“Red?” Her russet brows darted together before she rolled her eyes. “Oh, I see. Because of my hair. How highly original of you.”
“What is it, then?”
“What is what?” she asked curtly, her patience clearly at an end. Again she glanced over her shoulder where her friend was waiting for her beneath a hanging shop sign. Her friend started to walk towards them, but the redhead stopped her advance with a quick shake of her head before she refocused her waning attention on Aiden. “As absolutely fascinating as this little interaction has been, I really need to go.”
“Tell me your name first.” Before he fully comprehended what he was doing, Aiden reached out and captured her wrist. She jerked back in reflexive surprise but he held firm, fingers easily encircling the lace cuff of her tan kid glove.
“Unhand me this instant!” she demanded furiously.
“Tell me your name first.” His voice was a silky whisper as he gazed down into her flashing green eyes. To look at them a stranger might assume they were two lovers in the midst of a quarrel, and they wouldn’t be far off. There was a certain energy surrounding them. Aiden felt it and he suspected the redhead did as well if the tension in her body was any indication.
“I will do no such thing.” Her small hand curled into a fist. “If you do not release me, I shall scream.”
“And I still won’t let you go.” His grin was unapologetically arrogant. “A name, Red, and you can be on your merry way. Surely that isn’t too large a price to pay for your ill treatment of me.”
“You are nothing more than a lecherous rake,” she hissed between her teeth.
“True,” Aiden agreed. “Among other equally debauched things. You are not going to win this point, so best give in now before you embarrass yourself.”
Her jaw clenched as she grinded her teeth together. She was so furious Aiden wouldn’t have been surprised if she made good on her threat to scream even if it meant attracting unwelcome attention. Redheads were renowned for their tempers, and it seemed the beauty before him was no exception. He couldn’t say he minded her anger. Not really. Not when it brought color to her cheeks and a fiery glint to her eye.
“Fine,” she spat. “I will tell you my name but only if you agree to release me first.”
“So you can run away as fast as you can?” He chuckled under his breath. “I don’t think so, Red.”
“I never welch on a deal,” she proclaimed with a haughty toss of her head.
Though he had no cause to, Aiden actually believed her. “Very well,” he said as he slowly loosened his grip on her wrist before lifting both arms, palms pointing outwards in the universal gesture of surrender.
“Of course, I never said when.” Before Aiden could so much as blink, the redhead whirled around and disappeared behind a flower cart filled to the brim with buckets of long-stemmed roses, sunny faced daises, and brilliant red poppies. By the time the cart lumbered out of the way both Red and her friend were gone.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath before a reluctant smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. Whether he liked it or not, the wench had proven she was as clever as she was beautiful. And damned if he hadn’t fallen a little bit in love.
CHAPTER THREE
“Who was that man?” Her blue eyes as wide as two breakfast saucers, Merry struggled to keep pace with Evie as she marched down the street, her long-legged stride easily twice that of a man’s. “And what did you talk about for so long?”
“Nothing,” came Evie’s clipped reply. “Absolutely nothing.”
“It didn’t seem like nothing.” Huffing and puffing, Merry clung to a lamppost when they finally stopped outside the gated entrance to Bloomsbury Gardens. Encompassing fifty acres on the outskirts of the west end shopping district, the gardens were a favorite among pedestrians as two and four wheeled conveyances were strictly forbidden. Shaded paths lined with all sorts of flora and fauna dissected the park in a cylindrical fashion. In the middle there was a glittering pond complete with little brown ducks, elegant white swans, and paddle boats for those of a more adventurous spirit. For Evie there was no prettier place in all of London especially in the spring when everything was budding and blooming and the air was filled with the smell of fresh soil and cherry blossoms.
The moment they stepped through the gates and selected one of the half dozen paths that led down to the pond she felt the tightness in her chest begin to ease. It wasn’t often Evie lost her composure, but she’d certainly lost it with the dark-haired stranger. How he had made her heart pound! It was a wonder he hadn’t commented on the thunderous noise it had been making when he’d held her wrist captive.
Fighting the urge to look over her shoulder for the hundredth time since they’d raced away from Drury Lane, she managed a smile for Merry’s benefit. The poor dear looked positively bewildered, not that Evie could blame her. They’d run to the gardens as though the very devil was nipping at their heels, which he very well could have been. Fortunately it did not seem as though the stranger had given chase, not that Evie had the faintest idea what she would have done if he had. Hit him over the head again with her reticule and scream bloody murder?
It seemed as good a plan as any.
But he did not follow you, she told herself as she stepped into the shade of a towering elm tree. And now you can forget him. It should be easy to do, seeing as you don’t even know his name.
“He needed directions,” she told Merry. “Nothing more.”
“Oh really?” The new duchess of Kendalwood may have been shy and soft-spoken, but she was hardly dimwitted. “Somehow I doubt that. I doubt that very much indeed.”
