Evie resented Lord Newgate’s intrusion and suppressed an irritated huff. She had not had a chance to talk to Alfred since he had arrived, and now with Lord Newgate here, there was no opportunity.
When I wanted Lord Newgate’s attentions, he wasn’t there, and now that I wish to be rid of him, he’s everywhere! She reined in her displeasure and managed a small smile.
Alfred’s unhappiness was not as subtle. He sneered and dropped her hand. “Newgate.”
They obviously know each other, but how?
“What are you doing here with my affianced?” Lord Newgate asked, rushing to her side. He took possessive hold of her hand, applying more pressure than necessary. She winced when the sharp press of his fingers dug into her flesh.
“Formerly affianced, from what I have heard.”
“Regardless of our current relationship, the lady’s well-being concerns me.”
“As it does me.”
Lord Newgate ignored him. “Evelyn, my dear, I’ve been waiting to speak to you. How is your father? I am eager to hear all about your journey, though you were naughty to leave London without saying a word, and on your own, too. Wherever did you find the funds to finance your little excursion?”
What an odd question. We’ve not spoken in weeks, and he inquires after my father and how I paid for my trip? It was more than an odd question; it bordered on being impolite. One did not discuss vulgar matters like money. As a peer, he ought to understand the rules.
“I can tell you about it, Newgate. We were traveling companions for over a week. Disaster might have plagued our coach, but we didn’t notice, did we?” Alfred winked. “We never were at a loss for conversation.”
“What are you doing here, Coombes?” Newgate demanded, ignoring his reference to their time spent together.
“I could ask you the same.”
“I have business with Lord Atwood.”
“Funny, so do I.”
She did her best to ignore the terse exchange between the two men by replaying her conversation with Mr. Coombes moments before Lord Newgate had arrived. He had acted with uncharacteristic boldness, and she was at a loss to explain his actions.
Then it came to her.
Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, and had she been alone, she would have buried her head in her hands. As close as they were, she prayed the two men noticed nothing amiss.
Because in her haste to confess her sin of deceit and eventual drugging to Mr. Coombes, she had also admitted she was awake and willing when they had kissed, and she had, in fact, been the one to initiate their kiss.
Blast!
Her eyes flicked to Alfred, and he flashed her a satisfied, smug smile. In an instant it was gone. She prayed he would let it drop, but before returning to his conversation with Lord Newgate, he winked. It was a quick flick of his eyelid, but it was enough.
He knows! Why can’t I disappear? She needed to leave, but both men blocked her passage. Mortification burned her cheeks, and she wanted nothing more than to slink to her room and hide. Impossible when both gentlemen refused to budge.
Her stomach pitched and her head spun. She was not well, and she feared her demise was close at hand. Is death by embarrassment possible? The three of them might soon find out, except the stalwart Mr. Coombes came to her rescue again.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lady, your uncle and I have an appointment. I will see you at dinner.” He grasped her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles, sending a pleasurable rush shooting through her hand and warming her body with a rosy flush. She curtsied and was helpless to stop the longing glance she gave him as he walked away whistling a jaunty tune.
“My lady?” Lord Newgate offered his arm, and the two followed behind Mr. Coombes.
It’s Alfred, my friend and traveling companion. I must stop this obsession and attempt to behave with more decorum the next time I see him. It’s not as if I have an attachment to him. Do I?
Despite her stern warning, several minutes passed before her pulse slowed and the flush receded from her face. Lord Newgate chatted on, but she paid him no mind because her thoughts were otherwise occupied with Mr. Coombes and the sinking realization she had indeed formed an attachment to the man. Simple infatuation she could have overcome, but an attachment? No wonder he looked so smug.
Double blast!
Chapter 11
Though it took a considerable amount of will, he descended the stairs and left the woman he’d sworn to protect in the arms of the man he most despised. Doing so caused him no small amount of pain, but without making his dislike known, there was no way to discourage her from spending time with Lord Newgate. He suffered in silence and escaped as soon as possible.
Escape would have been much easier if the little minx hadn’t confessed she planned our kiss. Even now his body hardened remembering her admission of guilt. With downcast eyes and a nervous flick of her tongue across her lips, she had confessed all. Irritation at her machinations transformed to arousal when she’d admitted, “I couldn’t resist kissing you.”
He would have forgiven her any transgression and had been prepared to offer his forgiveness by kissing away her worries—but Lord Newgate appeared. Even though she was in the arms of her fiancé, his desire for her did not abate.
Lady Evelyn Westby is a menace to my well-being, and the sooner I conclude my business with Lord Atwood, the sooner I can be away from her siren’s call.
He stopped in front of Lord Atwood’s study door and knocked. “Enter!” the older man barked.
“Lord Atwood? Do you still wish to speak, or shall I return later?”
“Come in, Mr. Coombes. The sooner this mess is cleared up, the sooner we can get back to normal.”
