least four years of age,” he said gruffly.
“I cannot credit it! How is it possible?”
As if he could explain he had been about to bed the countess. Instinctively, he knew it would hurt her, and he had taken care over the years to never make Evie aware of his liaisons. He’d been reluctant to examine his reasons for this, lest he crossed a line he was never able to return from.
“Her mother, who is already married, revealed the knowledge of my daughter to me just now.” Without delay, he relayed all he had discovered to Evie.
“Whatever shall you do?”
He started to pace. “I do not know, but I must do something. I have a daughter in the world, and she is alone and unaware of her family.”
“Will…will you place her in an orphanage?”
Her words kicked him in the chest. That was what most, if not all, lords who found they had bastards did. They deposited their ill-gotten seed on well-run orphanages with sizable contributions. The fact that Evie expected him to follow suit left a hollow ache in his gut. For the first time since their meeting, he saw her through eyes coated with cynical mistrust.
“Is that the advice you would bestow on me, Lady Evelyn?”
She slowly stood and moved closer to him. “I only ask you not to do anything you would regret, Richard. Your father is dreadfully ill, and he cares a lot about your family reputation and standing in the ton. Society will not forgive you claiming an illegitimate daughter.”
“You are hardly a woman of the world to be certain of what you speak,” he said with derision.
She flushed. “I only want you to be careful. You are the Marquess of Westfall and the heir to a dukedom. Your parents and society will expect—”
“Say no more. I fully understand what is expected, not that I will thank you for reminding me.”
Hurt glared from her eyes, and he softened. “Forgive me for being churlish.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You have been dealt heartrending blows, Richard, and you are still standing.”
How he relied on her for comfort. “Thank you for such generosity.”
A gentle smile tipped her lips. “You shall have it always.”
“I must take my leave. I will discreetly slip away through the back gardens.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. They both froze at the unexpected intimacy. He could not say what prompted him, for he had never been so familiar with her despite their close friendship. Evie shifted her head slightly, and it brought their lips scant inches apart.
From beneath lowered lashes, her gaze fixed on his mouth with unabashed interest, and he almost roared at the lust that raced through his body and arrowed down to his cock. What in damnation! He wanted her with agonizing ferocity.
“Evie.” The whisper of her name was a benediction, a plea to not tempt his restraint, for he feared he would have none where they were concerned. What had he been thinking to come here? He had been so careful since their acquaintanceship to only stoke the flames of friendship and destroy any embers of passion whenever they tried to flare. Evie was not fashioned to be anyone’s mistress, and he could not succumb to her unwitting lure.
She softly pushed her head against his, nudging him like a sensual feline inviting him to play. Her half smile hinted of feminine desire. God’s blood. Arousal curled like a flame through Richard. Surely she could not be aware of the sensual invitation in her actions.
For the first time since their meeting in that garden, the restraint he’d placed on his desire for her wavered.
…
Evie had long yearned for Richard to kiss her, at least once. She knew nothing would ever come from indulging in such an intimate embrace, for despite their friendship more would not be allowed. He’d fiercely hardened his heart against love, and her parents thought him singularly unsuitable for marriage. Though, since he’d become Lord Westfall and the heir to a dukedom, her mother had been hinting that an alliance might now be welcomed.
If only Evie could soften the heart of this handsome gentleman, who in spite of their close friendship, insisted that the opposite sex was not to be trusted. She had been unable to dent the surety of his convictions through their long correspondence, and although he seemed to admire her, he had made no move to seduce her or even to kiss her.
“I cannot recall if I’ve told you I’m quite glad to see you,” she murmured.
“Evie.” He all but groaned her name. “Step away.”
Acute pleasure coursed through her veins at the knowledge Richard was incapable of moving from her. “No.”
A visible shudder worked through his frame. “I want…”
The pit of her stomach felt strange and fluttery. “Yes?”
His throat worked on a swallow. “I fear I am losing my senses.”
“Are you thinking of kissing me?”
He gave her a long, indecipherable look. “Of course not.”
“I think you are,” she rebutted softly, wanting to press her lips to his. All the kisses she had received had been stolen by overzealous suitors and had been quite unpleasant. It would be a curious change to offer such an intimacy instead of it being taken. More importantly, she wanted to hold and comfort Richard, to drain away the pain and tension that held him rigid.
