Chapter Four
The dark corners and alleyways of London’s East End held many secrets and dangers, but Richard strolled through the alleys confident in his skills to keep the most undesirable elements at bay if they should attack. He had become more comfortable amongst the wicked and the depraved than he felt with his own society. A notion that had been first bandied about by all the scandal sheets, but one he had long embraced. These days he hardly spared a thought for those of his society, though perhaps he would make an exception for Evie.
“Evie…” His whisper of her name carried on the cold night air. “With so little effort you tempt my restraint.”
He was losing the battle he had been fighting for six long years. The desire he felt for her was becoming stronger, continuously slicing at his self-control. The hunger for her never seemed to sleep, always waiting for a crack in his control for him to devour and take everything she so innocently offered. Tonight, she’d looked so pure and untouchable that the wickedness in him had roared to the surface, desperate to corrupt her. He’d wanted to twine his fingers in her perfect golden tresses, urge her to her knees, and demand she wrap those succulent lips around his cock and suck him to completion, if only to see the shocked expression on her face for his vulgarity. For a moment, he thought she might even agree to oblige him. She had high, luscious breasts, sensual rounded hips, and long legs that would deliciously wrap around his back and hold him deep inside her as he took them on the ride he had been longing for.
So ruin me…
Good God, if she had any notion of the lurid thoughts she evoked, she would slap him silly. He was so damned happy he had walked away with his honor and willpower intact. Evie was not for him, she never had been, and now with their social standings so opposing, she never would be. He trusted no woman as he did her, and even then, he could not give her his absolute confidence. She had become such a darling of society, a reigning queen of their fickleness and hard-heartedness. She belonged to the world he could no longer see himself a part of. It had become intolerable to be part of the ton’s cruelty and hypocrisy.
Though of the same society, Evie would never fit into the life he had shaped for himself. He mingled with lowborn men and women the world thought of as less than the dirt under their boots, and he’d slit the throats of the men who’d thought to consign his daughter to a life of hell and others who followed similar trades. Worse…he’d felt no remorse at his lack of mercy. What he did now when he met with those with influence was not for his benefit but for the poor and the underclass citizens he and his good friends, the Duke of Wolverton and the Earl of Blade, fought for.
“Ah, Evie, what shall I do about our peculiar friendship?” He had to decide soon. The state of need he existed in for her, and the vow to never act upon that desire, could no longer be endured. Either he withdrew from her completely, or he seduced the charming beauty. His mouth dried and his cock stirred at the latter temptation.
If he were to act on his licentious thoughts, surely then he would be the worst blackguard possible. A discordant sound echoed in the dark. The click and clack of boots upon shingled roofs.
Ah…my shadow is back.
He casually twisted to confirm and saw a boy following him, lightly jumping from rooftop to rooftop, never letting Richard out of his sight. This was the third night he’d spotted his follower, and he was certain the boy had been spying on him when he met with his friend Tobias, the Earl of Blade, at Jenny’s Inn earlier. The boy normally gave up once Richard went into his carriage and departed from the slums of the East End. More likely he would be too much of an oddity in Grosvenor Square to follow him there.
It was improbable the boy was a footpad, but Richard did not underestimate him. He’d seen children as young as twelve slipping a blade between a man’s ribs in St. Giles. The boy could be dangerous, though was unlikely to be an assassin. Richard had made ruthless enemies from his society and from the slums of London for his ideals—men and women were made equal under God, and wealth should be dispersed amongst the masses and not accumulated by a few. He rounded the corner and leaned against the grimy wall of the building. Several shuffles later, and a grunt as the boy allowed himself to fall from the roof, he rounded the corner to where Richard lurked in the shadows.
The boy jerked with evident surprise.
“You’ve been dogging my steps. Here I am,” Richard said smoothly, lightly gripping his cane that contained his foil.
“Wot did ye do with Clara?” the boy asked. “They said ye be the gent who ’ave ’er.”
Clara. The boy was dressed in threadbare trousers and a coat that had seen better days. His shoes had holes, and Richard could see a big toe peeking out. The boy must have been cold, but he stared him down with something akin to savagery. The boy’s arm twitched, and it was then Richard noted the club he held.
“I know of a Clara,” Richard said. He indicated a height to his waist. “About this high, brown hair with red highlights and the darkest eyes I’ve ever beheld.”
The boy’s lower lip quivered, and the blast of hope and relief that filled his gaze was profound. “If ye’ve hurt ’er I’ll gut ye like a stinkin’ fish.”
“Fair enough, I would do the same to any man who harms a child.”
The boy seemed perplexed. “Ye a nob,” he sneered. “Ye hurt us.”
