The Duke's Temptation

by Raven McAllan

  Evangeline nodded—it was something she was very aware of. “Of course not, but they would aid Gibb I trust?”

  “Only if it were in their interest,” Eloise said. “It’s the system they live by. Now let’s eat.”

  “This English society is so rigid and strange,” Evangeline said as they sat down and she eyed their repast with hunger. “And stupid.”

  “At least they don’t behead aristos without a good reason.” Eloise poured some more wine into their goblets. “A votre santé.”

  “Et tu. Hmm. Madame Guillotine. That’s true.” Evangeline rolled her eyes, speared a piece of meat and ate it without tasting it. “But there are other ways of crucifying someone. I would not wish that on Gibb, he’s been through it once already. He’s a gentleman, and, although I dare not tell him, he matters to me.”

  Eloise nodded. “Then take care, for the talk has started.”

  Evangeline knew and it worried her. Gibb might say it didn’t matter but she understood differently. “I’m ready for this,” she said, changing the subject abruptly. “It was simmering all day, so the gravy is perfect.”

  Eloise nodded. “And me. So now we eat, talk of something different and enjoy our wine. Where is your next engagement?”

  * * * *

  “I need it to swing all around in one sweep.” Evangeline stood in Flood’s—the wheelwright’s—workshop and looked at the contraption in front of her. “And continue to do so as I work. I need to be able to trust the momentum and know it will decrease speed at a rate I can work with.”

  Gibb stood next to her and swung the overlarge wheel around in a lazy arc. “Won’t it?” he asked. He gave it one thrust and watched as it went round and round. “There.”

  “That is all very well, but what about when I have someone on it? A man of oh…” Evangeline tilted her head and looked from him to the wheelwright and back again. “Around six foot tall and medium build.”

  Flood, a short rotund man, put his hands in the air. “Not me, I’d get dizzy. Anyhows, I’m too short and enjoyed too many of my Martha’s dinners to be of any use. I reckons it’s got to be you, your grace.”

  Gibb laughed. “Now why did I know you would say that? So, what do I need to do?” he asked Evangeline. He’d had an idea he would be inveigled into something like this when he’d collected Evangeline and accompanied her to see what Flood had come up with. To that end he had dressed in clothes that allowed for ease of movement. Comfortable knit pantaloons and a coat his valet would prefer to accidently-on-purpose lose. He discarded his jacket, tucked his cuffs up his sleeves and grinned as she chuckled.

  “I’m well-trained, as you see,” he said to Flood who stood, arms folded, and leaned on a sawhorse, watching the interplay with interest. “I do as I am bidden.”

  Evangeline rolled her eyes. “I’ll remember that. Right, if you put your feet in the block on the swinging arc, take hold of the handgrips and hold on. Do you want tying down as my real vict…helper will?”

  Gibb shook his head as Flood guffawed. “This will do. Now what?”

  “Pray you will not vomit.”

  It was lucky he was never seasick, and held his own in a gale for the rocking motion—which rapidly changed to a whirl that blurred his surroundings—not unlike the movement of a ship at the mercy of the wind and waves. He closed his eyes and almost imagined he felt the wind and spray on him as he spun. Faintly he could hear Evangeline mutter as the wheel slowed and he rocked to a halt. Was she plotting how to throw her knives? No doubt that would come next, with him coerced into helping. The idea held no fears.

  “Enough?” he asked as he rocked back and forth.

  “Something needs to be altered,” she muttered. “I do not for one moment think it is enough overall.” He could tell by her expression she was trying to work something out.

  “What? Oh, yes, sorry,” Evangeline said, and held the wheel steady as he opened his eyes and blew his hair out of his eyes. “For now indeed. That was very useful.”

  Gibb got off and retrieved his jacket from Flood. “What next? Always have someone my size on it? Preferable, I think, someone who does not get nauseous.”

  She laughed. “Something like that.” With an elegant movement that swished her skirts, she turned to Flood and shook his hand heartily. “Mr. Flood, you have done me proud. Thank you. It will work perfectly.”

