by Amy Jarecki
“Please!” she cried, needing more—craving him, all of him.
“More?”
“Yes!”
“Now?”
“Oh God, yes, now! Please!”
As his mouth covered hers, he slid inside, then held himself very still. All the while he kissed her as he inched deeper. Evelyn’s body stretched but when the pain came, she sank her fingers into his buttocks and pulled him the length of her.
Hot, searing pain shot to the back of her spine as she struggled to breathe.
“’Tis the worst of it,” he whispered, looking her in the eyes. “I’ll not make a move until you’re ready.”
Her husband might be her adversary by day, but right there in her bed, he’d bewitched her soul. Evelyn placed her palms either side of his face and drew him to her lips. And as their tongues entwined, her hips began to rock.
Gradually, Mar matched her rhythm, until together their breathing sped. As she shifted her hands to his backside, his tempo sped. Thrusting, grinding and taking her over the shocking new heights of ecstasy. As she cried out with her peak, he thrust into her as if out of control. Then with one roaring bellow, his seed surged inside her.
John lay beside his wife, cradling her in his arms until she fell asleep. Only then did he slip out of bed, collect his clothes, and head to his chamber, taking the whisky with him.
Never again would he fall in love, but there was no reason not to enjoy the act of copulation. Besides, his new wife didn’t need to know he couldn’t love her. Telling her his innermost feelings would only serve to alienate the woman when he needed her to assimilate into the family.
His sons needed her.
John drank from the bottle as he slid between his cold bed linens. Most aristocratic couples slept apart. In truth, Margaret oft slept in her chamber, especially when she was with child.
It was better this way. Evelyn would have her freedoms and he’d have his with the door between their chambers always unlocked.
Chapter Eleven
Evelyn rolled over, her hand sliding across the bed linens. Somewhere in the myriad of her dreams, she knew John had returned to his chamber in the wee hours, though she hadn’t yet come fully awake. Neither had she slept soundly. The countess’s chamber was strange—the bed larger, the mantel clock ticking at a lower tone than her own. Perhaps she’d ask Lucinda to replace Mar’s.
Her body ached from days of stress leading up to the wedding. As Evelyn’s mind drifted through the chasm between sleep and awake, she wondered if the events of last eve had been a dream. But even half asleep, she knew the truth. The dull ache between her legs served to remind her as well.
She opened her eyes for a moment. A ray of light shone through a gap in the curtains. Not ready to wake, she rolled over, the motion making cool bed linens slide across her skin.
Scandalous.
She still wore not a stitch of clothing. Never in her life had she been abed naked.
I’ll rise in a moment.
“Wait!” a deep voice boomed from beyond the door to the earl’s chamber.
As Evelyn’s eyes flashed open, Oliver burst into the chamber, ran across the floor, took a flying leap, and landed, straddling her stomach.
Grasping the bedclothes, she clutched them beneath her chin. “Ahhhh—”
With a smile nearly as wide as his freckled face, the boy grabbed her shoulders and gave her a sloppy kiss on the mouth. “Da said I had to wait until morn to kiss you good night.”
“Can you not see Her Ladyship doesn’t want us in here?” Thomas said from the doorway.
Stunned, Evelyn looked from one boy to the next. “I-I am—”
Tying a plaid around his waist, John hastened inside, hair mussed as if he’d only just risen. “Oliver, remove yourself from your stepmother’s bed this instant!”
Stepmother? The moniker sounded alien.
“But you said I could kiss her come morn.” Looking like a dejected puppy, the youngest slid off the mattress. “I only wanted to make Her Ladyship feel welcome.”
“Aye, well you mustn’t ever enter a lady’s chamber without first knocking and being invited inside.” John beckoned his youngest. “Now apologize.”
The lad scooted toward his brother. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to feel bad,” Evelyn said, slipping lower and ensuring she was completely covered from her chin down. “But your father is right. I might have been dressing or bathing or—” naked beneath the bedclothes.
Thomas grabbed Oliver by the wrist. “Come, we’d best go break our fast.”
“I’ll join you shortly,” John said, remaining behind. He leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms over a sculpted chest. How could someone rise from his bed and look like a Greek Adonis, mussed hair and all? “I’ll have a word with the lads and ensure there are no more uninvited visits to your chamber.”
She glanced at her shift still in a heap on the floor—definitely not something she wanted her stepsons to see. They might be too young to understand everything, but crumpled ladies’ undergarments should never be on display with the boys present. “Thank you.”