“Behave yourself, Evie.” He chucked her lightly on her chin as her brother Elliot oftentimes did. “I must take my leave before your mother discovers my presence. I do not have the heart to endure her affront.”
“It seems you have become a veritable rake of the first order,” she said with a grin. “Mamma is very much afraid of your corrupting influence on me, and I have been forbidden to dance with you at Lady Beechman’s ball unless you were to openly state your intentions.” Though she injected levity in her tone, Evie’s heart ached because her mother continually frowned upon their unusual friendship.
The glint of humor in his eyes soothed her. “I’m a bloody saint within your presence. I value you too much to corrupt you.”
Evie smiled. Richard was her confidant and the one she always turned to whenever she had troubles. He was blunt, had no notion to coddle her sensibilities, and she could always depend on his refreshing, albeit sarcastic honesty. He had never been proper or staid, which she enjoyed, for he was the very opposite of her own nature. She was the perfect and dutiful daughter, he was wild and unpredictable, and he was her greatest guilty pleasure in life. The art of baking was another pleasure she still secretly indulged in, but she had been visiting the kitchens with less frequency. For an unmarried society girl, any suggestions of individuality or uniqueness were most severely frowned upon by society and most especially by her parents. Her mother was a stickler for following the rules of the ton and was forever berating Evie for her unusual plebian interest.
She lifted her hand and smoothed a wisp of unruly hair from his forehead. Inside she cheered loudly to see some of the misery that had shadowed his eyes lessen. “Go, and I pray all will be well with your daughter.”
Dark torment flashed in his eyes. “I feel as if my damned heart is breaking in two.” He arched a brow. “I never thought my desolation would elicit a smile.”
“I assure you I am only heartened by the fact you willingly admit you are in possession of a heart.” There were times his manner had been so cold and aloof, disquiet had pierced her heart and reaffirmed how useless it was to so ardently admire a man who spared little thought for the gentler sex.
His jaw clenched. He moved to the window facing the small back gardens and leaned his elbow on the windowsill.
“My mind has been stretched in a thousand directions. I wonder…where is she? Does she live?”
Evie strolled to stand beside him and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. “You will find her, Richard, and you shall love her,” she said, going to the heart of what must be his fear.
He stared down at her for a long, timeless moment. There were such doubts etched in his beautiful golden eyes that her heart lurched.
“And if I do not find her, and she is left to suffer even more than she must be suffering now?”
“It is not in your nature to relent. You are now the Marquess of Westfall. There are more resources available to you. Use them and find your daughter.”
“I’ll not stop searching until I do.”
Needing to comfort him, she hugged him. He stiffened, then his hands came around her waist like bands of steel, pulling her into the hard, masculine heat of his body. She was surrounded by his clean male scent, and it felt so right to be held in his arms. It was all utterly improper and wonderful.
He shuddered, and it was then she felt the terrible tension in his touch. “I’ll make a terrible father…if we ever meet.”
“You are steadfast and courageous, you are honorable despite your roguish reputation. I know you must worry, but I believe with my heart you will find her,” she reassured him. “And you will spoil her rotten and love her with all your heart. Do you know her name?”
“Emily,” he said gruffly.
“A lovely name. I will light a candle and pray every night until she is located.”
“Thank you.” His chin rested more firmly atop her head. “Her mother believes I should leave her wherever she is.”
“A selfish suggestion that bears no contemplation.”
“She abandoned her at birth, the damnable bitch.”
His vulgar tongue had a blush climbing Evie’s cheeks. It was at moments like these he shocked her sense of propriety, and one of the reasons she enjoyed his friendship. Richard did not behave like she was the proper and perfect daughter of an earl, to be spoken to only with mincing words, and treated as if she were a delicate flower without an intelligent thought in her mind. Already she had a reputation of being a good, biddable daughter who had perfected the ton’s rules of etiquette and politeness. Her current suitor believed she would be a well-behaved and tractable wife, and was arrogant enough to say so to the polite world. Gentle rebellion stirred in her heart, and Evie wanted to break free from the mold her parents expected her to be shaped in.
“I quite agree, a damnable bitch,” she drawled with a measure of satisfaction.
Richard laughed lightly. “It makes my heart glad to see such perfect lips being vulgar.”
“How can I help you with your search?”
