by Brenda Joyce
Her heart exploded. Evelyn took a lump of sugar that she did not need and put it in her tea. As she stirred it, she said, very casually, “I heard he lives on an island.”
“Yes, he does.”
Evelyn looked up, setting her spoon down. “And if he is not in residence?”
“Then I imagine he will receive your letter within the next few days, as he cannot stay at sea indefinitely.” Julianne stood up. “He is rarely gone for more than a week at a time.”
Evelyn stared. “You are being even kinder than you were yesterday.”
“I wasn’t all that kind yesterday. I was rather rude. However, that is all in the past, and I do hope we are truly friends now.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn managed. Julianne seemed entirely sincere. Did it really matter why she was being so kind? Jack was going to receive her letter any day now. “I hope so, too,” she said.
“You must get dressed, Evelyn. Amelia is joining us for lunch. You will adore her. But be forewarned. She will be as curious as I am about your interest in Jack.”
Evelyn straightened. Julianne was smiling, but it was too serene—and too knowing. “But I already explained,” she began.
“Of course you did. But the more I think about it, the more I think that you must have made a lasting impression upon my brother.” She started for the door, smiling as if she knew a secret. There, she paused. “I feel confident that you will hear from Jack very soon, knowing him as I do.”
Evelyn filled with tension as Julianne smiled and left.
CHAPTER SIX
EVELYN CAREFULLY FOLDED her undergarments and placed them in the valise that was open upon her bed. She added her nightgown and wrapper, oddly reluctant to leave Bedford House. She had so enjoyed her time in London, and she had become so very fond of Julianne and Amelia. She had spent three entire days in town, rather frivolously. There had been teas and luncheons, strolls in Hyde Park amongst other gentlewomen and browsing the extravagant shops on Oxford Street. She had enjoyed another magnificent supper at Bedford House, this time with Amelia’s husband St Just joining them, and she had even attended the opera with her hosts. But she missed Aimee terribly. It was time to go home.
And there had been no word from Jack.
Julianne had been right. Amelia had been curious about their relationship—and she had asked far too many questions. A small, no-nonsense woman, she had seemed as pleased as her sister by the fact that Evelyn wished to engage Jack’s services as a smuggler. Evelyn could not comprehend it.
By now, Jack had surely received her letter. Was he ignoring it? Or had he received it after all? Earlier that morning Julianne had pointed out that once in a while, his affairs might truly delay him. Evelyn could sense that she was a bit worried about him. After all, there was a bounty on his head.
Her heart lurched—as if she, Evelyn, were also worried about him.
There was another possibility, of course. Jack might ignore her missive, no matter how she wished to apologize, no matter how she tried to ingratiate herself.
Evelyn feared that might be the case. Julianne still believed that Jack had made improper advances, and that was the cause of their argument. Evelyn had no intention of telling her what had actually happened, even if she needed a confidante. But Jack might be so set against her, especially if Julianne had interfered, that perhaps he had dismissed her apology outright.
She was rather grim. If Jack meant to ignore her, so be it—there wasn’t anything more she could do.
As she began to close the valise, a knock sounded on her door. Certain a maid was bringing up refreshments before she set out on the long journey back to Cornwall, Evelyn hurried to the door.
Jack Greystone stood there. “Hello, Countess.”
Her shock was immediate.
His gray gaze seared hers. And before she could breathe—before she could even comprehend that he was at her door—he smiled ever so slightly and moved past her into the bedroom. Evelyn jumped, still shocked. He smiled again, this time as he shoved the door closed behind them. “You are certainly determined, Countess,” he said. “And I am uncertain whether I admire such a stubborn bent, or not.”
She gasped as their gazes held. And her heart thrilled, against all better judgment. He had come to London. Did that mean he had read her letter and that her apology had been accepted? Did that mean that they could forget their previous encounter, and start over?
