Viscount Can Wait, The EPB

by Tremayne, Marie

  It certainly hadn’t been when he’d arrived. But now . . .

  Taking her hand in his, Thomas raised it to his lips and lowered his voice.

  “Would it make a difference?” he asked, brushing a kiss across the back of her knuckles.

  Eliza stared at him in stunned silence as he released her and returned to the party . . . back to the crowded drawing room, back to the whist tables and back to the eagerly awaiting stares of the ton’s most ferocious gossips.

  Chapter Nine

  Lady Frances snored softly amidst the flickering shadows of the drawing room, while Eliza and Caroline conversed quietly between themselves. The servants had disappeared belowstairs to preserve their energy for the precipitous departure of their mistresses, and Eliza found herself covering a yawn with her fingertips and glancing at the grandfather clock as it sounded the hour. It was three o’clock in the morning and Thomas still had yet to arrive, although this was most likely by design. Many balls and events ran into the small hours of the morning and she knew, in an effort to be inconspicuous, that he would time his arrival when most of the carriages had already returned home.

  She wondered at how he might react to her presence tonight, given that he had issued her a strict command not to be there. Still, Eliza found herself anticipating his arrival, as she always did. Finding a proper husband would have been such an easier task without the constant knowledge that Evanston was never far from her, in actuality and in her thoughts. But the seemingly determined viscount had no interest in making things easy. Quite the contrary, in fact. His request that she consider no offers of marriage until returning to Kent was both infuriating and exhilarating, and briefly she had wondered if he would hold her to such a condition. Would he truly withdraw his assistance should she refuse his terms? It was not a chance she could reasonably take when her friend’s well-being was on the line.

  And she could not place her difficulties squarely at his feet. Not when elation coursed through her at the very notion that he still held an interest in her. No. Her feelings for him had been, and always would be, her single most inconvenient obstacle when attempting to settle on a husband. Landry was a gentleman—all of the men so far had been gentlemen—but when compared to Thomas, she found they were simply lacking. Regardless of his illicit reputation, and of the other women whose very existence felt like a dagger to her heart . . . Eliza wanted him still.

  Absently, she toyed with the lace that edged her sleeve at the wrist, preoccupied with her longing. A question posed by Caroline rapidly brought her out of her stupor.

  “So, you have not told me what Thomas required of you.”

  Eliza blinked up at her friend. “For what?”

  “For assisting us.”

  She glanced away. “He has never required anything of me before.”

  The corner of Caroline’s mouth twitched. “And yet, something tells me that this time was different.”

  Eliza stared at her friend, knowing that to argue or to conceal the truth would be a pointless exercise. Besides, she had already been less than honest with Caroline on multiple occasions. Quite frankly, she deserved better.

  “Yes,” she murmured, and resumed plucking at her sleeve. “This time was different.”

  Caroline pulled herself into an upright posture, her gray eyes instantly alert. “What did he want, Eliza?”

  “Nothing, really. He only wanted—”

  The sudden rapping of the brass knocker caused both women to jump. Eliza rose to a stand and smoothed her dark, granite-colored skirts.

  “Evanston is here,” she said. “I will let him inside.”

  But her progress was impeded by Caroline’s grip on her wrist, pulling her back down onto the settee. “Not before you tell me what agreement has been struck.”

  Eliza glanced worriedly in the direction of the front door. “Certainly nothing as sordid as what you’re likely imagining,” she answered. “He only asked that I delay considering any offers of marriage until returning to the country.”

  Caroline released her and stared in surprise. Eliza took advantage of the moment and stood once more to cross the room.

  “He’s buying himself time,” came her friend’s abrupt statement.

  Eliza paused before entering the hallway and turned to regard her. “For what?”

  “To seduce you, of course.”

  The thrilling bloom of heat in her belly was in direct contrast to the grim aspect of Caroline’s face. Eliza exulted in the excitement but was chilled by the familiar shade of guilt a moment later. Her friend thought she was a good and moral woman. Her father had believed the same. But she couldn’t deny being enticed by the notion of being compromised by Thomas, and at the very great expense of her ability to land a proper husband. Part of her was only shocked that she’d managed to resist him for this long, but if he were to keep trying? She could not say how much longer it would be.

  The staccato rhythm of the knocker could once again be heard, and Eliza decided against answering the door herself, even though every part of her ached to go to him, be near him. Instead she reached over to tug on the bellpull and seated herself once more beside Caroline, hoping her friend had not observed her indecision. Within moments, the butler appeared and admitted their guest, whose deep voice could be heard immediately issuing instructions.

  Eliza had often recognized this as one of Evanston’s fortes, especially during the past few years. He was an efficient leader in times of trouble. She could recall countless instances of his willingness to help and his effectiveness once called upon, not to mention the compassion which he could not quite disguise as something less meaningful.

  The viscount strode into the drawing room, his large frame and dark hair unmistakable even in the dim light, and she snapped to attention. Frantically, she willed the furious blush that crept up her neck to dissipate. He tipped his head to Caroline in greeting, then stopped short at the sight of Eliza. His brilliant gaze focused on her with displeasure.

