Where on earth did that come from? By the look on his face he was as taken aback as she was by her question. Then he shook his head in apparent bemusement.
“I shouldn’t be,” he said with a grin. “You always do.”
* * * *
It was amazing how much better he felt about life with someone to discuss events with. Someone who had no qualms about asserting herself and not always deferring to him. But also someone who showed him that he could have a female friend without emotional ties. That was a pleasant surprise even if he did have a predisposition to wonder when, not if, it would change.
She had asked if she could practice on him, but intimated it mattered not if he said no. That of course made him determined to say yes. Why? He had no idea.
The day at Cresswell passed in perfect harmony. They discussed what to do with the house and how the home farm should be run. Who was best as housekeeper, who would be perfect for the grounds. Three hours later, just before they left to return to town, Gibb waited, jacket off, cuffs tucked up inside his sleeves and doing as he was told. Evangeline twirled her stilettos and threw four of them one after another at him as he stood in front of a backboard tacked to the peeling plastered wall that still graced the untidy shabby ballroom of Cresswell House. They’d ignored the cobwebs and spiders and decided it was the perfect place for Evangeline to rehearse.
“I wonder just why people think I need saving,” he said as he pondered while Evangeline practiced her act on him. “What part of me shows something that is not true?”
He was so used to it that he didn’t flinch when one knife missed his ear by a scant inch. No doubt she’d intended it to. Gibb was under no illusion that Evangeline couldn’t have pinned his ear—or any other part of him—to the backboard if she had desired.
“I still think you need a strong man outside the box,” she said. “Lift your left arm up straight into the air.” He did so and another knife struck the wall and quivered as it dug in up to the hilt.
“No, it will make it all the harder for her to get in,” Gibb said. Without thinking, he moved his arm to scratch a sudden itch on his nose.
“Do not do that,” Evangeline said sharply. “Or this will happen.”
Gibb stopped mid-movement. A whirling glittering something spun toward him and pinned his shirt sleeve to the wall, just above the elbow. His heart missed a beat. “Ah, sorry, I forgot. I trust you.” He blinked as he assimilated his assertion. “I do, and that is not usual.”
Evangeline nodded. “I’m glad you trust me but, my dear Gibb, complacency is not good. In anything. You relaxed and dropped your guard. That is dangerous.”
He smiled. It was just like her to cut to the chase. “True. I will be aware from now on.”
“Not just here but at all times,” she said with mock severity. “You are a challenge so many people seem to feel the need to overcome. So a strong and armed man?”
He shook his head. “No. We need to catch her in the act. This will be one time too many.”
“Then let me threaten her with a stiletto.” Evangeline plucked four of the five stilettos out of the backboard, left him pinned in place and looked at him seriously. “It might help.” She began to juggle the blades she held in a circle. “I would threaten with one at first.”
“You are more bloodthirsty than I realized.” All at once, he understood he relished that. “Do not change.”
She nodded and smirked. “Bien sûr, I am French.”
Gibb inclined his head an inch. “True and I will not forget it. Sweet Evangeline, I thank you for offering, but what if it made things worse? I do not want any of this to reflect in a negative way on you. Threatening a young lady of the ton is not the way to make friends and influence people.”
“Such a shame,” she said mournfully as she caught the four stilettos in one hand, found a cloth and began to wipe them down. “I have not threatened anyone for an age.”
“Be thankful, for it is frowned upon. That is the way of our world. Do you need to practice more?”
She shook her head. “Not today, thank you. You make a good partner. Maybe I should pull you out of the audience?”
She tilted her head to one side and put her finger over her mouth in a parody of surprise as Gibb handed the knife to her with a bow. Judging by Evangeline’s wide-eyed expression her words surprised her as much as they did him. “But give me warning so I can practice the ‘why me, oh lord, is this safe, what am I doing’, expression,” he said with a grin.
