by Candace Camp
When Fitz’s long fingers cupped her breast, light and sure, her whole body flooded with heat. Her abdomen was heavy and molten, eager for his touch, her nipples pointing like tight little buds. He caressed her, his thumb moving over her nipple, coaxing it into even greater hardness. Then his hand moved, delving beneath the top of her dress, and suddenly she felt his skin upon hers, his fingers gliding down over the soft orb of her breast. Eve shivered at the pure pleasure of it, the faint friction that aroused and absorbed her. His fingertips found the taut button of her nipple, and she let out a soft noise at the sensation. Heat snaked through her, spreading through her abdomen and opening her, flooding her with moisture.
There was an ache there now, a yearning, and instinctively Eve moved her hips. He tightened in response, releasing a low groan, and his head snapped up. Fitz gazed at her for a long moment, his face almost harsh with arousal, his eyes glittering in the dim light as he stared down at her.
“Eve . . . Eve . . . we go too far. God, how you tempt me, but we can’t. Not here, not now. There is too much chance of discovery.”
The same old sense of resentment and hurt flashed through Eve for an instant—once again she had been set aside. In the next moment it was followed by a saving sense of anger. Eve pushed out of his arms and onto her feet. He started to rise, but she whirled, her eyes flashing, her hand flying out in a warding-off gesture.
“No!” she cried in a low, harsh whisper. “No!”
She turned and fled the walled garden.
Chapter 7
Eve dashed up the stairs to the terrace, then paused to catch her breath. She glanced behind her. Though she had heard Fitz let out a low curse and an urgent command to wait, he had not followed her. She wasn’t sure whether that pleased or angered her. She wasn’t sure, in fact, how she felt about much of anything at the moment, other than that she knew she had been foolish beyond words to go with Fitz to the garden. He had been right—though it was galling that he had been the one cool-headed enough to think of that and stop what they were doing.
It was absurd. What had she been thinking? She had let the evening—the waltz, Fitz, the romance of the wedding—all go to her head. She had not thought about the rest of her life, only about the here and now. No doubt Fitz could offer her a great deal of immediate pleasure, and he would be happy to do so. But it was not his life that would be ruined, it was hers. She had been lucky tonight, but it could have ended disastrously. From now on, she had to make it clear to Fitz that there could be nothing between them, not even romantic walks in the garden.
Eve shook out her skirts and drew a deep breath, then moved along the wall of the house and peered cautiously around the corner. There were still several people on the terrace, but she could see that all of them had moved to the opposite end and were looking out across the side yard that led toward the stables. So Eve was able to slip around the corner and along the terrace to mingle unobtrusively with the other guests.
They were watching, she saw, a small drama being played out just beyond the hedge on the east side of the house. At some distance away in the outer yard, tables had been set up with refreshments for the villagers and estate people who had come to join in the wedding celebration. The area was lively and a little boisterous, with the sound of laughter and talk and music. A number of people were dancing. But it was not the gaiety that held the spectators’ interest. It was the sight of two of the earl’s servants wrestling with a short, wiry man as he tried to climb over the low hedge into the garden. The man was struggling and cursing, but the servants paid no attention, inexorably pulling him away.
“Who is that?” Eve asked.
A man in front and to the side of her turned, saying, “Some chap who tried to sneak into the wedding feast, apparently. Says he wants to see the bride.”
“Why does this sort of thing always happen whenever the Bascombe sisters are involved?” A woman half-turned toward the man who had spoken to Eve and smiled at him, plying her fan playfully.
It was Sabrina.
Eve could not keep from saying, “I would not think, Lady Sabrina, that the earl’s cousins have aught to do with intruders jumping the hedges.”
Sabrina’s eyes narrowed as she noticed Eve. “You were not here, so you would not know, but at the ball only four weeks ago, the Talbots dragged off another man who had invaded the gardens.”
“Really?” One of the men standing nearby said. “How odd!”