  “Why are you here?” he asked brusquely. The timbre of his voice resonated through the still of the room and startled the dozing Lady Frances awake.

  “Good heavens! There is a man—”

  Eliza and her friend rose from the settee, with Caroline quickly rushing to Frances’s side.

  “Remember, Auntie?” she asked, soothing the elderly woman with gentle strokes upon her arm. “This is Lord Evanston. He has come to escort us safely back to Hampshire.”

  Lady Frances cast her cloudy eyes at the man in question, who regarded her politely and bowed in her direction.

  “Forgive me, my lady, for the rude awakening. I am here to help if you will allow it.”

  Even with his initial irritation at her, Eliza felt herself warm at his words. He was, despite everything, here at her request. She crossed to stand near him, placing her hand upon his arm and trying not to notice how he stiffened beneath her touch.

  “You have met him before, Lady Frances. At Lawton Park, where my brother resides.”

  Caroline’s aunt smiled girlishly beneath the gray wisps of hair that swept across her forehead. “Of course, I remember the viscount. I just wasn’t expecting such a handsome man in my drawing room at this late hour.”

  This elicited a modest chuckle from Evanston. The noise of trunks being moved behind them diverted Caroline and Frances, who ventured into the hallway to supervise the efforts of the servants, and Eliza took advantage of the opportunity to gain his attention. She gazed up at him, his face half-illuminated in the poor lighting, and felt her pulse race as he returned her glance.

  “Thank you for doing this.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be here,” he replied under his breath.

  She smiled innocently. “I agreed to remain in London until the end of the season. And here I am . . . in London.”

  His eyes held hers fast, then shifted down to where her hand lay upon his arm. “Very clever. Now if you would step away, I’d appreciate it.”

  For a fraction of a
second, she considered tightening her grip in defiance. Contemplated running her fingers over the fine broadcloth of his coat to feel the hard musculature beneath. Instead she backed away, but not before earning a curious glance from Thomas, who seemed to sense a conflict of some kind happening within her.

  “Certainly, my lord. My only aim is to help.” She raised her hands to tuck an errant lock of hair back into place, noticing how he followed the movement. “I do have a question, though.”

  He met her eyes. “Which is?”

  “What could you possibly stand to gain by interfering with my suitors?”

  “And I could ask what you hoped to gain by visiting my town house late at night,” he replied.

  “Answers,” she said smoothly, regardless of the blood that heated her face. “Of which you seem to have precious few.”

  Thomas scoffed and glanced towards the ceiling. “Fine. What do you wish to know?”

  She took a steadying breath. “There are only two possible reasons for you to keep imposing yourself on me in this way. So, which is it?”

  “What are my choices again?”

  Coming closer, she stopped just shy of their bodies touching, and Eliza could see the moment when his azure gaze turned hazy with desire. It was a dizzying revelation that she held such power over him. She moistened her lips, suddenly nervous.

  “I’d like to know—do you wish to bed me, or to wed me?”

  For once, he didn’t have something witty to say. No clever retort, no snappy comeback, no inappropriate comment that would make her blush. He merely stared at her, mouth slightly open, looking very much taken by surprise.

  “Surely you must know what you are after, and all the reasons why I can’t possibly agree to either one.” Rising high on her tiptoes, Eliza placed her fingertips on his chest to brush a kiss against his cheek, watching the dark sweep of his lashes as his eyes fell closed. “But I do thank you very much for your help,” she whispered.

  And with that she left the room, leaving Evanston alone to contemplate his own reasons in silence.

  The noise of Patterson tugging the curtains aside stirred Eliza from her slumber, but it was the stream of yellow light lancing across her face which truly woke her. With a sleepy groan, she burrowed beneath her coverlet, seeking refuge from the assault to her senses.

  “Patterson!”

  A muffled chuckle could be heard through the protective layers above. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but it’s nearly three o’clock in the afternoon.”

  Eliza sat bolt upright in disbelief, her blankets falling away. “Three o’clock?”

  Her lady’s maid approached to seat herself on the edge of the bed, nimble fingers instantly set on the task of undoing Eliza’s plait.

  “I let you sleep as long as I could, given your arrival at such an early hour this morning.” Patterson eyed her with sympathy. “Was Lady Frances’s departure a success?”

  “It was,” replied Eliza, stretching her arms and yawning. “But I am exhausted. I can only imagine how they must feel, as their travels will last at least two full days before reaching Willowford House. I am hopeful that Caroline and her aunt are able to sleep during the ride. I, myself, am never able to sleep . . .” Her voice trailed off in melancholy remembrance of the passing of her loved ones, taken violently from her in a carriage accident.

  With Eliza’s hair finally released from its confines, Patterson slid her fingers through the thick tresses to massage her sensitive scalp. “No,” she said softly. “Of course, you can’t.” She reached towards the bedside table and retrieved a silver hairbrush. Gently, she skimmed it over her hair, made wavy by the braid, and steered the conversation in a different direction. “Do you know if they will stop for lodging? Or were they riding through?”

  “Evanston’s only planned stops were to change horses and find refreshment. He felt that lingering any longer might invite unwanted questions.”