Somehow, she had forgotten how magnificent he was. Her pulse rioting now, she took a good long look at him. He had clearly just come from his ship. She could smell the salt from the sea on his clothes. His jacket was unbuttoned, revealing the dagger at his waist and the pistol hanging from the shoulder strap, at his hip—he would hardly walk about town with such arms. The sight of them made her shiver. His hair was coming loose from its queue, and there was a bit of growth on his jaw, a shade darker than his tawny hair. It only made him appear more dangerous and disreputable. His lawn shirt was open at the neck, revealing the gold cross he wore, with its ruby stones. His breeches seemed damp, straining across his powerful thighs. There was dirt on his high boots and on his iron spurs.
He was a fatally attractive man. “You have given me a fright,” she managed.
He smiled slowly at her. “But you did expect me to come rushing to your aid?”
Evelyn clutched her hands and backed up against the bedroom door. “I was praying for a response to my letter. I was uncertain as to what that response might be.”
“Apparently, your prayers have been answered.”
His stare was unwavering, and Evelyn realized she did not want to look away. She had truly forgotten how dangerously handsome and terribly masculine he was, how small and petite she felt, standing beside him—and how utterly feminine he made her feel. But mostly, she had forgotten the dangerous urge to leap into his arms.
She swallowed. “I did not expect you to come to London,” she whispered. “Never mind that Julianne thought I would hear from you. Forgive me—I am in some shock.”
“Then we are even—as I was in some shock to learn that you were at Bedford House with Julianne.”
She trembled, wondering at his wry tone, and now aware of another fact. He was in her bedroom. They were behind closed doors. “Mr. Greystone—we should go downstairs. We cannot possibly converse here.” His mouth curled. His glance strayed to her mouth. “Of course we can, Countess.”
She tensed—instantly recalling the torrid kiss they had shared—and certain he was recalling it, too. “I cannot entertain you here.” She managed to think of Julianne, who was already suspicious of their relationship.
“Why not?” He seemed amused. “You did not mind entertaining me alone in your salon at the midnight hour. Our actions then were far more damning.”
She knew she flushed. “It wasn’t midnight,” she exclaimed, searching his gaze, “and I did mind! I had no choice—as you simply showed up there with no warning—as you have done now.”
“I am not going downstairs.”
She started as his meaning struck her. “You fear being apprehended—in your own sister’s home?” she cried.
“I must avoid scrutiny—even here. From time to time this house is watched.” He walked over to a window and glanced outside at the gardens below. His movements were so casual, belying the danger he might be in. Then he faced her. “And while I did not notice any soldiers lurking about today, Julianne and Paget have a large staff. I have no intention of openly coming and going—I trust no one.”
She hugged herself, finding it difficult to breathe normally. She hoped that she was not included in the circle of those he would not trust, but she was fairly certain that might be the case. And he could not even move freely in his sister’s own home. Compassion arose. How could he live with such a bounty on his head? In constant fear of discovery—of arrest? She found herself staring closely at him, for some sign of vulnerability, but he instantly looked away.
If he was fearful of discovery, she could find no s
ign. “I am sorry,” she heard herself whisper. And she meant it—yet she had to remind herself that he was running the British blockade. He was aiding her enemies. Yet he had saved her family by evacuating them from France. She would never indict him casually.
He lifted a brow. “So you are feeling sorry for me, Countess? I thought this was your tragedy.”
She bit her lip, confused by his odd statement. Was he mocking her? “I am sorry you must remain in hiding. It must be terribly difficult, having to stay away from one’s family. It is possible,” she added, “to have sympathy for someone else’s plight.”
His expression tightened. “I do not need your sympathy. I am not in any plight. I suggest that you save your compassion for someone else. We have matters to discuss.”
She trembled, taken aback by the hard look in his eyes. She had mistaken his mood. It wasn’t light, not at all. He was grim, but then, he feared discovery and arrest. “Does your presence mean that you have read my letter…and can you accept my apology?”
