by Eva Devon
Evangeline did but the sound held no mirth. “Excuse me, I need. . .”
But she did not finish the phrase. Instead, she turned on her heel and, to all appearances, fled.
“Do not follow,” the duchess warned, her voice kind but hard.
“But she is distressed,” Anthony protested.
The Duchess of Aston’s eyes were filled with sadness. “Because she knows.”
“Knows, Your Grace?” he queried, though he wished he could disappear.
“That her hopes will be disappointed.”
Anthony shook his head, not understanding. “Ellesmere will fail her?”
The duchess narrowed her gaze. “No, you great fool.”
And with that, Rosamund whipped away, muttering, “I need a cup of wine.”
What the blazes was she speaking of if not Ellesmere? For it was clear that the earl was infatuated and everything that Lady Evangeline had hoped for at this gathering was about to transpire.
His breath caught in his throat. Rosamund had accused him of being a fool. She couldn’t possibly mean. . .
Despite himself, he gazed in the direction that Lady Evangeline had disappeared. She couldn’t possibly be hoping that he. . .
No. She couldn’t. And if she was, he had to make her understand that he would not be the man she hoped for. No matter how secretly he had begun to wish it in the deepest part of his soul.
Chapter 8
Evangeline attempted to read her book, hoping that the novel written by an anonymous lady would sweep her away from the man who’d stolen her wits. But every time she read of the mysterious, lordly hero on the page, Anthony’s face came to mind.
“Blast,” she muttered then flung her book down. The pages opened and she felt immediate guilt. Her poor book was not to blame. Just her foolish heart.
Slowly, she bent and picked the tome up from the ornately woven red rug and placed it carefully down on the polished mahogany table. All her life, she’d dreamed simply of escape. But something had happened in recent days. She’d dared to dream of something more.
The soft knock at her door jarred her away from the fire and she stared at the wood panel, certain she’d imagined it.
But then it came again. So soft she’d have missed it if she’d been engrossed in her book. She glanced to the door separating her room from Charlotte’s. Her friend had sought sleep hours ago and was, no doubt, deep in Morpheus’ arms.
Heart hammering in her chest, Evangeline walked to the door and opened it cautiously.
It was almost as if she had conjured him with her imaginings.
“What on earth are you doing?” she hissed.
“May I come in?” His voice was barely more than a rough breath.
Wisdom bade her to shut the door in his face. Desire made her do something very different. She opened the panel but lifted her fingers to her lips in the acknowledged gesture of quiet. “Miss Treadwell sleeps in the next chamber. I’ve shut the door but I don’t wish her to hear voices.”
He nodded as he strode quietly in. He sought out the fire, his gaze fixed on the ruby flames which gave him an otherworldly glow.
She shut the door then slowly crossed to him.
“What has possessed you?” she asked, desperately glad he had come yet terrified by the prospect of the consequences of being found.
“You know,” he said softly.
“I don’t.”
“You. You have possessed me.”
She gaped at him even as his words stole through her, burning her with their intensity and meaning.
“I don’t believe you,” she replied even though she did. There was something wild about him just now, his hair ruffled, his gaze dark.
“Don’t you?” he asked, hunger roughening his tone.
She bit her lower lip then nodded. “It is hard for me to believe you could want me but I see you do.”
Pain tensed his features. “I hate to hear you speak thusly. I saw your worth the moment you came to me alone. I wish the world had seen it sooner.”
She smiled then. “So do I.”
“Even so.” His face hardened. “I’ve come to tell you nothing can come of this thing between us.”
There. There it was. Her dream, the fantasy she had barely acknowledged, dashed.
But then, she lifted her chin. Seizing her newfound boldness, she looked him squarely in the eye and said, “I don’t believe you.”
“You should.”
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments,” she blurted, her voice hushed despite the abruptness of it.
A wry smile twisted his lips. “Shakespeare? I did not realize you were such a romantic.”
“Shakespeare isn’t romantic,” she corrected. “Not really. Beautiful, poignant, true, but romantic? No. He saw people for what they were.”
“Oh?” he challenged. “And what was that?”
“Imperfect.”
“Ah.” He drew in a long breath. “I cannot agree.”
“Indeed?” She was surprised. She had not thought him to be a man who’d given it such thought.
“Not to him understanding humanity but his lack of romanticism.”
She frowned impatiently. Were they to argue the merits of The Bard at such a moment?
He hesitated then began in the gentlest of tones whilst slipping his fingers around hers. “What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon; She is my essence. . .”
She gasped, for it seemed with every “Silvia” he was, in actuality, speaking her name, Evangeline.
“Do you do that with all the women you long to seduce?” she asked, trying to hide her bitter disappointment that he could at once tell her she could not have him then speak so beautifully to her.
“I’ve never done this with anyone.”
“Then kiss me,” she urged, madly. For she was afraid that if she did not ask him to do it now, she never would have the chance again.
“I came here to tell you we cannot have any illusions about our friendship.”