“You cannot. I daresay you will not even be allowed to meet her when I’ve located her.”
Pain pinched her heart. “Nothing would keep me away.”
He made a rough skeptical sound. “The world will revile her, but I will make it better for her.”
“I promise you, I will love her as you do.”
His hands tightened even more, and she lifted her forehead from where it rested on his shoulders to meet his gaze. He was staring at her in the most unbelievably disturbing way.
“Thank you, Evie,” he said gruffly. “You have a surprising knack for making me feel at ease.”
With a sense of wary anticipation, she brought her hands to his jaw. His breath visibly hitched and a fine tremor worked through his body. The intense sensuality in his gaze stole her breath, and an unfamiliar but intriguing sensation fluttered low in her abdomen.
Kiss me, she silently implored. Just once, and then perhaps forever.
His head dipped, and Evie sighed as he settled his mouth firmly over hers, taking gentle possession. Dear heavens. Nothing had ever felt so perfect…so sublimely right. She gasped, and he took advantage, slipping his tongue between her lips. The shock of such an intimate invasion disappeared as heat pooled in her veins and thrummed in her blood. Evie had been utterly mistaken in the notion she had been kissed before. Richard’s mouth was incredibly talented, his taste evocative. With a soft moan, she sank farther into his lean but deliciously hard frame and wrapped her hands around his neck. Her fingers combed through his hair as his mouth took hers with tender desperation.
His lips traveled to her throat, licking, kissing, and nibbling.
Inexplicable heat speared down to the valley between her thighs, and she gasped.
With a curse, he released her and stepped away, thrusting his fingers through his midnight-black hair. He tipped his head to the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m a dishonorable bounder,” he muttered.
Though her heart was a pounding mess, she smiled. “And what does that make me, since I returned your embrace with such enthusiasm?”
He gave her a chastening look.
“I shall not be sorry. I’ve always wanted my very first proper kiss to be with you,” she admitted shyly. “I’ve gotten weary with the number of kisses that have been stolen by supposedly ardent suitors. This is the first time I gave an embrace willingly, and I enjoyed it.”
The gaze he settled on her was piercing and intent, assessing, stripping the secrets in her heart bare. He strolled over, cupped her cheeks in his hands, and brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “You are the one lady I feel safe around. Let’s not ruin our friendship with messy emotions. I treasure you too much.”
A familiar ache welled in her chest. “Safe?”
“Hmmm, I have no worry you will attempt to trap me into marriage.”
She snorted. “Marriage to a man who believes love is for those deluded by sentiments is not a desire of mine. I…I…simply wanted to kiss a man whom I chose.” And to comfort you and to wipe the pain from your eyes. Never had she expected the burst of pleasure that had lit a fire in her blood.
“Then I am glad I was of service.” He thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “We have not conversed properly for several weeks. I’ve heard rumors of a courtship with Lord Muir.”
“I hardly think my problems warrant a discussion now.”
“They matter to me.”
Her throat closed. “It does not seem the tactics we’ve used over the years work on him. He is quite determined to secure my hand,” she said tremulously. “But I am certain I shall prevail. I informed him of my love of cooking, and instead of scurrying away, I was told in explicit terms it must be stopped at once. What right does he have to order me about? It is always incomprehensible to the opposite sex that we ladies have other interests than embroidery and gossiping.”
“I will pay him a visit.” Richard’s voice throbbed with unnamed emotions. There was something dangerously fascinating about the ruthless charge that emanated from him.
“Be reasonable. I will be ruined if you were to warn a gentleman from courting me. It would be assumed we have a tendre. Unless you have plans to offer for me?” she teased, ignoring the stirring ache in her heart. Her mother was bringing greater pressure on Evie to select a beau, a thing that frustrated her so much she wanted to be unladylike and scream.
“Good God, no.”
Evie grinned. “There is no need to be so aghast.”
A fleeting smile touched his lips. “I am appalled at the notion of marriage.”
“You have sworn your disgust for the state of matrimony so sufficiently that I do not doubt you,” she said softly. Yet there was a place in her heart determined to win him to her way of thinking. That perhaps they were a perfect match with all their idiosyncrasies. The notion had started brewing in her heart when she tumbled into bed exhausted from late-night balls or rides in the park, when her dreams inevitably turned to being held, kissed, and heaven help her, seduced by this charming rogue.
