Viscount Can Wait, The EPB

by Tremayne, Marie

  “Despite how I behaved in London, Eliza—”

  “Stop!” she hissed, her eyes blazing with alarm.

  “—I need you to know that . . . I want more.”

  Eliza’s footsteps halted along the flagstones beside him. Her fingers grazed his sleeve as if to catch her balance, then jerked suddenly away. Thomas slowed his pace at her hesitation, then resumed normal speed once she compelled herself to continue walking. Farther ahead on the lawn, Rosa cried with glee at the sight of a squirrel.

  “More of what?” she asked weakly.

  Christ.

  This was harder than he’d thought it would be. He couldn’t help but reflect on how easy it was to seduce a woman versus convincing one to fall in love with you, especially a bright woman like Eliza. But things had changed with his realization in Hampshire. His desire for her was still inextricably bound to his feelings, but rather than simply seeking his pleasure, now he found he couldn’t imagine settling for something less than absolutely every single part of her. Every last emotion. Every beat of her heart.

  The need to possess a woman in this way, completely, wholly, and without reservation was unfamiliar territory. Her candid question caused him to choke on his own honesty.

  “More of everything,” he finally managed.

  Eliza’s stride continued unabated. “That’s not true.”

  Now it was his turn to stare at her incredulously.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Thomas, just yesterday you hauled me up to your bedchamber without a thought for what it would mean. Trust me, I know what you are after . . . and I would know if that had changed.”

  They neared Rosa, who was crouched, huddled in the grass, observing a red squirrel scamper about the plate she had set carefully on the ground. The creature sniffed at the assorted cookies, flicking its tail in excitement. Before they were close enough to be heard, he placed his hand gently on her arm and leaned down near her ear. Eliza shook her head from side to side, but she did pause ever so briefly.

  “No, Eliza. You would not,” he whispered fiercely. “In fact, I would conceal the truth of it, even from myself, until I could conceal it no longer.”

  She blinked, confusion and awareness lighting her eyes from behind, only a second before William came forwards to clap Thomas magnanimously on the back before passing him to join Rosa near the trees. He clenched his teeth while a fresh wave of guilt consumed him.

  Clara approached the pair to regard Eliza with an abundance of cheer. “Come, dear sister. Let us see what the squirrels have decreed!”

  “Yes,” murmured Eliza in a tone that sounded like relief. “Let’s.”

  Lady Ashworth curtsied politely to Evanston, then casually looped her arm through Eliza’s to steal her away. But not before capturing his gaze with her own slightly twinkling, and very knowing glance.

  Chapter Twelve

  Eliza was not happy that William was leaving on a business trip that was expected to take the better part of a month, especially once Clara had informed her that Lord Evanston would be coming to stay at Lawton Park during his absence.

  She had attempted to convince her brother that the best course of action was his remaining in Kent, to no avail. William could not be dissuaded, and while he would be back in time for the house party, now she was preparing to endure nearly a month of dealing with Evanston in the best way she knew how . . . by trying to ignore him. This had been made substantially more difficult by his shocking admission on the lawn, and she couldn’t deny that the thought of the viscount having deeper feelings for her caused her heart to ache in fretful longing. But it was no matter. She just had to maintain until Landry had a chance to finalize things with her, and this time she was determined to let him. No doubt Thomas would find another lady to assuage his wounded pride, and would forget about her as quickly as he’d forgotten about their first kiss.

  The idea of accepting Sir James was still a bittersweet notion, but she was convinced this was the wisest resolution for both her and Rosa. Eliza knew there was a part of her that despaired over losing the viscount forever, although again she reminded herself, regardless of their friendship and whatever intimacy they had shared recently, he was not hers. And the only thing she could ever truly hope to share with Thomas was the pleasure of a physical union. Delicious as she knew it would be, he just wasn’t a man designed for anything else, and she couldn’t allow desire to be the sole criterion when selecting her husband.