“Doubt it all you want,” Evie said with an irritated flick of her wrist. “But that is what happened and I do not care to discuss the matter any further.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
The two friends continued on in silence. Evie felt a twinge of guilt for being so short with Merry, but she did not know what other explanation to give. How could she, when she still did not know herself what had really happened? She’d bumped into a stranger, mistakenly believed he was attempting to rob her, and struck him with her reticule. That much was clear. But everything that happened after...everything that happened after had no easy explanation. The intense way he’d looked at her with his devilish blue eyes...the tingling sensation she’d felt when he grabbed her arm...the inexplicable yearning she’d had to stand up on her toes and–
“How are you finding married life?” Evie said suddenly, wanting – no, needing – to distract herself from her own traitorous thoughts. “Is it everything you imagined it would be?”
Neatly side-stepping a puddle left behind by last night’s rain shower, Merry nodded her head with enthusiasm. “Oh, it is! At first I was a bit nervous seeing as Kendalwood and I hardly knew one another before we were wed, but it has been everything I ever dreamed of and more.”
“It sounds positively heavenly.” Evie wasn’t jealous of her friend. She wasn’t. If there was anyone who deserved true love, it was the woman walking beside her. But it still nettled that of all people Merry – quiet, stuttering, plain little Merry – had captured the heart of a duke while she couldn’t so much as get an earl to propose to her.
“Although I must admit it hasn’t been perfect.”
“No?” Evie said with interest. “Why not?”
“Well, we are still getting to know one another.” She ducked beneath a low hanging branch. “And there are some things he does that irritate me to no end.”
“Such as?” The path made a sharp turn to the right and they both stayed to the far side in order to allow a quartet of gentleman in tall black top hats to pass. One man, his upper lip concealed by a rather impressive brown moustache, tipped his hat as the two parties passed, his gaze drifting down to Evie’s bosom before he met her gaze with a feckless grin. Accustomed to such leering glances she merely lifted a brow and with a shrug he turned and caught up with his companions.
“And this is a bad thing?” Evie asked. “Most women cannot keep their husbands by their sides for more than a minute. You should be grateful that Kendalwood is not the straying type.” Courtesy of their dear friend Rosalind, both women knew all too well what it was like to have an unfaithful husband. Rosalind’s marriage to Lord Peabody was still shy of its third year but it had only taken six months before the bastard had begun stepping out on her. How any husband could purposefully harm such a sweet, loving wife was beyond Evie’s comprehension and were it up to her she would have seen to it long ago Lord Peabody earned his very well deserved comeuppance. Unfortunately it wasn’t up to her and Rosalind, foolish as it seemed, was still convinced her husband would one day mend his awful ways and turn back into the man she’d fallen in love with.
“No, you don’t understand.” Merry’s cheeks flooded with color. “I mean he wants to be with me. Not that I mind so much, but at times it is rather inconvenient! Two nights ago we were supposed to attend a dinner at Lord and Lady Richards but instead we were in the bedroom for three hours and missed the entire thing.” Her eyes widened in distress. “Three hours, Evie! It’s scandalous.”
An unfettered grin stretched Evie’s mouth from ear to ear. “If that is your only complaint I think you’re doing quite well, darling. What’s a missed dinner or two when it comes to matters of the bedroom?”
“But every day?” Merry said, looking equally aghast and pleased with herself.
“Congratulations,” Evie said dryly. “You have found the secret to keeping your husband very happy.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
They continued on in silence. Evie knew they would find the pond around the next bend for she could hear the cheerful quack of ducks and the low, rather mournful cries of the swans. For such beautiful creatures she often thought they looked quite sad and today was no exception. Swimming in a tight knit circle on the far side of the pond they stayed far away from the bank where a group of hungry ducks had congregated to catch the bread crumbs being thrown from the shore.
“There she is,” Merry said, pointing at an elderly woman who sat by herself in the middle of a wooden bench. No one knew the old woman’s age or even her name – when asked, she’d always cackle under her breath and give a different answer – but she had been a patron of Bloomsbury Gardens for as long as anyone could remember. Every day she arrived at sunrise and every night she left right before sunset, her pockets filled with coins she earned from selling stale loaves of bread. “How much is it? I cannot remember.”
“Five shillings for half a loaf.” And yet all she carried with her was a measly two farthings and one florin. Her fingers tightened around her reticule as embarrassment heated the back of her neck. She had no fiancée, no husband, and not even enough money to buy bread from the old duck woman. What was her life coming to? How much longer could she keep up this charade? It felt as though the walls of her very existence were crumbling down around her and there was nothing she could do to stop them. “You go ahead,” she urged with a feigned smile when Merry started towards the bench only to stop and glance questioningly back over her shoulder when she realized Evie was no longer beside her. “I forgot that when I tried to feed them last time one of them nipped my finger. Best I watch you do it from a safe distance.”
“But we walked all the way here so you could feed the ducks,” Merry protested.
The corners of Evie’s mouth tightened as she struggled to retain her smile. “And I will. Next time. I promise.”
“Very well. I’ll be right back.” And Merry flounced away, leaving Evie to stare out across the pond with a pensive expression on her face and a peculiar aching in her heart.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lady Theresa Longacre was not the sort of person to be easily satisfied.
With anything.
