Devil take it…This was going to be the longest picnic ever.
Chapter 28
No matter how much she concentrated on keeping her face averted from Mr. Lioncroft’s corner of the garden, Evangeline was unable to miss him rise to his feet, change places with the birthday girl, and sit back down. Not only was his back to her—and she doubted she overreacted in imagining a personal slight behind the exchange—he now lounged alongside Susan far more intimately than ever, having secured his nieces on the opposite end of the blanket.
Evangeline would never have suggested Susan make an effort to arouse Mr. Lioncroft’s interest if she’d thought Susan had a chance in hell of succeeding.
“Aargh.” Evangeline ripped her gaze away for the ten-thousandth time. If there was an error here, it was hers. She was the one who thrust Susan upon him. If Evangeline had perhaps taken her place at Mr. Lioncroft’s side…Oh, what would it matter? The moment Evangeline left—and she would surely make her escape the moment she had the wherewithal to do so—Lady Stanton would swoop in and leg-shackle Susan to Mr. Lioncroft before you could say “haughty crone.”
“What’s wrong?” Lady Heatherbrook leaned forward, her face lined with concern.
“Nothing,” Evangeline muttered, embarrassed to be caught mooning over someone she could never have. She fumbled for her glass. Why couldn’t she have slept through the entire luncheon like Mr. Teasdale?
Lady Heatherbrook frowned. “Is it my brother?”
Evangeline choked on her wine. “Er, what?”
“You are smiling at the twins and conversing with me and appearing perfectly happy and engaged one minute, but the moment you glance over your shoulder—which I can’t help but notice occurs every few seconds—the most dreadful grimace twists up your features as though sharp needles have been stuck in your skin. It’s almost as if he…That is to say…I cannot help but wonder if perchance you share…”
“Nothing,” Evangeline blurted out, closing her eyes against the heat engulfing her face and the skepticism in Lady Heatherbrook’s gaze. “Nothing at all.”
“I see. Then I suppose it wouldn’t interest you to know he glances over his shoulder thrice as often.”
“He what?” Evangeline nearly broke her neck twisting around to look. She froze when she discovered him doing the exact same thing.
His heated gaze locked with hers until the breath escaped her lungs in tiny little gasps. His lips moved. He was mouthing something. What was he saying? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t even think. The sight of his lips brought to mind the feel of his kisses, the kisses she would never again have, the kisses he would soon be sharing with Susan. Perhaps he even glanced Evangeline’s way to verify she took note of him nestled in close proximity to his future bride. After spending the noontime with Susan, there could be no doubt he’d realized the vast differences between Evangeline and a lady of Quality.
Horrible to imagine another woman feeling the weight of his body against hers, the heat of his flesh burning through her shift, the scratch of his jawline as he scraped his cheek across her skin in order to—Wait. Evangeline squinted.
He had shaved. This morning his jaw had been shadowed with stubble and his attire unremarkable, but now he looked as clean-shaven and tailored as the most particular of ton bucks.
Why? Appearances? Since when did he care about appearances? Since deciding to picnic with Susan? He was Quality and she was Quality and Evangeline was not. Harrumph. He’d looked better this morning. When his jaw was as scratchy and rough and raw as the man inside. When he didn’t cage his true self behind a smooth, pretty exterior just to appease the ridiculous dictates of Polite Society.
His kisses wouldn’t be the same now, without the warm feel of his lips smoothing away the delicious burn of masculine stubble. Then again, for all she knew, the next person to share his kisses might be Susan.
Evangeline jerked back to face Lady Heatherbrook. It took only the tiniest of moments for the countess to unblur and come back into focus.
“If he looks at me again,” Evangeline said tightly, careful not to blink. “Don’t tell me. I prefer not to know.”
If Lady Heatherbrook found this to be an odd request, she gave no sign. She spoke not another word on the topic and allowed Evangeline to spend the rest of the picnic lunch focusing on the rambunctious twins.