“Since I cannot have you, as you claim, let me have this. And then you shall go and we shall think no more upon each other.”
Had she truly just spoken so boldly? Had she demanded a parting kiss when they had never even had an understanding? But they did. Even he knew it. For there was no other reason than to choose the verse from Two Gentlemen of Verona. They were, inexplicably, two halves of the same coin and yet seemingly condemned to be apart.
The unfairness of it galled her, but she would not beg him to see reason. For reason had little to do with the heart.
“Kiss me,” she whispered again. “Or go.”
This was her last chance to know such passion and record its every detail, and she would not turn it aside.
Anthony hated himself. Standing before the fire, her fingers entwined with his, he hated himself more than he ever had in his life. He hated himself for telling her they must part, even as he took her hand.
For now that he was here, he found himself wondering if he’d known exactly what would transpire between them.
Despite recent claims, he was no fool.
He wanted her just as she did him.
The ancients had believed in the forces of the stars. He had not. Until this moment, where he felt as if he were on an irreversible course that had always been ordained.
So, despite the doubts, he could not deny her or himself.
When would they have this chance again? Never.
So, he lingered, angling his head, savoring the line of her throat, the curve of her lips, the almond shape of her eyes and the promises therein. He had to remember every nuance of her.
With aching slowness, he lowered his mouth to hers. This had to last. It had to last a lifetime.
Wi
thout hesitation, she kissed him in turn. Her free hand slid up his arm. Her fingers wound into the hair at the nape of his neck.
Holding him close, as if he might suddenly disappear, she opened her mouth to him.
Intoxication had always been something created by wine or discovery. But Evangeline was more powerful than any libation, any bit of knowledge, any unknown land.
He tasted the line of her lips then tangled her tongue with his. No passive participant, she gave him kiss for kiss until, once again, what little mind he had with her was scattered.
Nothing else mattered but the feel of her body pressing into his. God, how he wished he could make them one and never let this go.
He lifted her against him, leaving her toes barely brushing the floor.
Her head dropped back, an invitation.
An invitation he could not resist. So, he pressed open-mouthed kisses down the line of her throat, unable to bear the exquisiteness of the hollow of her throat.
Her scent of lavender undid him as he buried his face against her neck, biting the fragile skin ever so lightly.
She gasped and her hands dug into his hair.
The sensation, both pain and pleasure, pushed him further. Kissing lower now, he touched the swells of her breasts.
With her head back, her neck arched, she was the most perfect offering. Except he realized Evangeline was nothing like an offering.
She was partaking.
Her hands slid down his back then paused at his waist. “I have never wanted anything as much as I want you.”
The confession, compelling and powerful, jarred him.
The passion that raced through him, like wicked fire, broke his hold of her.
“I beg your forgiveness,” he choked.
“Forgiveness?” she echoed.
He backed away, his hands leaving her body as if she’d scalded him. But he knew, it was he who burned. Years ago, this had been done to him. He could not want someone like this. As if he would destroy worlds just to have her.
That was the path to ruin. To cruelty.
“This was not my intent,” he bit out. “I cannot. We cannot.”
“Oh, Anthony.” Her whole body seemed to exude acceptance and sadness. “I am the one who is sorry.”
“You’re innocent.”
“Yes, I am,” she agreed. “But you are not. I see the pain in you and I wish you would let someone help you heal it.”
“You cannot heal me,” he said firmly.
“No,” she said bitterly. “No one can. I think only you can free yourself. It is what I have done. But you did help me.”
He swallowed. It was there in her last words. Could he not just allow her to help him?
But he had never taken help from anyone. He feared it too much. Needing someone.
Carefully, he backed away. “Accept Ellesmere. You will be happy.”
She smiled sadly. “I am not yours to give away, Anthony. Just because you do not want me does not mean I will marry Ellesmere.”
“Don’t want you?” he breathed. “I want you more than I want to see the sun again this dawn. But I know where that wanting goes.”
“Where?” she pled quietly.
“To hate,” he spat.
“Oh, Anthony.”
“Hate walks hand in hand with love,” he rushed quietly, “waiting to destroy its opposite.”
“But Anthony,” she began. “Hate is not the opposite of love.”
“It is,” he growled lowly. “I’ve seen it.”
She shook her head. “I know what it is, I have felt it. It is indifference. Hate means you care. The opposite of love is to be banished from all care.”
“I cannot do this. Forgive me,” he said again and he bolted from her side, less careful now, opening the door and rushing out into the hall. Away from the past. Away from her. Away from hope.
Chapter 9
“You lied to me, you bastard.”
Anthony came to a halt in the hall. Though desperate to outrun the demons chasing him, he could not go. Not now. Another wave of self-loathing crashed down upon him as he slowly turned to face a man he respected more than most.
Jack Eversleigh, Duke of Hunt, stood at the end of the hall bathed in the light of a single taper, his face a mask of fury and grave acceptance. “You lied,” he said again, the words a barely audible crack down the hall.
