An Earl's Guide to Catch a Lady

by Wilde, Tanya

  “My apologies, Evelyn,” he said suddenly, his hand reaching out to touch hers in reassurance. “It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. I am merely curious.”

  Evelyn did not believe him. Every word uttered from his devilish mouth was calculated and served an ulterior purpose. He had his reasons for being curious; she just didn’t know what they were.

  “I am not inclined to share my story with a stranger.”

  “Am I a stranger, Evelyn? I recall us being, quite intimate.”

  Her face flamed.

  He leaned closer, the heat in his eyes setting her ablaze. “There is something here, between us. Something I believe is worth exploring.”

  She swallowed. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid. “That would not be wise.”

  “Why? I know you feel it too. I felt it in the way you kissed me back. Don’t deny it.”

  She didn’t. “Be that as it may, it can never happen again. I’m sorry if my behavior led you to believe that there can be anything more than our shared kisses, but there cannot.”

  Matthew said nothing, only stared at her steadily. He sat back, wanting to push, but instinct and thirty years of existence warned him not to.

  “I see.”

  Their stew arrived and Evelyn heaved a sigh of relief, grateful for the maid’s timing. A moment longer under his penetrating gaze and she would have expired on the spot. The duration of the dinner past mostly in uncomfortable silence, Matthew avoided questions of a personal nature, only remarking on the food and weather and Evelyn ate as fast as she was able, refusing his offering of wine. Only later, when she was in her room alone, did her hands begin to shake.

  The next morning the activities outside in the courtyard were a source of obsession for Evelyn, watching it from her bedroom window. Coaches were arriving and leaving as the onlookers bustled about, their lively laughter filling the air. The drivers whistled at the women that were sashaying about, smiling provocatively at any gentlemen who caught their fancy. The rain had finally stopped pouring about an hour ago and almost everyone was outside, relieved to be able to continue on their journeys. Horses were being groomed and walked about, but only one horse in particular held Evelyn’s attention. A beast she would never forget. And he was being saddled for his rider.

  He was leaving.

  Her relief did nothing to sooth her disappointment. Where will his journey take him, and would he spare her a thought once he was there?

  They’d avoided each other since the awkward dinner the previous night. Something felt off, however. Evelyn couldn’t put a name to what exactly, but it was a gnawing feeling that would not dissipate.

  The previous day, there had been a moment when all her senses were so completely aware of the attraction that pulsed through her veins that she would have surrendered to every inch of him, if he had asked. But it had only lasted a moment. He was not a man that would be used. And perhaps that was the off-ness that she sensed. She only wished she could make sense of him, or this attraction. There was something very tormented and soulful about him, as though he was haunted, that pulled her into his web. She could not help but be enthralled.

  But he was leaving.

  Evelyn had been certain he would insist on escorting her, or perhaps it’d never been his intention to insist upon it, perhaps he would just escort her without her consent. How like a man that would be.

  The sight of him striding purposefully to his groom caught her attention. He spoke, his head bent low, motioning to the Inn. Now that’s not at all suspicious, Evelyn thought dryly as she viewed the scene unfolding in the distance.

  Her wayward footman had sent word that their carriage would be ready by sunset. She’d also learned that he had fallen in love with one of the scullery maids. The two of them planned to elope. As romantic as that might be, it was impossible not to feel envious. Evelyn had never heard of two people falling in love so quickly. It must be wonderful to have such trust in someone so implicitly.

  It was one of the main reasons Evelyn had chosen a life of independence to pursue her dreams rather than marriage. Once you chose a partner, you entrusted to them your life. How could anyone be trusted with such a life altering decision?

  But then, it hardly mattered what choice you made. It would still be the last big choice you ever made, since if you married, you became the property of your husband, and he would then continue to make all your big choices for you.

  These past two days, on the other hand, gave Evelyn some insight as to why a woman would still sign her freedom away. She understood now why people gave in to the lure of their desires—the fantasy of love. The illusion was quite brilliant, really. But the fact remained, desire would never equal love.