  On this resplendent day, Eliza and Clara were sharing a pot of tea out on the back patio, being pleasantly warmed by the sunlight slanting over the northern side of the house. It felt lovely and decadent at the moment, but Eliza knew that by midafternoon the heat would likely be sweltering. Thankfully, she could enjoy this moment of privacy with Lady Ashworth prior to Evanston’s arrival at the house later. The very thought of seeing him again caused her heart to flutter painfully.

  Inhaling a soothing breath, she admired the splendor around her. Lawton Park was awash in full glorious color, a sight that Eliza would never find tiresome. The pale blooms of blush noisette roses arched and crept gracefully along the stately stone wall surrounding the courtyard. Mossy green ground cover wove its way through the flagstones, and an abundance of her favorite cerise peonies perfumed the air while black-and-yellow-striped bumblebees trundled and buzzed heavily between the brightly colored offerings.

  Rosa ran through the gardens singing, her little legs pumping beneath the tea length hem of her skirt, the gleaming white ribbon in her hair trailing aloft behind her as she sprinted. Her favorite dolly in its faded pink dress was clutched tightly in her fist.

  “My goodness, look at the little darling. How wonderfully she entertains herself,” gushed Clara, beaming with affection. A happy shriek from the little girl punctuated the observation. “Now,” she continued, switching topics, “for the house party, if the weather is still warm enough, I was thinking . . .”

  Clara discussed her plans, but Eliza found herself unable to follow the thread of the conversation. Her mind kept wandering while she sat watching her daughter, who reminded her so much of herself as a child, racing through the bushes with hair flying wild like a heathen. She fondly recalled chases with William and Thomas through these same gardens, musing that perhaps since the boys were so much older than she, they had participated in many youthful activities simply for her sake.

  This was something that, in retrospect, she was very thankful for. Eliza wasn’t certain she had ever fully acknowledged the level of kindness they had shown to her. Especially from Evanston, who was not even a relation but simply a friend of the family. A friend who had no preference for children to begin with. It was a jarring realization that perhaps maybe the viscount was much kinder than he was inclined to let on. Now, many years later, she reflected on that kindness, and thought about the ways it had manifested towards her daughter as well, albeit awkwardly and often at a distance.

  “Eliza?”

  She glanced at Clara with a start. “Hmm?”

  “You seem distracted. Have you heard anything I’ve been saying?”

  “Oh yes. You’ve been discussing your outdoor plans for the house party,” she said, guessing hastily.

  The comment may have been vague, but it also must have hit the mark to some degree, for Clara nodded in agreement. “Yes, right. So the invitations were sent last week, and . . .”

  Her mind unwittingly evoked her recent visit to Hawthorne Manor, recalling with unsettling clarity the sounds of Evanston’s groans and the brandied taste of his lips. The feel of his hands sliding possessively over her back . . . the hard surface of his chest raking against her breasts through the unyielding fabric of her bodice . . . the way he had swept her into his arms . . .

  I want more.

  More of everything.

  It was hard to believe. Especially since she had been the one who’d wanted him for years—since that budding moment of self-awareness. With the awe he had inspired within her as an impressive spec
imen of the masculine sex. She had matured and changed considerably since the first sparks of desire for him had started to smolder and knew his need for her did not go back nearly that far. But now she was curious. When had it begun? Had it all happened during the course of the season?

  And had he actually been trying to tell her that his feelings had evolved into something resembling . . . love?

  Eliza’s head began to ache. She squeezed her eyes shut against the morning sun, slowly reopening them as Clara’s hand slid gently over her own.

  “Are you well?” Clara asked softly, her dark eyes full of concern.

  “Yes, forgive me,” she replied. “You were speaking of—”

  “Eliza.” The countess eyed her insistently, raising her eyebrows for emphasis. “Is something wrong?”

  Eliza gazed out at the courtyard, where Rosa had seen fit to lie on her stomach, her chin propped up in her hands. Amidst the music of birdsong, she could hear her daughter conversing with the various creatures crawling among the moss.