Eve had sensed another woman come up behind her, and now she heard Vivian speak in her coolest tone, “Why, Lady Sabrina, as I remember, that was your party, was it not? And here you are again. Perhaps it is you, not the Bascombes, who is the catalyst for these strange men bursting in.”
Eve smothered a laugh as she glanced at her friend. Vivian was watching Sabrina, the faintest of smiles curving her lips.
“And I thought the country was boring,” another woman commented in amusement as the people around them turned to look at Sabrina and Vivian, their interest in the intruder waning at the prospect of watching two aristocratic ladies verbally spar.
Sabrina’s brows snapped together, and Eve could almost feel the effort of will it took for Sabrina to swallow a hot retort. “My goodness, Lady Vivian, how you do like to spin a tale! If you aren’t careful, one of these days someone will take you seriously.” She looked at Eve. “And Mrs. Hawthorne. How are your charges this evening? I hope the children are enjoying the dance, but I am a little surprised to find that you have left them unchaperoned.”
“They were quite well chaperoned when I came out to get a breath of fresh air,” Eve replied honestly.
“Indeed. Such lovely girls, but a bit of a handful, I expect. You will have your work cut out for you.” Sabrina’s eyes dropped to Eve’s hands, then widened. “Why, Mrs. Hawthorne! I believe you are missing a glove.”
Eve froze. She had completely forgotten about the glove Fitz had removed from her hand. When she jumped up and ran out of the garden, it must have fallen to the ground. She flushed now, remembering, and she could only hope that the darkness would hide her guilty blushes.
“Oh. Yes, I am,” she began weakly, frantically scrambling to come up with a reasonable explanation to counter the knowing look in the other woman’s eyes. Eve would not be surprised, frankly, if Sabrina could hazard a guess about the man responsible for the loss of that glove.
“However could that have happened, I wonder,” Sabrina went on, her pale eyes dancing. “Perhaps we should help you look for it.”
Eve stared at her numbly, but Vivian came to her rescue. “Why, Sabrina, how absurd. Of course Eve did not lose her glove. How could one mislay an evening glove? She spilled punch on it a few minutes ago and gave it to a maid so the stain would not set. We were just about to go up and get a new pair from your room, weren’t we, dear, when we saw this commotion outside.” She shrugged and gestured vaguely toward the refreshment tables in the far yard. “But of course, then it turned out only to be some villager who’d indulged too much in the punch.”
“Yes. I—I had better go now,” Eve agreed quickly. “It does look quite foolish, doesn’t it? Pray excuse me, my lady.” She nodded toward Sabrina and walked away.
Vivian went with Eve as she hurried into the ballroom and across it to the hallway beyond. As they climbed the stairs, Eve whisked off her other glove.
Not looking at her friend, she said, “Thank you for coming to my aid.”
“Of course. What else would I do?” Vivian replied. “That horrid woman. Trust Sabrina to spot whatever might be amiss and grind away at it. I should have asked her what she was doing out on the terrace without my uncle.”
Vivian cast a glance at Eve, but when Eve made no reply, she was quiet. She watched, frowning a little, as Eve searched the drawers for her second pair of long gloves.
“Eve . . .” Vivian began as Eve pulled on the gloves. “I saw you dancing with Fitz Talbot earlier.”
“Why, yes,” Eve replied lightly. “A marvelous dancer, isn�
�t he?”
“Yes, and a charming man as well. If you have a question about a social nicety or a problem involving attire or horseflesh or a persistent suitor, Fitz is the man I would go to for advice.” Vivian paused.
Eve sighed and turned to face Vivian. “All right. Yes. I went into the garden this evening with Fitz. That is where I lost my glove. I know; you don’t have to tell me. I was horribly reckless and foolish.”
“No, I am sure you were not. Fitz is a wonderful man—the perfect escort. He’s witty, handsome, always amusing. But everyone knows that he is an inveterate bachelor. He is thirty-two years old and has never indicated the slightest interest in any young woman. He is not marriage-minded. He doesn’t take advantage of women; I would never suggest that. But everyone knows that he partakes only in discreet affairs with mature, sophisticated women.”