He considered the tears on the boy’s cheeks. “I know of a Clara. She lives at Kencourt Manor, in Hampshire.”
“That be yer fancy place?”
“One of them.”
“She be yer whore?” the boy demanded, his voice rough with rage.
“No, she is the friend and companion of my daughter, Emily.”
“Wot’s a companion?”
“They play together, and they learn the same lessons. At times, they even sleep in the same bed.”
The boy hardly seemed to know what to do with that revelation. “Yer lying.”
“Clara often speaks about her brother with fond memories. James was his name, if I recall correctly.”
The hope that brightened his eyes was so damnably painful to witness. His throat worked furiously, but no sound emerged.
Richard continued, “She spoke of the days before the loss of their mother, how they roamed the countryside in Suffolk, picking wild berries and catching fish for supper. They would also meet with the local vicar twice a week for letter learning.”
“It be ’er! ’ee’s my sister.”
“Would you like to meet with her…live with her?”
Confusion blanketed James’s face. “Wot do ye mean?”
“I will take you to her if it is your desire. If you wish to remain, that option will be available to you.”
“I…” The boy glanced around the dark alley suspiciously. “’ee won’t be your molly.”
The wealth of pain in those words had rage pumping through Richard’s blood. He’d rescued Clara from a whorehouse in the heart of the St. Giles district. He’d heard a young lord in his cups bragging that Madam Delouse had procured him a tender, sweet morsel. Richard had moved to procure her first, offering the madam of the house several hundred pounds for the two young girls she had. His revulsion after he discovered they were both ten years of age had resulted in him making several more enemies that night. He’d arranged for the burning down of the whorehouse and offered the women alternate employment in his factories with a promise they would be safe. “I have no expectations of you other than for you to succeed.”
“Succeed at wot?”
“At whatever you desire to be in life.”
Incomprehension glared from James as he stared wordlessly. Richard spun on his heel, moving slowly away from the grime and despair to his waiting carriage, which idled in a much safer area. He did not need to glance behind him, the boy was following, his club gripped in his hands, always on the ready.
This was a life too far removed from the elegance and ignorance of the ton, a life no lady like Evie could ever comprehend or bear as a part of her life, his life.
…
Proper young ladies did not dream of being debauched. Evie had dreamed of Richard kissing her lips and down over the curves of her body, and she’d existed in a state of acute restlessness since she jerked from sleep in the wee hours of the morning. The memory of the way he had touched her sent a dizzying thrill through her. Though Evie acknowledged she had been quite excited with the thought of acting improperly and behaving scandalously, just for a few moments, she knew deep in her heart she would never act in such an unladylike or wanton manner.
With a soft sigh, she settled herself more comfortably on the sofa in the parlor. With great willpower, she dragged her thoughts from Richard, lest it became evident to their afternoon callers she was flushed.
“Dearest Evie, it is said that the honorable Percy Sutton has made an offer for Miss Eliza Fairfax. We all thought he would have offered for Miss Henrietta Dawson because of how they had been seen cavorting these past weeks,” Lady Jane said, effectively distracting Evie from her turbulent thoughts.
Cavorting. She stifled her sigh. Henrietta was her friend, and she was in love with the honorable Percy Sutton, a thing their society seemed to now be aware of, and the gossips would be ribald since he had clearly thrown over her friend for an heiress with an inheritance of twenty thousand pounds. Evie would have to pay Henrietta a visit soon and offer her shoulder for comfort.
“I’m certain Percy and Miss Dawson were merely friends and had no understanding. She is far too refined in her sensibilities to even have considered him a suitable beau.” Evie hated for their present company, Lady Jane and Miss Trombly, to think Henrietta was shattered by Percy’s dishonorable conduct.
They had already received three different sets of callers. Today she had wanted to make some time to be alone with her thoughts, but her mother had been beside herself. Nothing must deviate from receiving callers. Evie was dreadfully bored and was now startled to realize it was a state she had existed in since the start of the season. Normally, she anticipated her days of having callers, calling upon her friends, planning her life of pleasure and amusement. However, the days had been stretching endlessly in front of her, and all the social events were utterly uninspiring. Not even stealing to the kitchens and baking with their cook, Mrs. Collins, relieved her boredom. Truly, when had it all become so humdrum? Perhaps she should visit Adel. Surely her spirits would be lifted then.
“We will follow the news with keen attention and inform you as we are updated,” Lady Jane replied.
Evie sipped her tea, forcing a smile to her lips as Mother harrumphed her approval.
“And can we expect any announcement soon from you, Lady Evie?” Miss Trombly asked with a sly smile, reaching for a bilberry tart.