Not for the first time, Evangeline wished she’d had a sister. Someone with whom she could play and laugh and tease. Someone she could’ve run away with, rather than flee her stepfather on her own. The solitary life was, well, solitary.
She glanced over her shoulder despite herself and cringed to see Susan and Mr. Lioncroft deep in conversation. They didn’t look solitary. Why, oh, why hadn’t she taken the empty seat herself, if she wanted it so much? Because self-sacrifice made her a better person? Bah. Self-sacrifice simply for self-sacrifice’s sake didn’t make anyone noble—it made her lonely. And maybe stupid. Bearing the Gift was a lonely enough curse on its own, before she’d gone and ostracized the one man she could interact with as a woman, not a witch.
Oh! He was turning his head. Evangeline snapped her gaze back to the twins and threw all her focus and willpower into their entertainment until the servants came to clear away the picnic miscellany.
“It’s time, it’s time!” Jane danced from one blanket to another, clapping and grinning. “Come away from the flowers and trees, everyone. It’s time for kite-flying!”
Susan approached the blanket just as Evangeline rose to her feet.
“Well?” Evangeline heard herself ask sourly. “How did it go?”
“Boring.”
“Boring,” Evangeline repeated in disbelief. “In what way? Weren’t you talking?”
Susan lifted a shoulder. “I suppose.”
Evangeline’s fingers clenched. She waited until it was clear no further information would be forthcoming before bursting out with, “Well, what did he say?”
“‘No,’ mostly.” Susan rolled her eyes. “I believe it to be his favorite word.”
“You didn’t…take my advice? And learn more about him?” Evangeline held her breath.
“Hmmm.” Susan cast her a calculating look. “I learned he’s an artist, and painted all the landscapes in Blackberry Manor.”
Evangeline’s mouth fell open.
“You didn’t know! I was certain you already knew.”
“How would I know such a thing?”
Susan’s forehead creased. “I don’t know…something in his eyes when I asked if he’d paint your portrait.”
“If he’d paint my—good heavens, Susan. What a question.”
Susan’s lips curved into a catlike grin.
After another moment of silence, Evangeline could withstand the suspense no more. She could barely withstand the urge to throttle her. “Susan. What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
Evangeline frowned. “Nothing?”
“I suppose that’s better than ‘no,’ which is what he said to every other query, including the question of whether he’d paint mine.”
“Oh.” He’d said no to Susan, but he hadn’t said no to her. Interesting. Evangeline bit back a relieved smile.
Susan’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you don’t have a tendre for him?”
“I—what?” Evangeline shook her head vigorously. “No, I…I’m leaving soon.”
“That’s no kind of answer. You can have a tendre for him even if you don’t marry him, just like I can marry him even without a tendre. Oh, don’t make that face. I know you believe in marrying for love. But if this is what I must do to escape Mother and rejoin Society, then this is what I must do. If there were some other recourse, believe me—I would not be pursuing him.”
“Why not?” Evangeline glanced at Mr. Lioncroft from the corner of her eye. Who wouldn’t want a man like that to call her own?
Susan sighed. “I don’t imagine for a second Lionki—Lioncroft is interested in me. In fact, I’ve come to suspect thirty year
s of marriage wouldn’t change that fact. If I thought for a second I’d ever be welcome in Society again without sacrificing myself to such an arrangement, I’d—”
“Touch me.” Evangeline held out her hand, palm up.
Susan blinked. “What?”
“Give me your hand,” Evangeline insisted. “Now.”
“But you’ll get a—”
“Yes, I know. Just try it. Perhaps I’ll see you in Society. Meeting a man you do like, who loves you madly.” Someone other than Mr. Lioncroft. I want to see Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft. Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft. Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft.
Tentatively, Susan placed her fingertips atop Evangeline’s palm.
* * *
Dozens of expensively dressed ladies and gentlemen mill about an ornate lobby, some sipping wine, others checking fobs or polishing opera glasses.
Francine Rutherford’s gloved hand connects with Susan’s face, sending her spectacles flying.
