Evanston observed Eliza’s face, watching as her normally lustrous skin turned pale. He wasn’t certain what kind of reaction he’d been expecting with his comment, but it hadn’t quite been this one.

After a moment, she seemed to realize that he was joking and the color revived in her cheeks. “Of course, you aren’t being serious. I should have known.”

He tilted his head in evaluation, his gaze lowering to rest on her luminous green eyes. “I’m sure I could be serious if there was a need,” he said blithely, reaching down to tug on the sleeve of his jacket and scanning the room, already in search of his next conquest. “Thank God there rarely ever is.”

Caroline rolled her eyes and glanced away, while Eliza continued to stare at him, unsmiling.

“How very lucky for you, Lord Evanston,” she said. “What a happy existence that must be, where nothing serious ever seems to occur.”

His eyes halted their progress, then jerked back to Eliza. He had just said something idiotic to a woman who had endured a lifetime of losses, and she had understandably taken exception. There was a sick slide of guilt as he realized his mistake. Regardless of their differences, he cared about Eliza deeply. In fact, she and William were probably the closest thing to family that he would ever have. He needed to remember that occasionally.

“No offense to you, of course, who has suffered greatly these past two years,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “You know what I meant.”

“I’m not sure that I do, but I’ll take that as your attempt at an apology.”

He reached forward to take her hand and pressed it solemnly to his lips for a kiss.

“I do apologize.”

When he straightened once more, he found her color had risen again. Whereas the conversation had started with her appearing ashen and pale, now the crests of her cheeks had turned undeniably pink in what could only be described as a blush.

Interesting . . .

Thomas could sense the burgeoning desire within him; could feel the same intrigue that had prompted him to briefly disregard caution those many years ago at Lawton Park. He pondered the reality of the situation. Eliza Cartwick, with her curls of spun gold, eyes of lightest green, sweet rosebud of a mouth and soft, generous curves would make any man an excellent wife.

Or she could make him an excellent paramour.

Almost as if she could read the direction of his thoughts, she tugged her hand away and took a step backwards.

The idea was outrageous, of course. It would probably cost him his relationship with her, such as it was, and it would cost him his friendship with William too. It wasn’t even worth considering. But as his eyes raked across her, he could feel his arousal increasing. It wouldn’t do to interfere with her husband hunting, but could they not enjoy each other’s company in private? What could possibly be more satisfying than having Eliza in his bed?

Looking eager for escape, the woman in question took immediate notice of the approaching Lady Humphrey, who had begun the process of organizing guests for dinner.

“It appears we are about to dine,” Eliza said hurriedly, lowering into a curtsy. “Good evening, Lord Evanston.”

He inclined his head. “Good evening, my lady.”

With a bow to both her and Lady Caroline, who was making a show of eyeing him distrustfully, he took his leave to join the hostess. Lady Humphrey had decided to claim him as her escort into the dining room, as her husband was away from town on business. He did not mind as it garnered him a bit of attention, and with a gentlemanly flourish, he extended his arm to her.

Dinner passed tolerably well. The constant chatter of the ladies surrounding him was the usual irritation, but one much easier to ignore when stealing tiny glimpses of Eliza, who had now thoroughly managed to capture his fascination. His observant hostess noted the direction of his gaze shortly after the first course began.

“It was most unexpected to find both you and Lady Eliza in London for the season, my lord,” she said while casting a mischievous glance in his direction. “Quite frankly, it was too good to pass up, the opportunity to have such interesting guests at my residence. You, being so eligible yet so hard to pin down, and she, missing from society these past years and . . . appearing not at all how a bereaved widow ought to look.”

Thomas was unsure if the lady was insinuating something less than ideal about Eliza’s character. In a rare instance of pique, he found it did not sit well with him.

“And how, pray tell, ought a widow to look more than two years after the tragic event?” he snapped. “Surely London cannot expect her to live out the rest of her years in widow’s weeds?”

Lady Humphrey threw back her head and laughed, her hand floating gently down to rest upon his own. “Why no, my dear. You misunderstand me entirely.” Her eyes shifted to find Eliza at the opposite end of the table, smiling charmingly at a male guest who was clearly enamored with her. “She may wear whatever fine colored satins and laces she likes.” The lady slid her hand off his and seized her napkin, dabbing her mouth carefully with the corner. “I know you both have become friendly over the years, so perhaps you do not view her in the same light as society. But indeed, she possesses such natural beauty that one would be hard-pressed to find clothing unsuited to flatter her. This, I suppose, is what the ton strives to understand. How a woman who has endured so much can still manage to be so ravishing.” She paused. “Don’t you think?”

