“Adele!” Evelyn gasped, shocked at her language. “He is a Duke.”
“Then he is a very wealthy cur, but a cur all the same.”
“The dress maker will be here in a moment,” Evelyn said. She could not find a response to Adele’s rudeness, perhaps because she did not entirely disagree with her. “Should I send her away?”
“What harm will it cause to have it fitted?” Adele asked.
“Maybe you can take it,” Evelyn said. “Yes, that is perfect. You have it.”
Droll, Adele answered, “But I think it is too expensive for me.”
An hour later, Evelyn was standing very still as a woman with a French accent thicker than Adele’s fitted the dress. Adele sat in the corner, idle in between bouts of French with the woman. She was offering her opinion, Evelyn thought. While the other women snacked on cakes and fruit, Evelyn was forbidden from moving under threat of pin pricks and a verbal lashing in a foreign language. By the time the woman was finished she was stiff and sore.
“What did she say?” Evelyn asked Adele as the dressmaker packed up her belongings and placed the dress over her arm.
“It will be ready in three days’ time,” said Adele, popping a slice of apple into her mouth. “She says The Duke paid for her to work exclusively on that gown. He wanted it completed before Martinmas.”
Evelyn shook out her limbs and stretched her back. A sudden faintness struck her with the movement and she sat heavily down onto a pouf. She longed for the clarity of her mind and the vigor of her body to return, so that she may ride again or even just move about the house without worrying about having a seat nearby.
“He cannot imagine I will be wearing it to Lord Ashwood’s ball, can he?” Evelyn massaged her forehead with the tip of her finger. “That would be a new level of impertinence.”
“Well, why should you not?” Adele shrugged. “It is not as if Lord Ashwood will know where the dress came from. Let Pemberton’s behavior aid you in landing a marriage with The Marquess. It will serve him right.”
It did not sit well with Evelyn. She could not decide if it was more cruel to Lord Ashwood or to The Duke. Sensing her hesitation, Adele persisted.
“It is nicer than anything you can afford, Evie,” said Adele. “He wanted you to wear it, and it is certainly festive.”
“I will consider it,” Evelyn said. “But I thought you wanted me to have nothing to do with The Duke? Cursed as he is.”
She was still hesitant to believe in any such thing. Adele did have a penchant for reading the frightening novels popular at the moment and Evelyn wondered if they had gone to her head. The man might be a rake, but that did not make him a killer.
“I doubt Lord Ashwood would have invited The Duke to Martinmas,” said Adele, frowning. “They did not seem to at all get along, and who can blame them. Though Lord Ashwood is a kind and proper man, he may wish to make amends with The Duke, since Pemberton is your brother’s friend and it may be awkward for them to be at odds.”
If Lord Ashwood had invited The Duke, would he have accepted the invitation? The dislike had seemed mutual.
“He does not care a smidgen for propriety, does he?” Evelyn mused, more to herself. He had sent not only private correspondence but an extravagant gift. If Frederic were a more aware brother, he would have been forced to take some sort of action against Pemberton. “He acts as if we are betrothed.”
“And in doing so risks making a scandal out of you,” Adele said. “As I said, he does not care for the women he harms, only that he is enjoying himself.”
It was harsh, but Evelyn could not refute the claim.
~.~
The dressmaker had been accurate in her estimation, and the dress was finished the day before Martinmas. It fit like a glove. The red accented Evelyn’s coloring perfectly. She stood beside Adele as they readied themselves for the ball, and did not feel like a lesser version of beauty when compared to the actress. They both shone. Ensconced in Evelyn’s rooms for the entirety of the day, the women had dressed at leisure and were at last prepared to leave the estate. Frederic, impatient, was pacing in the hall when they went down.
His face as he took in Adele was worth every ounce of delay. Evermont’s coachman waited outside. The three climbed in and set off for the long ride out to Lord Ashwood’s estate. They would pass by the Pemberton estate enroute, but Evelyn refused to peel back the curtain and stare as if she could penetrate his walls with her gaze. She folded her hands in her lap and looked straight ahead while Frederic and Adele chatted merrily beside her.
