by Amy Jarecki
Evelyn’s eyes flew open when the wagon jolted to a stop.
“We’ve arrived,” Mar said as the driver came around. The earl slipped his fingers into his sporran and pulled out a crown. “You are a good man, and I thank you.”
The driver slipped the coin into his purse. “’Tis generous of you, my lord.”
Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut. Why was the earl acting so affable? Everyone knew his reputation to be self-absorbed, indecisive, and surly. Perhaps his ability to change character on a whim was why his critics called him Bobbin’ John.
He carried her up the steps and pushed in the door. “Call a physician at once!” Mar shouted as Porter came into the entry with Brutus at his heels barking.
The butler silenced the Corgi with a slice of his hand. “Lord Mar? What has happened?”
“We were set upon by outlaws on London Bridge, of all places. Send word to Her Majesty’s dragoons and tell them to exterminate the vermin from the chaff.” Mar hastened for the stairs. “Lady Phoebe!”
Evelyn’s sister peeked around the landing. “Yes, my lord?”
“Lead the way to Her Ladyship’s chamber. Where’s your father?”
“A-at the gentleman’s club.”
“Send a messenger for him.”
“Is Evelyn going to be all right?”
“I think she will be, but Her Ladyship has suffered a blow to her head.”
“I just have a bit of megrim,” Evelyn said, wondering how the earl managed the strength to carry her up three flights of stairs after the effort it took to dispatch those vile miscreants. “I think you can put me down.”
“Soon.” His face was tense and filled with concern as Phoebe opened the door to her chamber. “Tell the maid to bring water and cloths.”
“Straightaway, my lord—should I send for Papa first or the maid?”
“Send up the maid forthwith—and Her Ladyship will need a tincture of willow bark tea. Then as quickly as you can, send for your da.” Mar hastened toward the bed and set Evelyn down ever so gently. “Allow me to fluff the pillows behind you.”
She leaned forward. “Truly, I’m feeling much better. There’s no need for you to fuss.”
“There is every need for me to fuss.” He grasped her shoulders and helped her lie back as if she was unable to do so under her own power. Then he gazed at her with those shocking blue eyes, so intense they pinned her to the headboard. “You are my family now. We may not have exchanged vows, but we have signed a contract to do so soon. Do you know what family and kin mean to me?”
She shook her head.
“I will protect you with my life. No matter what, I will not let anyone harm you. And if they dare, I will show them no mercy.”
A shudder coursed from her belly to her chest. “Dispatch them like you did those men today?”
“If I must.” He kissed her forehead, then stood beside her. “Never forget clan and kin come first for any Scot. Only then comes king and country.”
Her stomach squeezed. “King?”
Those steely eyes narrowed. “Queen, as it were.”
Before Evelyn asked another question, Lucinda rushed inside, her arms laden with cloths. “I came as fast as I could, my lady.”
Mar beckoned the maid to the bedside. “I think the bleeding has stopped, but Her Ladyship needs her wound cleaned.”
The maid dashed to the washstand and poured a bowl of water. “What happened?”
Evelyn sat forward while Mar explained the whole debacle and Lucinda doused a cloth and set to cleansing. “At least the gash isn’t but a half inch.”
“Och, she bled plenty.”
“But how did you hit your head, my lady?”
“Someone must have struck me from behind.” Reaching back, she swirled her fingers around the sore spot. “I’ll be fine. ’Twas just one blow.”
“She’ll need bedrest until the wedding, for certain,” said Mar.
“You must be jesting.” Evelyn dropped back against the pillows. “I’ll be up and about in the morning.”
“I caution you not to push yourself overmuch.” His Lordship looked to Lucinda. “Where’s the willow bark tea I ordered?”
“Cook’s sending it up as soon as it brews.”
“Very well.” Mar reached back and fluffed the pillows again. “Well then, Lady Evelyn, you’ve naught but to lie back and rest until the physician arrives.”
Sighing, Evelyn did as he said, casting a forlorn look to her lady’s maid. It seemed Mar had placed himself in charge and there was no getting around it. The physician was announced about three quarters of an hour later, and the earl stood over the man throughout his examination, on several occasions insisting he would tolerate no bleeding whatsoever.
Papa appeared midway and the three of them discussed Evelyn’s condition while she continued to lie on the bed with her hands folded, unable to manage a word edgewise.
The earl won out in the end. Evelyn was restricted to no less than a week of bedrest while being tended by a maid around the clock, which would allow her no privacy and only three days to ready herself for her wedding. How on earth was she to manage?
Chapter Eight
Carrying a vase with two dozen tulips, John stopped outside Evelyn’s chamber door when Her Ladyship’s voice came through the cracked opening.
“It has been six days. I am perfectly able to run a footrace if need be. I absolutely insist you allow me out of this bed this instant!”
“But Mar said—”
“The earl? You are my father. John Erskine has no right to dictate what I can and cannot do until we are wed. You heard the physician. He initially said I’d only need two to three days of rest, but, at Mar’s insistence, I have endured twice that.”
“But look at all these flowers. The earl has doted on you so. I think it is lovely. Why not humor him for one more day?”
“Because I will die of boredom.”
