by Dawn Brower
“Ah, that last time when you fled the garden as if the hounds of hell were at your heels.” A trace of humor rang in his voice, which contradicted the annoyance she’d spied in his eyes. “Thank the heavens my looks weren’t the reason for your flight.”
“Yes, well, that is in the past.” She stifled the urge to snort with laughter as she threaded her fingers together in her lap. The thin kid did nothing to keep the chill at bay.
“We would like to hope.” The tone of his voice suggested it might not be, and another trace of tremors moved down her spine. “Where shall I drop you? Do you have a direction? From what I remember, I’m certain you have family in London.”
“I do, but most of them are in Brighton at the moment, and I do not relish showing up on one of their doorsteps, wet, bedraggled and in need of assistance due to the fact my purse was stolen on the train, leaving me without pin money.” She turned her face to the window and the black velvet curtain that covered it.
“Are you unharmed from that incident?” Though the inquiry was polite, concern hung on the words.
She appreciated the sentiment. Being independent was well and good, but one sorely missed having someone else about as companion. “I am fine. More angry than anything else. I should have paid more attention to my surroundings, but with the crush of people and the rain, I was distracted.”
“Ah.”
“London is filled with criminals.” There was no excuse for her babble, yet she indulged in it anyway.
“Yes, but it also has good people too. You must look harder.”
What the devil did that mean? Now she had nowhere to go unless she wished to throw herself on the mercy of her family, the very people from whom she’d refused help too many times for any of them to offer it now. The thing about independence meant one walked that road alone by necessity. Add to that fact, if she went back on her word, then she’d be giving permission for her mother or even her grandmother to resume matchmaking attempts.
And she’d land in the same drink she’d run from five years ago.
“If I might venture a guess to explain your current contretemps?”
“I cannot stop you.”
That dratted eyebrow lifted once more. He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Because you more than likely ran from your family when you ran from me, it is now a matter of pride that you won’t ask for assistance—from any of us.”
How could he deduct that? Her jaw dropped and she solidly met his knowing gaze. “I…” She wetted her lips, unsure of how to continue. The best course of action would be not to allow this line of questioning at all. The last thing she wanted was his censure. “It is also none of your business, Mr. Winslow.”
“That is no longer a sufficient answer, Miss Bradenwilde.” Part of Evangeline died that he hadn’t repeated her Christian name as he’d done on the platform. When he turned toward her and planted both feet on the boards of the carriage, his knee knocked into hers. Tingles played the base of her spine. Heat spread from the point of contact. “Why are you in London?”
“I couldn’t transfer to Brighton due to weather.” That was a vague enough answer, and something he could easily discover for himself. “And some business about trees and debris being over the tracks from the storm. The station master said the trains wouldn’t run in the storm until it was deemed safe for travel again.”
“What is in Brighton that all of your family members are already there and you are not?” He searched her face with his intense gaze. “When I knew you, your family haunted London and never missed a ton function.”
Oh, the irony of that. Her family moved in circles she didn’t want to trod, yet here she was, back in the capital, sharing a carriage with the second son of a viscount and the reason for her flight to Brighton to begin with. It was as if those last five years had never happened. “If you must know, my grandmother is celebrating a birthday, and since she prefers the climate and entertainment of Brighton, that’s where she has taken up residence. She demanded the family attend her there.” That pulled a smile from her, for Lady Jane had a stubborn streak that grew more pronounced as the years went by. “Also, my aunt lives with her, and we, ah…” She waved a hand. “Nevermind. It is not important.”
Jasper nodded. “From what I remember of your adventurous grandmother, she let nothing dissuade her from doing exactly as she pleased.”
“Yes.” Fond memories warmed her insides and chased away a bit of the cold. “She was the one who encouraged me to spread me wings, to walk my own path, regardless of gossip.” It was more than she’d wanted to reveal to him, but she couldn’t recall the words now. With a sigh, she regarded the window again. “She is every bit the earl’s daughter. The stories she tells of the exciting places she’d gone as a child with her parents, as well as the madcap scrapes, the romantic interludes she’d indulged in later, the schemes she’d gotten into even after her marriage…” Evangeline shook her head. “I wish I was more like her than the woman I have become.”
“Why can you not be that woman? It’s not as if you are at the end of your life.” A frown rang in his voice.
“It’s… complicated. I do not wish to speak of it.” For like their relationship, the time to chase a new dream was in the past, especially when the current one she lived wasn’t working.
“Nothing is ever complicated. It is our musing upon the thing that makes it so.” He captured her gaze and lowered his voice. The almost gentle tones lulled her into a sense of peace. “You always did over-think things, shy away from adventure out of fear of change or the unknown.” Then he shrugged and his arm brushed hers. “No doubt the bold miss who embarrassed me didn’t have enough follow through.” He tsked his tongue. “What has happened to you that you are at such a pass?”
The peace he’d imparted vanished like mist before the sun. In its place came hot anger. He had no right to judge her. They’d never discussed the future, and he’d certainly not asked her what she wanted from life. She narrowed her eyes. “This discussion is over, Mr. Winslow.”
