by Eva Devon
“She’ll be here this afternoon.”
“You invited her to the house party?” Cordelia exclaimed.
He really had blazed away at his determination to assist her. He was quite lucky to know Cordelia and her generosity so well. “I have.”
“How?” she demanded, though not angry.
He gave her a guilty smile. “I maneuvered the truth a bit.”
“A bit?” she scoffed, her blonde curls bouncing at her neck.
“A great deal,” he confessed. “But I couldn’t leave her to face that lot this season. You know what a misery Christmas can be in a difficult family.”
Instead of answering, she reached up and touched his face.
That soft touch of understanding was almost too much, so he took her hand and squeezed it.
“Well, it’s too late to say no,” she said at last. “We will welcome her to our merrymaking.”
“Thank you.”
“No more dark rooms,” she warned.
“I had nothing to do with that,” he reminded.
Cordelia gave him that stare she possessed that put a fellow right in the place he belonged. “You let her stay.”
So he had. Though risky to confess all to his sister, he’d felt it imperative to make plain the circumstances in which Lady Evangeline had sought him out.
“I will do nothing to impede her marriageability,” he declared firmly. And he wouldn’t. He wanted Evangeline to achieve her wish.
She arched a brow. “That’s rather vague but it will do. I think it best you let me take care of this now. You’ve done enough.”
He winked.
“You are a devil, Brother.”
“You adore it.”
“I do.” She gave him a playful hit to the shoulder. “Luckily for you. Come then, let us have a glass of champagne.”
“Now?” he asked, looking out to the late winter sunshine spilling through the tall windows.
“As my mother-in-law would say, is there ever a better time?”
He laughed again, something that happened a great deal whenever Cordelia was present. Her mother-in-law was famous throughout England as a woman who loved life. Cordelia had become one, too.
“I could think of nothing better,” he replied.
“Wonderful. And then you can go out and do whatever it is gentlemen do before dinner.”
“Whatever you command.”
“I should say so,” she teased before ringing the bell.
The coach raced up the icy drive, rattling along the raked gravel and Evangeline could not help but peer at the massive country home sprawling before her.
Her companion, Miss Treadwell, sat across from her, chattering away.
The two had been friends since childhood, but Miss Treadwell had always been in that dubious position of paid employee. A companion for Evangeline since she had so few. Miss Treadwell had made the long, painful years bearable.
She had barely heard a word of her friend’s excitement as they crossed the boundary of the Hunt Dukedom’s vast estate. They’d been on the duke’s land for the better part of a day and, finally, the house became clear after a long drive through a copse of oak trees.
It was not just the house, grand by even the standards of her father, that had her shaken.
Him. She would be seeing him again. Her kid-gloved fingers curled in anticipation.
As soon as the coach rolled to a stop, she found her heart had leaped into her mouth. Speech barely felt possible. The coach door opened and she took the footman’s offered hand.
Charlotte followed her down and they both took a moment to take in the opposing edifice of the house before mounting the steps.
The oppressive weight that had pressed down on her for so long lifted as something deep within her whispered that it was in this house, at this Christmas party, that she was about to find her freedom.
The smile that turned her lips nearly hurt her cheeks.
They hurried into the foyer and it was all she could do to keep from spinning about with glee.
A voice called from an arched door, “Lady Evangeline.”
That spinning sensation came to sudden halt. That voice raced over her, calling to her. Calling her home. But that was absurd.
Anthony Basingstoke was not, and never would be, her home.
Still, there he stood, his dark hair disheveled. Today, he was dressed to perfection. His ruby cravat only seemed to exaggerate the devilish look of his strong face. He smiled that slow, wolfish smile.
Once again, she reminded herself it wasn't particular to her. She knew that. It was a smile she’d seen many times over many parties. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel exceedingly pleasant to feel its force upon her.
“My sister should like to meet you,” he said simply.
She blinked. All of it suddenly came to her that this was truly happening. Just as he had promised. Her absolutely shocking action had actually worked!
She nodded and passed her cloak to the waiting footman. Charlotte stood transfixed by Basingstoke and his proclamation.
“And your companion, of course,” he added, his smile turning to the other young woman.
They both hurried forward, aware how rare and wonderful it was to be summoned by a duchess.
As her traveling boots padded over the marble floor, she drew in a slow breath. It struck her that she was traversing into an unknown encounter. What had he said? What did the duchess know?
Once she reached the arched door, she brushed past him and she did not miss the way the folds of her gown brushed his leg. It nearly made her heart stop. Such a simple thing. A thing which, with anyone else, would have given her no pause.
Yet, at that moment, she suddenly felt herself standing alone with him before the fire, his arms wrapped about her waist.
Heat immediately suffused her features and she barely looked at him, lest she lose her composure.
Upon entrance into the long hall decorated in various shades of blue, she couldn’t help but feel that this house, which should feel cold what with its enormous proportions. . . Did not.
If anything, it felt entirely the opposite.
Unlike her own residence, this grand house effused warmth and welcome.
Holly and greenery had been decked upon every surface, giving the room the most delicious of aromas. As if one was walking through the forest.