“Somehow I do not see you ever achieving that,” Evangeline retorted. “Therefore, maybe one day I will just spring it on you. For now, I’m happy with my act although I wish somehow I could have a wheel to pin my target to, one that spins,” she said almost to herself. “It would be interesting and very exciting.”
“I don’t see why you can’t,” Gibb said.” I’ll ask a wheelwright to see what he can come up with. What do you intend to do with it? And your victim?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Victim, ha. All my subjects volunteer or are, shall we say, volunteered.” She gestured a hand up someone’s back. “All I do is spin him and throw my knives around him as he spins.”
“Dangerous woman.”
“Very,” she said and grinned. “Unless you know what you are doing. I always do.”
“Of course you do.” Gibb held out his arm to her. It was an automatic courtesy these days, and he reveled in the fact she accepted it as such. “Come on then, let’s go back to London and on the morrow seek out Flood.”
“Flood?
“The wheelwright I use in London.”
* * * *
What on earth could go wrong?
Nothing surely? Or so Gibb told himself as he got ready for Vauxhall a few days later. Therefore, why the uneasy feeling and that itch of apprehension that slithered up his spine and lodged in his scalp? Why the tentacles of unease that sent goosebumps over his skin, and the lump that lodged in his stomach and encouraged spiders to crawl around? There was no answer.
He and Evangeline had plotted and planned and gone over so many possible scenarios it was a wonder they weren’t dizzy. In the end they had sorted out what they thought was their best form of attack and defense. To that end, Gibb had sought out Henry and Mary and, to his utter amazement—and no doubt theirs—asked them for help.
Evangeline had prodded him into action. “Gibb, we cannot do it all ourselves. There will be a lot of the evening when the box is empty or you are alone. That is not a good scenario.”
“Or you would be alone,” Gibb had replied. “If I stayed in the box. I won’t do that.”
“Yes, or I would be,” she’d agreed with a quirk of her lips. “Therefore, we need someone to aid us. You know who you could ask, so be brave and do so. It is not a weakness to admit you need help, but a strength.”
Gibb had recognized the truth in her words and sought out Henry. To Gibb’s pleasure, Henry had jumped at the chance with an eagerness that had surprised Gibb. Mary had also been just as enthusiastic
‘You’ve had a hellish time, Gibb, and whether this is altruism, friendship or just spiking someone’s guns, I’m all for it,’ Henry had said. He thumped one fist into the other to emphasis his remark. ‘Some of those chits are far too forward, and as for their parents…’ He had shuddered. ‘Even after I offered for Mary and our betrothal was known, they still did their best to get me in their clutches. We will do anything you want.’
‘It means also helping the young lady whose services you wanted for your ball,’ Gibb had said. He and Evangeline had discussed it and agreed that information needed to be shared. She had also said she would perform for them, but Gibb in his wisdom had held that information back. He’d wanted help given willingly and not for a favor.
He’d gotten it.
‘Dare I ask what she has or hasn’t done to need help?’ Mary had asked. Up until then she had contented herself with the occasional nod of agreement. “Or if you would rather not tell me…”
G
ibb had considered for a brief second. If he had to ask for help he had to be open. It went against everything he knew but… ‘May I bring her to meet you?’
Mary had nodded and looked at her husband. ‘If Henry agrees?’
‘Of course. When?’
Gibb had considered. ‘Tonight? In an hour or so?’
‘Perfect. We’ll look forward to it,’ Henry had said.
* * * *
“I can’t,” Evangeline said without even thinking about her words, as butterflies danced in her stomach. “I thought you would use servants to help. Lord Henry and Lady Mary Lawrence are of the ton.”
“So am I,” Gibb pointed out.
“That is different,” she said with impatience. “And you know it.”
“Why?” Gibb asked with interest in his voice. “I don’t know it, or even understand it.” He paused and ran his finger around the rim of a nearby empty vase. “Unless you are going to point out in a sanctimonious voice that I’m a duke or some such nonsense.”
