“Very well, then don’t say it. A is for ass. Yes, ass is an excellent word.”
And on they went. She didn’t crack a smile when Edmund announced that P was for proud, just like his papa. Evangeline was surprised, when she chanced to look up at the clock, at how quickly the time had passed. She gave Edmund a quick hug, for he had proudly written out his name. She glanced up to see the nursery door open and a very tall man, so thin he was gaunt, step into the room. She’d seen him several times in the past two days, but hadn’t yet met him. He was dressed in unrelieved black.
Edmund jumped to his feet and ran to the man, clasping his hands around his leg. “Bunyon,” he yelled. “You’re here to save me.”
“I’m not precisely certain just whom I am here to save,” Bunyon said. There was only a hint of a smile on that thin mouth. “Forgive my intrusion, ma’am,” he said as he disengaged Edmund from his leg and walked to the study table. “His grace suggested that I relieve you of your duties at just the point before Lord Edmund made you into a stuttering bedlamite. I am Bunyon, you know, his grace’s valet.”
“I can write now, Bunyon, just look. See, that’s my name and I printed it all by myself.”
Unlike Ellen, Edmund’s principal worshiper, Bunyon did not appear to be overly gratified by the Heir’s attention. Indeed, he paid Edmund no heed, his dark eyes on Evangeline’s face.
She smiled and rose from her chair. “I’m not even to the brink of stuttering. Edmund has agreed to learn his letters, and he’s doing quite well. And here is his name.” She watched as Bunyon examined the large block letters.
“His grace,” Bunyon said, “will be pleased. You have done well.” He shook Edmund’s hand. “Now, it’s time for you to find your bed and close your eyes. Not for long, just an hour.”
Edmund said, “Eve said she’d let me shoot her if I learned my letters. Will you help me come up with a strategy so I may catch her before I shoot her?”
“It will gratify me to be used in such a fashion,” Bunyon said. “Does Madame know what’s in store for her?”
“Tell him, Eve. Tell him that you promised to be a highwayman. I’ll catch you, then shoot you.”
“A bribe,” Evangeline said. “Purely and simply a bribe. Devise an excellent stratagem, if you please, Bunyon. I would not want to be shot after only a paltry chase. Shall I call Ellen, Bunyon?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. I shall tuck him in. He has Ellen wrapped around all his fingers. It’s shameful.”
The duke rode at a leisurely pace back to Chesleigh, quite pleased with himself. He’d purchased the hunter he wanted, and at a price that suited him. Indeed, he thought, he’d been tight-fisted, as was his father’s occasional habit. When he turned Emperor into the stable yard, he saw Evangeline standing next to McComber, in serious conversation. His eyes crinkled in amusement, for she spoke very expressively, her hands leaving no doubt of her meaning. “I really didn’t test Dorcas’s mettle much this morning, McComber. Just look at the duke on Emperor. He looks magnificent.”
This is interesting, McComber thought as he watched the duke ride into the stable yard. He cleared his throat and said, “I exercised her myself this early afternoon, Madame. She won’t give you a moment’s worry.”
The duke called out as he reined in Emperor, “Hello, Evangeline. You’re ready, I see.” He leaned forward to pat his neck. “My fellow’s tired, so you can forget any racing. You won’t rub my nose in the dirt today.”
“Perhaps Trevlin can have Biscuit fetched for you, your grace.”
He looked at her white throat just above the lace of her blouse. “I suppose I wouldn’t get away with it,” he said, and flexed his fingers.
“I know what you’re thinking, and no, you wouldn’t. I’m very strong. Edmund agrees.”
Not many minutes later, the duke led them southward along a narrow road overlooking the sea. He was in the midst of telling her of the hunter he’d purchased when a loud horn blast sounded from an oncoming mail coach. “Pull over, Evangeline,” the duke said, guiding Emperor down a slight incline off the road.
Evangeline tugged Dorcas’s reins just as the rumbling coach pulled around a bend in the road. The driver sounded the horn once again, and Dorcas, startled, reared up and twisted, ripping the reins from Evangeline’s hands.