John bit the inside of his cheek. He may have been a tad overzealous when he’d insisted she must rest for an entire week, but then he’d been the one responsible for Evelyn’s attack. He should have been more assertive with her from the outset. She was but an inexperienced maid of one and twenty. What did she know of the ruthlessness of men? Furthermore, he should have recognized the gravity of the danger by the hair prickling the back of his neck. And there was another reason he’d acted with undue caution and insisted upon ample bedrest.
If Evelyn were to die because of his neglect, he would never forgive himself. Margaret had died because of him—he hadn’t been vigilant enough. He hadn’t been firm enough with the physician.
He opened the door wider with his toe and moved inside the chamber filled with vases of blooms he’d brought each day. “Run a footrace, did I hear?”
Evelyn’s eyes popped wide as she looked his way. “My Lord? How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough to realize I may have overreacted a wee bit—though I’ll nay apologize. At the time I felt every precaution needed to be taken to ensure Your Ladyship’s full recovery.”
“And you were right to be cautious.” Hull turned, rubbing his signet ring on his lapel. “I say, Mar, why do we not allow Lady Evelyn at least a stroll in the courtyard?”
As Evelyn’s eyes grew hopeful, John stopped himself from expounding upon his fears—telling them how the physician had bled Margaret, how the fever had grown worse, how the woman he’d loved grew weaker by the day. For heaven’s sake, Lady Evelyn had been in good health before she’d been hit in the head.
He forced a smile, hoping it was a playful one. “Of course. I wouldn’t want you to perish from boredom before we take our vows.”
“There, you see, Evelyn? Mar isn’t such an old curmudgeon.”
John winced. At the age of seven and thirty he in no way considered himself old and had never referred to himself as a curmudgeon. He’d tried to make Evelyn’s convalescence tolerable by bringing flowers every day, by reading to her.
John turned. “H
ull, would you mind giving us a moment?”
The duke frowned, glancing between the pair. “Of course, my lord.”
John bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Once Evelyn’s father left the chamber, closing the door behind him, John held up the vase of tulips. “These are for you.”
“They are lovely, thank you.” She glanced from one table laden with flowers to the next. “Though I have no idea where you’ll put them.”
“How about on the windowsill?”
“No—” she gasped, drawing her fingers to her lips. “Ah…silly me, I’m sure they will look very nice there.”
He set the flowers on the sill and picked up a silk sunflower, twirling it between his fingers. “I wish I’d known you were partial to sunflowers. They’re one of my favorite blooms.”
A bit of color sprang to Lady Evelyn’s cheeks. “I think they represent happiness.”
“Aye, and loyalty.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
John replaced the sunflower and slipped to Her Ladyship’s bedside. “Do you mind if I sit?”
She gestured with an upturned palm. “’Tis because of her, is it not?”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, sitting so he faced her with one knee up. Yes, he knew exactly what Lady Evelyn meant, but he’d never own to it.
“When you told me you would protect clan and kin with your life, I believed you. But the real reason behind your obsessive worry and all these flowers, albeit glorious, is because of the former countess. Am I right?”
John took her hand between his palms. It was small and soft like Margaret’s had been, but different all the same. So many things were different. When he’d married Margaret ten years past, Lady Evelyn would have only been eleven years of age. The wee lassie was proving headstrong where Margaret was affable. Evelyn was opinionated and overly confident…though she had the most diverting turquoise eyes. And the pout of her lips had begun to endear him. Though one thing he needed to be wary of from this day forward was that Her Ladyship was far too perceptive for her own good.
He sighed, owing the lass a response. “I would be lying if I told you Margaret’s death hadn’t affected me. I mourned her. But all widows and widowers who remain behind holding the torch must go on and live their lives—cherish the good memories and put the bad behind.”
She brushed an errant lock of hair away from his brow. “Are you able to put all that you’ve endured behind you, Mar?”
Whether he was ready or not, he would proceed with the wedding. There was too much riding on this union, and it had everything to do with clan and kin and nothing to do with his bleeding heart.
Placing his hands either side of the lady, he leaned in and stole a wee kiss. “As long as you promise not to follow toothless wenches into derelict buildings, I think things will be pleasurable and engaging between us. I know I will do everything in my power to see to your comfort.”
She tapped her finger on his lips. “Do you want to know what I think?”
Watching her gaze, he took that very finger, drew it into his mouth, and licked it. “Aye.”
“There’s more lying under the surface with you, whether you realize it or not. I saw it in your eyes the first time we met.”
“But you’re who I desire now,” he whispered. Indeed, this woman was too perceptive. But two could play her game. He slid his hand around the back of her neck and captured her lips. And this time he didn’t toy about. Taking command, he devoured her mouth and showed her exactly how passionate a kiss could be. When she whimpered, his cock shot ramrod straight as he kissed until she was breathless. Down her neck he licked her with swirls of his tongue.
He stole kisses along the neckline of her shift, watching the heave of her breast below the linen. Full, ripe, and waiting to be fondled.
How long had it been since he’d had a woman?
Too long.
God, if he tarried he might take her right there under her father’s roof.
“See, lass?” he growled, forcing himself to ease away.