His thick lashes lowered. “It means—” he paused, glancing up through them “—that you are in my sister’s house.”
She studied him, alarmed. He was distinctly unhappy that she had called on Julianne. “I was invited,” she began.
He cut her off. “I have read your letter,” he said flatly. “And I have also read Julianne’s.”
Julianne had written him. What had she said? “She has been very kind. She invited me to stay when I called, asking her to forward my letter to you.”
His stare was sharp and searching. “I told you that I was not interested in your proposition. Yet you write me a letter—to attract my attention. And now, I find you at my sister’s, her cherished houseguest.”
“I pray you are not accusing me of manipulating your sister!” Evelyn cried, meaning it.
“Your prayers may be falling on deaf ears,” he said bluntly. “What else am I to think?”
“Do you not know your own sister, sir?” Evelyn cried. “She is a very strong and intelligent woman. She can hardly be bandied about.”
He stepped forward—Evelyn shrank. “I happen to know my sister very well. She is hopelessly naive. She believes in saving every lost soul. Undoubtedly she would even believe in saving yours.”
“My soul isn’t lost,” she managed, pressing against the spiny bedpost. He almost loomed over her.
His large hands found his slim hips. “I can imagine the encounter now. You appeared on her doorstep, looking for me, with your tale of woe—while on the verge of destitution. Of course she offered to let you stay here.” His gray gaze flashed, but it dropped to her mouth.
He was angry, she thought with dread. He did not like her new friendship with Julianne! “I did not expect her to invite me into her home.”
“Somehow I doubt that!”
“It was more economical for me to stay here—and await your reply.” She gave him a hard look. “And she does not have a clue that I am destitute.”
“Is that true?” His hands relaxed.
She lifted her hand, showing him her large and expensive diamond ring. “I came here only to ask her to forward my letter to you, and I believe I must appear to be in ordinary straits. As you can see, I am wearing my finest clothes—and my only diamond ring.”
He stared closely at her now, and it was a moment before he spoke. He said, softly, “Another man might feel as if he is being hunted, Countess—or pursued, rather boldly.”
She realized his meaning and felt herself blush. “If you are suggesting that I am pursuing you for personal reasons, you are wrong!”
“Am I? Perhaps you cannot forget a scorching kiss.”
She knew her color increased wildly—she felt the fire in her cheeks. “Did we kiss?” she managed. “I have forgotten!”
He laughed. “You damn well know we kissed, Countess. I doubt you have forgotten it! But I am relieved that you are not pursuing me for personal reasons.” He was definitely mocking.
She trembled, absolutely breathless. “I am in mourning!”
“Of course you are.” He studied her. Evelyn wished she could stop flushing. She hadn’t behaved like a widow in mourning that night in her salon and they both knew it. “So tell me. What did you say to her? How did you get her to rally to your cause?”
She fought for composure. It was a moment before she could gather her wits and return to the subject of Julianne. “I told her that the letter I wished for her to forward was one of apology. I explained how I knew you, and I told her that we had had a misunderstanding, one I wished to resolve.”
He continued to stare at her. “Did we have a misunderstanding?” He was wry.
Damn it, she felt certain he was referring to that kiss! “I believe so,” she said, tilting up her chin. “I explained that I needed to hire a smuggler, and that as you had helped me escape France four years ago, I wished to hire you. She was very interested in my efforts to attain your services. She asked me a great many questions. I was stunned when she finally invited me to stay here.”
“Stunned—or delighted?”
“I was pleased to stay here for matters of economy—which I imagine you must know. We have become friends, Mr. Greystone. Genuinely so.”
“I do not like your involving my sister in your affairs,” he said harshly, turning aside slightly. This was her cue, so she slipped away from the bedpost and past him, rushing to the window. She had felt trapped by the bed, but now, she felt trapped by the window.