  It’s probably why the majority chose more practical methods of choosing their partners, like wealth and standing. Matthew was no exception to the rule. He bled masculine appeal and power. A powerful combination any woman would find very hard to resist.

  She was finding it very hard to resist.

  But Evelyn had long ago accepted love did not exist in physical attraction, only the illusion of it. Love only existed in purest form of friendship. If that could not be achieved between partners in marriage, then love would never grow.

  Evelyn’s own parents had been an example of what happened when no form of friendship existed between partners. It’s why it had been so easy for her to decide to follow her dreams instead of joining the marriage march.

  No sound reached her ears, nothing to warn Evelyn of his presence except the sudden ripple of awareness that drew her from her musings.

  Matthew.

  She turned. He stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed and imposing as ever. A wave of euphoria hit her—as though she did know him, as though they had met before. Only she could not call to mind where she thought she recognized him from. Perhaps she recalled him from her own fantasies, the ones where her hero saves her and carries her off to his castle. Evidently he appealed to her in every degree, and that made him dangerous indeed.

  He stared at her, taking count of everything, even the stray hair hanging down her cheek. So this was it then. Would he insist on escorting her or would they say their goodbyes in a civil manor? She would much have preferred sneaking away in the cloak of night, but that wasn’t an option anymore.

  “You are leaving.” It wasn’t a question. She wanted to hear him say it even if only to put her suspicions to rest.

  She thought she saw disappointment flash briefly in his eyes, but it was gone in a blink.

  “I will be back before dawn. There are things I need to see to,” he said. His face was devoid of expression and his tone solemn.

  Evelyn presumed he wanted confirmation she would still be here when he returned.

  Her chin lifted and a spark of defiance entered her eyes. “I will not be here when you return.”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I will not be here—”

  “I heard you the bloody first time. What I want to know is why?” he growled.

  Evelyn straightened at his tone. “While I have grown fond of this establishment it’s only natural for me to continue on my journey.”

  He took a menacing step forward until he loomed over her in an intimidating fashion. “I will escort you.”

  “But what of your business you need to see to?”

  “It can wait.”

  Evelyn’s resolve faltered as her mind searched for a reason to give him that would assure his departure, without her. The lie slipped out before she could stop herself, “I’m afraid that won’t do. I am to meet my betrothed.”

  She watched in apprehension as his mouth opened to speak and then closed again. His eyes glazed over as he seemed to grow taller before her eyes.

  “You are betrothed?”

  Evelyn angled her face away so he wouldn’t see the truth in her eyes. She inwardly applauded her halfwit mind. It was the worst possible lie to utter.

  “Who the hell is your bet
rothed and why did you lie when I asked you why you haven’t married?” he snarled, his voice sharp and venomous.

  Evelyn’s mind raced at how to answer that question. She could give him any name and any name would still be the wrong answer.

  It still did not stop her from blurting the first name that popped into her head, “Damien Granville, the Marquis of St. Aldwyn.”

  She immediately regretted her decision. The Marquis was her brother’s best friend, and a notorious rake. Not only would he never marry, he would never waste his time in the country. Evelyn wrinkled her nose, suddenly distracted with her own thoughts. Damien really was a poor choice of husband. If Matthew came from her world, as she suspected he did, he would never believe that the Marquis would be betrothed, least of all to her. She needn’t have worried however. Matthew’s face had drained of all color.

  Evelyn took a step back when his eyes turned hard and furious. His shoulders bunched and his hands fisted at his side, the tension almost unbearable.

  “Tell me,” his voice low and hoarse, “why you never mentioned you were engaged?” The last was forced out between clenched teeth.

  Evelyn shivered, but said, “It did not seem relevant.”

  His eyes widened before they narrowed threateningly. “Not relevant? We shared a bed, we kissed. Intimately. And it did not seem relevant?”

