Chapter Nineteen
Within Gerard’s light hold, Evelyn felt him tense. The muscles in his shoulder flexed beneath her fingertips. She’d caught him by surprise. Good. It was time she turned the tables. Since she’d first spotted him on that Inverness street, she was the one who’d been confronted with the unexpected.
“Bollocks,” he muttered under his breath. “Ye’re an observant woman.”
“I am told it’s both one of my better and one of my most infuriating qualities, depending on who is making the assessment.”
“My task would be easier if ye didn’t notice everything I do.”
She cocked her head. “And what task might that be?”
“I gave my word I’d keep ye safe. A smart man comes prepared.”
“Is that so, Mr. MacMasters?”
“So formal…again?” He leaned in to whisper against her ear. “I’ve felt yer passion, love. I will never be Mr. MacMasters to ye again. There’s a connection between us. Ye cannae deny the attraction.”
“I am afraid I must disagree. A moment of carnal indulgence does not create an enduring bond.”
The waltz drew to a close. “We will have another dance.”
The words were spoken as a command, not a request. Who was this man to make any demands upon her?
“I think not,” she said with a defiant tilt of her chin.
“Lass, we’ve much to talk about.”
The raw urgency in his tone compelled her to stay with him. “Very well.”
The orchestra resumed their melodic harmonies. The music swelled around them in a vivid crescendo. Gerard drew her closer, leaving scarcely a finger’s breadth between their bodies.
“Would you care to explain why you decided it was necessary to arm yourself tonight?” she murmured against his cheek. “Do you fear one of the violinists has concealed a weapon in his case?”
“If he has, it is not because I am his target.”
“Are you implying that I would be?”
“It’s not the violinist who concerns me.” A steely edge marked his words. “There is reason to believe ye are in danger. I need ye to trust me.”
“Trust you?” She lightly scoffed, even as his words amplified the alarm rippling through her body. “What would make you think I would do such a thing? Why, I’d be more inclined to trust a peddler on the street who tried to sell me the Waterloo Bridge.”
“Och, ye wound me, lass.” He dipped his head to murmur against her ear. “The shame of it is, yer suspicions are justified. I have deceived ye. I did not come to Houghton Manor to attend a wedding.”
She stared up at him, studying his features. She detected no sign of humor, saw no teasing glimmer in his eyes. He’d spoken the words in a tone so darkly serious, a shiver skittered over the flesh of her arms.
“You mean it, don’t you?”
“Aye, lass, I’m telling the truth.”
Her hands trembled against his upper arms. Strong, sleek muscle went taut against her fingertips. So, he’d sensed the small movement.
His admission stunned her. But his words left more questions than they answered.
“But why—why did you follow me?”
His eyes flared with a dark emotion. “I came to keep ye alive, Evelyn.”
…
Hellfire and damnation, he’d been careless. He should’ve kept her at a distance. He should have resisted the urge to hold her in his arms, the thirst to drink in her beauty as she glided across the dance floor in her fine silk gown.
He’d held her tight. God above, he’d let his bollocks get the better of him.
No, he couldn’t blame that part of his anatomy. Not entirely. He’d be both a liar and a fool if he claimed he didn’t desire her. But he wanted more than the pleasure of her sweet body. Gazing up at him as the strains of the waltz surrounded them, she posed a temptation he could not have imagined before she’d rushed into his life.
He wanted her smile. He wanted her happiness.
He wanted her.
Above all, he needed to protect her. And to do that, he needed to tell her the truth. At least, the part of it that would keep her alive.
“I came after ye, Evelyn,” he said. “Ye’re in danger. More than ye know.”
“I don’t understand.” Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned, but she made no attempt to break away from him. “How would you know…why would you believe I need protection?”
“Ye saw some things in that shop that ye should not have. That woman was no ordinary thief.”
She eyed him skeptically. “How do you know this?”
“Ye said ye dinnae believe in coincidences. In this case, yer instincts are correct. It was not luck that put me on that street when ye came rushing out of Graham’s shop.”
“Why…why were you there?” Something that looked like alarm glimmered in her eyes. Blast it, this was not what he wanted. If fear turned to panic, protecting her would become immensely more difficult.