He turned to gaze at her. “I was stunned to receive your letter, but not as stunned as I was to receive Julianne’s.” He made a mirthless sound. “But nothing has surprised me as much as learning that my sister thinks I have mistreated you!”
She shrank. “Is that what she said?” she asked carefully.
He slowly smiled and approached. Evelyn gasped and backed into the windowsill. “I think you know exactly what she wrote.”
“She guessed what happened! Yet I told her, several times, that you did not make improper advances,” she said quickly. “I defended you! I claimed you need not apologize to me!”
His gaze widened with utter surprise. Too late, Evelyn realized that Julianne hadn’t told him her theory that she believed Jack owed Evelyn the apology, and not the other way around. “She thinks I made advances?” He flushed. “Of course she does! And you are the tragic heroine in all of this. While I am the villain!”
She stiffened. “I told her, several times, that you were the perfect gentleman!”
He laughed. “And did she finally believe you?”
“No.”
He came close and leaned over her. Evelyn went still. He looked at her mouth again, and this time, he did not look away. Her heart thundered. Was he going to kiss her now? Like this?
But he jerked away. “You have courage, I will give you that. For a tiny woman, you have enough courage for a dozen men.”
She shook her head. “I am not all that brave.”
He started. “I don’t believe it.”
“I am afraid—I am afraid of the future, and what it holds for Aimee.”
He stared. “Of course you are.” He moved away and began to slowly pace. “My sister is now your champion. She thinks that, as a man of honor, I must rush to your aid.”
Evelyn was afraid to move even if the windowsill was digging into her hip. “I don’t know why she wishes for you to help me,” she said truthfully. “I did not try to persuade her to my cause.”
“Didn’t you?”
“She is intrigued by our relationship.”
His silver gaze shot to hers. “Of course she is. Julianne is a romantic, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.”
What on earth did that mean? She wondered, watching him. What did her romantic nature have to do with any of this?
He stopped pacing. “Did it ever occur to you to take no for an answer?”
Their gazes were locked. He was being earnest, and she knew she must be as honest. “At first. Our encounter
was so horrendous, I only wished to forget it. I did try to find another smuggler.”
His stare was relentless now. “I must confess, no woman has ever described my embrace as horrendous until now.”
She swallowed. “But I had no choice,” she managed, her heart lurching. “I realize that you do not recall the events of four years ago, but you did save my life, and the lives of my daughter and husband. I trust you, Mr. Greystone. I trust you as I trust no other.”
He looked away, his face set. “I do not like that letter. It was a deliberate attempt to bring me to Roselynd, so I could fall under your spell—and do your bidding.”
She trembled, hesitating. “I am not certain I like it, either.”
His gaze lifted and his eyes blazed. “So you admit it was another devious attempt to make me come to heel? To involve me in your dilemma?”
She bit her lip. “Yes. But the truth is, I wish to make amends. I wish to start over! And, yes, I still need your help!” she cried.
His stare was unwavering now. It was bold, piercing. He said, “I came here to accept your apology, Countess. The truth is, I have no other choice.”
She was stunned.
“I may have a rather notorious reputation, but it is not entirely correct. I am a man of honor. Honor requires that I accept such an apology, even if it is not sincere.”
She inhaled. “But I will always be in your debt.”
A silence had fallen, one thick and heavy. She wondered if he meant to cross the small distance between them—and take her into his arms—in spite of the argument they were having.
But he did not move. Evelyn wet her lips, turned and opened the window. She lifted the collar of her gown. She stared into the gardens below, filled with an absurd disappointment. Clearly, she still yearned for his touch. “If I do not fight for my daughter’s future with the utmost determination, who will?”
He did not answer her. She did not turn, but she felt his gaze on her back.
A knock sounded on the door. “Evelyn?” Julianne called.
Evelyn leaped away from the window as Jack whirled to face the door. “Get rid of her.” He moved to the far side of the armoire, against the wall—a position that could not be seen from the door.