He shut the door behind him and took a seat opposite Lord Atwood. The older man’s head was bent over papers on his desk, and he experienced déjà vu. Memories of his former life as a solicitor resurfaced, reminding him of his own deficits in upbringing and status. A month ago, he had been on this side of a desk with Lord Stanton on the other ordering him to go to London and see about his wife’s dowry. Though he had vowed never again to be in a similar position, here he was once more sitting on the other side of the desk, waiting until someone was ready to speak to him.
Anger reared its ugly head, prompting him to speak, but before he could form a cogent sentence, Lord Atwood sealed the paper and handed it to a footman, who rushed out of the room. Lord Atwood walked around his desk and took a chair next to Alfred’s own.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting. I wanted to dispatch the letter as quickly as possible. Some of the information you gave me this morning was troubling, so I am sending my man of business to look into it.”
Alfred’s hackles rose at the implication he had been untruthful when narrating his story. “I assure you I did not misrepresent the facts, my lord.”
“I believe you are being truthful. However, fifty-one years on this earth has taught me that truth can be distorted. I’m trying to discover the facts, nothing more.”
“How can I further assist you? It will be several days before you receive an answer, and I have nothing new to share with you.”
Lord Atwood poured two glasses of port, and Alfred took the drink, grateful to have something to occupy his hands.
“Let’s get to know each other a little better. We are soon to be related.”
The port in his mouth soured, and he sputtered, coughing on the liquid now burning down his throat. “Beg your pardon?”
“You told me this morning how you rescued my niece from her own folly, and you have my gratitude.”
“But—”
His lordship raised a hand, and he held his tongue. “You also informed me that, in rescuing my niece, you spent several nights with her, alone and without a chaperone.”
“I acted with honor, my lord, and did not take advantage of your niece.”
The older man raised an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not tell the innkeeper at the Hare and Hound that you and my niec
e were married?”
“I did, but—”
“And did you or did you not tell me you kissed my niece as she lay sleeping?”
“She was awake!” he crowed, thankful the lady had divulged, before he saw her uncle, how she orchestrated their kiss. “I did nothing but reciprocate.”
“That’ll make it easier.”
“What will be easier?” Though confusion still lingered, his chest tightened as an inkling of dread took root.
“If she wants to kiss you, she is not immune to you, nor will she protest too much when I tell her she will be marrying you, and not Newgate.”
“My lord?” All the blood drained from his head, and a choking sensation gripped his neck, not unlike the rough slide of a noose finding its place. He pulled his collar away from his neck, but the tightening increased.
“Call me Atwood.”
He shook his head, too shocked to credit what was happening. “I mean to go to the Americas. I can’t if I’m married to your niece.”
“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“I do not want to marry her!” he shouted, hoping the volume of his statement made up for the fact he had no one to blame but himself for this mess.
“No man looks with fondness at the end of his bachelor days, but there is no other option. Whether you intended to or not, you have compromised my niece.” Atwood poured himself another glass of port and swallowed it in one gulp. “I know your actions were honorable and no mishap came to her, yet society will overlook those details when it becomes known how familiar you two were when traveling. If you are a man of honor as you claim, you will see the untenable position my niece is in.”
There were times he wished he had never laid eyes on her. He should have known the moment he helped her down from the carriage she was trouble. If it hadn’t been for her, he’d be on his way to the Americas now, not having his life planned out for him by a man he had known for less than a day.
His subconscious whispered in his ear. Isn’t this what you want? A wife of your own, a home, a family? Still the rosy dream of a life of prosperity in another land was hard to forget. He had planned for a family after he made his fortune, not before. The lure of independence and freedom beckoned as strong and as sure as the comfort and heat of her embrace. He must proceed with caution.
“Even saying I agree to this plan, I have no means to support a wife or any children our union would produce.”
“What of your position with the Earl of Stanton?”
“I turned in my notice when I set out from London. Besides, are you willing to align yourself with my family? We have no connections, no money, no status to claim our right in society. She will suffer.”
“Do you deem yourself so inferior you would demean the people who raised you?”
“I didn’t say—”
“Are you not a gentleman?”
“Not by birth.”
“Answer the question I asked, please.”
“Was I raised a gentleman, yes. My parents taught me respect, the value of hard work, and the importance of honesty. These principles have guided my life and have not failed me.” At least until I met your niece.
“Ah, so you can claim better breeding than many gentlemen of the ton.”
“I make no such assertion.”
“You do, for what man raised in privilege and indulgence can say the same?”
“Are you so severe on yourself you would disparage your station and the privileges your birth afforded you? From our brief acquaintance, I can see you, too, are a man of quality and integrity, so do not tell me principles are for the lower class.”
“A title does not make a man a gentleman.”
“Nor does a lack of one require a man to be a scapegoat in order to avoid a scandal. My honor demanded I ensure the safety of your niece. No harm befell her in my care; however, my one act of kindness should not join together two people who have no more right to wed than the sun and the sea.”
Atwood leveled Alfred with a shrewd glare. “She will if I make her.”
“Doing so would ensure a life of misery for the both of us.”
“So you wish to woo her?”
“You are twisting my words to your advantage!”
“Maybe, but those are your options. Either you woo her and take her for wife, or I will force the matter. She will obey and do as she is told.”