  “Rosa!” she called out, rising from her wrought-iron chair. “Your dress will get filthy!”

  A hushed chuckle was her daughter’s only reply. No doubt the insect now crawling across the girl’s hand was receiving an earful regarding Rosa’s thoughts on overbearing mothers.

  Clara laughed and took a sip from her china cup. “No harm done. I’m sure you did worse to your dresses as a child.”

  “Oh yes. I know it,” said Eliza, sinking back down into her seat, immensely relieved at the benign turn in conversation. “I climbed trees in my dresses.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did, actually,” she asserted with an amused grin. “With both William and Thomas for playmates, how can you doubt me?”

  “Point taken,” Clara replied, her eyes dancing. There was a slight pause. “And how is Thomas faring?”

  Something in Clara’s tone made Eliza think the inquiry stemmed from some kind of suspicion.

  “I believe he is well. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason, really,” answered Clara, shielding her eyes and searching the garden for Rosa, who had concealed herself behind a hedge. “Although, and I might be mistaken in this, things did seem a bit tense between you two the other day.”

  “Did they?” managed Eliza with a barely convincing laugh. “Well, you know Evanston. He does like to tease, and after twenty years of it I suppose I may just be reaching my limit.”

  Clara’s gaze slid over to settle heavily on Eliza, her expression inscrutable. “Yes, I understand,” she agreed. “It’s as if he is unable to tell when he should stop.”

  Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, Eliza simply nodded and occupied herself by taking a long sip of her tea. Clara surprised her with another question.

  “I assume you have rejected your other offers of marriage by now?”

  Eliza set her cup down on its saucer much harder than intended, resulting in a noisy clank. The entire subject—and Evanston’s involvement, of course—still caused her agitation.

  “Yes, of course I’ve sent letters,” she said, staring down at her hands. “I was only shocked that I had managed to garner such attention with Landry having shown such outward interest throughout the season.”

  Lady Ashworth chuckled. “I, however, am not surprised at all.” She leaned forwards, her dark eyes shining. “Tell me of Sir James. Is he a hopeless romantic?”

  “Oh yes. In fact, he caused quite a stir at a ball by paying an immoderate amount of attention to me.” Eliza laughed in reflection, then paused, also recalling Evanston’s fury and what it had prompted him to do before the watchful faces gathered there.

  Sir James was certainly romantic in the traditional sense. He was affable and polite, enraptured in her presence, made certain she received a steady stream of letters and flowers, and had even tried—and failed, because of her—to declare himself. Evanston was not a romantic, not in the truest sense of the word anyway, and yet there was something strangely tender about him. A dark magnetism that tugged her back each time she thought she might have broken free.

  The minute tilt of Clara’s head caused Eliza to fumble for words. “Sir James is lovely. He took me to the theater, we danced together often, and we took a great many walks through Hyde Park. He comes from a very well-respected family,” she rushed to add. “I met many acquaintances of his who all agreed that he is a stable and trustworthy sort of man.”

  Clara’s lips twitched and she leaned back in her chair. “He does sound lovely. I look forward to meeting him here at Lawton Park.” Her gaze moved out across the courtyard to where Rosa still played, seeming to consider something, and Eliza feared she had suspected the truth of the matter. That although Landry could create a stir in a ballroom, he could not quite cause Eliza’s blood to stir the way Thomas did so effortlessly. She’d seen the countess watching them both since their return from London.

  Eliza had sometimes wondered if Evanston’s only motivation in delaying the response to her suitors was to pay her back for her rejection of him during the season . . . a move that might have been more in line with his character before. But a lot had happened over the summer, and now something about this idea didn’t ring true. The only answer that did ring true time and time again was that he, against all odds, wanted her for himself. Her search for a husband would have been more than enough to force his hand, were he to actually feel affection for her.

  In fact, now that she thought about it, Lord Evanston was the one acting like a hopeless romantic . . .

  Both ladies straightened up at the sudden appearance of the head footman. Clara smiled at him.