  The maid nodded. “In that, I am sure he’s correct.” She paused. “How was the viscount last night?”

  “Annoyed at seeing me!” said Eliza with a laugh.

  Patterson grinned. “Turnabout is fair play, my lady.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I think I managed to irritate him a great deal, and yet, he still managed to annoy me.”

  “A talent of his. Although when performing such a selfless task, I suppose he can be allowed an indulgence?”

  “Yes,” Eliza admitted. “I suppose.”

  “Well, I am glad things went smoothly. Now we must get you dressed and ready. You have a good many things that need tending to.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Like what?”

  Patterson walked across the room to return the hairbrush to its resting place on Eliza’s vanity. “Like the flowers and cards that have arrived for you this morning.”

  “Flowers? From whom?”

  “A great many men, apparently. And one woman.”

  Although Eliza’s interest was piqued, the maid would say no more. So she hurried to get dressed, certain that Patterson must have been exaggerating or mistaken. Upon the pair of them arriving downstairs, however, she found that the foyer was indeed crowded with bouquets. Oddly, one single perfect ruby-red rose stood defiantly in its own tiny fluted vase against the showy backdrop of comparative extravagance.

  “Oh Patterson, this is beyond belief!” she exclaimed, admiring a bouquet here, leaning in to inhale the rich fragrance of another there. Yet her eyes kept straying to the rose. Something just didn’t seem right, and hadn’t Patterson mentioned that she’d received flowers from a woman?

  Eliza plucked the card from the base of the vase. There was no message, as with the others. Only a name:

  Mrs. Victoria Varnham

  Stunned, she dropped the card.

  “What is it?” asked Patterson in concern.

  Eliza shook her head, her eyes wide. “I—I think this rose is from one of Lord Evanston’s mistresses,” she answered faintly.

  Her maid came forwards to examine the card, then shook her head in dismay.

  “Why would his mistress send you a rose?” she asked, suspicion setting her mouth into a grim line.

  A knock on the front door interrupted their queries, and Patterson quickly shooed Eliza into the drawing room. Seating herself on the settee, she tried to still her shaking hands while straining to hear any fragments of the conversation at the front door. While she could not make out the details, one thing was clear.

  The visitor was female.

  Anxiety surged through her and thwarted her attempts to remain calm. She inhaled deeply in an effort to regain control of her emotions, and when the door slowly opened, Patterson’s troubled gaze was all that was required for her to confirm the identity of her guest.

  “It is Mrs. Varnham.” She evaluated Eliza’s uneasy reaction to the news. “Shall I tell her you are not at home?”

  “And open myself up to future visitations? No, absolutely not,” she declared. “If she wishes to seek me out, then she shall find me, and we will end this speedily.”

  Patterson frowned and nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

  Eliza stood and clasped her hands, awaiting the arrival of the unwelcome visitor. The woman swept into the drawing room, clad in a day dress that was an unsurprising shade of scarlet, her ebony ringlets half concealed by the hat that covered her head. Eliza lowered into a polite curtsy, attempting to smile despite the bitterness that rose in her throat.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, but I welcome you to my home. My name is—”

  “I know who you are, Lady Eliza,” she interrupted with a bored glance in her direction. “My name is Victoria Varnham. I believe you received my gift.”

  The woman was a contradiction, and Eliza steeled herself for the uncomfortable conversation that was to come.

  “Yes, I did. Which leads me to the question of why you would send anything at all, particularly when you insist upon being rude.”

  Mrs. Varnham seated h
erself in an armchair, taking her time arranging her skirts before raising her eyes to meet Eliza’s. “Because it is the only thing you will receive where Lord Evanston is concerned, this season, or ever.”

  Interesting. Eliza sank back down onto the settee. Apparently, this woman saw her as a threat.

  “What makes you think that I expect anything regarding Lord Evanston?”

  Her guest uttered a sharp bark of laughter and stared at her incredulously. “It is quite plain to see, my lady. It’s in your actions, when you abscond with him from our theater box . . . when you usher him away from the whist tables . . . and in every one of your stolen glances while you are in his company.”

  Rather than argue against what was clearly factual information, Eliza remained silent and held the woman’s hostile gaze. She was vaguely aware that her palms were sweating, but resisted the urge to dry them on her skirts lest she betray her nervousness. Instead, she straightened her back and tipped her head slightly.

  “Why are you here?”

  “It’s quite simple, really,” Mrs. Varnham replied, extending her arm to examine the fingers of her pristine gloves. “I want to clear up this little misunderstanding. This idea you seem to have that Thomas has some interest in you.” She smiled broadly. “I can assure you that I hold his interest very well indeed. Particularly in, shall we say, private chambers. I can only imagine that perhaps one of the many men who have sent you flowers here today might be able to comfort you in this time of loss.”

  Eliza reeled in jealousy. This woman’s only purpose was to assert her claim over Thomas, and regardless of whether or not her claims were actually true, she felt certain that he might take issue with any woman foolish enough to do such a thing.

  “I understand completely,” she said with a nod. “In fact, I will pay you a courtesy. I will write to him at my earliest opportunity. I want him to know that I have been apprised of the situation.”