She looked blankly at the duke as she went flying off her mare’s back. She landed on her bottom by the side of the road. For a moment she simply sat there.
The duke was at her side in but a moment. “Are you all right? Where did you hit yourself?”
She rubbed her hip. “I’ll be all right. At least that’s where I have the most padding.” “I wouldn’t say that, but it should be enough.” “I don’t think anything is ever enough for you.” “Quite possibly,” he said, and pulled her to her feet. His hands were out to rub her hips, perhaps pull her close against him whilst he was rubbing her hips, when he realized what he was about to do. He cursed and dropped his arms to his sides.
“How sad,” she said, ignoring him, staring at the dust that still was flying about in the warm air. “A silly mail horn and I go flying.”
“If you landed on your bottom, then why is the feather on your hat broken?”
“I don’t have any idea.” She pulled off the hat, pulling her hair loose with it. He stared as that hair of hers tumbled past her shoulders down her back, fell over her forehead, a long strand even dangling close to her mouth. He raised his hands to smooth her hair back off her face, perhaps hold her close while he smoothed her hair back off her face. He cursed and lowered his arms to his sides.
“The mail coach flung dirt all over you. Perhaps you should have ridden Biscuit. I doubt she would have thrown you. She’s far too lazy.”
“I daresay even you, your grace, would have been tossed off. Dorcas was merely startled. She’s high-strung. She’s got long, strong legs. She can kick very well.”
“Hopefully she’ll be docile enough now,” the duke said. “Come, let’s go home.”
Chapter 18
“Bunyon has a very special way of showing his displeasure,” the duke said over his haunch of rare roast beef at dinner that evening. “I can’t imagine anyone showing you displeasure.” “You believe me such a tyrant, then?” “Not a tyrant, rather a man who is the undisputed master here.”
“Of course I’m undisputed. Who else would be in charge?”
“No one. I was just remembering how you treated me when you found me in your library. You were very much the lord of the castle, and I was nothing more than an irritation to you.”
“You still are,” he said, then frowned over his forkful of potatoes. He looked at her down that too-long expanse of table, at the vastly becoming dark blue gown of Marissa’s that Dorrie had altered to fit her. Dorrie had fashioned her hair into thick intertwined braids atop her head. Two lazily curling tendrils caressed those ears of hers. “You know exactly what I mean.”
She did, but she wasn’t about to admit it. He frowned into his glass of wine. It wasn’t wise to look at her. “I was in a black mood that day. You surprised me.” He shrugged. “How a man treats a woman in his own library—perhaps I shouldn’t pursue that thought. But you know, even seeing you for the first time, I realized that you had to be taught your role.”
“My role?” Her voice was very sweet. He grinned down at his plate.
“Your role is no different from any other lady’s,” he said, and raised his glass, toasting it toward her, enjoying himself immensely, preparing to see her turn red, perhaps hurl her wine glass at him, perhaps stutter a curse and then laugh. “And that role, naturally, is to serve her husband, bow sweetly to his every wish, bear his children, and naturally, keep her opinions to herself if they are contrary to his.” He didn’t have long to wait for her reaction. She took the bait almost instantly.
Evangeline didn’t hurl her wine glass. She flung her napkin onto the table and jumped to her feet, nearly overturning her chair. She exploded into wonderful speech. “You pompous
, arrogant ass. I have excellent opinions on many subjects, for I have studied and read and learned. You, I wager, have spent all your hours as a frivolous libertine, concerned only with your own pleasures.”
“Pompous ass,” he said mildly, grinning at her. “Now if you were teaching Edmund, then you would say P as in pompous ass?” “How do you know about that?” “I speak to my son, Evangeline. I was just thinking that it’s not at all proper for you to admit knowledge about libertines. As to my pleasures, perhaps you should meet the ladies of my acquaintances. I have never been concerned with my own pleasure more than with theirs.” He leaned forward. “Don’t you remember last night in my library? Surely I wasn’t at all selfish.”
