Evanston’s pen scratched against the parchment as he signed his name, and he leaned back in his chair, scanning the letter to ensure it had struck the proper tone. He wanted his anger to seethe out from the pages unquestionably, but most of all, he wanted the woman receiving it to know things were irrevocably broken between them. Done. Finished.

Satisfied at last, he twisted the red wax above the flame, watching as it melted and dripped down onto the envelope. He pressed his seal against it, then stared at an errant smudge of ink on his hand. His brow drew down and he rubbed at the spot in annoyance, yet still it remained, a black mark upon him. His head started to ache . . .

Giving up, Thomas jerked his sleeve down in irritation to cover it. He glanced at the sideboard, to the amber-filled bottles that winked at him in the late morning sunlight. Losing himself in the bottom of a crystal decanter had been easy before, but now not even brandy could numb him enough to ignore the fact that Eliza found him strategically lacking when compared to her other suitors. When compared to the lukewarm Landry, for God’s sake.

And no amount of alcohol could compete with the unadulterated intoxication of feeling her respond in his arms, or the sight of her, supple and wanting, on his bed. How he yearned to be drunk on Eliza again. If only he could find a way to forget . . .

A brief knock sounded just before the door to his study flew open.

“Pardon, my lord, but you will be late for your meeting with the earl.”

Burton regarded the viscount from the doorway, his face contorted into a mask of worry. Thomas focused his thoughts back to the task at hand, flipping the envelope over in his hands to quickly address the parchment, then standing to face the butler.

“You worry too much, Burton. I am riding on horseback and can easily make up the lost time. Besides, this is important.” Coming closer, Thomas handed him the missive. “Please ensure this letter is included in the next post. I’d like Mrs. Varnham to receive it as soon as possible. It contains a few choice words I’ve reserved just for her.”

“Mrs. Varnham?” asked the butler in an inquisitive tone. “Certainly, my lord.” Burton crossed back towards the door, but paused before leaving, clearly debating whether he dare say more. Evanston’s gaze flicked up, the dark arches of his brows lifting as he reached for his riding jacket.

“Out with it, man.”

Burton jumped a little at being caught, the silver filaments in his hair catching the late morning light from the windows. “It is of no purpose, my lord. Only, I wanted to say how very . . . ahem . . . nice it was to see Lady Eliza here yesterday.” Thomas slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat, his movements slowing in evaluative contemplation while the man struggled to continue. “I mean, there had been a time in London where you were not . . . ahem . . . responding to her entreaties. And it’s, well, I was glad to see—”

“You saw rather more than you bargained for,” recalled Thomas sardonically with a sharp tug on his jacket.

The butler glanced down at the letter he carried, his cheeks turning red. “Yes, well, I suppose I did. I must say, however, that I’ve always liked Lady Eliza.”

“As have I, Burton. However, she is currently deliberating over multiple marriage proposals, one from a man whom she will likely accept,” he added, hardening his tone of voice to prevent any emotion from creeping in. “She would never have me.”

“It looked very much to me as if she could be convinced to consider it.”

Thomas threw a disapproving glance in the man’s direction. “As a master concerned for the state of your employment, I’d like to recommend you not look too closely next time. Besides, appearances can be deceiving.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Burton quickly. “My point is simply that one has heard . . . not that one listens, of course, but one has heard that she has been remarkably selective since the death of Mr. Cartwick. One might say to the point of exclusion. Until yesterday. With you.”

Evanston snorted and retrieved his riding crop from the leather chair where he had tossed it earlier. This was a dangerous line of thought to entertain. The fact that his butler was the one belaboring the point did make the matter mildly amusing.

“She was courted by others in London. Yesterday was one hint of an indiscretion,” he stated dismissively, her objections echoing painfully through his mind. “A mere moment of weakness on her part.”

“Now you are making assumptions, my lord.”

Thomas pierced him with a dark look. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion on any of this.”

“You’ll forgive me, my lord, but I find I care, despite my best efforts. And while I know of no love that truly follows the confines of reason or logic, I have to think that your chances would substantially increase were you to make a proposal of your own.” Burton lowered his head a bit after speaking, almost as if expecting a rebuke for his brazenness.

Evanston froze and stared at his butler. Then he raised a hand to point at the letter. “Next post. Make sure of it. Now step aside, please,” he muttered, brushing past Burton on his way out of the room. “I’m late for my meeting.”