“Interesting that when conversation hits too close to home or necessitates you having to examine how you feel about certain things, you end it.” He leaned away from her and slightly widened the space between them. “Will you always run, Evangeline?”
The sound of her name on his lips sent another host of tingles through her belly. Why did he make it seem as if his mouth caressed the word before releasing it upon the air? Which brought her attention to his lips. Did he now kiss with authority and experience behind him, or did he still give perfunctory and passionless pecks? “Perhaps. After all, isn’t that what happens when one feels threatened?” Drat! Why did she continue to talk and offer bits of revelation about herself? She contemplated the window once more. “Please have your driver take me to my great uncle’s townhouse in Berkeley Square.”
Jasper snorted. “So, throwing yourself on the mercies of family is preferable to riding with me?” Low-grade annoyance infused the question.
It irritated her that he felt thusly, but then, he was justified. “At this moment, yes.”
“Sacrificing your freedom by going back, are you? One can only wonder what horrible punishment upstanding members of the ton will find for a wayward daughter.”
Evangeline rolled her eyes. “No doubt they will see it as permission to matchmake.”
“Ah, I’m glad to know you find marriage to anyone objectionable, for I’d previously thought it was simply me you took issue with.” The annoyance upgraded to full-blown hostility.
Oh dear. For the first time, she considered his feelings from that long-ago humiliation. No doubt she’d wounded him terribly. Her chin trembled. None of that, Evangeline. You’re stronger than this. She straightened her spine and willed her emotion away. “Enough, Mr. Winslow.” She made certain to emphasize his title. Using first names was too personal when she wished to maintain distance between them. Their shared history didn’t matter; she was no longer that starry-eyed young lady of twenty-four who had
dreams of grandeur, independence and success. There were now several years of experience on her, and she was older and wiser, if not successful. But she certainly wasn’t defeated. She turned toward him, hoping he felt the fury in her gaze. Yet a part of her mourned the loss of what they’d once had together. “Do you mean to have words now?”
“Given that we’re hardly in a drawing room or parlor, this carriage is as good a place as any.” Matching anger clung to his response. “Perhaps you should start.”
She ignored him even as she marveled that this was the first time she’d ever seen such ire or heat in him. When they’d courted, he was ever the polite suitor, solicitous in his regard and rather lukewarm in his carriage. Nothing that curled her toes or set fire to her blood. Chaste and nothing a proper gentleman would be ashamed of. No heat had passed between them. That insipid bearing was one of the reasons she’d fled. After all, what would a marriage be if there was no passion in any aspect of life?
Above all, she did not want an empty ton union. There were too many of those in London, and she didn’t envy those people. She wanted… craved… excitement, thrills, that neck-or-nothing feeling of desire that would have her teetering on the edge of total consumption. She longed for a marriage like her grandmother had enjoyed, like her great-uncle Charles had had, like their parents before them. So many stories she’d grown up with touting such love-drenched affairs as those.
Are they a thing of the past, a nod to by-gone days? She thought of her parents and the fact they rarely showed affection for each other in public or even in front of her. I do not wish for staid. Something far away from the proper, stifling, oftentimes paper cut-out world of the ton. No gilded prisons for her.
Realizing he still awaited a response, she said, “If you cannot come to terms with our parting of ways, do let me know, and I will list the reasons why we were not compatible, even if you will not like them.” A sudden bout of exhaustion swept through her. What she wouldn’t give for a warm bed and a bracing cup of tea. None of her plans had turned out right, and seeing him again only highlighted those shortcomings. “This night has worn on my nerves and I would rather salvage what I can of the evening while making other arrangements.”
Silence greeted her, a great, roiling silence that grew stifling. All the while, he kept his intense, stormy gaze on her—assessing, questioning, wondering. Finally, she sighed. Of course he wouldn’t wish for a row to air grievances and put their failed relationship firmly behind them because he probably had been haunted with why she’d done it.
“Shocking that you refuse to explain.”
“Not now.” It was for the best. “On second thought, direct your driver to the Clarendon.” Surely after she claimed connections to the Archewyne name, the hotel would extend her credit. It was the better alternative than offering herself up to the altar of matrimony.
Telling him her reasoning would wound him deeper. That she couldn’t bear, for when all was said and done, she still cared for him and wished to see him happy. He deserved better than her. Perhaps she had saved him from embarrassment all those years ago, for had their names been linked and she’d attempted to find her path while married, he would have been shocked and disappointed. The knowledge brought swift tears stinging her eyes and she blinked them away.
“A rather fancy address for a woman with no funds and no companion.” He whipped off his hat, shoved a hand through the partially damp tresses and then replaced the head gear, regardless of the errant droplets he’d dislodged. Raven hair she’d always wondered if it was soft, but had never had the daring to find out for herself. “However, in answer to your earlier inquiry, yes, I would enjoy an explanation as to why you left me, for you never gave one, and I’ve always speculated.”