To look at her handsome face, large house, doting husband, and beautiful daughter one would think she had everything she could possibly desire. They would be wrong. Very, very wrong. For no matter how much Theresa had, she always focused on what she did not have, and thus she always found herself wanting more.
More money.
More houses.
More social prestige.
As the daughter of a duke Theresa had grown up with the false impression that she was far more important than everyone else and as such deserved far more than everyone else. Unfortunately, she had not taken her future needs into consideration when she impulsively married beneath her station. Twenty-seven years with the wrong man had made her bitter. Twenty-seven years wishing for things she could no longer afford had made her downright cruel.
In her heart Theresa was not a bad person. But she had stopped listening to her heart long ago, something her daughter knew only too well.
When it was late at night and she was laying in her bed staring up at the moonlight shimmering high on the ceiling Evie often wondered what she would be like if her mother had been kind instead of cold. For in addition to inheriting Theresa’s green eyes and red hair, Evie feared she’d also gotten some of her mother’s less desirable characteristics.
Growing up with a mother who was never satisfied had made her hard. Hard and defensive and quick to hurt others before she was hurt. It was not the type of person she wanted to be, but no matter how much she struggled to be patient and kind and understanding there was always an edge to her words and her actions she couldn’t control. At least not completely.
With age she’d gotten better at reining in her temper but more often than not it was her sharp tongue that led her straight into trouble. The damned thing was always saying what it wanted first and thinking of the consequences after.
“The time has come for you to make a decision, Reinhold.” Holding the earl’s flustered gaze, Evie pinned her hands to her hips and regarded him with a lifted brow. They were standing in the Longacre’s drawing room. Or rather, Evie was standing. Reinhold was sitting stiffly in a high backed chair with a grimace on his face and a nervous tick pulsing in the corner of his right eye.
He had arrived little over an hour ago, intending to accompany Evie and her mother to the theater, but the second he stepped through the door Evie had grabbed his arm and dragged him straight into the drawing room. Determined to learn of his intentions in regards to marriage once and for all she’d refused to let him leave until he gave her a satisfactory answer. Not that she could physically restrain him if it came down to it, but Reinhold was a traditional sort of gentleman and as a traditional sort of gentleman he never would have dreamed of storming out of a room. Even a room he was being held in against his will.
“Is it warm in here?” Procuring a monogrammed handkerchief from the breast pocket of his waistcoat Reinhold dabbed at his forehead. “It feels rather warm.”
Evie bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a snapping retort. She might have felt pity for the earl – he was clearly uncomfortable – if not for the fact that he had been courting her for nearly eight months. By the ton’s standards such a length of time was a small eternity and the fact that he’d yet to propose was bordering on the shameful. Summoning a smile, she decided to change tactics.
“Haven’t you enjoyed our time together, Lord Reinhold?”
“Why yes,” he said with a blink. “Of course I have.”
“As have I. And yet I am afraid that time may soon be coming to an end.”
“An end? Whatever do you mean?”
Evie sighed for effect before she flounced over to a generously upholstered chaise lounge and perched on the armrest. “I fear your interest in me is not genuine, my lord.”
“Not genuine?” Reinhold’s eyes –the same brown as his hair and neatly tended moustache – widened with distress. “How could you say such a thing Lady Genevieve? My interest in you has been nothing but genuine.”
And
yet for all of your proclaimed interest you’ve only kissed me once, she thought sourly. If the tiny peck on her lips could even be counted as a kiss. Truth be told she had felt more attraction to the stranger she’d beaten with her reticule than the man she’d been courting for nearly a year. But then marriages were not built on attraction. Everyone knew that. With the exception of Merry, a woman did not choose her husband out of love. She chose him because he was suitable and he would be able to provide a future. A future free from overbearing mothers and financial ruin.
“So you say, Lord Reinhold, but your actions speak otherwise.” Attempting to appear demure, she folded her hands on top of her lap and glanced at him from beneath her thick auburn lashes. “What are your plans for the future?”
“My plans for the future?” The earl looked genuinely startled by the question. “Well I...that is to say...I suppose I will settle down, marry, and have a family.”
“All splendid ideas, Lord Reinhold. You need only one thing.”
He blinked again. “What is that?”
“A wife,” Evie said sweetly even as she fought the urge to gnash her teeth together and throw a pillow at his head. How could one man be so bloody obtuse? She knew he wasn’t courting anyone else. So why was he delaying their engagement? It did not make any sense.
“Yes I...I suppose I would need a wife in order to get married and start a family.” Reinhold sat back in his chair and dropped her gaze. Under his breath he muttered, “I know what you are alluding to, Lady Genevieve, and I must admit the thought has crossed my mind on numerous occasions.”
“But...?” she said, voicing aloud the word he’d left unspoken.
He tapped his knees with his gloved fingers and took a deep breath. “But Mother does not think it is a good idea. She – she thinks I should wait.”
“She thinks you should wait,” Evie repeated dubiously. “Wait for what? Lord Reinhold I do not mean to be indelicate, but next month will mark your thirty-fourth birthday.”
A Most Inconvenient Love Page 2