Despite the lateness of his departure, Thomas made excellent time to Ashworth’s estate. His recently acquired chestnut performed admirably on the winding country roads, as it had upon the cobbled streets of London. It had been the least he could do, parading Landry’s near-purchase before him. Still, it would bring only minimal comfort should the blasted man succeed in winning Eliza’s heart—or at the very least, her acceptance of his marriage proposal.

The day was warm, and the dry, musty smell of hay and horses filtered through the air inside the stables. He handed the reins to the stableboy, then proceeded swiftly towards the house, anticipation coursing through him with every step. Evanston shook his head in annoyance. He was incredibly anxious at the idea of seeing Eliza again, especially so soon after their unexpected encounter. His blood heated at his thousandth remembrance of carrying her off to his bedchamber, and he struggled to wrestle his thoughts back to the business of the day. Here, Thomas felt more than justified in blaming his meddlesome butler for at least some of his trouble.

He had come to Lawton Park to discuss the acquisition of a site for Lord Ashworth’s cotton mill in Manchester. Although many of his evenings in London had been spent pursuing Eliza, he had also spent a good number of daytime hours in meetings with various land agents and men connected within the northern textile industry.

Yet, none of this interested him at the moment. Evanston hoped he could disguise the fact that the only thing that did interest him currently was the earl’s own sister. The sumptuous glide of Eliza’s hand behind his head in an effort to kiss him more thoroughly. The thrill of her body pressed tightly against his. How she had loosened his cravat then scorched his neck with her lips, her tongue. He groaned out loud inadvertently.

Thomas scowled in self-remonstration. He needed to gather his thoughts, hide the ones about Eliza in some faraway place, and bring Manchester cotton mills into unyielding focus. If he could not, he ran the risk of William discerning the truth of the situation. Or worse, nurturing the idea that he wished to somehow corrupt his widowed sister against his own very specific instructions. While Thomas normally took great delight in ignoring orders, what had happened in London had been somewhat accidental and entirely out of his control.

Once Matthew admitted him inside, Evanston made his way to the study. He couldn’t prevent himself from glancing around the interior, expecting to perhaps spot an errant child running through the hallways, or a lovely mother chasing just behind. Thankfully, he saw neither of these things, so his head remained relatively clear when he raised his fist to rap sharply upon the door.

“Come in.”

Thomas entered the room in his carefree manner, dropping down into his usual seat opposite the earl, a mahogany chair covered with rich Moroccan leather. He stared at his friend, who gathered the papers on his desk, tapping them evenly on the surface before setting them aside to give the viscount his undivided attention. William’s mouth hitched up in a smile.

“Firstly, I want to thank you for taking care of business in London while I was otherwise occupied here at home.”

“You are quite welcome,” replied Thomas, attempting to suppress a grin and failing. “I would not want to interfere with you becoming better acquainted with your beautiful new wife.”

The earl raised his eyebrows in response. “Yes, well, I’m sure you were likewise able to take advantage of all the season had to offer. Within reason, of course.”

Evanston tried to ignore the ensuing jolt of guilt. Better to change the subject entirely. “I was. In fact, I found Mr. Petry, the land agent, to be quite charming in his own way.”

Ashworth eyed him carefully, then chuckled. “Tell me.”

“Well,” began Thomas with a sigh, “I informed him that, although there are easier, cheaper methods of starting a cotton mill in Manchester, you were committed to the most difficult and expensive one.”

William leaned back in his seat to fold his hands across his abdomen. His golden head tilted in displeasure. “The whole point of this endeavor is to crush that man, Scanlan, financially—”

“And here I thought it was to make a sound investment,” muttered Evanston under his breath.

“Why would I buy out his mills and put money in his pocket right at the start?”

“Well, one reason might be that there is an existing framework to build upon,” Thomas said pointedly. “That your purchase price is a finite amount, not the potentially boundless income provided by a thriving business. That even the threat of opening a large mill in close proximity to his smaller ones might be enough to force him to consider your predictably meager offer. Unless, of course, his grudge runs as deep as yours.”

“No. Absolutely not. Not until we have run him aground and he comes begging to sell.”

“Fine. I knew you’d say that,” said Thomas in resignation. “Which is why I had Petry locate a building along the canal that is currently available. It’s large enough for the operation you have in mind, although it will require some major alterations.”

William surveyed him with cautious optimism. “I trust your judgment in this. Will the site be sufficient for a mill the scale of which we discussed?”

“Petry and I both agree that it should serve well. We will need your eyes on it to be sure, of course, prior to finalizing the deal.”