  Flood blushed. “Made a nice change, it did, and it’s good to have a customer who knows what they want.”

  “Then send your bill as soon as you can and I will settle it,” Evangeline requested as she collected her reticule in preparation for leaving.

  Flood looked at Gibb.

  “What?” Evangeline asked, a suspicious expression on her face. “Oh, no,” she said emphatically. “My act, my prop, my bill. Is that understood?”

  Gibb sighed. She was a wilful lady. “Can I not give you this?”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I pay my way.”

  A flash of hurt hit him like one of her stilettos had struck him. Why was she so independent? It was a little thing he chose to do for her. What was the reason why she was so chary of any help? Look at the problems he had in getting her to accept the horse, for example. “It is nothing in the grand scheme of things, Evangeline.” He did his best to explain his reasons to her. “A small present, that is all. Why not accept in in the manner it is given? In friendship.”

  “I need to know I can cope,” she said. “I don’t have the English words to explain,” she said. “I have a fear I become reliant on anyone.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Gibb said emphatically as Flood looked on in interest. “I wanted to give you a present. I thought this more appropriate than rubies.”

  “Why? Oh, not rubies, but a present?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  Gibb lashed a swift glance at Flood, who stood up. “I’m off to sort out a carrier for you, your grace.”

  Gibb waited until the other man was out of earshot. “For being my no-ties, no-dependency friend. You restored my faith in the female sex.”

  * * * *

  “Opera dancers a touch too pricey for you, your grace? Got to downsize to a mere knife-thrower, have you? Mind you, for a body like hers I’d compromise my standards. Tell me.” The bosky peer, a contemporary of Denby Crowe, swayed on his feet and leered at Gibb. His eyes were wild, his dress unkempt and his Hessians needed a good clean. Even here in the garden of one of the scions of the ton’s London home, where a little dirt from the soil paths could be overlooked, he stood out for all the wrong reasons.

  “Does she threaten to cut your staff off if it doesn’t perform to her satisfaction?” Lord Allinson laughed and hiccoughed. “What’s it worth, eh? Not to be a laughing stock. After all, a knife-thrower and a frog. Does she do everything in French? Must add an edge to it all. Thrust and parry and…” Allinson obviously saw the expression on Gibb’s face, for his words faltered to a halt.

  Gibb stared at him, uncaring of how the man broke out into a sweat and droplets slid down his shiny, ashen face. If the man saw menace and retribution when he looked at Gibb so be it. Ire, when icy, was a force to be reckoned with, and Gibb knew just how cold his anger was. No red-hot swift fury, but a rage that built slowly, inexorably stronger with each passing second. He counted to ten in his mind, relieved that no one else had been close enough to hear the exchange.

  “Duelling may not be in fashion, but I would be happy to change that scenario for you,” he said in a voice devoid of any emotion. “If you choose not to rescind your words and your character assassination.” He could have expanded on his statement, but judged the menace greater if he did not.

  The man in front of him sobered faster than Gibb thought possible and swallowed several times. Gibb watched Allinson’s Adam’s apple bob three times before he was able to speak.

  “I, I, ah, apologize, your grace,” he said rapidly. “My words were out of order.”

  “And?”

  That one word made his lordship go even paler,
if that was possible, and fiddle with his cuffs. His nails, Gibb saw to his disgust, were black with grime and badly bitten. Down on his luck and after a quick injection of cash perhaps?

  “I take them back. They were spoken in a state of inebriation. It was not my intention to…to…” Allinson stuttered to a halt. “Ah, to suggest anything untoward.” He swayed again and shut his eyes. “Please excuse me.”

  Gibb was not naturally a cruel man. He nodded. “I suggest you watch how much you imbibe in future.” He didn’t bother to add the warning he was sure would be expected with regards to himself and-or Evangeline. It was, he thought, a given. A sudden thought hit him as Allinson turned to leave. “Wait.”

  The man stopped dead in his tracks and looked up at Gibb in misery. “Your grace?”