“Like widows.”
“Yes, like widows. They offer fewer entanglements. Sometimes he sets up an actress or opera dancer as his mistress. But he does not marry.” Vivian’s brow furrowed with concern, and she took a step toward Eve, reaching out a hand to touch her arm. “I am sorry, dear, I do not mean to hurt you. But I cannot bear to see you hurt by him, either. I fear it would be far more long-lasting.”
“Don’t be silly, Viv.” Eve managed a little laugh. She hoped it did not sound as hollow as it felt. “I’m not still wet behind the ears. I have taken Mr. Talbot’s measure. I am well aware that he has no interest in marriage. Indeed, I have none, either. I intend to do quite well, living on my own.”
“Yes, I know. I’m not a prude. I would never say a word against you carrying on a discreet affair with Fitz if that would make you happy. But I fear you are far too likely to give him your heart rather than indulge in a bit of fun.”
“I am determined to do neither of those things,” Eve assured her. “I intend to be a sober, responsible woman. One with no interest whatsoever in men or frivolity. In short, a proper chaperone.”
“Oh, Eve, no!” Vivian looked horrified. “I could not bear it if you turned into such a creature.”
Eve chuckled at her friend’s expression. “Most people would not find such an ambition appalling.”
“But they do not know you as I do. You are my dearest friend. You were always so sparkling, brimming with laughter and fun. It has pained me to see you become . . . subdued over the years. I hate the way life has worn at you. To think of you planning to do away with your vivacity—well, it makes me quite ill.”
Eve smiled faintly. “I am sure I will not completely attain my goal. One doesn’t usually, does one?”
“But to resign yourself to a life without love . . . to spend all the rest of your days running errands for crotchety old women or herding silly young girls around, well, it just won’t do. You are a beautiful woman and still young. You will fall in love again and marry.”
Eve shook her head, smiling in a bittersweet way that pierced her friend’s heart. “No, I think not. Fitz Talbot is not the only man whose interest lies in bedding widows, not marrying them. Unless her husband died leaving her a grand estate, a widow is not sought after as a mate. Men prefer someone young and new.”
“Oh, tish-tosh. You cannot tar all men with that brush.”
“Really?” Eve raised her brow. “This insistence that I marry seems a bit odd, coming from you. You are as unmarried as I, and I have yet to see an indication that any gentleman has caught your eye.”
“My eye, perhaps. Not my heart.” Vivian shrugged. “But we are not talking about me. I will be quite happy without marriage. I find Miss Wollstonecraft’s arguments quite persuasive. But you—you are a woman who was born to be a wife and mother. You are as natural at love as I am not.” She dropped her lightly sardonic tone and went on earnestly, “Oh, I wish you would come and live with me for just a few months, at least. Then you would be able to meet men in some other capacity than chaperoning other women about. You would be able to find the man for you.”
“You forget, I already did. I have no interest in marrying again.”
Vivian sighed. “You are the most stubborn creature. Ah, well, I will concede . . . for the moment. Let us go back to the party.”
“I think that I shall stay here for a bit longer. I am somewhat tired.”
“Curse my tongue. Now I have made you sad. I’m sorry. I am such a fool. I should not have said anything.”
“Don’t be silly. You would not be Vivian Carlyle if you held your tongue. And you did not make me sad. I merely want a moment or two to rest.” She smiled teasingly. “I promise I won’t stay in my room, feeling sorry for myself. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”
“Well, all right.” Vivian hesitated for another instant, then stepped forward impulsively and gave her friend a hug. “You are the best of women. Don’t let any of us wear you down. Including me.”