Christmas was in a mere few days, but one would have thought from the festive ribbons and colors that it was here. Her parents did little to decorate. A Yule log and mistletoe on Christmas Eve. Perhaps a little mulled wine. But they did not have merry hearts.
The moment she laid eyes upon the Duchess of Hunt, Cordelia, she knew the woman must have a merry heart, indeed. For she was smiling kindly, a strange twinkle in her eye.
Blonde curls danced playfully about her face. And her gown was a deep red; the bodice accentuated with a gold braid just beneath her breasts.
“So, you are Lady Evangeline,” the duchess greeted with unreserved welcome. “My brother is quite taken with you.”
A strange note trumpeted from Anthony Basingstoke.
What had been said? Evangeline longed to know.
“Indeed?” she managed as she curtsied.
“Oh yes.” The duchess held out her hand, a ruby ring winking. “He said I could not go another day without you for a companion. So, here you are. We are drinking champagne and, now, so shall you.”
She gestured to the footman who had quietly followed them in and, before Evangeline could make reply, crystal flutes filled with the bubbling honey-colored wine were passed into her and Charlotte’s hands.
Basingstoke reclaimed his glass from the ornate fireplace mantel and they all raised their glasses.
Just as Evangeline took a sip, the duchess declared, “You are in want of a husband.”
She sputtered, barely managing not to make a fool of herself. Her eyes burned ever so slightly as she swallowed the delicious wine. “What lady is not?”
The duchess laughed. �
�I have known a few that had to be veritably hauled to the altar. But you’re correct. Most ladies do see it as their lot in life.”
Basingstoke gave his sister a playful hug. “Sister, you make marriage sound like a noose.”
“And if you disagree, why are you not married?” she sallied.
“Too true,” he replied while laughing.
As the two exchanged words and filial affection, Evangeline’s heart ached. She had never known such an interchange. It was magnificent to behold, their clear love for each other.
“If you must know,” the duchess began, unwitting to the effect her relationship with her brother had, “which you will in any case quite soon, I adore marriage. If everyone could have a marriage such as mine, I should wish everyone to go through this life two by two.”
To her astonishment, Evangeline blurted, “And if not?”
“Then if they have the funds, they’d best stay single,” the duchess said as if proclaiming from the gospel. “Especially a woman.”
Anthony Basingstoke again let out a barely suppressed, strange noise.
“Do you think so?” asked Charlotte.
The duchess smiled. “Forgive me, you are?”
“Miss Charlotte Treadwell. What terrible manners I have,” Evangeline exclaimed.
“Not at all,” the duchess assured. “These are most unusual circumstances. And yes, Miss Treadwell, I do think so. Now, we shall have no secrets. A secret is well and good when it’s a present. But when it comes to the heart, secrets are odious things.”
Evangeline’s eyes widened, feeling as if she’d fallen into a wild but most exciting storm. “Oh?”
“Yes.” The duchess turned to Charlotte. “Is Miss Treadwell your friend or your companion?”
“Both, I hope,” piped up Charlotte with surprising force, her red hair glinting in the light.
The duchess nodded. “One always hopes it to be the case, but I do know quite a few young women with spies lurking about them. Are you a spy, Miss Treadwell?”
Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “I do not know if I should be offended or pleased that you think me capable of artistry.”
“It is merely the way of things,” the duchess said.
“She is my friend,” Evangeline defended quickly. “Perhaps, my only friend.”
“That is most definitely not the case,” the duchess said firmly. “Not now. For I am your friend, as is my brother.”
And there, in that one declaration, Evangeline felt her world change. Friends. She now had friends.
This time, tears of gratitude stung her eyes and she had to blink quickly lest they be seen.
“Anthony, will you see that Miss Treadwell finds her room? I must have a moment with your young friend.”
Wordlessly, he bowed and took Miss Treadwell’s hand.
Just as Evangeline was sure he was going to behave as if nothing at all had transpired between them, he gave her a subtle wink.
Inexplicably, she felt a rush of relief. He wasn’t done with her. He wasn’t merely handing her off to his sister.
They were, indeed, friends.
Chapter 4
The champagne laced through her veins, giving Evangeline a brilliant feeling. It was a feeling she couldn't recall experiencing in years as she checked the ruffles of her dinner gown.
She stared at herself in the mirror, eyeing the pink lace and bows. Her mother had picked the design, hoping to make her more feminine. She looked like a cake. A cake decorated by a mad chef pâtissier.
But there was little she could do. . . Or was there?
Biting her lower lip, she turned to her small box that held her embroidery. Embroidery was well and good, though she was quite terrible at it. Her mother sent it with her everywhere, desperately hoping she’d give up novels. But there was something in there she might use. Did she dare?
A wicked, little smile curved her lips. Indeed, she did!
Perhaps it was the conversation she’d had with Duchess Cordelia wherein the slightly older woman had treated her with kindness and respect and plied her with wine and told her that a bold and intelligent woman was the best thing to be.
Perhaps it was the sudden freedom of being away from her parents. But she strode to the box, flipped the lid and slipped out a small pair of scissors. She stared at them for a long moment then called to Charlotte.