The dress felt illicit on her skin, as warm and threatening as The Duke’s touch, and it was impossible not to think of the man when she wore it. Bess thought she should have never accepted the gift. Evelyn was beginning to agree with the woman, but it was much too late for that now. The coach pulled into the row waiting to dispense passengers at the manor. Her palms were sweating in anticipation. Would The Duke be there after all? Frederic had been certain Lord Ashwood invited him, but had not heard from The Duke whether or not he would be in attendance.
The ball was hosted by Lord Ashwood’s sister, Lady Lush a widow who lived at the estate with him. Adele and Evelyn sought her out upon arrival at the ballroom and made their introductions, while Frederic vanished into the crowd. Lady Lush looked upon Evelyn with far too much fondness. Again, she wondered what Lord Ashwood had been assured of by Frederic.
“Where did my brother disappear to?” Evelyn asked. In the crowd of faces, she could not pick out her brother’s. “He has left us without an escort.”
Adele stood on tiptoes to look for him. As this brought her only to Evelyn’s shoulder, she had no more luck spotting Frederic than Evelyn.
“I do hope he is not looking for trouble already,” said Adele.
They were saved from crossing the ballroom unescorted by the appearance of Lord Ashwood. He had spruced himself up with a smart outfit.
“Good evening,” he said, bowing. “Both of you look like roses among thorns, but where is Lord Evermont?”
“I am afraid we do not know,” Evelyn said, looking about again. “Perhaps he saw an old friend of his amongst the crowd.”
Lord Ashwood frowned, as if he had thought of a particular friend of Frederic’s. Ever a gentleman, he held a hand out to each of them. Together, they crossed the ballroom where Adele was approached at once by a gentleman requesting a dance. She accepted without hesitation.
“Shall we?” Lord Ashwood offered, gesturing toward the dance floor. The musicians, on their small stage, began a lively reel.
Evelyn smiled and slid her gloved hand into his. For his age and his size, Lord Ashwood could dance well. He kept up with Evelyn through the reel as they wound about the other dancers, and she was the one left breathless at the end.
“Are you recovered from your fall, Lady Evelyn? You look the picture of health,” said Lord Ashwood, leading her from the dance floor when the reel came to an end and a quadrille began.
“During periods of excitement I am prone to a dizzy spells,” Evelyn admitted, “Although if one were to occur this evening, I would have expected it during our dance. You have a light step, My Lord!”
“Ah, I have always enjoyed dancing. It is truly the partner that makes it a pleasure.”
Adele floated over a moment later, red-faced and breathless.
“What fun!” she said. “Still no sign of Frederic?”
Evelyn shook her head. Lord Ashwood, taller than the two women, interrupted.
“I do see him, and I believe he is headed this way.”
“I wonder what kept him,” Evelyn said. She hoped it was nothing he should not be doing, but she refused to nag on this festive day.
He greeted the trio, but appeared distracted, looking over his shoulder at the dancers and then back again.
“Now that your brother has returned, I regret I must part from your company,” Lord Ashwood said. “My sister will be livid if I do not perform my duties as fellow host.”
; “No need to explain the wrath of sisters to me, my friend,” said Frederic.
Evelyn stomped on his toe, discreetly.
“I refuse to believe the Lady Evelyn is anything but charming, as I have never seen evidence to the contrary.” At this, Lord Ashwood smiled at Evelyn and said to her alone, “Though I must dance the evening with others, I will think only of you.”
~.~
Chapter Four
While Lord Ashwood danced with others, he was never far from Evelyn. They skirted around each other during the quadrille she danced with an earl, and partnered again for the hey. She blushed when she thought of his parting words: bold words, in front of her brother and the other dancers in the assembly room. His bald language and unabashed offering of his feelings was so unlike anything The Duke would ever do. Was it not preferable to know where you stand with a man? Why was his frankness so unnerving?
