“Very well, Evangeline,” Lord Pettigrew said finally, good-natured once again. “The good Lord knows that both the duke and I have spent hours in here. To the best of my knowledge, my Felicia has never even considered stepping one of her dainty feet into this mausoleum.”
As Lord Pettigrew escorted them to the second floor, he and the duke discussed the triumphant return of Napoleon. “He will be in Paris by tomorrow, I have it on the best authority. It’s difficult to accept that the French are welcoming him back with open arms. It will soon be all over England. It’s time that Englishmen everywhere realize the danger this man poses to all free countries.”
She stumbled.
Napoleon will soon be in the Tuileries, where he belongs. It was happening, just as Houchard and Edgerton had predicted. Somehow, she had nourished hope that the French would have nothing to do with Napoleon, that the French army would hastily escort him back to Elba. Houchard would have had no further use for her or her father then. “Evangeline?”
“It’s the heat, your grace,” she said, her voice dull as the light that tried to shine in through the dirty windows overhead. “I’m all right.”
“Excuse me? The heat, you say?” He was staring down at her, his eyes narrowed, seeing too much.
“I will excuse you,” she said only.
She became aware that Lord Pettigrew was apologizing for the clutter that filled his large office. There were maps everywhere and piles of papers stacked atop every surface. At the back of the office stood a huge mahogany desk, and two men were leaning over it, looking at some maps.
“Gentlemen,” Lord Pettigrew said, “be so kind as to await me in the antechamber. I will be but another minute or two.”
They both eyed Evangeline with a mixture of admiration, impatience, and condescension, gathered up several papers, and left the inner office.
She ignored them and walked nonchalantly toward the windows at the back of the office. She made a point of remarking on the view of the Thames through the uncurtained glass. She supposed that Lord Pettigrew replied in a suitable phrase, but she wasn’t attending either him or the duke. She was looking from beneath her lashes at the second shelf of the bookcase on the far side of the room. It looked little used. It was there, between the third and fourth bound volumes, that John Edgerton had instructed her to leave the envelope. She stood at the window, responding to Lord Pettigrew when it was appropriate, all the while wondering how she would ever get the wretched envelope into the bookcase.
“Have you seen your fill?” the duke asked at last.
She turned and smiled brightly, and extended her hand to Lord Pettigrew. “Yes, indeed. Thank you so much, Drew, for your kindness. I know that you are quite busy. I don’t wish to take any more of your valuable time.”
Evangeline walked slowly to the wide doorway, and let her glove slip unnoticed to the wooden floor. When they reached the outer office, she said, shaking her head at herself, “Oh, dear, I dropped my glove. Just a moment, I shall fetch it.”
Before Lord Pettigrew could assign one of his clerks to the task, Evangeline had whisked back into his office. With trembling fingers she quickly pulled the small envelope from her reticule and slipped it between the thick books. She returned in not above three seconds, waving the glove in her hand.
“I’m so sorry. It was so forgetful of me, so stupid really. But all is well now. And I’ve seen where all you masterful gentlemen spend your days to protect England.” She would have continued her nonsensical speech had not the duke looked at her as if ready to clap his hand over her mouth.
Back inside the carriage, Evangeline spent many minutes settling herself, folding the blanket over her legs, settling her gloved hands in her lap, staring out the window.
“That was truly a remarkable experience,” he said, staring hard at her, but she didn’t look at him.
“Goodness, yes. So very exciting. I fulfilled a childhood dream, seeing—”
“Be quiet, Evangeline.” He continued studying her profile, wondering, always wondering what was in her mind. He said, “I look forward to the day when I will finally come to understand you.” She said nothing at all.
“I suppose you would like to visit the Commons?” She looked at him, controlled again. “No,” she said, sounding like a twit, “what I would prefer is a drive to Richmond. I want to see this famous maze of yours.”