Evanston knew she was trying to lure him into a telling response, and as much as he would endeavor to entertain her on any other day, Lady Humphrey’s excessive interest in Eliza bothered him for some reason. The prattle of the other women surrounding him at the table petered out as they inclined their heads in anticipation of his answer.

“Why, I am certain there is no way for me to know what the ton is thinking, about her beauty or anything else, for that matter,” he said with a tight smile.

Those nearby murmured placidly in agreement, though he could sense the disappointment his response had evoked in his listeners. They’d certainly been hoping for more feeling, angst . . . something incredibly diverting, and were probably surprised he had not delivered. It was not in line with his usual habits.

His noble hostess was not as easily dissuaded and eyed him warily, leaning back slightly to allow the footman to remove her soup bowl from the table as they moved into the next course.

“You know what I do find curious, is that as close as you two are rumored to be, you have spent far less time conversing this evening than I would have expected.”

Inevitably, those nearest him glanced over at Eliza, who had indeed done an impressive job of avoiding Evanston’s gaze upon their entrance to the dining room. Perhaps she really had read his mind earlier.

“Is not the purpose of a social engagement such as this to expand one’s friendships and acquaintances?” he asked innocently. “It would make little sense for her to speak only to me.”

“Yes, ’tis true. And Sir James Landry has occupied most of her time so far.”

Taken aback, he examined the man seated next to her in closer detail. He had not recognized Landry with the addition of a moustache, and yet there he was, hanging on Eliza’s every word, eyes fixed closely upon her.

“Surely all is well between you two?” asked Lady Humphrey, not missing the envious nuance of Evanston’s stare.

Averse to satisfying her curiosity any more than he unwittingly had already, Thomas forced himself to relax back into his chair and raised his wineglass towards his meddling hostess, the crystal glittering in the glow of the candlelight, ending the topic of conversation with one word.

“Surely,” he answered, with a smile as false as his reply.

Eliza sighed amidst the insufferable heat of the drawing room, the rapid beats of her fan only managing to circulate the stifling air about her face. The warmth was part of the problem, but she could not discount the viscount’s presence this evening as also causing her some significant amount of distress.

Despite avoiding his gaze through some pleasant conversation with Sir James during dinner, the simple knowledge that Thomas was there, close enough to touch, vexing in every possible way, was enough to cause her chest to constrict. She could only hope she didn’t look as pink and flushed as she felt, for she’d gotten the distinct impression that he had keenly detected the way she had responded to his nearness.

It was too early to leave the party without attracting unwanted attention, but she needed some air and a moment to quiet her chaotic thoughts. Her eyes darted around the room. Caroline was caught in conversation with a man who, for once, did not seem to annoy her, so Eliza was hesitant to interrupt. Landry was distracted at the moment as well, chatting with Lady Humphrey as she sipped on a glass of sherry. Lord Evanston she could not find, but was sure there had to be an assortment of ladies keeping him occupied. The time to break away was now.

Eliza proceeded down the hallway and found a footman en route to his next task.

“Excuse me, but is there access to the rear garden?”

With a convivial nod, he gestured for her to follow him. Soon she was stepping outside into a small but beautiful terraced garden behind the residence. Thanking the servant as he took his leave, Eliza proceeded carefully down the rock pathway. The flagstones were covered with lush green moss, masking her footsteps as she took great gulps of the air that had turned mercifully brisk at this later hour.

She sank down onto an ornately carved bench placed to advantage beneath a wooden arch thick with flowering clematis vines. A deep inhale of the perfumed air improved her mood dramatically, and she flattened her palms down beside her on the seat to ease herself back against the bench, closing her eyes in relief.

“May I join you?” asked an unexpected voice.

Eliza jerked in surprise and sat upright to face the man who had made the request. To her amazement, Sir James Landry, with whom she had conversed earlier, had followed her in her flight from the drawing room.

She was not entirely at ease. While she did like Landry and thought him to be amiable, the last thing she wanted was for another guest to come upon them together in the garden. Alone.

“I’m not certain that is wise, sir.”

“I will leave, if you wish,” he replied with a bow. “Although I would rather enjoy another chance to speak with you.”