Vivian turned and left the room, and Eve sat down on the edge of her bed with a sigh. She knew that she would have to return to the party. For one thing, she was supposed to be watching Lily and Camellia. But more than that, she refused to hide in her room. She would not give Sabrina—or Fitz—the satisfaction of seeing that they had affected her. She might have slipped this evening, but she would recover. She would set her sights on what she wanted, and she would not be distracted again. From now on she would treat Fitz with the sort of polite reserve that was appropriate for the brother of her employer, nothing more.
But right now, just for this little moment, she thought as she leaned her head against the bedpost and closed her eyes, right now, she would remember those breathtaking minutes in the garden and contemplate what might have been.
Fitz stepped through the ballroom door, searching the room for Eve. He did not see her anywhere, but the place was crowded, so he moved slowly through the throng of people. By the time he reached the door, he was sure that she was not there. He thought of going farther afield in search of her, but he had enough experience with women to know that it was a foolish impulse. If she did not want to see him, he would only make matters worse by tracking her down.
He spotted his brother Oliver walking down the hallway, and Fitz went after him, gliding into place beside the earl and murmuring, “Sneaking a visit to the smoking room alone?”
Stewkesbury glanced at him, amusement in his eyes. “Well, it looks as if alone is out of the question now.”
“Yes, I believe so.” Fitz grinned unrepentantly. “But at least you’ve escaped Kent and Jessop.”
“God, yes. They had me cornered between the orchestra and the potted palm. I began to fear I’d never get away. Thank heaven Bostwick rescued me.”
“He’s handy that way.”
“There’s always some problem or other that requires my attention at an affair this size. Which reminds me—it’s just as well you caught me. I’ve a few things I need to discuss with you.”
Fitz made a wry face. “Oh dear.”
Oliver smiled faintly as he opened the door to the smoking room and they stepped inside. “Nothing horrible. It’s just that I need to return to London.” He crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured both a drink from one of the decanters there. “Business—I had to leave early when I came here, and what with staying for the weddings, it’s becoming rather urgent that I take care of a few matters.” Oliver cut his eyes toward his brother and added, “And yes, I will stop in to talk to your man of business for you.”
Fitz reached out to take the glass from his brother, smothering a smile. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”
“Will you remain on the estate while I’m gone?”
“Of course. You needn’t ask.”
“Good. Thank you. Higgins is quite capable of managing the estate on his own—though he’ll probably want to report to you for form’s sake. And should he have some major decision to make, no doubt he would prefer someone of higher authority to make it. But you should not have any trouble there. The thing is, I prefer not to leave our cousins here with only Mrs. Hawthorne, however excellent she may
be. There was an incident tonight—”
“An incident?” Fitz straightened, his eyes narrowing. “What sort of incident?”
Oliver sank into the chair across from his brother, moving his hand as though to wave the problem away. “Nothing, I’m sure. Some chap tried to climb over the hedge into the east garden.”
Fitz’s brows soared upward. “Who? Why?”
The earl shook his head. “I have no idea, on both counts. Unfortunately, the grooms hustled him away and tossed him off the estate before anyone thought to tell me about it.”
“One of the locals in his cups, I imagine.”
“Yes, well . . . that is the part that worries me a little. They did not recognize the man.”
Fitz stared. “It wasn’t someone from the estate? Or the village?”
The earl shrugged. “I talked to Jem and Bertie myself. They’ve lived here all their lives. And they swore to me that they did not recognize him. A slight man, dressed in workingman’s clothes, an ordinary sort—except for his insistence on seeing the bride.”
“That’s what he said? That he wanted to see Cousin Mary?”
“As best they could remember. But he was bosky, they said, and talking a lot of nonsense. Unfortunately they can’t recall his exact words.”
“The devil.” Fitz frowned. “Do you think it’s something to do with the Bascombes?”
“I sincerely hope not. As far as I know, all the miscreants have been taken care of. Mrs. Dalrymple, the chap who tried to kidnap Rose and Mary, his accomplice. Surely there isn’t another one lurking around.”
“I suspect it was just someone who was passing through town and heard about the celebration and decided to partake of the free food and drink.”