Chapter 28
Evangeline sat in the cushioned window seat in Edmund’s nursery, looking at the fog-laden park across the square. She’d been in London for nearly a week now, perhaps the longest week of her life. Whenever a visitor was announced, she knew it would be Edgerton with more orders for her. He hadn’t come yet, but she knew he wouldn’t let her go now. What had been in the envelope she’d left in Lord Pettigrew’s bookshelf?
Edgerton and Houchard had been right. The papers were full of Bonaparte’s triumphant return to Paris, the French army at his side. Wellington and Napoleon were on everyone’s lips, as was the talk of war, another bloody war. She studied the paper every morning in her bedchamber when the duke had finished with it, given to her by Grayson, looking for any information at all about conditions in Paris. She felt suspended in time, waiting anxiously for something to happen, yet fearing what was likely to come to pass.
At least she had Edmund. He was kneeling by the fireplace, rearranging his toy soldiers, half of them French, the other half English. He was exhorting one of the majors to mind his troops. She smiled. She appreciated Edmund more than she could ever tell him. She could imagine the look on his face if she did say something of the sort to him, perhaps hug him for longer than a little boy deemed necessary. She spent all her time with him. At first he’d been wary, but then, when he realized that she wouldn’t stuff too much learning down his throat, he laughed and hooted and claimed he wouldn’t try to capture her and shoot her for at least another week. She’d been profoundly grateful, clasping her hands over her chest and thanking him endlessly. He’d snorted, then to her surprise, he’d hugged her before running off to do something else that amused him. He had become her boy, and she never wanted to give him up. No, she wouldn’t think about it. She couldn’t bear to think about what would happen in the future, in a future where she was branded a traitor—that or dead.
But Edmund would have a future. She’d do anything at all to ensure that future for him. He was growing more like his father with each passing day. When he wasn’t with her, he was with the duke, who took him riding, took him to Tattersall’s to look at horses, even took him once to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon. She knew about everything they did because Edmund gave her a thorough recital every night when she tucked him in.
He was like his father in another important way. He never bored her. Edmund didn’t realize it, would probably have been appalled if he did, but the truth was, he was her only comfort. Just yesterday he’d confided that he liked her better than Phillip Mercerault, a singular honor. Maybe he liked her even better than Rohan Carrington, something, he’d assured her, that he didn’t say lightly.
Edmund said now, “It won’t be long, Eve. Just you wait. Wellington will kill him dead. He’ll ride his horse right up to him and stick his sword in Napoleon’s gullet. Then you can be happy again.” Oh, dear.
Evangeline rose unsteadily from the window seat and came down to her knees beside Edmund on the thick carpet. She couldn’t let him come to such conclusions, despite the fact that they were alarmingly accurate. “What do you mean, Edmund?”
But Edmund’s attention, for the moment, was back on his English battalion. He straightened a good dozen bayonets. He turned a major to face all his men, now in a perfectly straight line. He finally raised his eyes to her face. “Papa said I wasn’t to tease you.” Oh, dear. Was she so obvious? But she hadn’t even seen Edmund’s papa. At least she’d seen him only rarely.
She said, “But I like it when you tease me. Where is your gun? I believe I’m ready to execute a grand escape, and surely some brave boy will have to c
ome after me, a ruthless highwayman, and shoot me right off my horse. Oh, no, you didn’t use all your ammunition on the peacocks, did you, Edmund?”
He gave her a look too wise for his years. “You’re trying to make me forget things, make me think of stories instead of what’s really here now. Papa said—” “What is it your papa said, Edmund?” The duke stood in the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He must have just stepped into the room. Hopefully, he’d been there only a moment.
Evangeline started to scramble to her feet, but the duke stayed both of them with a wave of his hand. “No, Evangeline, don’t move. You look very comfortable. Now, Edmund, what did I tell you?” As he spoke, he strode over to them and dropped to his knees.
Edmund rubbed a cannon between his hands. “I’m heating up the gunpowder,” he said at his father’s raised eyebrow, then added, “You said she was unhappy. You said the last thing she needed was for me to plague her, like all those locusts did to the Egyptians. I told Eve that Wellington would grind Napoleon’s bones for good. I wanted to make her smile. She did smile for just a little bit, Papa.”