  “Who put you up to this?” Gibb asked. Allinson’s expression became wary, a sure sign, Gibb thought, that it wasn’t drunken bravado that had made Allinson behave as he had. More likely he’d had to get drunk to speak as he had. Gibb searched his mind for any more information he had about the man and his circumstances. Pitiful little. He was a good ten or twelve years younger, the son of a man who, if Gibb remembered rightly, had lost their fortune on the cards before he’d left for the continent, leaving his son to cope with the resulting mess. “Allinson, I know you wouldn’t have done this without some reason. What is it?”

  Allinson sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Mama’s mantua maker’s bill and my sister’s come out. I was asked to, to…”

  “Annoy me?” Gibb said evenly. “At the risk of your own health.”

  Allinson nodded wearily. “To put it as mild as possible, that’s about it. Hell, I know it was stupid to agree, but I’m in dire straits. I can not get it into my mama’s head that we are unable to go on as we are. Cutbacks need to be made. If we retreated to the country I could perhaps salvage something from this mess, but she won’t listen. To her, to keep face is the most important thing in the world. To me it is to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table, make sure the younger ones will have a life ahead of them without scandal and penury. Not to pay for dresses to be worn once, hats that are ugly and a ball for people who will still mock us.” He shrugged. “That is it in a nutshell. The less-than-noble house of Allinson is broke. The coffers are empty.”

  “And Denby Crowe knew this and used it to his advantage?”

  Allinson inclined his head. “He said if I was able to needle you into showing yourself up, he would pay me three thousand pounds.”

  Gibb whistled. “He is determined to ruin me, it seems. He will not succeed.” He thought fast. “Scotch as many rumors about me and-or La Belle Evangeline as you can. Tell your parent you leave, all of you, for Cumbria at the end of the season, and if any more money is spent on fripperies you will lose your home. Do this and I will engage to pay those bills for you.”

  Allinson went red, white and red again and gulped. “Why?”

  It was Gibb’s turn to shrug. “Altruism, perhaps? Plus, I have a great distaste for people who try to benefit by using others’ misery. I will undertake to purchase your townhouse from you, with the proviso you may use it during the season to enable your sister to make a good match. Does she have a dowry?”

  Allinson nodded. “One that cannot be touched, I saw to that as soon as I could.”

  “Then do we have a deal?” Gibb held out his hand. Allison stared at it as if he had never seen a hand before then slowly shook it. “Good.” Gibb smiled. “Come to see me in the morning and we will sort everything out. Not too early, I intend to watch the knife-throwing exhibition. Not as the assistant this time.”

  “Your grace, I…” Allinson sighed. “Thank you. You do have a heart and compassion, never let it be said that you do not. I will go and sort my mama out.” He inclined his head and walked away.

  Gibb stared at him as if he’d been struck. He did not want to have emotions.

  This was wrong.

  “I will not let my emotions become involved,” he said out loud to himself and the sky. “I am just acting the gentleman. I will not let myself get involved in that way, ever again. I neither need nor want it.” If he said it out loud it would be true?

  * * * *

  “I’m so pleased you were able to come and perform,” Lady Arthur said, excitement in her tone. “Anne was beside herself when I told her. So often we poor women get to see nothing of interest, or if we do it is a small part. The fact you agreed to perform all of your show is perfect. I almost made this a ladies-only event and then I thought, no.” She held her hand up in an arresting manner. “After all, it will do our so-called lords and masters good to see we are not shy, shrinking violets to be shielded from anything of…interest, shall I say. Oh yes, they are in for an unwelcome shock.” She must have seen Evangeline’s expression because she laughed. “I am a fervent follower of Mary Wollstonecraft. She has very good ideas on what women deserve and we do not get.”

  Evangeline nodded—she also agreed with a lot of that lady’s ideas. “Then I better go and get ready to show the men what we women are capable of, eh?”

  “And don’t forget I’m your victim,” Lady Arthur called after her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  A lovely woman, Evangeline mused as she trod down the steps of the terrace and onto the path, dimly lit by sconces. She would make a good victim. They had gone over what was needed and Lady Arthur professed she was ready, willing and able, and Evangeline had no reason to doubt her.