Susan claps her own gloved hand to her cheek and leaves her spectacles, broken, on the ground. “I-I—”
“Liar,” Francine announces. The crowd hushes, turns, gawks. Francine balls up the paper and tosses it at Susan’s feet. “Miss Stanton, I simply cannot condone such ill-bred behavior. Now that I know you for the sneak and scandalmonger you are, I am certain no one of any import shall appreciate your presence either.”
With her nose thrust high, Francine pivots and stalks off through the parted crowd.
Susan removes her trembling hand from her reddened cheek and turns to the closest neighbor. The young lady glances down, unfocusing her eyes as if she doesn’t register Susan’s presence. Susan appeals to the next person, then the next, and the next.
One by one, they each turn away.
* * *
Evangeline jerked her hand back to her side. Susan’s face fell.
“No more parties?” she asked dejectedly. “I told you Lioncroft was my last chance.”
“Inconclusive,” Evangeline said weakly. “Please tell me the horrific set-down you received from Francine Rutherford was in the past, not the future.”
“Was it at an opera house? Then, yes.” Susan turned and started across the grass. “That would be the start of the little gossip scandal I mentioned. I’d glimpsed her cavorting with someone other than her better half. And then I told people who it was.”
Evangeline ran to catch up. “Angels above, Susan. It looked like you ruined lives.”
“I know. I even managed to ruin my own.” She walked faster. “I don’t really wish to discuss the bad behavior in my past. I’m not like that any more. Shall we fly kites now?”
After a moment, Evangeline nodded and followed Susan to a patch of grass where a few kites remained unclaimed.
“You know,” Evangeline said as Susan picked a yellow one from the pile. “I imagine Mr. Lioncroft doesn’t enjoy the constant reminders of the bad behavior in his past, either.”
Susan whirled to face her. “I said I know. And you know what else I don’t enjoy? The constant reminders of how much better you think you are than everybody else, and how you always think you have the right answer and forever know to do the right thing. If you think you’d be the perfect wife for Lionkiller, you can have him. He’s heading right for us, anyway. And I’m bloody sure he’s not hunting me.”
“He doesn’t see me,” Evangeline said, palms outstretched. “He just sees my Gift. Everybody does. As soon as they learn the truth, I cease being Evangeline and start being The Girl With The Visions. I will never get to be a normal person. You had it all, and you just—”
But Susan had already stalked off, kite in hand, without another word.
Chapter 29
“Why didn’t you sit with me?”
Damn. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say.
Miss Pemberton turned, slowly, slowly, until at last she stared up at him from under those dark curling lashes. It was all Gavin could do not to shake her, kiss her, then toss her over his shoulder, and escape into his house.
“That is,” he began, then stopped. There was really no way to unsay what he’d just said, so what use was artifice? “I saved the spot for you,” he admitted. “I had hoped for your company.”
A strange look flitted across her face. “Didn’t you enjoy Susan’s?”
“What is it, today?” Gavin demanded. “You ask about her, she asks about you—”
“Susan asked about me?”
The question was innocent enough, but something in Miss Pemberton’s expression was off.
“When I said I wouldn’t—oh, never mind.” Gavin knelt before the few remaining kites. “It’s not important.”
She knelt beside him. “About the portraiture, you mean?”
His jaw clenched. “Why did you ask me, if you already knew?”
“Why did you say painting was unimportant?” She slanted him a sideways look. “If you filled an entire mansion with canvases of your own creation, it’s clearly important.”
“Fine. I like landscapes. Pick up a kite.” Gavin rose to his feet.
“What?” She tilted her head toward him, still kneeling, her upturned face even with the buttons of his fall.
“Choose a kite, Miss Pemberton.” He swallowed. If she leaned forward any closer, her lips would graze his suddenly uncomfortable breeches. “Please.”
“Why?”
Devil take it. He could swear he felt the heat of her breath through the layer of cloth. “So we look like we’re kite-flying, not…arguing. For God’s sake, woman, are you always this difficult?”