For a brief moment, as she waited for the leading lady to choose the dance, she was alone with her partner. He was a shy gentleman and had little to say, so she cast her mind about and watched the figures in the room engage with one another. Her attention was caught by a figure by the door. It was The Duke. He locked eyes with her.
“That is us up, My Lady,” said Evelyn’s partner, giving her arm a tug so they fell in line with the other couples.
Evelyn, distracted from the sight of The Duke, fumbled over the first steps of the dance. When she had her feet beneath her she looked up again, but The Duke had gone. She spent the entire dance searching for another glimpse of him. Her partner, understandably unimpressed by her performance, did not request a second dance for the evening, not that she would be willing to give him one. He led her back to Frederic with a sigh.
“Did you stomp on his feet the entire song?” Frederic asked, looking after the departing man with his slumped shoulders. “He was so eager to dance with you.”
“Of course he was,” said Adele, at Frederic’s side. “Evelyn is one of the most talented dancers here. You are as graceful as a swan! I love to watch you turn about.”
Frederic, never comfortable complimenting his sister, only grunted.
“I am only a bit worn out,” said Evelyn. “Having not yet recovered from my fall, dancing the whole evening is proving a challenge.”
“Sit, then,” said Frederic. “You have danced with Lord Ashwood and that is all you need do.”
“That is no fun, Frederic!” Adele protested. “Only take a respite, have a glass of negus, and you will be back on your feet again.”
Had she seen him at all? She began to wonder if her mind had been playing tricks, placing a figure there she wished to see, but could not.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Evelyn. “I should bow out but I do have two others on my dance card. They are both a bit later though.”
“Perhaps you will feel better after a short rest,” Adele said.
The three moved to one side of the dance floor, and Frederic went after three glasses of negus. In their brief moment alone, Adele rounded on Evelyn.
“Out with it then,” she said. “What caused you to dance so horribly? Was he awful and rude?”
“No, not at all. I thought I saw The Duke.”
“Pemberton? Here?” Adele shrieked and turned about, as if he would be standing just behind her. “He would have some nerve to do so.”
“I thought Lord Ashwood had invited him?”
“Of course, he would not snub one of Frederic’s dear friends, nor a member of the Peerage. But knowing the situation, it would be the worst form of rudeness for The Duke to accept, unless he has made some private apology to Lord Ashwood, which I would be surprised to hear.”
“Well, he was here,” said Evelyn. “I do not know if he made his introduction to Lady Lush, but I saw him standing at the entrance to the hall, dressed to attend a ball.”
Frederic returned before Adele could reply, handing a glass of negus to each of the women. The sweet, spiced wine was refreshing, but did nothing to quell the rising excitement in Evelyn’s stomach.
“What has you two in such a state?” Frederic asked, indolent. “Is that a new dress, Evelyn? I cannot recall ever seeing you wear it before. It looks expensive.”
“Why can you not simply tell her she looks lovely, Frederic? Why must you be crass?” Adele scolded.
The conversation had taken a dangerous turn. She could not tell him who had sent the dress, for her would be furious at her for accepting it. If she lied and said she had bought it herself, he would wonder where she had gotten the money for it.
“I am allowed to be curious,” Frederic said. “Well?”
“It was a gift,” said Evelyn. A short answer was the best answer. She looked desperately to Adele.
“Dance with me, Frederic,” said Adele. It was not a question, and Adele followed it up by grabbing his arm, tucking it into her elbow and near-dragging him to the dance floor and leaving Evelyn quite alone. Evelyn enjoyed a moment imagining what it would be like to be so unconcerned with propriety as the young actress.
Evelyn, now in the awkward position of being alone in the ballroom, looked about for a chair to seat herself. She should go back towards some of the other women. There were some chairs provided in the corner, and two were unoccupied, but they were somewhat secluded. Oh bother, she thought. She wanted to sit. She had only just sat down when a shadow fell across her. She did not need to look up to know who it was.
“Are you in need of an escort, Lady Evelyn?” The Duke said.