“The norm is to marry for wealth and social connections. If it is not your desire, Evie, defy your parents. I shall expect no less of you.”
“Lord Muir is full of pride and importance, with little thought of anyone but himself and his horses. I assure you I will never marry such a man.”
Was it her imagination or did relief glow in his golden eyes?
“I must take my leave.”
“Be safe,” she whispered.
A rare smile lit his face, and he leaned in and cupped her cheeks between his long, elegant, but so very warm and comforting hands. He brushed his lips against her forehead in farewell, then over her cheek, then lower to where he inexplicably lingered over her lips. “I will call upon you when I’ve located my daughter. If you have need of me before then, send word to my townhouse, and my man will find me.”
A shocked gasp came from the doorway. Evie lurched back and spun around, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Mamma! Upon my word, you gave me a fright.”
The countess’s eyes gleamed with triumph before she lowered her lashes. When she met Richard’s regard, her composure was serene. “My husband and I shall expect you tomorrow before noon, Lord Westfall.”
“Mamma!” Evie hurried to her and pulled her farther into the room, gently closing the door. “Please stop this nonsense. Lord Westfall simply wished me farewell.”
He strolled over, a curious frown on his face as he regarded the countess. Richard was quite aware Mamma had always disapproved of their friendship. Her turnabout now was revealing. In his eyes, Evie spied the knowledge and the contempt.
“Lady Gladstone,” he murmured with a curt bow. “Lady Evie. I bid you both good evening.”
She swallowed her protest and allowed him to leave the room. He closed the door with a decisive snick.
Her mother started to wield her silk fan with enthusiasm. “I will summon your father. Lord Westfall will do the honorable thing after your father speaks with him.”
“Mamma, please, it was only a fleeting kiss,” Evie said, blushing furiously. “I am certain our lips did not touch.” It was so mortifying to be caught in such an illicit embrace with Richard. “I will not have Rich…Lord Westfall pressured into marriage for a brotherly embrace that lasted but a few seconds.”
Her mother folded her fan with a snap and glared at her. “Do not be silly. He is now in line for the dukedom. He is eminently suitable to be pressured.”
“Oh, Mamma.” Evie sighed. “A few weeks ago you forbade our friendship, and now you wish for us to marry?”
“Several weeks past he was not the Marquess of Westfall. Do not be obtuse, my dear.”
Evie rubbed her temple, hoping to ease the throb she could feel forming. “He does not have the time or temperament for any inconsequential distractions now. He has a daughter, and he must locate her at once. Any meddling with this process with a ridiculous demand for him to declare any intentions toward me would be unconscionable.” Her admittance to her mother was an acknowledgment how much Richard’s revelation had unsettled Evie.
Her mother paled. “He has a bastard?”
Evie flinched. “Do not refer to her in such a degrading manner. It is unbecoming, Mamma.”
Her mother visibly composed herself. “Upon my word, he cannot be thinking to claim her?”
A sudden fierce pride burst inside her chest, though it warred just as strongly with anxiety. Life would not be kind to his daughter if he tried to raise her within their society. She would be a pariah. Never to experience the joy of attending balls, routs, and musicales. She would always be a curious bug under the searing reproachful gaze of society. “He is, Mamma.”
“If he does, I most assuredly will no longer invite him to our balls and house parties. How can Lord Westfall think to taint his estimable family name with such an undesirable connection? He is the future Duke of Salop and surely must see how ill-judged such a decision would be!”
Dear Lord. “Mamma, please—”
A whisper in the air alerted Evie, and she glanced up. Richard was frozen in the doorway, his eyes hard chips of ice. Her heart sang in elation that he had returned, then sank at an alarming rate at the cold fury darkening his gaze. Surely he did not believe she would share her mother’s sentiments?
“You are being unfeeling, Mamma.”
“A continued friendship will not advance this family if he claims his bastard,” the countess said, unaware Richard was behind her.
Unable to hold her silence, she stepped around her mother toward him. “Please forgive Mamma, my lord. She… I have no excuse,” she said.
His eyes as they pierced her mother were so cold that discomfort twisted through Evie. Without acknowledging her mother’s harsh words, he turned and walked away, leaving the door ajar. She had the sudden impression her mother had made an enemy, and their friendship had suffered a blow.
Oh, Richard.