Her lips parted as she leaned toward him as if asking for more.
He raised her fingers upward. Watching her, he kissed each knuckle, slowly, seductively, showing her how much he looked forward to their wedding night. “Dream of me kissing you, lass. For come Saturday I intend to kiss every inch of your bonny flesh.”
Chapter Nine
Gripping the bedpost, Evelyn exhaled every bit of air from her lungs and gave a nod.
“Do not breathe in,” Lucinda said, her voice straining as she tugged on the ribbons.
Unable to speak, Evelyn held her breath.
“I think you need a larger set of stays,” said Frances, ever the not-so-helpful sister. “You’re as pale as bed linens.”
“These stays are exactly what the modiste—” With Lucinda’s words, the ribbon snapped and the accursed contraption released.
Evelyn inhaled a reviving breath while her breasts slid to their normal position. “Will nothing go right this day?”
“See?” said Frances. “I don’t even think Phoebe could wear those stays.”
“Of course I could.” Already dressed in her yellow gown, Phoebe hopped up from her seat and tugged away the broken laces. Then she held the corset against her chest and twirled across the floor. “Look at me. I’m a grown woman with sumptuous bosoms.”
Lucinda found a new ribbon and held out her hand. “You ought to appreciate your freedom whilst you have it, Lady Phoebe. You’ll be wrapped and bound with boning soon enough.”
“I keep telling you stays are horrible, but you won’t listen,” said Frances. “That’s why I said Evelyn needs a larger size.”
And the stays were only the half of the disasters on her wedding day. After Lucinda took the rags out of Evelyn’s hair, not one curl would sit properly. “I look like Medusa!”
Brush in hand, Lucinda stood back with hairpins hanging from the side of her mouth. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll have your locks neat and tidy.”
“I think that will take a miracle,” said Phoebe.
Evelyn buried her face in her lace veil—which was the wrong shade. It was ivory instead of the pink she’d ordered to match the lace on her gown, bless it. Now she would be walking down the aisle looking as if she were in French mourning.
She bunched the accursed veil in her fists. “I can’t do this. Everything is all wrong.”
“It will be fine, my lady. All brides are nervous on the morn of their wedding.”
“I’d be nervous.” Frances drew the veil from Evelyn’s fingers, slung it about her shoulders, and admired herself in the mirror. “Behind closed doors with a man.”
“You say that as if men are vile creatures,” said Phoebe. “I think Mar is very handsome and pleasant, isn’t he, Evelyn?”
Her mouth suddenly dry, Evelyn had no quick reply. Yes, the earl was attractive—and being in the same room with him made her very self-aware. He certainly was quite adept at kissing. She touched her lips. Quite adept.
“Isn’t he?” Phoebe repeated.
“Yes. He’s…” Beautiful, arresting, stately, and oh, so very brawny. “He’s pleasant to look upon.”
Phoebe shoved Frances away from the mirror and affected a regal pose. “I think weddings are the most important day for any woman. And I want mine to be stupendous. In fact, I think I’ll marry a Russian prince.”
“Do you have one in mind?” asked Frances.
“Not yet, but I have time.”
Evelyn tuned them out. This afternoon she was marrying the Earl of Mar. She would be a countess in a few hours’ time. But that wasn’t what made her tingle all over. That wasn’t what made her feel as if she were floating. And wasn’t what terrified her to her very core. This very night she would do more than kiss Mar, and, to her horror, she wanted him—more of him. More touching. More kissing. More of that insatiable desire swirling through her body.
Was her soul betraying her?
She didn’t know. Sh
e had no idea what being the Countess of Mar would be like. On one hand she expected, almost wanted, her married life to be horrible. But thus far the earl had behaved so differently than she’d expected. Had he been acting like a player would do in one of Shakespeare’s tragedies to trick her into liking him? What about Mr. Dubois’s expectations? Evelyn had never been more confused in all her days, yet she must not turn her back on everything she had worked for. She would be John Erskine’s wife. She would use her position to strive to help the oppressed and work to see that the only true heir to the throne took his rightful place.
Papa came to the door. “Will you ladies please excuse us? I’d like to have a word with my daughter.”
Evelyn looked in the mirror. Only half of her hair had been brought under control. “Now?”
“I won’t be but a moment.” He gave her a once-over. “Good God, Lucinda, what have you done with my daughter’s hair?”
“It will be lovely when I’m finished. Mark me.”
“I truly hope so, else you’ll have to start again.”
While the others slipped away, Papa pulled a chair beside Evelyn and crossed both his arms and his legs. Even his face pinched as if he’d just swallowed a bitter tonic. “This is a time when I wish your mother were still alive. She deserved to see her eldest daughter grow up to be so lovely and marrying an earl.”
“Even if my hair looks like Medusa?”
“Only one side is a bit unruly. And I’ve no doubt Lucinda will turn it into a work of art. She always has in the past.” Papa grasped Evelyn’s hand and gave it a pat. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
She had a fair idea she didn’t want to hear the reason for this visit.
“A mother is duty bound to speak to her daughter before she takes her marriage vows, but today I must do so in her place.”
“There’s no need to worry, Papa. I’m certain—”