“Oh no, I’ve no such expectations at this time.”
Her mother’s face pinched, and the ladies exchanged speculative glances.
“Oh, my dear, we thought you had brought young Lord Ponsby up to scratch,” Lady Jane murmured. “We were all so certain of it.”
“He has over fifty thousand pounds a year,” Miss Trombly added. “And was quite taken with you from his marked attention. It would be a great pity if the alliance were to fall through.”
Evie suppressed her groan. “There is no alliance—”
“We do expect an offer any day,” her mother said with a tight-lipped smile. “Any day now. More tea, ladies?”
She’d already endured a severe lecture from her mother this morning and had stood by helplessly as her mother wrote the viscount a note of apology. He’d responded within the hour, and their carriage ride had been rescheduled.
“These tarts are delightful. My compliments to your cook, Lady Gladstone. I positively must have this recipe for my cook.”
Her mother’s lips pinched even tighter, and a flush worked itself along her elegant cheekbones. Drat. That meant she knew her daughter was the one who’d baked their current edibles. After several more minutes of inane chatter, Evie almost cheered when their callers bade them farewell and departed.
“Mamma, are you able to spare me for a few days? I should very much like to go with Adel to Rosette Park when she returns.”
Her mother frowned. “Reports have indicated Lord Ponsby’s father has been abed from a hunting accident. Their estate is in Hampshire, and only a day’s ride from the duchess. It may do you good to be near, as you may call upon Lord Ponsby’s father. I’ll have to somehow spare a maid to travel with you.”
“If that is your wish, Mamma, I would pay the earl a visit.”
Her mother brightened. “Well,” she said on an exuberant sigh. “I believe Lord Ponsby shall be here shortly. Wear the dark blue carriage dress, it complements your complexion quite nicely, and today is the day if I am not mistaken.”
“It is but an invitation to a picnic with his sisters.” Evie ardently hoped after her honesty at last night’s ball, he would only be open to friendship.
“An invitation that involves family reveals his deeper intentions, and we must act with alacrity and secure him. You must also find a delicate way to indicate you will be in Hampshire soon and will call upon his father. Gentlemen admire such dedication to duty.”
Exasperation rushed through Evie. “Mother, I have no intention of answering favorably to his offer if he shall make one.”
Slow outrage dawned in the countess’s eyes. “You will accept, young lady. This household cannot afford your stubborn nature any longer.”
“Lord Ponsby and I do not suit.”
“You dismiss his good and agreeable nature.”
She glanced down into the steaming teacup. “And his coffers?”
“Do not be so vulgar, but it does not hurt your circumstances that he has over fifty thousand pounds a year.”
“I do not care about his wealth, Mamma.”
“You will accept his offer when it comes, Evie.”
“Mamma, please, how can I marry the viscount when I love another?”
“Love?” she scoffed. “You know nothing of love. Love is doing one’s duty to the betterment of the family as a whole; it is not about the selfish desires you possess for that disgusting reprobate.”
Anger flashed through her, and she lifted her gaze to her mother. “Lord Westfall is not a reprobate. He has only acknowledged his daughter, which makes him more honorable than any gentleman I know.”
“She is a bastard, and he now has no connection with his estimable family!”
Evie flinched. “Many men of the ton have illegitimate issue.” Everyone was aware Richard’s father refused to speak with his own son for doing the unimaginable—acknowledging his bastard so that all of society knew of her existence. The rift had been a topic of scandal for months.
“His daughter was left to suffer, she was neglected with an indifferent education, and may have ended up in the poor house.” For months, Evie had ignored the whispers of society condemning him and had remained silent when her mother joined forces with the other ladies. “She is a gentleman’s daughter and has been given the opportunity she should be due. He should be much admired, not disparaged.”
Her mother stiffened with righteous fury. “Gentlemen do not claim their by-blows and flaunt them in their betters’ faces. Even if the marquess had wanted you, your father and I would not countenance any match that would damage our good name with lurid speculations.”
Even if the marquess had wanted you…
“Oh Mamma, how can you think such cruel thoughts?” The pain that pierced her heart was numbing. “I have never given the marquess a chance to be swayed by his charms.” She suppressed the memory of the kiss he had pressed against her lips years ago or the improper way he had caressed her skin in the conservatory. It had been brief, but he had branded her and left her in a ruined shamble. Unable to help herself, her fingers drifted to her lips and ghosted over them.
“This is my final warning. You will forget Lord Westfall, or I will ensure he will never be accepted into another drawing room in all of London.”