The duke looked at her over his son’s head. “Did you succeed? Ask her, Edmund.”
Edmund aimed a general’s horse more to the left, then said, “I make you very happy, don’t I, Eve?”
“Happier than a cat who’s just lapped up a bowl of cream. Don’t you remember? Last night you told me more of your story and I laughed and laughed?”
“She did, Papa. I made my story funny, and she liked it very much. So did Grandmama. I thought she would fall over, she laughed so much. She told me I was the best grandson she’d ever had.”
“You’re her only grandson. She was indulging in irony.”
“Irony,” Edmund repeated. “I shall have to work irony into my story. Perhaps you’ll tell me exactly what it means when I’m ready to use it. Do you want to hear the story, Papa?”
“Yes, this evening I’ll tuck you in. You will tell me and make me laugh as well.”
“He is very clever, your grace. Now, Edmund, show your father what strategies you would use to defeat Napoleon.”
She eased away from Edmund’s battleground, as father and son realigned the soldiers’ positions and shifted the artillery about, all to the sound of Edmund’s excited chatter.
“Not a bad shot at all, Edmund. Yes, aim the cannon on the flank more toward the front line. Yes, like this. That’s just excellent. Now, fire.”
“I got you,” Edmund shrieked. “I hit you right in your underbelly.”
“Damn, you did. I’ll have to take care or you’ll wipe out my entire battalion. Where did you hear that word, underbelly?”
“Bunyon calls my tummy my underbelly. He said I had to be careful of my middle parts because they’re softer than any other part of me. Look, Papa, Eve’s laughing.”
“Yes, even her eyes are shining, just a bit. Now, how would you like to take your grandmama to the Pantheon Bazaar today?”
Edmund was nearly speechless with excitement. “I haven’t been there just yet. Oh, yes, Papa, yes.”
“Very well. Bunyon is outside with your coat and gloves. Your grandmama is doubtless awaiting you with ill-concealed joy.”
Edmund grabbed Evangeline about her neck, kissed her cheek, bowed low to his father, then bounded out of the nursery. She heard Bunyon’s voice in the corridor, but couldn’t make out his words. However, Edmund gave another shout. She said to the duke, who looked large and lazy and immensely beautiful sprawled out on the floor, toy soldiers and guns surrounding him, “Does her grace know of the treat you arranged for her?”
“You think I forced her into it because I wanted to have you to myself?” He rose, gave his hand to her, and pulled her to her feet. She looked up at him, impossible not to because, quite simply, he was there, and it gave her immense pleasure just to look at him. She swallowed, tried to take a step back, but he was holding her hands in his. “It’s quite true that I wanted you here alone, very close to me, but to be honest, it was her idea. If I’d had it first, I would doubtless have used it ruthlessly to get to you.”
He ran his large hands lightly up her arms, until his fingers circled her throat. His thumbs pushed up her chin. “I believe I must kiss you now or go quite mad,” he said, leaned down, and very gently touched his mouth to hers. Her breath whooshed out in a soft sigh.
She wanted to pull away from him, truly she did, but she didn’t have the strength to deny him or herself. She leaned into him, and felt him quicken. He pulled her tightly against him, bringing her to her toes so that she fit perfectly against him. She felt him against her belly, knew what it meant, this man’s desire, and felt herself pushing more against him because the intense pleasure it gave her nearly knocked her off her feet. He kissed her more deeply, his tongue lightly touching hers, not ravaging her. Careful, oh, yes, he was being careful not to frighten her.
Frighten her? Now, that was surely nonsense. There was no fear in her, not a bit. She wanted him naked, she wanted him flat on his back, and her on top of him. She wanted to kiss him until he was panting with the pleasure of it. She desperately wanted to touch him, caress him, know all of him, touch him and kiss him all the way to his big feet. But more than anything she wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him all of it, and—
She managed to heave herself away from him. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done. He let her go. He was panting, his eyes so dark and filled with shadows that she couldn’t bear to look at him because, she imagined, that was the way she was looking back at him. Filled with hunger, near desperation. She turned away, looking into the fireplace.