“I was pursuing the woman in black.”
“The woman in black…how very mysterious.” A skeptical note infused her voice. Was she genuinely doubting him, or was that the mechanism she used to cope with her fear?
“I’ve tracked her for a long time. I was on her trail in Inverness…I was close to apprehending her.”
She nibbled her lower lip. “You’re telling me you are a Yard man?”
“Not exactly,” he whispered against her ear. “What I’m about to tell ye must be kept in the strictest confidence.”
“A secret? I do so love an intrigue.” Again, she nibbled that tempting lip. Damn, was she deliberately trying to distract him?
“This is a matter of grave importance,” he said. “No one can know what I’m about to tell ye.”
She jutted her chin, defiance darkening her irises to a stormy blue. “I will be the judge of what I should keep in confidence. If you pose any danger to Sally and the others, I will see you brought up on charges. Or worse.”
“If others learn of my mission, yer security will be compromised. Until the threat is neutralized, I cannae rest easy.”
“Mission? The threat is neutralized?” She repeated the words as if they somehow appealed to her. “My, how very serious you sound—as if you were a spy for the Crown.”
He studied her. She’d nearly puzzled it out. Clever, indeed.
“It is true that I work in Her Majesty’s service.”
“Is it, now? How fascinating.” A little smile danced on her lips.
“Lass, there’s nothing fascinating about what I do.”
A smile played on her lips. “I must respectfully disagree.”
“The tasks I perform for the Crown are at times violent, not fit for a lady’s ears. I cannae tell ye the details of this mission, but I will keep ye safe. You have my word.”
Her eyes flashed with a rebellious glint. “I cannot say I’ve ever danced with a real, live spy. How very exciting.”
Whether she was teasing him or was genuinely delighted at the revelation, he couldn’t determine. The woman was a mystery he had no hope of solving.
He let out a slow breath, easing the tension in his gut. “Ye must not breathe a word of this. Not to anyone. Ye cannae tell anyone why I am here.”
“If what you are saying is true, the others need to know they are in danger,” she protested.
“They are not in danger. Only you are.”
“This all seems rather dramatic. Could it be that you are trying to frighten me? After all, if you are a villain, what better way to cover your own tracks?”
Was she testing him? He shoved a rough hand through his hair.
“A villain? We are not writing a melodrama.”
“It would seem you are the one penning a sensation novel. So much intrigue. Even if every word you’ve said is true—which I doubt— what would possess you to believe it’s your job to protect me?”
“It is my place to defend ye, lass.”
Her sapphire gaze wavered, only for a second. “Because you are a spy?”
“Nay, lass. Because a woman like ye is worth defending.”
…
Evelyn followed Gerard from the dance floor. His words played in her thoughts, drowning out the orchestra and the gaggle of guests. She was shaken, but she dared not show it. Despite her reluctance to admit it, deep within herself, she believed him. The danger that may have pursued her was more powerful than his statements alone had conveyed. She’d read the depth of his meaning in his expressive eyes. She could dismiss neither the man nor his words.
A peculiar blend of wanting and fear descended upon her, filling her with a dull ache. If he’d intended to frighten her, he’d done a good job of it. His talk of serving the Crown was convincing enough. He had not embellished his tale with unneeded details. No, he’d kept it sparse, just enough to plead his case that he served Britain’s interests, brutal when the situation called for it, devious when circumstances warranted deception.
Heaven help her, she wanted to trust him. What woman would not melt at Gerard’s forceful words? Worth defending. He’d spoken with what seemed like heartfelt conviction. If he were lying, he’d missed his calling on the stage. His declaration that she was worth defending touched emotions that had long lain dormant. Pity she put as much stock in those pretty words as she would the promises of a medium who wished to reveal her fortune—in exchange for a modest fee, of course.
Somehow, in her heart, she did not doubt he’d protect her. The biggest question was why—why did he want to keep her safe from the woman in black? Did he possess an ulterior motive? What was it that truly drove him?
Perhaps she’d find the answer to her questions in the days ahead. She’d go along with him. For now.