Her mother’s threat was empty. “Richard has become one of the most powerful men in all of England, and his wealth rivals his father’s own. He may be resented, but he is also admired and envied.” Evie lowered her cup to the walnut table, stood, and turned toward the windows, hugging her middle. “What is his fault, Mamma? He has taken in a child, one for whom he is responsible, and loves her. Where is the crime in such an honorable action?”
“I shall speak with your father about this, but you will not be allowed to refuse another suitor. You will accept Viscount Ponsby.”
“I will not. It is an imprudent match.”
Her mother’s face flushed and her eyes snapped with anger. “Insolent girl! You lost one of the biggest catches of last year’s season because of your foolish desires. I will countenance it no more. I will demand your father deal with you. Take your thoughts away from that profligate reprobate. He mixes with vulgar commoners and lowlifes. Your father and I forbid you from dancing with him further.” Then the countess marched from the drawing room, slamming the door in her wake.
With a sigh, Evie rubbed the spot on her forehead that was beginning to ache. Her mother had been less tolerant ever since Evie had indeed lost the match of the decade last year. There were rules one had to abide by, and the one instance in which Evie had broken those infernal stipulations, she had hurt her dearest friend and had created a scandal that was spoken of in hushed whispers even months later. The Duke of Wolverton had offered for Evie, and she had allowed Adel to be caught with him in a compromising situation so Evie could escape the union. She had acted with rash selfishness she had not thought made up part of her nature. It was a testament to her friend’s kind and forgiving nature they were still the dearest of friends, though Evie’d had a hard time forgiving herself.
“I love Westfall. At the crest of each dawn, I think of him. He is my friend, my confidant, but I also yearn to be his lover. He makes me ache, and my heart belongs to him. He kissed me once, and I still feel the press of his lips against mine, the heat of his body, and the strength of his arms.”
Words she had declared so passionately to her friend in justification for her actions. It was the only time Evie had ever owned to the feelings he roused in her. But then she had been desperate, unable to bear the idea of being married to the duke, while her heart and body ached for Richard.
A gentle tap sounded on the door before it was opened, and in strolled her father. She hurried over to him, her hands held out. He took them and tugged her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“My dear Evie, you have your mother in an uproar.”
Her father was the opposite of her mother in his temperament. He was quite affectionate, indulgent, and had always supported her when she discouraged a suitor. Even over the powerful Duke of Wolverton, her father had been happy to see her escape, for he truly cared about his daughter’s happiness. “Let us sit, Papa. Shall I ring for more tea?”
“No, my dear, but we must speak with urgency. I fear I cannot delay any longer, and we must have this distasteful conversation.”
The hint of desperation in his words had her mouth drying. She lowered herself into the sofa facing her father. “What is it, Papa?”
A flush worked itself up his face, and he tugged at his cravat with evident nervousness. Anxiety rushed through her. “Please, Papa—”
“I’ve given the viscount my permission to ask for your hand. I expect when the time comes, you shall accept his offer.”
Her stomach twisted in tight, painful knots. “I do not understand. You promised me I would not have to marry someone I did not love.”
He grimaced, rested his elbows atop his knees, and leaned forward. “Our coffers are nigh empty, and I cannot seem to turn our fortunes around.”
Her stomach pitched. “Empty?”
“Yes. We’ve retrenched, your mother has been practicing economy, and I’ve made a few investments with the monies I had, but I fear we acted too late.”
Retrenched?
“Papa, a full wardrobe was ordered for me this season, and for Mamma, too. I see no evidence of practicing economy.” Dear Lord. “Is Elliot aware?” There were rumors that spoke to her brother having a mistress and the lavish way he indulged her. Certainly, if he’d known of their precarious state of finances, he would not have been so reckless in his spending.
“I spoke with your brother last week. He is now aware of his duty.”
“Which is?” Though she feared deep in her heart she knew.
“He has to marry an heiress.”
Good heavens. Unable to sit still, she rose and paced across the room. “And this is the reason I must accept the viscount’s offer?” Evie contained her wince at the pleading note in her voice.
Her father stood. “Yes, my dear, your family is relying on you to make this match. I am relying on you, dear child. An engagement will be announced at your mother’s annual ball in six weeks’ time. Do not make a muck of it as you did with Wolverton. Such antics will not be tolerated.”
“Papa…” What am I to say? She had deliberately schemed to escape marriage to the duke and had caused a terrible scandal. It had been a happy coincidence that the other parties involved were blissfully happy with the situation her scheming had wrought.
“For now, our dire state of affairs is guarded from the ton,” her father continued, as if she had not attempted to speak. “In a matter of weeks, our reputations will come under severe scrutiny. Workers and tenants who are depending on us may very well find themselves in an intolerable situation. Rents must be raised, and many who cannot afford it will have to find new homes. Your mother has already reduced our servants and is closing our townhouse in Bath for the season. There will be no taking the waters for any of us. This family is depending on you and your brother to do your duty.”