“You do not know your niece at all. No one can make her do other than what she already wished to do in the first place.”
“You had better make sure she wishes to marry you, my boy, or by God, I will march you down the aisle myself with a shotgun lodged in your ribs. Am I clear?”
“Yes, my lord,” he managed to say despite the grinding tightness about his throat as the noose came to rest around his neck. “It’s past time I take my leave.” He stood and bowed.
“I’m sorry, son. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, though heaven knows how you are going to make love to a woman who can’t talk.”
He rested his head on the door. “She talks to me.”
“What? Impossible. She hasn’t spoken a word to anyone outside her immediate family since she was five.”
He peered over his shoulder. “I don’t know why, but she talks to me.”
As he stormed away, Atwood shouted, “Maybe there’s hope for the two of you after all.”
Chapter 12
The next morning she entered the breakfast room with a firm resolve to put Mr. Coombes far from her mind, but the gentleman in question already occupied a seat at the table, a large plateful of food in front of him.
“Good morning.” In his haste to greet her, he bumped the table and clattered the china. With a chagrined smile, he righted his place setting and bowed. She waved him back down.
“I trust you slept well?” She returned to the table, her own breakfast in hand, and winced at the banality of her question. How am I supposed to talk to him?
This was the first opportunity since yesterday evening, though she did not have much to say. Her inability to speak had less to do with her uncharacteristic reticence and more to do with last night’s dinner being an absolute disaster. Not only did she have to contend with Lord Newgate’s impolite questions about her journey, but Mr. Coombes’s behavior had bordered on incivility when speaking to her uncle during dinner, as well as the blatant animosity between Lord Newgate and Mr. Coombes. They swiped and snarled at each other throughout dinner. She had been glad when it was time to go through while the gentlemen stayed behind and enjoyed their port and cigars.
He smiled, a tight, unnatural grimace. “Tolerably well, thank you. And you?”
“Yes, fine.” She busied herself with the teapot and hoped he didn’t notice the blush rising to heat her cheeks. Sipping her tea, the heated beverage soothed some of her frazzled nerves. “I did not know you were acquainted with Lord Newgate,” Evie said, grasping on a topic to break their awkward silence.
This time he out-and-out sneered. He was silent for several moments and pushed his food around on his plate. “We went to Harrow together and started the same year.”
“Harrow? I believe Uncle attended when he was a young man.”
“So he mentioned last evening over drinks.”
“How did you—” She stopped herself and studied her hands, hoping he hadn’t heard her. In spite of their familiarity, her question was an inappropriate one. Her curiosity aside, she could not ask how he had been able to afford to go to Harrow. One did not discuss finances over morning tea.
But he guessed anyway. “How did I manage to afford attending a school like Harrow?”
She looked up, expecting anger but finding wry amusement instead. “Er, yes, if it’s not terribly impolite of me to inquire.”
He waved away her concern. “I don’t mind. My father and his partner kept accounts for several of Harrow’s board members. They agreed to take me on as a scholarship student.”
A scholarship student? There was nothing wrong with being
a scholarship student, but she had heard stories about how some of the titled gentlemen targeted students like him because they claimed no previous ties to the school, unlike her uncle or Lord Newgate.
Wasn’t it Lord Newgate who told me how he had teased and tormented a boy in his year, a boy named Alfie? They had been at a ball, and Newgate was regaling her and their friends with his exploits during his time at Harrow. There had been a boy he had described as being a mangy giraffe—knobby knees, long, thin legs, and big ears. He had been a scholarship student, one of many students Newgate and his cronies liked to torment because they were not titled. At the time, she had found his descriptions of life at Harrow amusing, his pranks a natural part of boarding school. She had laughed at her betrothed’s lively exploits, never once considering who was hurt by them. Yet knowing the person on the receiving end made a difference. Shame burned through her. “I’m sorry!” She covered her mouth with her hand.
“Why are you sorry? I received a good education, graduated with honors, and was even considered for an important position within the War Office. My time at Harrow was not wasted.”
“I meant about…I mean to say, Lord Newgate told me what he did to you.”
“Ah.” He pulled on his collar and grimaced. “Boys at boarding school act in a way polite society deems unacceptable. I’m sure Lord Newgate meant no harm. Besides, it’s all forgotten.” He attempted a smile, and when he couldn’t muster one, avoided her gaze while he resumed eating his meal, leaving her to believe nothing was forgotten.
Anger on behalf of his younger self boiled within her. No child deserved to be ill-treated, not even a tall spindly youth with knobby knees, and eyes the color of the ocean before a storm. She wished to comfort him and soothe away his worries. Before she knew what she was doing, she had arisen from her place at the table and taken the seat next to him. Unable to resist, she grabbed his hand in hers and squeezed. “Whether he meant any harm or not, his behavior was unacceptable, polite society or not. I am sorry for what happened to you.”
His meal forgotten, he looked down at their entwined fingers. She couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed as if he were struggling with a decision, for his shoulders tensed and his free hand balled into a fist. It loosened, and he smiled, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her captive hand in mesmerizing circles.
Silence Is Golden Page 9
