She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Pride lifted her chin. “I am not your courtesan.”
The deep hurt in her eyes took him aback. He hadn’t meant to be so cutting and cruel, but discovering her in the ballroom, on the night he planned to ask for Lucy’s hand, had come as quite a shock. And her delicate beauty, framed in reflections of silver light off the threads in her gown, had stunned him and nearly taken him to his knees.
She was breathtaking. The moment he saw her, Lucy became one with the tapestries. All he could think about was dragging Eva off to some private place and peeling her out of her gown.
“Eva, I . . .” Words failed. He’d just all but called her a whore. How could he explain to her that she’d become more than a courtesan to him? That she’d stolen his nights and filled his days with unwelcome thoughts of her, and every day that passed without seeing her face had become torture?
Eva trembled, and her lips parted. He let out a low growl. Before his mind could overtake his body with a measure of sense, he pulled her against him and crushed his mouth over hers.
She let out a low whimper and went slack against him, opening her mouth to meet his thrust. He plundered her mouth and tasted the sweet infusion of punch.
Lud, he couldn’t think about the danger of trysting with her in the dark, steps away from the open doors, when her perfect body was molded to his. He’d left his future betrothed to drag Eva out of the ballroom, not caring who watched. She’d been a sickness he couldn’t control from their first brief and painful kiss.
Not even marriage to Lucy would cure his addiction.
Eva’s hand snaked behind his head, and she tangled her fingers in his hair. She was perfection and madness, and her touch was enough to burn him with its fire. He pressed his erection against her belly, aching to release his cock into her slick heat.
He tore his mouth free and pressed his face against her hair. His breath was raw and ragged. “I cannot think of anyone else when you are near, sweet. You must leave now, before anyone else sees you and asks questions.”
She met his eyes and lifted to her toes. A wicked smile tugged at her mouth as she pressed her breasts against his chest. “Kiss me again, Nicholas.”
The only thing he could do was oblige. He kissed her hard, mating their tongues until she let out small sounds of delight. As his mind raced over all the places a couple could hide in the darkened garden to find stolen moments alone, the crinkle of crinoline jerked his head up. A trim blonde in a rose gown stood a few feet away, arms crossed.
“Unhand my sister at once, Your Grace.”
His arms dropped away and he stepped back. “Your sister?” Crawford had never mentioned a sister in his report.
He looked from Eva to the woman and back. Yes, perhaps the eyes were the same.
“Noelle, I can explain.” Eva smoothed her bodice with shaky hands in a futile attempt to right her mussed appearance. “Your Grace, this is my sister Noelle, Lady Seymour.”
He stared at the blonde. Lady Seymour? Though they’d never met, he thought she was some sort of relation of Lady Pennington, a goddaughter perhaps? He’d known Eva was the by-blow of a lord, but Crawford had been unable to discover the connection before Nicholas had abruptly ended the investigation.
Now he knew her father was the late Lord Seymour, an earl of high standing and a peer. He had bedded Eva knowing her mother had been a courtesan. To know half of her bloodline was as old as his own settled a stone in his stomach.
Lady Seymour glared at him and walked over to take Eva by the hand like she was a naughty child. “Lord Barden seeks to dance with Eva. We cannot keep him waiting.”
With that, his reluctant courtesan left him lurking alone in the darkness while she tapped along on the heels of her ruffled sister. Eva sent one last helpless glance over her shoulder as they vanished around the corner.
Nicholas scrubbed both hands through his hair. Lord Seymour’s daughter? What a bewildering tangle he’d been dropped into. He tried to remember the old friend of his father, but the earl was nothing but a blur. The man had died some time ago. Who knew he’d fathered an illegitimate daughter in addition to his own brood?
He dropped back against the trellis and peered up at the starry sky. Clearly there would be no proposal tonight. It would be difficult enough to spend the next several hours pretending he and Eva were strangers. Adding his hawk-eyed mother into the mix, tension began to thump behind his eyes. If only he could convince Eva to vanish quietly.