Drat the man. “You are,” Evangeline said. “Also, I am French, therefore I never have such a voice.” Why could he not merely agree?
“And your point is?”
“It just is different,” Evangeline said, stubborn as ever. “They are aristocracy. I am a mere knife-thrower.”
“That’s as may be but the rest is rubbish, my dear, especially the ‘mere’. You are not a mere anything. What you are is craven.”
“I am not,” she said with indignance. How dare he say such a thing? She was just being cautious, wasn’t she? “I offered to demonstrate for them. I am not of their standing.”
“Pusillanimous.”
“Pu…” Evangeline glared then began to giggle. Only he would come up with such a word to describe her attack of the nerves. “You do not pull your punches, do you? Pusillanimous indeed.”
“I thought you would prefer that to lily-livered or chicken-hearted,” Gibb said, and sobered. “I am serious, Evangeline. You need to come and meet them. If nothing else, to say thank you for their immediate and unquestioning support of both of us. There was no hesitation. I asked and they said yes even before I explained what we needed. Come to think of it, I still haven’t told them that yet. We can do so together.” He paused. “And nor did I offer your services as an entertainer. They agreed without any strings.”
Put like that she accepted she had no option. “What do I wear?” she asked as she began to panic. Up until now, the sole connection she’d had with the ton was Gibb, or as the entertainment. This was something new and frankly scary.
Stop being so pathetic. “Where are we to meet them?”
“I best not say go as you are,” Gibb drawled with a grin as he looked at her bare feet and lack of stays. “Nothing fancy, they are at home tonight and Mary has promised us a late supper.”
“Gibb Alford, you have just eaten.”
“Evangeline… Hold on, what is your other name…?”
She had wondered when he would get to that. “I never use it.”
“So be it.” He sounded disappointed.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just… Mama called me Evangeline Coeur, and herself Madame Coeur. But somehow…” She hesitated. “I often wondered if it was our name,” she finished in a rush. “But instead something chosen to hide Mama’s identity. She often seemed surprised when she was addressed so. I suppose I will never know.” But maybe, she thought uneasily, she might. Now that she was in England.
“Evangeline Heart sounds fine,” Gibb said. “We will use it if we need. I may have eaten but intrigue and conspiracy make me hungry. Now go and change. Put on that pretty red dress with the golden leaves in it. It suits you.”
His visit had been unexpected and she had, as ever, removed her footwear, changed into a comfortable but somewhat shabby gown and discarded her stays. Eloise had left not half an hour earlier, after they had discussed the last few changes to the Vauxhall costume. The knock on the door had made her heart jump until common sense had reasserted itself. The one person who could get into the garden via the alley, apart from her and Eloise, was Gibb. No one else had a key. Even so, she asked who was there before she unbolted the entrance.
And the upshot was she was now dressed in a smart red day dress covered in golden leaves, with her stays back on and ready to go out with Gibb. It was lucky Meggie, her maid, hadn’t gone to sleep. The last thing she’d wanted to do was ask Gibb to pull the laces tight.
“I confess to being nervous,” she said as they sat side by side in Gibb’s carriage. “I do not know how to behave in such illustrious company. Unless I am throwing knives at them.”
Gibb laughed. “Don’t do that. Just think of them in their nursery, or nightclothes. No different from anyone else.”
Lord above, now she had an imaginary picture of Gibb in his nightclothes.
Chapter Seven
Gibb scanned the area around his booth and nodded his assent to the hovering lackey. It was perfect for what he wanted. Not too near any other boxes, with shrubbery close to the rear. Ideal for someone to use as a means to enter unnoticed, also for anyone else to use to hide and see what transpired. He glanced at the covered dishes and fruits on a side table, the overlarge—and empty—cupboard set across one corner, and the Chinese screen to hide the servants’ entrance. Calculated that unless someone stood close by and peered through the window the occupants of the box would be out of immediate view, and smiled at the anxious manservant who waited with patience in the doorway.