  “Yes, Matthew?”

  “Pardon the interruption, my lady, but Lord Evanston approaches the drive.”

  “Ah, lovely,” said Clara. “Thank you, Matthew. We will meet him out front. Rosa!” She called out towards the garden. A cherubic face peered out from behind a cluster of rose bushes. “Thomas has arrived!”

  “Hooray!”

  The ladies proceeded to the drive from around the side of the house. They emerged out front just as his carriage was pulling up, and Eliza spied the viscount behind the vehicle, seated astride his chestnut horse. She knew he preferred riding whenever possible, and had to admit it was somewhat humorous he had elected to bring the animal he’d managed to snatch out of Landry’s grasp. Once she had torn her eyes away from the distracting cling of his riding breeches, she met his azure gaze and lowered into a curtsy alongside Clara and Rosa.

  “Greetings, my lord.” She examined him with a wry look. “I would congratulate you on your fine steed, but I happen to know the circumstances behind its acquisition.”

  Clara’s eyebrows shot upward and she grinned in anticipation. “Do tell, Eliza. Thomas excels at causing scandals, but I long to know how he managed to generate one through the purchase of a horse.”

  Evanston swung out of the saddle with agile grace to land on the gravel drive, a flash of surprise preceding a warning glance directed at Eliza.

  “It was nothing. Only a minor coincidence, and not even truly scandalous.”

  At his censorious demeanor, Eliza realized her error. In referring to the viscount’s purchase of this horse, an animal which Sir James had shown great interest in at the time, she was close to outwardly accusing him of trying to vex her most promising suitor. And William would be enraged to discover that Thomas’s time in London had been spent trying to influence the men pursuing her. It could absolutely destroy their relationship.

  She glanced at Thomas in panicked understanding just a moment before Rosa rushed forwards to hug his legs.

  “Hello!” she chirruped, beaming up at him.

  Relief flooded through Eliza at her daughter’s fortuitous interruption. Knocked slightly off balance, Evanston rocked back on his feet then lowered himself to one knee.

  “Greetings, Miss Rosa.” He chuckled softly, casting a sideways glance at the worn doll clutched lovingly in her hand. “I brought somethin
g for you, but you will need to wait until my trunks are unpacked to receive it.”

  Rosa’s eyes widened to nearly comical proportions. “Really?”

  “Really,” Thomas assured her. “But you will have to wait,” he repeated with a wink.

  Rosa groaned theatrically and threw her arms around his neck in a forlorn hug, and Thomas’s hands remained suspended in midair for a moment before coming to rest gently around the little girl. Clara smiled down at the pair, then glanced towards Matthew and Charles, who stood in nearby silent attendance with the rest of the servants. They immediately jumped forwards to unload the carriage, and Evanston rose to a stand.

  “Let us give the viscount a chance to be settled,” Clara said, taking Rosa’s small hand in her own before turning to approach the front door. “Although, I will not forget to ask about the horse, Thomas. Do not think you have escaped me on that score,” she teased over her shoulder.

  He nodded dutifully in Clara’s direction, then slid a chiding glance at Eliza. “Duly noted, my lady. I shall relate the boring particulars at your earliest request.”

  The countess and Rosa made their way into the house, and Eliza felt an unseemly rush of excitement when Thomas leaned down to add under his breath, “And you had better learn to exert more caution, Eliza. That is, unless, you wish to create chaos.”

  The irony of his words proved too much for her to ignore. “Haven’t you managed to do that already?” she bit back.

  “Have I?” Evanston raised his dark brow and paused, silently evaluating her, his gaze running a leisurely pathway across her face.

  Eliza could only stare at him mutely in response to his scrutiny. Then, with an excess of civility, he extended his arm. She scowled at it, knowing that to refuse his gentlemanly gesture before the remaining servants on the drive would only succeed in creating gossip—speculation that all was not well between the earl’s sister and his friend. Since she had no choice, Eliza accepted his offer and the pair started off to join Clara and Rosa.