So much had changed in a few short days. Surrounded by noise and a crush of people, she longed for the quiet of her room. A few hours of peace and solitude to sort things out.
He turned to her, his expression unreadable, as if he’d donned a mask. Utterly devoid of emotion. Calculated to blend in with the crowd.
“Meet me in the gardens in a quarter hour. There’s still much to discuss.”
She gave a nod of understanding, and then, he exited the ballroom, leaving her standing alone.
His brother made eye contact from across the room, as if to reassure her she was not alone and vulnerable.
In her peripheral vision, she spotted Terrence Westbrook. With his sandy hair tousled just so, his fashionable jacket, and his classically carved features, he cut a striking figure. During their earlier conversation, he’d demonstrated a quick, easy wit and a charm that no doubt set female hearts to fluttering.
Quite a handsome man, indeed. How odd that he left her utterly cold.
“Lady Evelyn,” he said, his voice a warm baritone. “I was beginning to wonder if I might have the chance to speak to you again before we’re both old and gray.” The humor in his tone was mirrored in his eyes.
“I do so love to waltz. I suppose I must have lost track of the time.” Goodness, she sounded unconvincing, even to her own ears.
“Might I interest you in another dance?”
She looked down and made a show of wiggling her toes in her slippers. “I’m afraid I’m rather weary. My feet are protesting the very thought.”
“Another time, perhaps,” he said. He cocked his head, seeming to study her. “If I may be so bold, your bone structure is perfect.”
“Perfect?” she lightly scoffed. “Is there really such a thing?”
“Not in the literal sense. But those high cheekbones of yours are quite striking. A portrait in a sepia tone will capture the beauty and character of your features.”
“Thank you,” she said. If only he would shift his intent focus to another woman’s face. She fought the urge to squirm beneath his appraisal. “I cannot say I’ve ever appeared particularly natural in photographs. I tend to look like a mannequin.”
“You have not had the benefit of a photographer who understood the complexity of a woman’s beauty.” He lifted a hand to a ringlet of hair that had escaped her loose chignon and slipped it around his finger. A slow smile tugged at his full mouth. “A woman’s strength is in her softness. Even your hair, with its beautiful honeyed tones, is silky. Soft against my skin.”
Was the gent serious? Goodness, the man certainly did know how to layer on his flattery. At this rate, she might well need a pair of sturdy boots to wade through his effusive praise. It seemed no wonder Catriona had fawned over him so. After all, he’d gone out of his way to praise her lustrous hair and insightful eyes. Pity his appreciation for the character of her cheekbones and the silkiness of her hair left her decidedly unmoved, other than the tense, ill-timed giggle that threatened to pop from her mouth.
Making an escape back to London was growing more appealing by the moment. Such a shame that was not an option.
She composed her features. “Thank you. You are too kind.”
“I am an honest man, Lady Evelyn. I’m not the only man here who appreciates your beauty.”
Something in his tone—a sense of knowing, as if he were privy to some secret the others had been too blind to see—set her nerves ajar. Had he watched her while she danced with Gerard? Had he been following her movements this evening? How very odd. An instinctive wariness chilled her to the bone.
Catching sight of Bonnie, Evelyn nearly breathed an actual sigh of relief. Seeming to abandon the man with whom she’d shared the last three waltzes, Bonnie cut a direct path to the handsome photographer.
Bonnie displayed a brilliant smile that lit her dark eyes. “Good evening, Mr. Westbrook.”
“Have we been introduced?” he asked. “I would not forget such a striking face.”
Catriona scurried over. “Did I neglect to introduce the two of ye?” Judging from the tense set of her brows, the omission had been far from unintentional.
While Bonnie and Catriona paid court to the artist in their midst, Evelyn seized the moment to slip away.
She made her way to the garden. Her pulse raced. Gerard would be waiting for her.
The very thought sent a little thrill coursing straight to her heart.
She was a fool. She should guard herself against the man.
He’d deceived her. That much was clear. Even if he did seek to protect her, he and his brother had come to Houghton Manor under false pretenses.
Yet, she ached to believe in him—completely.
Dare she take that chance?