Mind racing, Evelyn tugged at her gloves, stalling for time. The kid-leather, cream gloves were as neat as they could be. She looked up.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
“May I have this dance?”
She could not in good conscience refuse him. She had the dance open on her card. She rose from her seat and he extended an arm to her. It was not improper, it was not illicit; yet placing her hand on his arm felt dangerous and made her heart race.
“That dress suits you,” he said, weaving them expertly through the crowd. “I hope you did not think me too forward.”
“I do think you too forward. I think you are not at all what a gentleman should be, nor did you even feign at being so.”
The Duke laughed a short, harsh sound. “That is true. But then, you are not much of a lady to speak your thoughts so baldly.”
“Why did you come?” she asked. “Adele thought you would not, despite being invited. She said that you had a row with Lord Ashwood before leaving Evermont. Over what?”
As they spoke, he had led them into the line of couples waiting to join the country-dance.
“I had not planned on attending,” he said. “And over such foolishness as your engagement to Lord Ashwood.”
She pulled her hand back. “I shall not dance with you,” said Evelyn. “With everyone here watching, and knowing about the trouble at Evermont? It would be a scandal. I cannot do that to Lord Ashwood in his own home.”
“One dance will not offend,” he insisted.
Some of the other couples had turned to watch them argue. Face heated, Evelyn relented.
“Fine,” she hissed. She did not want to make a scene. That would only make things worse.
His touch, gloved as hers was, was light and his steps were excellent. He danced without the levity of the dancers around him, and never looked away from Evelyn, even as they spun around with the other partners. She felt his eyes as surely as a touch. When they joined again, he held her closer, brushing her body with the lightest contact from his. If she had not seen his perfect steps a moment before, she might have believed it was accidental.
“You would not have accepted my gift if you felt as strongly for Lord Ashwood as you pretend to.”
“My feelings for Lord Ashwood are not any concern of yours. I accepted this dance because you are my brother’s friend and it would have been rude not to, not because of any affection you mistakenly believe I hold for you.”
He spun away from her again and they twi
rled with Frederic and Adele. As the women clasped hands below, the men held hands just above.
“Pemberton, what are you doing here?” Frederic asked, breathless from dancing a double set.
“I had nothing else planned for the evening and grew bored home,” said The Duke. “It seemed as fine a way to spend an evening as any other.”
“You made your apologies to Lord Ashwood, then?”
“I have not.”
“Truly!”
Beneath them, Adele and Evelyn had a whispered conversation of their own.
“Are you mad?” Adele asked, face pink with exertion.
“It was not my choice; he fair dragged me out here! And he is a Duke. I could hardly refuse him, when doing so would make a greater scene than accepting!”
A new couple took the place of Frederic and Adele in the next turn. The Duke and Evelyn shared a mute, heated glare. The musicians carried on for an eternity. Each touch of his hands stilled her arguments on her lips; each absence brought them back twofold.
“It would be awkward for you to remain at odds with Lord Ashwood,” Evelyn said, as he spun her around with one hand above their heads.
“I cannot see how, since you two will not marry.”
“I am tired of you saying that!” she hissed.
The Duke looked over her shoulder. The song wound down at last, but they did not pull apart. He held her for just a moment in the quiet, as the other couples left the floor or prepared for the rest dance. His fingers stroked a line up her wrist.
“What should I say, then?” he asked, pitched low.
Evelyn watched his fingers dimple her gloves and longed to pull them off, to touch skin against skin. “You should just go, Your Grace, please.”
“I have tried to go, Evelyn. I have tried to leave you alone, to let you marry an old man you cannot love. But I cannot. I cannot sit at home and think of you… with him.”
Evelyn gasped at the fiery look in his eye. It fair burned her with a glance.
Frederic pushed in between them, an ugly look on his face. The contact and the spell between them broke, and Evelyn fled. Lord Ashwood was there, looking over the scene with a confused expression, eyebrows low and a frown on his face.
The Duke’s Wicked Wager - Lady Evelyn Evering: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 2) Page 10