Dread knotted her stomach. Never did she think he would call in her bluff. She stared at him with a healthy dose of wariness. Where had the meek second son of a viscount gone in the intervening years? When had this assertive, self-assured man come to dwell in his place? “Well then. I shall give it a go.” Perhaps if they could discuss what happened and why she’d run with grace and dignity, she could finally be free of him, both physically in the present and from her thoughts—the thoughts that always dogged her when she was tired or second guessing her decisions.
“Not here.”
“I beg your pardon?” What deviltry was he about? Did he not just agree to a discussion? Did he not just tell her the carriage was as good a place as any?
The conveyance rocked to a halt as he explained. “I have rooms above my emporium. Perhaps we can take tea together, share a meal and converse like civilized people in front of a cheery fire in my parlor.”
For the second time that evening, Evangeline’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t determine which shocking statement to respond to first. “I beg your pardon?” It bore repeating. What other surprises would this night hold?
He flicked a dark eyebrow upward. Humor flitted through his expression before the familiar annoyance replaced it. “Since we parted, I have become a chocolatier of some acclaim throughout London. I run Winslow’s Chocolate Emporium and Confectionary.”
Of course! She’d passed the Emporium dozens of times while in London but never in her wildest imaginings did she think that his name was linked to the shop. The sweet, rich aroma of chocolate, vanilla and sugar invaded her nostrils with phantom scents, and if she closed her eyes, she could see the window displays full of bonbons and chocolates topped with sugar flowers, discern the sugar-molded Easter eggs decorated with colorful icing with adorable scenes inside also made of sugar. Her stomach rumbled and her respect for him rose. It took great skill to make such sweets.
“You work a trade?” My how the mighty had indeed fallen. When he’d courted her, he had no aspirations and had been content in riding the coattails of his father and brother. He’d wished for nothing more than to enter whole-heartedly into that glittering world of the idle. “How did you convince your family to let you?” Despite her current circumstances, curiosity ran away with her thoughts.
“No one ‘lets’ me do anything. I am a self-made man.”
“Oh.” What did one say to that?
“If you wish to know the answers to that question and any more you might have regarding how I’ve spent my life after you left me, my dear Miss Bradenwilde, you shall have to accept my invitation to a late dinner and tea.” He twisted the handle to the door and once the panel swung open, he hopped out of the carriage without another word.
Drat that man! She sat immobile as her mind spun with a thousand inquiries. What did any of this mean to her now beyond satisfying a few lingering ponderations?
Jasper turned back toward her with a hand extended, and when she assumed he meant to offer her assistance down, he merely grasped the handle of his valise and pulled it from the carriage. Rain beat upon his hat and wetted the shoulders of his overcoat. “Now or never. Like you said, we either lay the past to rest this night, or we will both forever wonder and suffer unanswered questions.”
Double drat him, and devil take his eyes too. She stifled a snort at her proclivity toward the vulgar when expressing herself. When he would have turned away from the carriage, she halted him. “Jasper, wait.” And darn him for making her use his given name. Where had the barriers gone she’d so carefully erected between them?
“Yes?”
“I accept your invitation with thanks.” At least she’d remove herself from this dreary cold rain. That fire he mentioned sounded very good indeed. “I would adore a hot cup of tea.”
“Excellent.” This time he extended his free hand and helped her down from the carriage. As soon as her feet landed on the ground, he released his hold. “I’ll escort you into the shop then grab your luggage. After that, we’ll discuss many things, the least of which where you plan to pass the storm.”
As he uttered those words, the intensity of the rain picked up and wind threw the angry drops of moisture into her face.
Laying bare her soul for his censure and mock
ery left her stomach quaking and cold shivers lancing down her spine. Knowing the truth of the matter would put hurt into his eyes twisted her stomach. It would be a long night indeed, but at the end of it, she would finally be free of him.
Without guilt? She could only hope.
Chapter 3
Where did his resolve to leave her to fate go?
Jasper cursed himself for a fool many times over as he unlocked the door to his emporium. As the panel swung open, a bell attached tinkled in greeting. “Please, make yourself at home. I’ll return straightaway with your luggage.” He set his valise down inside the shop and then stood aside for Evangeline to pass.
“Thank you for the kindness.”
Kindness? Making certain a lady was sheltered from less than ideal weather wasn’t kindness, was it? Expected and what a gentleman should do, of course, but since when would it not be an inherent response that someone needed to go out of their way and thank him for it?
Still, he nodded and caught a faint, delicate, elusive floral scent. What was it? Not readily able to identify the perfume, he returned to the carriage. Wind-driven rain slashed at his clothing and sent chilly drops down the back of his neck. With the driver’s help, they lugged the trunk and the carpetbag into the shop, and once it was set down on the white-and-black checked marble, Jasper paid the other man. With a murmured good night, he closed the door sharply behind him. The tinkling of the shop bell, once cheerful but now ominous, rang in the silence that followed.
Devil take this night. He stifled the urge to yawn. Too knackered to do much else other than stare as she removed her hat, he said, “Um, shall we adjourn upstairs?” When her eyes rounded, he cleared his throat. Perhaps that didn’t sound as congenial as it was intended. “For talking and to take tea only. My intentions are honorable.” The silence built between them and he sighed. “Or, if you’d rather, I can put the kettle on here in the shop.”