Perhaps he could have maneuvered Eva in some way, but he suspected Lady Noelle wouldn’t be so easy to sway. The minx. She’d brought her bastard sister to the biggest society function of the year, clearly without qualm or reservation. If the old gossips got wind of their connection, and his connection to Eva, the ensuing scandal would rock polite society to its foundation.
There was only one solution: to act as if nothing was amiss; keep Eva, Lucy, and his mother apart; and hope the growing pain in his head did not cause his brain to explode inside his skull.
Would you like to explain how I leave you alone for a few minutes, then find you kissing His Grace in the dark?” Noelle had closed the door to a small sitting room and faced Eva, her voice low and accusing. “Luckily, I saw him drag you outside, or you might well have been compromised.”
Compromised by His Grace? If Noelle wasn’t so angry, she might have laughed. He’d more than compromised her many, many times. Kissing him was mild in comparison to the delicious and scandalous moments she’s spent on his desk, in his bed, on his floor.
“It isn’t what you think.” How could she explain their relationship? She couldn’t blurt out, “I have allowed His Grace to happily violate me while I cried out his name with unabashed pleasure.” Somehow she understood that Noelle would not find such a confession amusing. Her sister was no ordinary woman, but deep down, she’d had societal rules battered into her brain since birth. One day soon, Eva fully expected her to realize that befriending her bastard sister was a mistake, and that would be the end of their sisterhood.
Eva lowered herself into a high-backed chair. “I met His Grace several weeks ago. I won’t bore you with the entire story, let us just say we have an arrangement, he and I.”
Noelle dropped into the chair across from her, her eyes wide. “You’re his mistress, aren’t you?” She rubbed a hand over her forehead, and Eva nodded. “Certainly this was not your idea?”
At Eva’s hesitation, Noelle had her answer. Her eyes narrowed. “I thought not. The bastard! Did he force you?”
Quickly, Eva shook her head. If Noelle suspected a hint of coercion, she’d have His Grace gelded and dumped into the Thames, with Harold at her side wielding the knife.
“Certainly not. It is a complicated situation.” She rose and went to the window. Several shadowed couples strolled along the garden path below. “I hated him at first. Then everything changed.” She turned to face her sister. “There is something between us I cannot name. An attraction I try to fight with everything in me. But the moment he touches me, I am lost.”
“Do you love him? Has he offered for your hand?”
If Noelle had asked her for her feelings a week ago, her answer would be clearer. Now she wasn’t as certain what she thought of His Grace. All she did know was she must not fall in love with the unattainable duke. “No. I cannot love him. I am his lover. It can be no more than that.”
Noelle glowered. “So he gets what he wants without consequences? I cannot believe this arrangement is satisfactory to you.”
Her discourse unsettled Eva. It pained her deeply to see the disappointment in Noelle’s eyes. She closed off her emotions to protect herself from another verbal battering. Harold’s behavior had left her frayed. She couldn’t take her sister’s scorn, too. Not here, not now.
Perhaps now, Noelle would realize this tenuous connection between them would only cause her grief in the end. “I am a courtesan’s daughter. I can aspire to no greater heights.”
Ang
ered, Noelle jumped to her feet. She went to Eva and clasped her shoulders.
“I will not have you say such things. You are my sister. It matters not what happened between our father and your mother, or what she was in her previous life. I will not allow a duke to take advantage of you without repercussions. I vow I will find a way to make him wed you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Eva found flirting uncomfortable, in spite of her vast store of knowledge on how to engage in lighthearted banter. She had virtually no experience with men. Though she learned much about polite society from Lady Watersham’s book, Rules for Young Women of Quality, and had watched the maids flirt with the footmen, complete with hair twisting and lash batting, putting the information to practical use at a ball of this size was overwhelming.
She had not been born to this life.
His Grace glowering at her from across the room made it worse, though she succeeded quite well at keeping her eyes from his. His displeasure was a colossal weight to carry.