“Excellent, thank you. If anyone asks you, I am not sharing my box this evening. Understand?”
His voice held a hint of menace and the servant swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously and he bowed. “Of course, your grace.”
Whether or not he meant it, or whether if someone greased his palm he would say otherwise, Gibb didn’t know. He could but hope his reputation as someone who preferred not to socialize, and as the type of man not to tangle with, had gone before him and made that seem feasible. Perhaps even some of the doubts with regards to how Hester had died—was she pushed to do it?—would work in his favor for once and show him as a definite man not to cross.
It was a double-edged sword. By removing himself from the capital and not commenting on anything that had happened in his marriage, he had left himself open to the tittle-tattle and gossip the ton thrived on. However, it also meant no one knew much about him as he now was. A few hints about how he had always had a hard streak, and that hadn’t lessened with the years, helped to foster the myth, as did the fracas with Denby Crowe. As Henry had pointed out to him when they were alone, no one knew how Gibb would behave in any given circumstance or how his mind worked.
‘It is easy to show you as a hard man who takes no prisoners, especially after the poison m’sister spread. Your true friends know it’s rubbish and will defend you, but that works because others will think it’s friendship that makes them say so. And’—Henry had grinned wolfishly—‘no one knows we are friends so if I say you are hard it will be believed.’
Gibb had to hope so. A lot depended on no one approaching him when he left the box to watch Evangeline. Up until her display she had, after a lot of arguments, agreed to Wiggs, an ex-pugilist and now one of Harry’s grooms, staying with her. He was to all intents and purposes her new handyman, sick of Gibb’s high-handedness. It had taken all of his persuasion to get Evangeline to agree. Only after meeting Wiggs, and Gibb explaining how he would then be able to carry out their plan without worry, did she accept her shadow.
The manservant employed to service the booth left through the door at the rear of the building—the servants’ entrance—and Gibb sat in the chair to one side of the window and absently looked outside. The gardens were beginning to fill up. Already an orchestra was playing outside the gothic folly and he could hear the strains of some violins playing a gentle piece. Something that reminded him of summer days and a warm woman.
What? Since when had he felt like that? Since now
it seemed. Gibb shifted in his chair and steepled his hands on his stomach and chin. He was uneasy about the evening and wanted everything to go without a hitch. Had they thought their plan through properly? Nothing untoward must happen to Evangeline.
Was it all down to Evangeline’s influence or had this change of heart been creeping up on him unnoticed for longer? He examined his thoughts carefully. He still had no inclination to have anyone rely on him. That idea, even in the abstract, brought back the black cloud he had tried so hard to disperse. The intimation that another person might put their life in his hands made him shudder in horror.
But was that not what Evangeline was doing? That insidious notion tensed every muscle in his body. No, he decided, that was different. He had offered to help, no more than that. She was still very much in command of her life. Look at the way she had railed at the thought of Wiggs. He relaxed again. This scenario was different from the one with Hester, he had subconsciously always known that. Evangeline would never ask for more than he was prepared to give. The opposite was more likely.
Gibb sat upright, his heart pounding, as he waited for the voice of Hester begging, pleading, shouting, to invade his mind.
And waited.
It didn’t.
He had no idea whether to laugh or cry. Instead he poured a goblet of champagne and toasted the air. Was this the beginning of a new chapter of his life? One where his late wife did not invade? He hoped so. Not that it would change his attitude with regards to relationships, that was fixed, but for other things… He could only pray. Gibb sank back into the chair once more.
A couple he knew walked past without seeing him even though they gave the box a brief glance. It was therefore seen as what it purported to be. Almost unnoticed. The door, which led out into the public area, was to one side, not at the front as most were, and he could tuck his chair into a corner and spy happily.
The rear door opened with the tiniest of squeaks, just enough to warn him someone was about to enter. As it was hidden by the screen he sat up and watched as a handkerchief waved around the edge.
The Duke's Temptation Page 11