“As would most of the men present here tonight,” declared a sardonic baritone from near the house. Lord Evanston strolled out onto the flagstones, his size appearing all the more imposing given the close surroundings. “Manners maketh man, Landry, wouldn’t you agree? Or haven’t you the sense to detect when a woman wishes for a moment to herself?”

Given their recent history, Eliza would not have believed Evanston capable of delivering her from a most awkward situation. Yet here he was, smoldering . . . setting her aflame while giving her new suitor a proper setdown. It was almost as if . . . but no, it wasn’t possible . . .

Is he jealous? The query took root and sprouted in her mind as a distinct, although distant, possibility, soon to be followed by another thought that was definitely not a question. He followed me outside.

A dizzying thrill spun throughout her head, causing the world to rotate slowly, and she cursed herself for allowing these old feelings to resurface. She could not know Thomas’s intent, but even if it was only to protect her from Landry’s advances, he had cared enough to both watch and pursue.

Pursue? That was likely too strong a word.

“Lord Evanston. I remember you well,” replied Sir James in a dry tone of voice. “What I do not remember, however, is the nature of relationship you share with Lady Eliza. How is it that you have come to speak on her behalf?”

Eliza stood and interrupted before Thomas was able to make his retort. “Lord Evanston and I were raised almost as siblings,” she answered. “Any interjection on his part is surely born from his sense of obligation.”

To her surprise, Thomas did not respond. Instead he stared at her with those incandescent blue eyes and listened in silence.

“Ah. Then I suppose he would have no objection to my escorting you to the theater next week,” said Landry, shooting a dark look in Evanston’s direction.

She glanced over at him again, and still he remained quiet. This only served to increase her curiosity. Was he here to interfere with this potential suitor for some reason, or was he truly feeling protective?

“I would be pleased to accompany you, sir,” she answered, directing her attention to Landry once more before she lost her courage.

Landry’s expression changed, his glowering at Thomas interrupted by her answer and transforming immediately into triumph. He approached her and lowered into a polite bow.

“You do me a great honor, my lady. I will count the hours until I see you next.” Turning to depart, he paused to address Lord Evanston, who had stepped into the path to block his way. “You,” he muttered quietly, “have not changed since Oxford.”

Thomas eyed him with pity. “While you, I see, have tried to grow a moustache.”

Sir James stiffened in offense. Worried that tempers would again escalate, Eliza shot daggers at Evanston, who finally relented and stepped aside, permitting the man to leave. When she and Thomas were alone at last, the space seemed preternaturally quiet. Her slippered feet made no sound as she stepped nearer to the clematis vine hanging over the bench, and she reached out to gently stroke an open bloom with her fingertips.

“I take it you know him?” she asked.

“I do.”

“You could have been more civil, I think.”

“I suppose so,” he replied, with no hint of apology.

“Are you here to distract me?”

“That depends,” he asked, taking a step closer. “Do you find me distracting?”

Eliza sighed, trying to ignore the racing of her pulse. “Are you here to interfere?” she asked more insistently.

“I am here to enjoy the season.”

“So why are you following me?” she asked. “Our purposes are not aligned.”

His brow creased. “Are you saying I shouldn’t try to defend you if a man chooses to disregard propriety?”

Eliza’s heart leaped. He had been trying to protect her. She quelled the foolish thought.

“Coming from a man who disregards propriety on a regular basis, I find that most ironic. Let me remind you that I am a widow, my lord. I require no chaperone . . .”

“And yet, despite your vast experience and advanced age, I would rather ensure you are not caught in a compromising position.” She could see the muscle in his jaw tense as he glanced away. “Besides, William would expect it of me.”

“I think William would prefer it if you left me alone,” she said, bristling. “Of all the gentlemen who could place me in a questionable scenario, you are perhaps the likeliest.”

Thomas didn’t disagree with her. Coming closer, he took her hand.

“Eliza, I am not here to clip your wings and will be too busy with my own affairs to bother you overmuch. But all the same, I cannot stand by if your suitors behave in such a way.”

Evanston was acting brotherly at the moment, but the behavior he professed to be concerned about could also come from him at any time. Indeed, she remembered an instance when it had. Eliza liked to think she’d be more prepared now to guard herself against such an event, but the sting she’d felt at his allusion to his own affairs was making her doubt herself more by the minute. Eliza tipped her chin up.

“You mean if they behave like you would?”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Actually, yes.”