“No, I refuse to remember because I’m rather angry with you at the moment. If I admit to remembering, then you’ll tease me endlessly. You’ll remind me over and over that I enjoyed you touching me, kissing me, oh, dear. My tongue is moving again. I will change my tongue’s direction. I can do it. Now, I don’t wish to hear about all your mistresses.”
He arched a dark eyebrow at that. “But you brought it up, Evangeline. I was just trying to explain matters to you.” She was red in the face. He wanted very much to catch her up against him, perhaps whirl her about, then slowly bring her down the front of him, then kiss her until she was silly with it. He drew a deep breath. It was enough. It was too much. After a few moments he managed to remember something to say that wouldn’t draw her, that wouldn’t have her calling him an ass, that should, in fact, please her. “Now as I recall, we began dinner with me telling you about how Bunyon shows me his displeasure.”
“Very well. You wish to change the topic. It is probably wise of you. I am calm now. What did Bunyon do?”
“He threatened to strangle me with my cravat.” “Goodness. Why did he do that?” The duke swirled the deep red Burgundy wine about in the crystal wine glass. “He doesn’t think I should leave you here. In charge of Edmund. Quite alone, in charge of Edmund.”
She didn’t like where this could be heading. “I don’t understand.” Surely he wouldn’t particularly care what his valet had to say, would he? “Bunyon believes that Edmund is old enough to accompany me to London. He also believes he’s old enough to have a male tutor. He doesn’t believe that you should allow Edmund to shoot you in order to have him learn his letters. In short, he believes you’re far too kind and far too young to have my strong-willed son in your charge.”
She felt panic well up inside her. Oh, no, this couldn’t be. She sat forward. “But if you take Edmund with you to London, there would be no reason for me to stay at Chesleigh.”
“That’s true enough. Therefore, Evangeline, both you and Edmund will come with me to London tomorrow. There’s no need to wait until Friday.”
“No!”
He blinked. She was both pale and flushed at the same time, half standing, her palms flat on the table. He arched a black eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“It was but one word. Surely you can understand one word. I yelled it, after all.” This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t leave Chesleigh, she couldn’t. Bunyon had done her in and all for the most noble of motives. What was she to do now? She was to meet John Edgerton in just under two hours. She’d been told in no uncertain terms that she was to remain at Chesleigh. Houchard would kill her father.
“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “you’d best explain that simple one word to me, Evangeline. That simple one word that you yelled so loudly you nearly brought the chandelier down.”
She was desperate, but she couldn’t let him see that. It wouldn’t make sense to him. “I didn’t mean to scream it at you. It’s just that I don’t want to go to London. Please, your grace, let me stay here. I can deal well with Edmund. I won’t fail you. He doesn’t need a male tutor. I don’t care if he tries to shoot me. I shan’t allow him to shoot me unless and until he manages to catch me. I’m not slow. It will be difficult for him. I must make it difficult for him so that he will have a challenge. I know how to deal with little boys. Please, I must stay, I must.” “You have said quite a lot there, Evangeline.” “I know and I’m sorry. But what I really want is to remain here at Chesleigh, with Edmund. I won’t fail you, your grace. He will be reading the family Bible within a month. I will have him write you a letter every day, and each letter will be at least one sentence longer than the last one. Please, your grace.”
This was all very strange. Why should she care about remaining here or going to London? Surely anyone would prefer London. He didn’t understand her at all. Her reaction was extreme. Not natural. He’d honestly believed her initial refusal to go to London the result of her embarrassment at thrusting herself, a poor relation, upon his mother. He had actually felt pleased at his decision, for he realized that despite his thinking of the night before, he did want to take her to London, to show her the sights and introduce her to his mother. He wasn’t at all certain of his intentions toward her. For God’s sake, he’d only known her for two days. But he did know that he’d never met a woman like her before, that she fascinated him, that he wanted her more than any female who’d ever come into his orbit. She appealed to his senses, all of them. And the lust, dear God, the lust she evoked so effortlessly in him.