His gaze drifted to the shift and back to Evelyn’s face. “Unfortunately, the queen is expecting me for her cabinet meeting. I imagine I’ll be away afore you’re dressed.”
“Your presence is expected the day after your wedding?”
“Her Majesty feels she was most generous by allowing me yesterday’s holiday.” He grasped the latch and stepped back. “But I’ll try to slip away early if possible.”
“Before you go.” Evelyn started to sit up, but as soon as the coverlet slid a bit, she stopped. “‘Stepmother’ sounds so…so unwarm. And ‘my lady’ seems inordinately formal for young children. Is there something else they might call me?”
“Believe it or not, the lads asked the same.” He tapped a finger to his lips. “Your name wouldn’t suit. That would be far too disrespectful. Why don’t you ask them? I’ll wager they’ll appreciate being consulted.”
“Very well.”
He started to close the door but stopped and popped his head back through. “How are you feeling this morn, Eve?”
The timbre of his voice reignited the flame deep in her belly while the dark glint in his eyes made her breath catch. “Well, thank you,” she croaked. For the love of Moses, there was yet another side to the Earl of Mar. And this version of the man made her very nervous indeed.
Thank heavens Lucinda suggested ordering a breakfast tray. With Mar away, Evelyn had no idea how she should approach the boys—not after this morning’s assault. On one hand, Oliver was endearing and instantly likeable, while Thomas was brooding and standoffish. And, yes, Evelyn had sisters, but boys were completely different—Highland boys who obviously hadn’t been taught English manners by the way they barged into her bedchamber.
They were still young and malleable. And naturally, they would soon be accepted into Eton, where most boys from noble families attended school. The vicar’s son in Nottingham had gone from being a hellion to a fine gentleman during his years as a student.
Lucinda sat on the ottoman while Evelyn ate her porridge. “You haven’t said a word about your wedding night.”
The spoon slipped while her cheeks burned. “I suppose it was what a bride ought to expect. And I’ll not entertain any further discussion on the subject.”
The lady’s maid clasped her hands while she looked about the room. “’Tis different here than in Hull’s household.”
“Oh? Goodness, I’ve been so immersed in my own affairs, I haven’t thought to ask you how you fared in your new quarters.”
“Everyone has been pleasant thus far.” Lucinda cupped a hand at the side of her mouth. “At least they all seem to like him.”
“Like who?”
“The earl, of course.”
“Interesting.”
“And he’s increased my wages…or Mr. Swenson has—he’s the butler.”
“Yes.” The servants had all
been assembled and introduced when Evelyn arrived last eve, but that’s not what caught her attention. “He gave you an increase? My stars, that was generous, and unexpected, yes?”
“He said my wages should be commensurate with the last lady’s maid to the countess—makes me realize what a miser your father truly is.”
Taking a sip of cider, Evelyn eyed the maid over the top of her glass. She was painfully aware that her father prided himself on keeping wages low, and she was working to help bring about reform. Regardless, the topic wasn’t proper for Lucinda to discuss. “I pray you will keep your opinions mum around the others.”
“Of course, you know I will. I always do.” Lucinda stood and ran her fingers along the mantel, then checked them for dust. “It must be difficult for you, moving into a new home and marrying a man you do not love.”
“I’m still trying to come to grips with it all.” Evelyn took her last bite of porridge and rested the spoon beside her bowl. “I’ve only moved a few blocks away from Papa’s town house, yet I feel as if I’m in another country.”
“Mayhap because Mar’s a Scot and most of the staff is Scottish. I think this house is like a tiny Scottish island in the midst of London.”
“I believe you might be right.” Evelyn chuckled, glancing back to the plaid covering her bed. “So, overnight I’ve been spirited away to the Highlands?”
“Aye, as Mr. Swenson would put it.” Lucinda picked up the tray. “Since Mar is away, why not do some exploring? You’ll feel more at home once the house becomes familiar.”
“I think I’ll do just that.”
“The nursery is one floor up.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I’m not quite ready to assume a motherly role.” Biting the corner of her mouth, Evelyn glanced away. She needed to do some exploring of another nature, no matter how tightly her stomach twisted. “Have you seen the library, perchance?”
“One floor down.”
“Brilliant. I shall start there.”
Mar’s library was not unlike her father’s. Bookshelves lined the walls, with comfortable chairs and couches arranged for games and reading. Two window embrasures were lined with seat cushions and on one end stood Mar’s writing table with at least a dozen drawers. It looked as though a few missives awaited the earl. At one side of the table was a portrait—most likely an ancestor—and if Evelyn guessed right there might be a hidden strongbox behind that brooding visage. At first, she strolled around the room, reading spines and listening to the sounds of the house. In the distance, a muffled clatter from the kitchens echoed now and again. No noises came from the nursery, though it was two floors up.