His tone brooked no argument, and in truth, how could she not do all in her power to see her family secure?
“My dear child, I am fully aware why you appear so stricken.”
Her heart beat a painful cadenza. “I’m not sure you do, Papa.”
Her father strolled over to her and clasped her hands between his. “The Marquess of Westfall is not for you,” he said gently. “He associates with undesirables. Look at his face. It’s those people he mixes with—no accounts, commoners, thieves, and cutthroats. He is a disgrace to our society. He has ideas, terrible ideas that have seen him make enemies. The arguments he has been pushing in the House of Lords and writing in the Cobbett’s Political Register and The Gentleman’s Magazine are inflammatory.”
A disquieting sadness pierced Evie’s heart. “He is a man I admire very much, Papa,” she said without any discomfort. She’d always been able to discuss the finer sentiments with her father. She’d had his sympathy and understanding when she acted with rashness in breaking the unwanted attachment with the Duke of Wolverton. For her father to abandon all the promises he had made her indicated their situation was dire.
“I’ve been present to witness your admiration of the marquess several times, young lady. The fault lies with me in allowing the friendship you formed with him. My dear,” he said softly. “If Lord Westfall should ever offer for you, despite your mother’s aversion, I would accept.”
Evie gasped. “I thought you found him unsuitable.”
Her father smiled kindly. “He is the heir to a dukedom, and even though his father has cut him off, Lord Westfall is obscenely wealthy if the rumors are to be believed. Certainly, he is more situated to help our family than Viscount Ponsby.”
“Oh, Papa, I wish you would form a favorable idea of him based on his character.” She searched her father’s worried face intently. “How is it that we are in this much debt?”
He winced. “Do not concern yourself with such matters. It is for your brother and me to discuss.” Then he pressed a kiss to her cheek and left her alone with her churning thoughts.
Evie pressed her hands to her stomach and walked over to the windows, staring out at the palatial estate. It was her duty to obey her parents. Her father was on the brink of ruin and disgrace, and they were all depending on her to make a good match. She had to marry, and in good conscience, she could no longer delay. Her family needed her, and she had always understood that marriage alliances within society were not formed because of emotional sentiments. Marriages were made for political alliances, mergers of powerful and noble bloodlines, and for financial gain. From the tender age of fifteen, she had been groomed by her parents and society itself with one single goal—to marry for the benefit of her family. Though she understood her duty, her rebellious heart had always wanted to have some affection for the man she would spend the rest of her life with.
A bewildering mix of anger, desperation, and rebellion wormed its way into her heart. Evie hurried from the parlor, almost running down the hall and up the stairs to her chambers. She went to her writing desk situated by the windows, opened the bottom drawer, and withdrew a sketchbook and several newspaper clippings. She sank into the plush and well-padded chair and flicked opened the sketchbook. The first image was gripping and stark in its details of men on the frontlines of war, positioned with their bayonets, and others crouched in ditches. Though drawn in charcoal, the fears and hopes on the soldiers’ faces were undeniable.
Richard had drawn so many images for her, all beautifully detailed, though some were heartbreaking. But he had done the sketches to capture the places he had been in the war, and even other remarkable places like Vienna, Brussels, and Paris, where his drawings so wonderfully captured the people and their cultures.
The newspaper clippings were of the various eloquent and well-argued articles he had written championing for so many poverty-stricken women and children and the invalided soldiers. He had deepened her admiration as he had been so steadfast in the face of such marginalization from high society, and the love she possessed for him would never abate, even if she wed another.
With a deep sigh, she put them back and sat on the edge of her windowsill. She rested her chin on her upraised knees. How could she consent to marry another when Richard currently occupied all the space there was in her heart? How could she kiss another when it was his lips she dreamed about, his touch she hungered for? How could she selfishly marry a gentleman for his monetary worth, without possessing an ounce of regard for the man? The viscount was charming when it suited him, and he was most assuredly handsome, but the only sentiment he stirred within Evie was friendship. A well-connected marriage would indeed be beneficial to her family, but she could not possibly consign herself to a man she had no love for.
She wondered if she should just ask Richard outright to marry her. Evie chuckled, quite able to imagine how appalled he would be at the mere notion. Her path was clear—she had to seduce Richard, bewitch his heart and soul as he’d done hers. Evie’s breath hitched at her singularly scandalous, improper, and undutiful thoughts.
There was no help for it. She had to be decisive, bold, and dear Lord…rebellious.