  Evelyn cringed. She was such an idiot. “Damien and I have an understanding—of sorts.” With every word she sank deeper into a black abyss.

  “You have an understanding?” Matthew gave a cynical laugh. “So you make a habit of getting foxed and climbing into strange men’s beds? Kissing other men?” he growled, looming over her small figure. “He is going to marry a trollop, though I’m sure he will understand." The last was an unforgivable insult.

  Evelyn gasped in outrage. A moment passed as they stood and glared at each other. To her shock his hand reached up to cup her cheek but fell away before it made contact. Without another word he turned and left, but paused at the door and said, “You deserve each other.”

  Evelyn watched as he slammed the door behind him through a vision of tears. She wiped at them furiously. Her suspicions of his birth had been proven correct. He was a Lord. She turned toward the window to stare at the courtyard, watching as moments later, Matthew appeared, shouting at his groom furiously while he mounted his horse. He shot one last glance in her direction and set out, riding out of her life. She continued to stare even as he disappeared from sight.

  She should have boxed his ears at the insult, but she had deserved it. It still hadn’t hurt any less. She couldn’t blame him. She would have thought the same had she been him. It did however surprise her that he believed her lie so easily. He had not even demanded, well, anything actually.

  Her brows drew together.

  Again Evelyn had the sense that something seemed off. And again she couldn’t put a finger on it. He had left rather suddenly, and if he returned before dawn he would be a force to be reckoned with. Evelyn sighed heavily. She should never have lied. But as she would depart tonight the point was moot. She wouldn’t see him when he returned, if he indeed, returned.

  It would be so easy for him to learn that she lied about being betrothed. If he then dug deeper he would find that St. Aldwyn, while still a happy bachelor, was however acquainted with Simon Tremaine, Earl of Westfield, who has a sister named Evelyn Tremaine.

  Evelyn started to pace the length of the room. He would be back. She was certain of it. But what could be the driving force of his determination? A sense of duty perhaps? Whatever the case may be, she needed to make haste. Now. Her heart pinched in protest, but she ignored it. It would not do to grieve for things that could never be.

  Matthew dismounted his horse in front of The Black Knight Inn long before dawn, just in case Evelyn tried to slip away. He hadn’t lied when he said he had business to attend to. From the first moment they met, something about her nagged at the back of his mind. So he’d ridden out to Bath to confirm his suspicions. His jaw hardened. She was no other than Evelyn Tremaine, sister to his oldest friend, the Earl of Westfield, Simon Tremaine.

  Well, former friend.

  Despite this, no one could confirm whether she was indeed betrothed to the Marquis of St. Aldwyn. He knew the bastard well. And he hated him with every fiber of his being. And to his belief, St. Aldwyn would never settle down. But because of the connection to Westfield, he could not be certain whether she’d fabricated the entire story or told the truth.

  She hadn’t been honest about her identity, so perhaps she’d lied about the betrothal. In fact, he was quite certain everything that came out of that seductive little mouth of hers comprised of half-truths. Indeed, she’d even deceived him about meeting St. Aldwyn, for he happened not to be in Bath. Neither was Westfield or any other relative of the Tremaine family. So where the hell is she going? And why is she traveling alone?

  None of this changed the fact that she had misled him. For her sake, he hoped her betrothal was a ruse. Or it meant that once again, St. Aldwyn appeared to be involved with a woman Matthew desired.

  “Hell."

  Matthew raked a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. Exhaustion circled his eyes and anger pulsed in his blood. No, Matthew thought darkly, anger was too mild a description for what he felt. He wanted to lash out at something—or someone in particular. That was the only reason why he didn’t break down her door. He needed to get his emotions under control. He might still decide to strangle her for her deception, but if he saw her now, he would make an utter fool of himself.

  And he hated that he needed to hear her admit St. Aldwyn was not her betrothed and that she would not leave him. Matthew did not know which thought scared him more, the latter or the former. He glanced up to where he knew Evelyn’s room to be. Nothing would please him more than curling around her body and holding her until she left the world of dreams and came back him. He shook his head sharply. What had the damn woman done to him? With long purposeful strides he strode through the entrance and settled in the dining room, a predator waiting for its prey.