He had. Not intentionally. He’d promised to stay away from her. He had not.
“My study,” the duke instructed. “Now.”
They descended quietly, Anthony having no will to argue. He was in the wrong and there was nothing for it. What was to be done? His mind thundered with the possibilities; all grim until one rang clearly.
He would marry her, of course.
That’s what a man did when he compromised a woman’s virtue.
They entered the large study, its fire crackling. Holly and pine decked the mantel and bookshelves.
Jack placed the taper down on his desk then glared. In fact, he said naught. Worse, he allowed the weight of his disdain to weigh upon him.
It filled the room with its darkness.
Yet, Anthony didn’t truly feel it. He was feeling something else. That thing that he had been so certain he’d forsaken. Hope. It was lifting him up.
It hadn’t been what he wanted. To marry. But this was his chance, was it not? Now that the choice had been made. All along, that had been there. The distinct possibility that he would be caught.
“I will marry her,” he said, giving his thoughts voice.
“Will you, by God?” another voice called from the shadows.
The Duke of Aston popped up from a chair facing the window. “And what debauchery have you done tonight, young Basingstoke?” Aston inquired, though his usual joviality was gone.
“None,” he defended before he realized the inanity of it. “Almost none. But I behaved as a cad does.”
“You are a cad,” Aston pointed out. “A likable cad and a good fellow but—”
“Yes,” Anthony cut in, ready to take responsibility. Ready to do what he must and make the very best of it. “I don’t deny it. But I’ve never hurt anyone and I won’t start now.”
“Then you won’t marry her,” Jack said tightly.
Anthony whipped to the Duke of Hunt. “I beg your pardon?”
Jack’s lip curled. “Is that what you thought when I caught you? That I’d force you to do the honorable thing?”
“That’s not what we do, lad,” Aston drawled. “Forcing. And if Jack says you’re not marrying, then he’s likely in the right.”
“But—”
“But what?” Hunt demanded, his voice a whip. “Now that you’re forced, you’ll have her? Good God man, what do you think of her? You wish to shame her? Or do you think she’ll leap with joy that now you’ll deign to take her?”
His gut clenched. “No. But you saw me leave her room.”
“Yes,” Jack drawled with a shocking amount of disdain. “I saw you. No one else.”
“Someone could have seen me enter,” Anthony pointed out.
“You wanted to be caught, didn’t you, old boy?” Aston said softly. “Take the whole thing out of your hands. Not well done. But I understand it. I’ve done something similar in my life. But you might find the lady will not cooperate.”
“If she were ruined then she’d be trapped with her awful family.”
“You should have given that more weight before your clandestine meeting.” Jack folded his arms over his broad chest. “I take it she didn’t invite you?”
Anthony shook his head. “I went to. . .”
The words stuck in his throat. What an arse he was. He’d gone to push her away. Instead, he’d taken her in his arms. The lies he’d told himself were astounding.
“What do you wish me to do?” he asked. “I cannot abandon her.”
“Ellesmere is best for her,” Jack said tightly.
“She won’t marry him,” Aston said with a smirk.
&nbs
p; “The devil you say,” Jack retorted. “They seem a good match. It’s early days.”
“No spark,” Aston declared with no room for question.
Jack rolled his eyes even as he seemed to retract from his certainty. “Many people marry with no spark.”
“Fools,” Aston condemned.
Jack pointed to Anthony. “Well, they could start a blaze and that would be a terrible marriage.”
“Would it?” Aston challenged softly. “The way he’s gone about it, I suppose you’re correct.”
“I thought you were on my side,” Jack replied impatiently.
“I’m on the side of the lady,” Aston said. “I always have been. I always will be. The three of us standing about deciding her future makes me long for a drink.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably then cursed. “Cordelia will murder me if she hears I’ve been acting like this.”
“Only after she kills me,” Anthony said.
“You’re deserving,” Jack gritted.
“True.” He wouldn’t argue. He’d behaved abominably.
“This will make for a most interesting Christmas dinner,” Aston quipped.
“Sod off,” Jack snapped before wiping a tired hand over his face. “What’s to be done then?”
“Let her decide.”
Aston and Jack swung their gazes to Anthony.
Aston laughed. “Let is not a word to use with ladies. You can’t let them do anything.”
“Poor choice of words,” Anthony agreed. “But, she can still choose.”
“I still say you should cry off,” Jack said, “if this is the only way you would have married her.”
“I can’t explain it,” Anthony said, his voice rough. “I want her more than anything and yet I’m—”
“Terrified,” Aston supplied.
“Bewildered,” Jack added.
“Yes.”
“Welcome to love, old boy. Welcome to love,” Aston said, but he wasn’t grinning now. “But if you can walk through this, then there will be quite a reward on the other side.”
Anthony nodded, still struggling to believe in happily ever after.
But somehow, he was going to have to learn, because he did not think he could learn to live with the hell that had opened up before him as soon as he’d strode from her arms.