  As she rounded the last bend before the manicured lawns and her stage, Evangeline heard voices and slowed to detour around whoever it was. The last thing she needed was to be drawn into yet more conversations laced with sly innuendo with regards to her and Gibb.

  Ahead she could see two men who blocked her way. Evangeline swore under her breath and stood behind a clump of bushes. Then if the men moved, she could use the most direct way toward the stage.

  One voice came back to her clearly. Gibb! She didn’t pretend not to eavesdrop, but stood where she was. Apart from him and a rustling in the undergrowth where she presumed a small creature was going about its nightly business, she could have been alone in the garden.

  “I will not let my emotions become involved,” she heard him say. As no one replied, she assumed whoever else had been there had left and he was talking to himself. Her heart went out to him. Did he not realize he already had let himself do so?

  “I will not let myself get involved in that way, ever again. I neither need, nor want it.”

  Evangeline knew what it was like to be hurt, it had happened many times in her life. But never before had it hit her in such a visceral, gut-wrenching manner that she bent double with her arms wrapped round her waist. With a hastily bitten-back sob, she froze, unable to move or breathe. Oh lord, what have I done? What she now wanted to do was run and hide. To take her sorrow and wrap it around her like a cloak and sequester herself until that sharp, hell-like pain went away.

  And she couldn’t. She had a show to put on.

  How will I cope? What if he watches, how do I pretend? With infinite care she drew upright and forced herself to take deep, calming and regular breaths. Cope she would, and her pride would allow no one to know what pain she was in. Deliberately she pinched her cheeks in such a way that they would once more have color, and walked along the dusty track to her stage. If she was said to perform an act, then act she would. Even if her heart had shattered into tiny pieces. For whatever she had thought, hearing Gibb speak so emphatically had made her understand she had given her heart to him. Now, knowing how he felt, she had to cope as best she could then move on.

  * * * *

  It was a small miracle that the show was perhaps the best she had ever given. Julia Arthur was brilliant, Evangeline thought, as hand in hand they took bow after bow. That lady had done everything as she had been asked, never flinched, and even stood firm when Evangeline had rocked the arc.

  “I could use you all the time, my lady,” she said as, after gr
eat applause and cheers, they left the stage and made their way behind the curtains. “You are a star and gave each and every member of our audience the perfect show.” After the success of the evening, there was no formality between them. Julia had decreed it would be so, and for once Evangeline was happy to agree. She needed something good in her life, even though said life would never be the same again. “You made my act, and I think gave several ladies palpitations when you appeared in those britches. Thank you.”

  Lady Arthur giggled like a young girl as she looked down at her buckskin-clad legs. “My house, my rules, and to be honest I did tell Bertie what I was going to do. He laughed until I thought he was going into apoplexy and told me to go ahead and damn those who thought I should do otherwise. Therefore it is I who should be thanking you. This has been one of the best nights of my life,” Julia declared. “If Bertie loses all his money on the ‘Change I know where to come.” She took Evangeline’s chin in her hands. “At the risk of being told to mind my own business, why the bruised look and sad eyes?”

  Evangeline bit back a sob, scowled and shook her head. She couldn’t share her despair or break confidences. “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing does not make you look as if you have lost everything you deem of value,” Julia said, as shrewd as ever. “Take that expression off your face, it would sour milk. For once I won’t nag, but I will tell you this. Two things. First, do not give up on Gibb Alford, he is the most human he has been since that awful Hester episode. And second, you remind me of someone, and when I bloody remember who it is I will tell you. And I’m always here if you need a friend or a shoulder to cry on.”

  “That’s three things,” Evangeline said with a wobble in her voice. Someone else who thinks I remind them of someone? Her heart pounded. Perhaps she was getting to the end of her search.

  “So? I never said I could count,” Julia said unrepentantly. “Now, let’s go and find some food and a large brandy. We both need it.”