Ashworth scooped up the sheaf of papers lying on his desk and handed them to Thomas. “Yes, of course. I have architects and laborers lined up for the work required. Will you inform Mr. Petry of my decision and arrange a time for us to meet in London? Perhaps from there, he and I can take the train north together.”

“I’ll send a letter this afternoon.”

William regarded his friend thoughtfully, his hazel-green eyes unsettling and astute. “You were rather productive in London, Thomas. It seems you did behave after all, although I would have thought the temptations of the ton and the lure of your clubs too much to resist.”

Not sure how to respond to Ashworth’s baiting, Thomas merely shrugged. “I like to surprise you every now and then.” He winced subtly, reflexively. What would surprise the earl most would be Evanston’s unprecedented and determined pursuit of his beloved only sister. Thomas’s conscience often reminded him that this man, his friend, would consider him a menace were he to discover the truth.

The clamor of Rosa running through the house brought both men out of their conversation, and Eliza and Clara could be heard laughing quietly behind the rambunctious little girl. Evanston’s head snapped towards the door, his heartbeat doubling its pace in an instant. He stoically affected nonchalance despite his racing heart.

“Were they at home this whole time?” he inquired innocently.

William stood and grinned, his serious expression giving way to something resembling joy. “No. The ladies took Rosa down to the village for a bit of shopping this morning.” He crossed to the sideboard and poured two glasses of brandy. “Undoubtedly, Clara and my sister spent an inordinate amount of time discussing the house party I will be hosting next month.” His eyes fluttered closed in reluctant acceptance of the situation. “It will require opening up the west wing, of all things, but Mrs. Malone seems eager for the challenge.”

Thomas rose to join him and accepted the drink Ashworth offered. “I think that sounds excellent. It will be good to liven up the house again.” He swirled his brandy, eyeing it closely on its circular course around the glass. “Will I be receiving an invitation? Or has my presence finally lost its novelty?”

To his relief, Ashworth evaluated him with shock. “Oh, you’ll be there,” he said, raising his glass for a drink, then lowering it to issue a pleasant hiss from the burn of the alcohol. “You can’t leave me alone as sole matchmaker for Eliza.”

The amber liquid in Evanston’s glass came to a sudden standstill.

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked in a rusty-sounding voice. “Did she not receive numerous offers before leaving London?”

“Well,” said William, tossing back the rest of his drink and placing his glass down on the sideboard, “she did, actually. But she confided in Clara that when the gentleman widely considered to be her most marriageable candidate approached her to propose . . . she demurred.”

Thomas glanced away, unsurprised. Eliza had simply been following his request.

“You mean she postponed making an answer.”

“I didn’t say that,” replied Ashworth succinctly. “More like she balked, and prevented the proposal from ever fully taking place. Hence, Clara has now set out to invite the man to the house party to see if he can’t finish what was begun.”

Evanston stared at his friend, mute. He assessed the timeline of this situation. William would likely be gone for the better part of a month on his business trip to Manchester. Upon his return, the house party would commence, and Sir James would arrive to formally offer for Eliza’s hand. Time was running out.

But more importantly, Eliza was exhibiting reservations towards Landry.

Why?

Thomas cleared his throat. “I see.” Blindly, he set his glass, still full, down on the sideboard.

The earl frowned down at the undrunk liquor, then shrugged and turned to leave. “Shall we find out what sorts of mischief those women have been up to?”

Evanston’s conscience asserted itself once more. Shaking off the bothersome guilt, he smiled politely.

“After you.”

Thomas followed the earl into the hallway, then glanced around. It was empty and silent. He looked to William in bemusement.

“Did they come inside and go . . . back outside?”

Rather than give him an immediate answer, Ashworth strode swiftly to the drawing room, only to find it vacant. Evanston trailed after him as he walked to the dining room, also found to be deserted. There William paused, his eyes falling closed and head dipping forwards, a broad smile spreading across his face.

“I know where they are,” he murmured with a huff of quiet laughter.

Wordlessly, he crossed to the green baize door off the dining room. The supposed rarely crossed boundary between upstairs and downstairs, between the elite set and the servants.

Of course, William had never been much of a stickler for social etiquette, particularly after the loss of his family members, which left him essentially alone here at Lawton Park. However, nothing could have stopped him from crossing those restrictive peripheries once he’d fallen in love with his servant.

Clara had made many friends in her time belowstairs, and she returned to them often. Likewise, Rosa had also come to adore the various personalities of the people who lived and worked at Lawton Park, and traversed the door freely whenever she wished.