What to say to him? What to do? “I can’t imagine any lady avoiding you, your grace.”
He said easily, “I have a given name, you know. I would say that any lady who responds to me as you do deserves to call me by it. You may call me St. John if Richard displeases you. My father called me St. John when he wanted to hide me, which was very rare indeed.
“When you’re not avoiding me, Evangeline, you try to distract me. You’ve an agile tongue. But as you just saw, it can’t make me keep my distance. I want you. I want you more than I did even yesterday, even this morning. We must do something about this.”
She closed her eyes against his words. He wanted her. Well, she wanted him, and that was a vast understatement. She more than wanted him, she—no, she couldn’t think that. She had to be logical about this. The duke was a highly sexual man, had probably enjoyed dozens of women, so naturally he would want her, a reasonably comely woman. She said, “It is you who have the agile tongue.”
“It pleases me that you think so, particularly if you mean when my tongue is in your mouth.”
She saw him naked, coming out of the sea. She was mad. She was beginning to understand lust very well. It was a highly frustrating commodity. She wanted to scream. “Don’t you have an engagement?” she said, trying to keep her voice cool and disinterested, a social voice that held no meaning. “Surely there must be a mistress or two hanging about in the wings waiting for you to come to them.” “Perhaps,” he said, and thought of Morgana. He was paying the rent on her lovely apartment through the end of the quarter. “It doesn’t matter.” He raised his hands and gently closed them about her throat, his fingers lightly caressing her pulse. She didn’t move, just stared straight into the fire, but the heat she felt was from him, standing close behind her. His voice was a warm whisper against the back of her head. “What’s wrong, Evangeline? Are you afraid of me for some reason? Afraid that I will seduce you and leave you?” His strong fingers continued to caress her throat. Slowly he turned her to face him. “Are you afraid of me?” “No,” she said. “I’m afraid for you.” A black brow shot upward. “What does that mean?” She shook her head. “Won’t you tell me what you meant?” She shook her head again, remaining mute. She felt his mouth, feather-light, touch her lips, and instantly she wanted him, although she wasn’t quite certain about everything that was involved. She did know that he
would come inside her body, an odd thing, surely, but it had to be wonderful because he was. She wanted to pull him tightly against her this very instant; she wanted no space at all between them. She wanted his heart to pound against hers. She wanted him to do anything he wanted to do, and she knew that anything he wanted to do surely would make her feel wonderful. He was so close now, and hard, and his scent, she loved his scent, the heat of his body, the gentleness of those long fingers. She closed her eyes, letting his mouth make her dizzy.
“Your saintly departed husband was an absolute clod,” he said into her mouth.
She tried to draw back, but he held her firmly. “No, André was a wonderful man, I’ve told you that.”
“I’m teaching you how to kiss me, Evangeline. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was the first man to touch you, to kiss you.” “Andre,” she said. “He was my husband.” He kissed her again, this time his tongue going more deeply into her mouth, startling her, and she gasped, just a bit, just a light in-drawn breath, but he pulled back and looked down at her. “You are a mystery, Evangeline.”
He didn’t begin to realize what she was. Her mouth was open to tell him, despite—oh no, Edgerton would have Edmund killed. No, she couldn’t bear that.
“Your grace, forgive the intrusion, but your tailor is here.”
It was Grayson, standing outside in the corridor, speaking through the closed door.
The duke touched his forehead to hers, drew a slow breath, and dropped his hands. He didn’t raise his head as he called out, “Thank you, Grayson. Tell the fellow I’ll be with him shortly.”
He straightened finally. He raised his hands and lightly patted her hair here and there, then tugged her gown, straightening it. “There, now, no one would guess that you were quite ready to fall to the carpet and let me have my way with you.” He turned, saying over his shoulder, “We must decide what to do, Evangeline. I hope that your dear departed André still isn’t holding your heart and your affections.”