An impish smile curved across her face. “I think so, yes.”
“Bloody hell.” Gavin forced himself to back up so that his cock was at least a few inches from Miss Pemberton’s face. She leaned closer.
“I thought you’d want to sit with Susan.”
Gavin bent down, snatched up a kite, and stalked several feet from the pile. “Why the hell would I want that?”
Miss Pemberton sifted haphazardly through the remaining kites. “She’s rich, she’s beautiful, she’s Quality, she’s—”
“She’s not you.”
Her shoulders slumped. “No. She’s nothing like me.”
Gavin dropped his kite. He stalked back over to Miss Pemberton, hauled her to her feet, and grabbed her by the shoulders. “No. I mean, she’s not you.” He dropped his voice and leaned into her, until he was sure she knew exactly what he meant. “If we were alone, I’d show you precisely how you affect me, in ways the Stanton chit never could.”
She blushed, leapt away from him, busied herself with the kites. “We can’t be alone.”
He laughed. “Put down that kite and I’ll take you somewhere very alone.”
“Stop making me think about…that.”
“Mmm. I’m thrilled to know I make you think about ‘that.’ Care to define ‘that’ for me? Perhaps we can act it out.”
She tossed him what was no doubt supposed to be a glare, but the passion darkening her eyes told a different story. “I will never confess aloud the sort of thoughts you put in my head.” Her gaze dimmed. “What would be the point? I’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”
“All the more reason,” he said, infusing his voice with as much husky rakishness as he could muster.
She shook her head, unmoved by his best attempt at charm. A terrible seriousness replaced her earlier teasing look. “I’d like to leave today.”
“Today?” he choked, then cleared his throat. If she’d rather talk leaving than loving, fine. He could accommodate her either way. He gestured toward the fashionable coats and pelisses dotting the wide expanse of his front lawn. “Did you figure out which one of these ingrates wishes me to hang in their stead?”
“It could be anyone.” She stepped in front of him, presenting him with her back. “Except us.”
“Except us,” Gavin agreed softly. She was so close…It would be nothing to reach out, wrap his arms around her, tuck her body against his.
Nothing but scandal. He stepped aside. “And the children. And Rose.”
She turned, handed him a bright orange kite, frowned. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“I told you—I can’t picture my sister murdering her own husband.” Gavin began to unwind a few feet of twine.
“Plenty of women would kill to escape their husbands. You cannot discount it.” Miss Pemberton squinted at him. “But that wasn’t who I meant.”
He stopped unraveling twine. “Not one of my nieces. They’re innocents!”
“Probably,” she agreed. “But can you swear it?”
“What do you think happened? The twins clubbed the rotter over his head with their doll?” He shook his head, laughed, ran forward a few yards until the brisk autumn breeze caught the orange fabric of the kite and lifted it into the air.
She ran with him for a while, watching the kite soar across the sky. And then: “Not the twins…Nancy.”
He stopped running. “Nancy?”
“Think about it.” Miss Pemberton plucked the twine from his hands, allowing the spool to bob and unroll with the will of the wind. “She’d want to hurt her father for the same reasons. He struck her mother. And what about the French tutor?”
Gavin hooked his thumbs in his waistband. “What French tutor?”
“The French tutor Lord Heatherbrook sent away for stealing his daughter’s heart.” Miss Pemberton darted forward to steady the kite. “And kisses.”
He chased after her. “That better be all he stole from her, or I’ll hunt the salaud down myself.”
“Precisely how Lord Heatherbrook reacted,” she called over her shoulder. “How well do you think that was received by a young woman in love?”
“But to kill him for it?” Gavin reached for her, curved his hands around her shoulders, turned her toward his niece. “Look at her. She’s flying a kite. Just like us.” He plucked the spool from her hands. “Admit it…Nancy hasn’t been acting guilty.”
But as soon as he said this, he remembered the scene on the staircase.
Too Wicked to Kiss: Gothic Love Stories #1 Page 22