The earl pulled open the door, the sounds of laughter and conversation drifting upward to float freely around the two men, who carefully started their descent of the stairway. Mrs. Malone crossed below them in the hallway, paused in dismay, then lowered down into a troubled curtsy before the earl and the viscount. She cast a furtive glance in the direction of the servants’ hall, where Rosa’s chortle could be heard amongst the voices.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she pleaded, “but no matter how hard I try—”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Malone. You need to accept that there are some things beyond your control.” William took the final step into the hallway, his eyes sliding towards the direction of the tumult. “This would be one of them.”

The housekeeper pursed her lips in discontent. “Yes, my lord,” she said, before abruptly resuming her path to the kitchen. Her massive keychain jangled loudly with the strength of her righteousness.

The men shared an amused glance.

“You see what I must deal with, Evanston?”

Thomas fought the urge to laugh. The pair proceeded towards the servants’ hall, where the boisterous intonations of Mrs. Humboldt, the cook, could be heard.

“Now this one here is made with an almond paste, Miss Rosa. And over here, is a biscuit topped with black currant jelly . . .”

The words died on the woman’s lips, her already ruddy cheeks flaring crimson at the unexpected appearance of both the Earl of Ashworth and Viscount Evanston in the doorway. Hastily, she stepped backwards to perform an awkward curtsy, her eyes darting anxiously at the people occupying the long table beside her.

“My lords—”

The harsh sounds of a dozen chairs scraping backwards filled the air with noise as the gathered servants rushed to pay their respects. Clara came forwards to wrap her arms around her husband in an outward display of affection that, in another household, would have been considered quite scandalous. Here, however, the earl simply beamed down at his wife.

“Mrs. Malone seems well on her way towards having some kind of nervous fit. I’d say you are the cause, Lady Ashworth.”

Clara’s dark eyes went wide. “Oh, but not at all! We were only sampling Mrs. Humboldt’s newest creations.”

At this proclamation, the child in question came bounding forwards to thoroughly wrap herself around Ashworth’s legs.

“They’re for the squirrels too, Uncah!”

He reached down to smooth his hand over her small blond head. “But of course they are. I would expect no less.” William looked over the selections on the plate. “Now tell me, which is your favorite?”

Rosa pulled eagerly on Ashworth’s hand, towing him behind her, and Clara turned to smile at Thomas. He dipped his head in friendly acknowledgment, then casually directed his attention to the swarm of people surrounding the table, selfishly seeking a glimpse of Eliza. Finally, he spied her. Wearing a day dress of lightest yellow, she had tucked herself in between her brother and Mrs. Humboldt as if trying to conceal herself from view. He was reminded of a ray of sun slipping discreetly behind a mass of clouds. Almost as if she could feel his gaze, Eliza glanced his way, blushed, then looked down at her hands.

His body stirred warmly at her nearness. Were she not still affected by what had passed between them yesterday, he felt she would not take such care to avoid his gaze now.

God forgive me, I wish to affect her again.

The pulsing rush of desire flooded through him, and he curled his fists in white-knuckled fortitude. Needing a distraction, Evanston stepped forwards to take part in the conversation.

“What’s the verdict, Ashworth? Almond or currant?” he asked, feeling foolish.

William was chewing, a thoughtful look upon his face. Finally, he swallowed and said, “Neither. Naturally, they are all delicious,” he added, with a wink to the cook, “but I do believe I prefer these hazelnut biscuits.”

“I like those too!” exclaimed Rosa, who seized two of the favored cookies off the plate and approached Thomas. By the time she reached him, only one cookie remained, the other having been stuffed into her mouth without ceremony.

“Tie un,” came her muffled and barely intelligible request.

He glanced around awkwardly before dropping down to one knee and accepting the offering. After consuming the biscuit, he raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a show of enthusiasm.

“I quite agree,” he said, staring into the adorably diminutive version of her mother’s clear green gaze. “But what will the squirrels think?”

Her eyes lit up. “We should let them try!”

The arrival of Mrs. Malone, who was apparently unwilling to relinquish the control required for a squirrel biscuit-tasting, sent the servants into bows and curtsies as they politely excused themselves from the hall.

Thomas pushed up into a stand. “Would not a dog be less trouble?” he whispered loudly to Ashworth.

Eliza heard his reference to their previous conversation, her hint of a smile from behind the golden curls near her face the only acknowledgment he required.

Rosa seized the plate of treats and led the charge towards the rear door of the kitchen, dodging people as she went, her mother following closely. William and Clara trailed after at a leisurely pace, leaving Thomas a brief opportunity to speak with Eliza. She glanced uneasily over her shoulder as he increased his speed to catch up to her.