To put a better face on it, he reminded himself that he didn’t want her to stay by herself at Chesleigh, her only companion his young son. And, he admitted to himself, although it was difficult to do, he didn’t like having anyone go against his wishes, particularly when they were benign, well thought out, and really quite nice.
“I would worry about you,” he said finally. “No, I won’t allow it. Both you and Edmund will come with me to London tomorrow.”
She was desperate. She’d pleaded with him, and it hadn’t worked. She drew a deep breath and said in a cold voice, “I see. The lord’s orders. Well, your grace, if you won’t allow me to remain at Chesleigh, with Edmund, then I must leave. I won’t go to London.” “You don’t have anyplace else to go. Of course you will do as I tell you.”
“You’ve become a blockhead, your grace. It no longer will concern you where I go or what I do.”
He rose, facing her down the long expanse of table. “I’ve had quite enough of this, Evangeline. I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this. Tell me why, right now.”
“I hate London. I refuse to go there.” “You’ve never been to London.” “It doesn’t matter. I won’t go.” “Sit down and eat your dinner. You’re distraught. You’re becoming hysterical. It isn’t appealing. I will speak to you of this later.”
Evangeline didn’t move a hair. “No, you will not. Listen to me, you cannot give me orders. I’m not one of your servants. However, like Bunyon, perhaps I would like to strangle you with your cravat.” He was seated again, his arms folded over his chest, unmoving. “Very well,” she said. “I can see from that cold, set look on your face that you won’t change your mind.” She tossed her napkin onto the plate.
“I bid you good-bye, your grace. It has been something of an experience, albeit a very short one.” He bounded from his chair, toppling it to the carpet. “Damnation, Evangeline. You’re not going anywhere. You take one step and I’ll take a birch rod to you.”
She laughed at him. “Go to the devil,” she said, turned on her heel, and walked toward the door. She wondered if Bassick, all the footmen and all the maids, were waiting outside the door, wondering what was going to happen. She said over her shoulder, her voice cold and contemptuous, “If I had Edmund’s gun, I’d shoot you.”
She didn’t make it. He caught her, grabbed her by the arm, and whirled her about to face him. She didn’t struggle. She wasn’t about to waste her strength. He was furious. She could see the pulse pounding in his throat.
He shook her, leaned close to her, and said right in her face, “You won’t go anywhere. Do you understand me?”
His eyes were on her mouth. Then his eyes were on her breasts. He forgot instantly every dollop of anger at her. He couldn’t bear it. He pul
led her roughly against him, and cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him.
Evangeline felt suspended in time. She stared up at him, all that she felt in her eyes. He kissed her, his tongue probing against her closed lips.
“Open your mouth, damn you.”
She tasted his anger, then she tasted only him and his mad desire.
It was as if he didn’t know what to do first. He kissed her, kissed her again and again. Then he pressed her back over his arm and his mouth was on her throat, her shoulders. He moaned, then jerked her beautiful altered blue gown down to her waist. He stared at her breasts, then was on her, his mouth and tongue hot on her flesh.
She was overwhelmed.
This was passion, she thought. It was nearly painful, this need in her that she recognized but didn’t understand.
Abruptly he let her go. He stared down at her blindly, trying to control himself. He buried his face in her hair. “Oh God,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
She forced herself to straighten, to move away from him. She stood there in front of him, detached, naked to the waist. It was her only chance. She had to remain at Chesleigh. She had no choice.
She looked at him as if he were nothing more than a minor annoyance to her. She looked to be utterly indifferent. She said in a light, amused voice, “I begin to think, your grace, that you have gone too long without a woman. Perhaps that is why you wish me to go to London—because there is no lady currently seeing to your pleasure? Is it that you see me as only a defenseless woman, without protection, a woman who is therefore yours for the taking?”
He drew back from her as if she’d struck him. His lust was dead; she saw only slowly building rage. She felt ill, but knew that she couldn’t back down, no matter what the outcome. She wondered, stiffening, if he would strike her.
He said finally, in a voice so soft and deadly calm that she strained to hear him, “Some women are teasing bitches. Is that what you are?” He added, his voice going lower, deeper. “You surprised me, I admit it.