Still, she would not allow him to chase her off. Noelle was determined to see them wed, and flung every eligible man who was able to stand upright into her path, as a way of forcing the duke take notice of her desirability to other men.
Though Eva had no aspirations of becoming a duchess, and tried to talk sense into her sister, she did find the idea of secretly tormenting Nicholas somewhat delightful.
He had ruled her life for weeks and bullied her for much longer. He’d called her a whore. Well, almost. The implication was there. It was time to turn things about and exact some bits of revenge on the lordly duke.
If nothing else, and in spite of his scowls, she knew he desired her enough to leave his future fiancée and drag her from the ballroom for a heated kiss. If he was so devoted to his Miss Banes-Dodd, he wouldn’t care what Eva did tonight or with whom she did it. From his menacing carriage, she knew His Grace was ready to murder—all because of the line of beaux vying for her attention.
Eva bit back a smile. Let him suffer.
Her skin tingled with awareness of him as she danced with one man after another, barely having time to catch her breath in between. She laughed with carefree abandon while earls and barons and dukes tried their very best to learn her secrets. She carefully evaded any pointed questions about her birthplace or her connection to Noelle.
“You dance beautifully, Miss Harrington,” Baron Tillbury’s youngest son, Farrell, said and gave her a slight bow before leading her from the dance floor. He was very young, just eighteen, and had all the sharp angles of a boy on the cusp of manhood. Yet, he knew how to charm. And he was pleasing enough of face beneath a mop of fair hair to be a favorite of the young women. “Perhaps you might like some punch?”
Eva nodded. “I would love some punch.”
He vanished quickly on his errand. Eva fanned herself, pleased to have a moment alone and a chance to breathe. The packed room was warm, and dozens of candles added to the heat of all the bodies. She looked about for Noelle and eventually caught a glimpse of her across the room, just inside the terrace doors, speaking animatedly with Harold, his face tight and hers sober. Whatever they were discussing was serious.
When the discussion was at an end, Harold walked out the doors and vanished into the night.
She frowned as Noelle met her eyes. Noelle waved her hand, indicating all was well, as a young gentleman in a green coat bowed, took Noelle’s arm, and led her into a line of dancers.
If there was something amiss, Harold would come to her. He was likely snooping, making sure Eva was not getting into mischief. Perhaps Noelle had told tales of her discovery on the terrace and had included him in her plot to snag the duke. If that was their intention, they would be sorely disappointed.
His Grace was not the sort of man to be forced into an unwanted arrangement.
Casually, she lifted her eyes to where she’d last seen His Grace. He was speaking to an attractive woman in red, but his eyes were on Eva. Mingled with his unhappiness was an intensity she had seen only when he was ripping at her clothing, desperate to see her naked.
Beneath her corset, Eva’s stomach flipped. The dark desire in his face stopped her breathing. Clearly, he had no plans to tend to his business and leave her to hers. He was stalking her from a distance, lying in wait to separate her from the herd before he pounced.
Eva was certain that if they were alone, he’d turn her over his knee and paddle her rump rosy red. Then rip off her gown and love her violently and passionately.
The idea brought a smile. Her open amusement deepened his frown until his brows were nearly one. A giggle bubbled and her stomach settled. There was safety in the crowd. As long as she did not venture outside, her rump and the rest of her body were safe.
Nicholas watched young Farrell return to Eva, two glasses in hand, and all he wanted to do was rearrange the young upstart’s long, thin nose to a less agreeable angle.
If he allowed himself to pummel all the men who had held Eva in their arms this evening, there would be bloody noses scattered the entire length of the room and beyond. Each time one of the dandies whispered intimately in her ear or spun her about the floor, a red film settled in his eyes.
Eva belonged to him. Hell, he’d taken her virginity. He’d left his imprint on her, and no other man had the right to breach his claim. Yet, he could not go to her, claim her as his in front of such esteemed company.
This left him in a state of blinding frustration.