  Her head pounded something fierce. It was becoming an unwelcome habit, entertaining herself with drink. Sinking deeper into the tub, warm water coming up to her neck, she let her lashes drift shut and listened to the activities outside. Ah bliss. It was still early, yet people sounded everywhere, their voices drifting toward Evelyn, the sounds of hoofs trotting along the street oddly comforting.

  She mulled over the absurdity of her latest misadventure. She’d enlisted the help of Mr. Canvas, a lanky old man in possession of a coach, to escort her to Bath because her carriage had disappeared along with her footman. Point of fact, the only favorable thing about finding brandy in the coach had been it dulled the pinch in her heart somewhat, unfortunately not permanently.

  Then, on their arrival, she discovered that Mr. Canvas had gotten the destinations wrong! Instead of Bath, he had taken her to Bristol. He then left her in the hands of his nephew, Tom, to see her settled for the night.

  Evelyn dipped her head backward; her face submerged in the water. She loathed finishing her bath- the warmth soothed her delicate skin. How fortunate that she’d never sent word to her aunt of her pending arrival, knowing her aunt would never mind an unexpected appearance. Her brother on the other hand would want to be informed that she’d arrived in good health.

  Evelyn closed her eyes in an effort to calm her mind so that her headache might disappear. They popped open again at the sound of an all too familiar voice.

  “Excuse me madam, have you seen a woman about...”

  Evelyn’s heart plummeted to her toes. She knew that voice. It was the same voice that haunted her every moment and her every dream.

  She craned her neck to peer at the window. Oh good lord. He stood right outside her window, the shadow of his silhouette as discernable as the clouds in the sky. How had he found her? Here in Bristol, no less? Evelyn strained her ears to pick up their conversation.

  “
Don’t rightly know sir, this is a respected men’s establishment and they don’t allow women of any kind. Ye could try the Peaches and Plum Inn or Gabby’s Lounge. It’s the most popular amongst the posh that pass through here.”

  Evelyn gasped.

  Men’s establishment? Had she heard correctly? Gentlemen don’t take kindly to women who infiltrate their establishment, regardless of their class. Why hadn’t she thought to question her whereabouts?

  Not even when Tom handed her a pair of breeches, shirt and jacket did she view it as odd, in fact, she remembered being all too happy to obliged him. But surely after Tom brought water for her bath they would have learned that a woman occupied one of their rooms?

  “Oh when I get my hands on you, Tom,” she muttered under her breath, snatching up a towel.

  Why would Matthew have pursued her? What did he hope to gain? Then it struck her—he wasn’t about to let what happened between them go. Had he discovered her lie?

  In quick jerking movements she dressed in the clothing Tom had provided and set about drying her hair. She hoped Mr. Canvas and Tom were somewhere nearby. There was a cap on the chair in front of the hearth. Ah yes, it formed part of the outfit Tom gave her.

  Admittedly, the men’s attire was much more comfortable and far easier to dress, the freedom of movement pleasant and envious overall. Once done she padded toward the window, where she noted Matthew no longer stood outside her room. Oh how it would irk him if he knew she had been only footsteps away.

  Botheration! Why did he have to have unruly hair and broad shoulders and strong features and eyes so vivid they pierced your soul? They were by far his most fascinating feature. Ancient. As if they’ve seen far too much, held all the knowledge of this world, and found it lacking. Tired eyes.

  Stop it! She chided herself. These ridiculous musings of his eyes did not change the fact she would have to, once again, steal away like a thief in the night. For the last time, she vowed.

  Evelyn would never regret her decision to remain a spinster so that she could follow her dreams. It had been her decision. The only reason (in her estimation) that she was now plagued with reluctance was because she did not wish to end her adventure, certainly not because she was developing tender feelings for him.