“Thomas,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t.”

They exited the house, a shock of bright August sun causing them both to squint. Rosa barreled up ahead, heedless of the light or the heat, and Evanston leaned down a bit closer.

“We have been known to speak before. It would seem stranger, perhaps, if we were to stop speaking altogether.”

She cast another furtive glance over her shoulder, then turned back after ensuring her brother to be too far behind to detect the nature of their discourse. “There is some truth to that, I suppose. But that was before we . . . well, that was before yesterday,” she forced out. “Which is why you and I should not be speaking right now.”

“So you think conversation is the greatest risk at this point?”

Her fair skin paled further at his remark. “It is conversation that can lead elsewhere, as you well know,” she quipped. “Simply being in your company might be enough to—”

“Really?” he asked, unable to prevent a smile from curving his lips.

She stared up at him, apparently aware that she had said too much, then directed her gaze forwards once more. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Then tell me, what did you mean?” Thomas inquired. “It sounded as if you were saying you have difficulty controlling yourself in my presence—”

“I told you we shouldn’t be speaking.” She set her jaw.

Color crept across her chest, along her cheekbones, all the way up to the tips of her ears. Eliza may have been outwardly repelling him, but her blush betrayed her. Obviously, she wanted him. He just wasn’t certain if her desire was attached to any emotions of a stronger nature. Up to this point he had not come right out and declared his love for her, but felt that given their conversations both in London and in Kent, she could probably guess his affection for her was genuine. This could either weaken her defenses against him or drive her away entirely.

He needed to change his tack. Inspiring her jealousy during the season had gotten her attention, but she’d been surrounded by suitors at the time. It had been necessary. Here at home, there was no need to resort to such methods. And while his natural inclination was to tease her, he knew that in this moment it would not lend itself to her pursuit.

She was feeling sensitive. Defenseless. Sharing something of himself might help ease her discomfort. The very thought of it caused a sheen of perspiration to break out across his brow. He cast his gaze uncomfortably out to the treetops.

“Despite how I behaved in London, Eliza—”

“Stop!” she hissed, her eyes blazing with alarm.

“—I need you to know that . . . I want more.”

Eliza’s footsteps halted along the flagstones beside him. Her fingers grazed his sleeve as if to catch her balance, then jerked suddenly away. Thomas slowed his pace at her hesitation, then resumed normal speed once she compelled herself to continue walking. Farther ahead on the lawn, Rosa cried with glee at the sight of a squirrel.

“More of what?” she asked weakly.

Christ.

This was harder than he’d thought it would be. He couldn’t help but reflect on how easy it was to seduce a woman versus convincing one to fall in love with you, especially a bright woman like Eliza. But things had changed with his realization in Hampshire. His desire for her was still inextricably bound to his feelings, but rather than simply seeking his pleasure, now he found he couldn’t imagine settling for something less than absolutely every single part of her. Every last emotion. Every beat of her heart.

The need to possess a woman in this way, completely, wholly, and without reservation was unfamiliar territory. Her candid question caused him to choke on his own honesty.

“More of everything,” he finally managed.

Eliza’s stride continued unabated. “That’s not true.”

Now it was his turn to stare at her incredulously.

“Excuse me?”

“Thomas, just yesterday you hauled me up to your bedchamber without a thought for what it would mean. Trust me, I know what you are after . . . and I would know if that had changed.”

They neared Rosa, who was crouched, huddled in the grass, observing a red squirrel scamper about the plate she had set carefully on the ground. The creature sniffed at the assorted cookies, flicking its tail in excitement. Before they were close enough to be heard, he placed his hand gently on her arm and leaned down near her ear. Eliza shook her head from side to side, but she did pause ever so briefly.

“No, Eliza. You would not,” he whispered fiercely. “In fact, I would conceal the truth of it, even from myself, until I could conceal it no longer.”

She blinked, confusion and awareness lighting her eyes from behind, only a second before William came forwards to clap Thomas magnanimously on the back before passing him to join Rosa near the trees. He clenched his teeth while a fresh wave of guilt consumed him.

Clara approached the pair to regard Eliza with an abundance of cheer. “Come, dear sister. Let us see what the squirrels have decreed!”

“Yes,” murmured Eliza in a tone that sounded like relief. “Let’s.”

Lady Ashworth curtsied politely to Evanston, then casually looped her arm through Eliza’s to steal her away. But not before capturing his gaze with her own slightly twinkling, and very knowing glance.