“You seem taken with Miss Harrington, my son.” Mother tapped his arm with her fan. They both watched Eva laugh at some witticism from Farrell as he strolled with her about the crowded room. “You must be careful, or Lucy will take offense.”
Nicholas forced his attention downward to his mother. She’d seen something in him when he watched Eva. Undoubtedly, deep groin-twisting lust. He had to squelch it before she was inviting Eva over for tea and pressing her for her history.
“About whom are you speaking, Mother?”
Her green eyes flashed. “The young lady in silver you haven’t taken your eyes off all evening.” She narrowed her eyes and peered at Eva. “I understand she’s Lady Seymour’s cousin from somewhere near the Scottish border. Though there is some speculation the tale may be tall.”
“She is lovely,” Nicholas conceded as casually as he could manage through gritted teeth. Farrell had been run off by a man of higher standing, the charming and handsome Earl of Wayborn. He bent to speak to Eva, and she smiled. The man held out his arm and she took it, tucking her hand under his elbow.
The blasted Wayborn led her across the ballroom and into the dining hall, where tables laden with food awaited the guests. The tinkle of her laughter drifted back to him even after she was no longer visible.
Perhaps there would be bloodshed this evening after all.
He forced himself to remain calm. “There are many lovely women in attendance this evening, Mother. Including Lucy. I have not devoted more than a glance to any one in particular.”
“Indeed? Not more than a glance? Hmm,” Catherine said. “Then why have you not danced with Lucy all evening? You seem content to glare at the mysterious cousin. Would you to like to tell me why? What is she to you?”
Nicholas wanted to deny it all, to keep his mother from discovering Eva’s identity. But the duchess wouldn’t be put off with half-truths. Since his birth, she’d known every lie he’d ever told, and punished him for each one. If he was to work his way back to sanity, his mother was the one to help.
“She is my mistress,” he said bluntly. He paused, waiting for some expression of outrage, some gasp of surprise. Instead, she was oddly silent for a very long moment before she nodded.
“I see.”
Those two words worried him. His mother was never one to hold back either her praise or her scorn. She spoke her mind freely, and more often than not, her intuition proved deadly accurate. If only she’d been as careful when choosing his father, she wouldn’t have suffered so many years of unhappiness
.
“That is all you have to say, Mother?”
Catherine held his stare. “What should I say, Nicholas? Why is she here? Who is she really? How does she know Lady Seymour? What about Lucy? What do you intend to do about this?”
Nicholas let out a sigh, squelching a smile. His mother had weathered bigger storms, including his dead father’s propensity to openly flaunt his indiscretions all about London. To discover her son’s mistress at the same ball as her friends and acquaintances must be low on her level of shocking.
“She is Evangeline Winfield. She is Lady Seymour’s half sister. Lord Seymour fathered her out of wedlock with his cherished courtesan.”
This time her eyes widened. Clearly his mother wasn’t entirely unflappable. “You took an earl’s by-blow, sister to Lady Seymour, to bed? Nicholas, what were you thinking?”
“In all fairness, Mother, I was just made aware of their connection this evening when I discovered her here, of all places. Imagine my surprise when our kiss on the terrace was interrupted by the furious Lady Noelle. Between the two women, I am lucky I still have my head.”
Catherine gaped, then her mouth slowly melted into a smile. “You were taken to task by a courtesan’s daughter and her Lady sister? If only I had been there to witness the confrontation! I would have found it far more entertaining than this evening has proved to be thus far.” She paused. “In fact, the night is looking brighter.”
Nicholas’s mouth thinned at the raw good humor on her pretty features. There had been years during his childhood when she never smiled at all. His father’s death had brought back her laughter.
“I am pleased you find the situation so entertaining, Mother. Now the question begs, how can I solve this situation?”
“What are your choices? Cast her to the gossips and ruin Lady Seymour; then shame Lucy and her family and ours?” Catherine nodded to passing guests and lifted her fan. “You should ask yourself what your feelings for Miss Winfield are and what you intend to do about her.”
The School for Brides Page 16