“Forgive me, but it seems you are familiar with Sir James and have formulated your opinion already,” she snapped. “I, as of yet, have no real opinion of him, and would appreciate you giving me space to create one. That is, unless you know him to be something other than a gentleman.”

He released her hand at last. “Landry has always had a self-righteous air about him—”

“The man would likely say the same of you,” she said with a small laugh.

“—but despite my bias against him, he is sure to be worthy,” he added, shocking her into silence. “You are beautiful, Eliza, and have much to offer that these spoiled debutantes do not. Landry will not be your sole suitor; I only ask that you be careful.”

Eliza stared at him in astonishment, unable to move past something he’d said.

You are beautiful.

Deep down, the part of her that longed to be close to him rejoiced at hearing the words. But the girl who had been humiliated by him in her own drawing room was not nearly as forgiving. She knew it was lunacy to believe that his acknowledging her prettiness could amount to something like love, but the question remained: Would it matter even if it did? Thinking back to her father’s words and William’s warnings, she knew that it wouldn’t.

And he was most definitely not being serious. The viscount was rarely serious, after all.

Her heart thundered in her ears. “I will thank you to not speak of beauty, Lord Evanston, even in jest.”

“In jest?” Realization dawned on his face. “Eliza—”

The door burst open and Caroline rushed onto the terraced steps. “There you are! My goodness, I have spent a quarter of an hour looking for you . . .” Her words faltered when she perceived that Eliza was not alone and, more importantly, who she was with. She dipped into a surprised curtsy, and Lord Evanston bowed back in kind. “I beg your pardon, my lord. All is well here, I hope?” she asked, her eyes darting to Eliza in confusion.

Eliza had to laugh. She’d come outside to seek respite, from the heat and from the viscount, and had only succeeded in perspiring further in the presence of the man she’d been hoping to evade. Snapping open her reticule, she removed her handkerchief and touched it to her forehead.

“I am overheated, I fear,” she stated, perhaps more urgently than she felt. She latched the decorative vessel closed. “Do you think we will be missed if we leave now, Caroline?”

“I am happy to oblige. The only interesting man at the party was one of the first to depart,” she said glumly, then winced up at Evanston. “No offense meant, of course.”

“None taken, although I hope not everyone present tonight shares your sentiments.”

Eliza couldn’t tell if he meant that as a general comment or had directed it at her, but she had grown weary of guessing at his motives. With a decisive swish of her skirts, she traversed up the flagstone steps, pausing at the top to spin round and lower into a curtsy.

“Good evening, Lord Evanston.”

Before he could make his bow or even say a parting word, she continued on her way into the residence, eager to place as much space between the two of them as possible.

Evanston waited until the door had shut behind the two ladies, then ambled to the spot where Eliza had stood. A charming bench, a carved trellis with flowering vines overhead, mossy ground cover underfoot.

A card on the flagstones, trapped in the moss.

The scrap must have fluttered out of Eliza’s reticule when she’d removed her handkerchief. She had been too occupied to notice.

I only ask that you be careful.

His words to her echoed loudly in his mind, and he felt the force of his own hypocrisy. Thomas ignored his conscience on a daily basis, but that didn’t mean it never voiced itself.

Lowering himself down onto the bench, he sighed, gazing up at the tiny swatch of night sky. He was astonished to discover that Eliza somehow thought herself lacking, but she had always been exceedingly modest. Tonight, though, he had said too much. And to his dismay, he was growing increasingly obsessed with the idea of having Eliza all to himself. At least for a time, until she found an actual husband. Perhaps even afterwards too if she allowed it.

Evanston knew it was beyond wrong to even attempt such a thing. That there were many female guests lingering in the drawing room who would be more than happy to distract his misguided lust. Briefly, he considered making use of one before the night was through.

Yes, he thought. Perhaps he could even find a flaxen-haired beauty with shining green eyes . . .

With a scowl, he rubbed his temples. The idea didn’t hold as much excitement as it should have. And the thought of Eliza being courted by another was beginning to weigh on him in ways he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t certain what to make of that.

Shaking his head, he stared down at the card on the ground, leaning forwards to extract the scrap from its entanglement. It appeared to be blank.

No, not blank. There was text on the opposite side and one of the corners had been folded over. It was a calling card. He flipped it over between his fingers, expecting nothing significant, only to have his breath catch in his throat. A grin slowly spread across his face.

It was his calling card, and Eliza had dropped it.