Her friend, who was in the adjoining room with a door opened between them, hurried in. Her own teal green gown was simple yet beautiful. The clean lines gave her red-haired friend the most beautifully sophisticated air, even if she’d made it herself.
“I need your help,” Evangeline said, her voice catching, hardly believing what she was about to request.
“Of course. What can I assist you with?”
She extended the scissors. “Cut.”
Charlotte’s brown eyes bulged. “Cut?”
“This frothy monstrosity.” She gestured at the gown, her hands fluttering. “I think we can separate the over gown and tie a ribbon about my waist.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened with horror and intrigue “But— But—”
“If you count yourself my friend, please.”
It was the note in her voice that had Charlotte stepping forward.
Carefully, she took the scissors. “You’re certain?”
“Certain,” Evangeline said, her voice hard with determination. “Free me.”
And with a suddenly cheeky grin, Charlotte did just that.
Anthony chatted with the Duchess of Aston, adoring her Scottish accent and blunt humor. The lady was as good a company as one could hope for. Witty, beautiful, married, and absolutely uninterested in straying from her slightly dangerous and boisterous husband.
They had become friends since her marriage.
To her husband’s good credit, he’d encouraged it. Anthony had always disliked men who walled their wives away from the society of other men. Trust, he was certain, was extremely important to a successful marriage.
They stood near the fire, the light dancing over them. The room was bustling with the joyous conversations of well-entertained people.
The Duke of Aston, himself, sat in the corner, quiet for once, playing the pianoforte. Mozart.
As he launched into a sprightly Voi Che Sapete, there was a lull in the conversation.
Someone had just entered, garnering attention.
He turned and his jaw slackened.
“Basingstoke, are ye well mon?”
He could not even shake his head. He was transfixed as was every other damned man in the room.
Lady Evangeline stood in the doorway. . . Veritably naked.
Not naked. But good God. . . She might as well have been.
The silk of her pink gown clung to her breasts, stomach, and thighs.
The thin silk fabric had mere straps at her shoulders. It dipped, exposing the amount of flesh he expected from the most fashionable debutants. After all, bosom was de rigueur. Unmarried ladies even dampened their skirts to make them cling, but Lady Evangeline had seemed far from such an action as well as the exposure of her breasts.
She’d clearly embraced hers.
But he never would have imagined she’d own such a piece in her wardrobe.
A silver embroidered ribbon shimmered just beneath her breasts only emphasizing the pale swells and hourglass shape of her waist.
Her hair. . . Her hair had been curled, a wild riot that seemed barely contained by a matching silver ribbon woven through in the Grecian style.
Half the room was gaping at her.
The women were smiling with admiration and approval. It was the sort of gown that could start a fashion. Perfection.
And yet, he had no bloody idea what to think. Except that, somehow, in one short afternoon, Evangeline had turned into a stunner.
Oh, she wasn’t pretty. Her face was and always would be unusual. Her nose too bold, her lips slightly too plump, her eyes too big. But by God, she’d stopped the room.
And as
if she had absolutely no idea the effect she’d just had, she entered quickly, Miss Treadwell on her heels.
Lady Evangeline’s wickedly intelligent eyes darted over the room, looking for a familiar face.
And then, she spotted him.
Her eyes, those damned blue eyes that had always burned with a hidden fire, blazed at the sight of him. Her lush lips parted in a delighted smile.
He knew he should back away. He should run. In all his life, he’d never felt so completely frozen. Not out of fear, but out of amazement and. . . Desire.
He’d already admired her. Her spirit. Her fire. But now?
Now, he wanted to haul her to a room somewhere in the house, pull free the fragile scraps of her gown and expose the body she was teasing them all with.
Mine, his mind growled silently and then he blinked, appalled by the thought. What the devil was happening to him? Whatever it was, it was so foreign he had absolutely no tools in which to make sense of it.
Miss Treadwell and Evangeline stopped before them.
“How do you do, Mr. Basingstoke?” Charlotte said brightly.
He did not make an immediate reply. He couldn’t. For once in his whole life, he’d been struck dumb.
She gave the slightest curtsy which caused the firelight to play over her face and breasts.
And he could not breathe for the magic of it.
“Sir?” Lady Evangeline said. “I hope you have made merry this evening.”
He blinked again.
“Have you gone deaf, Basingstoke?” asked the Duchess of Aston. The redheaded duchess elbowed him slightly then smiled. “Well, since his wits have gone the way of the chimney, I shall introduce myself. Shocking, I know. I am Rosamund, Duchess of Aston.”
Both young ladies curtsied again.
And he suddenly realized what a total ponce he was being. “Forgive me, Your Grace. May I introduce Lady Evangeline and Miss Treadwell.”
“A pleasure.” The Duchess of Aston leaned forward and gestured with her fan. “I quite admire your frock, Lady Evangeline. From Paris?”
“Yes,” Lady Evangeline said, smiling. “Though it has had alterations since it arrived.”
“Whatever you’ve done, it’s marvelous. And Miss Treadwell, I always feel an affinity to other redheads. People will accuse us of having the worst tempers. But I’m mild as a lamb.”