Her stomach churned as she ran her fingers along the shelves, aware of every breath, every heartbeat. If she looked through Mar’s writing table, would she be able to hide her snooping before someone came in?
But then she was his wife…and she was new to the town house, and Mar had left her alone for the day. How else would she come to know her husband with him away on their very first day as man and wife? What better excuse did she have to snoop? And the letters on the desk were so very, very tempting.
Suddenly she found herself across the library, staring down at a missive addressed to the Right Honorable, the Earl of Mar. It bore the broken seal of a barrister’s office. She quickly scanned the contents. Interesting. Mar had recently come into a fortune and had settled his father’s debts.
So, he married me for my dowry. And how he’d avowed the importance of finding a mother for his sons.
It was hardly surprising Mar had needed her money. Though her father hadn’t mentioned the fact, all parties involved were well aware theirs was a marriage of convenience. Mar received coin and a suitable stepmother. Papa purchased a family member who sat on the queen’s cabinet. And Evelyn had received a title and protection under the House of Mar for the rest of her days whether she wanted it or not.
As she shifted through the correspondence she realized nothing of import would be sitting in plain view. Slipping over to the portrait, she peeked behind and found only a wall.
She opened drawers of the writing table, one after another, finding coins, seals, wax wafers, snuffboxes, timepieces, broken quills, and all manner of odds and ends. And after opening all the drawers, she stood back and examined the enormous piece of furniture. Either Mar kept sensitive documents elsewhere, or she’d missed something. She walked around the enormous walnut table, giving a globe a spin. With clawed lion’s feet, the table truly was a work of art. And such workmanship did not come without secret compartments.
But where are they?
The bookcase behind caught her eye. Just above the fourth row of books was a strip of mahogany carved in a filigree. Evelyn’s pulse quickened. It looked decorative, but a spy never ignored her intuition. In three steps she stood before the exquisite piece and ran her fingers over the polished wood. Underneath, she felt a latch and squeezed her fingers. A wide drawer slid open, along with a layer of books.
Evelyn removed the top document. It listed the queen’s expectations for the resolution of the war on the Continent along with the location of Britain’s military forces during negotiations for peace in the Netherlands. At the bottom of the document were three names: Hawk, Sharpe, and Richards—the queen’s spies attending negotiations in Utrecht. Though the extent of their assignment was not mentioned, they were under explicit orders to use whatever means necessary to ensure the queen’s objectives were met.
Another document contained the location and homeport of every ship in Her Majesty’s fleet. As Evelyn read on, her heartbeat began to thunder. “Should the Old Pretender, James Stuart, cross the channel and attempt an insurrection, he will be met with the brute force of Britain’s navy.” The letter went on to report that the queen’s half brother was being watched, but gave no details beyond saying, “If James sets foot on a warship in France, British vessels along the eastern seaboard will meet him before he reaches our shores.”
Quickly, Evelyn replaced the parchment and shut the drawer. Drawing her hand over her mouth, she paced. She needed to inform Mr. Dubois at once. She wished at least one of the documents had given hint at the queen’s objectives in negotiating peace with France. Everyone knew James was exiled and living at the Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye. Louis XIV acknowledged James as the only monarch of Britain and had refused to recognize Anne or William and Mary before her.
Surely, the queen meant to force France to abandon its support of James.
When the library door swung open, Evelyn practically jumped out of her skin.
“What are you doing?” asked Thomas, looking very self-righteous.
Still shocked, Evelyn stammered while she glanced to the bookshelf.
Calm yourself. How could this child have any clue what I’ve just uncovered?
Taking in a deep breath, she forced a smile. “I’m exploring my new home. Do you want to come with me?”
The boy drew his finger across the spines on a row of books. “Nay. I think not.”
“Do you like to read?” she asked.
“On occasion.”
“Well then, what sorts of things do you like to do?”
“Ride my pony mostly. Though I do enjoy shooting a bow and arrow…and at home I play shinty with the other lads.”
“And sail toy boats?”
Thomas snorted, pulling out a book from the shelf and thumbing through it. “Da wanted to do that.”
“I see.” Evelyn took a few steps toward the door. “Speaking of your father, he thought I should speak to you and Oliver about what you might like to call me.”
He shoved the book back into place, rather forcefully. “Well, I’m not going to call you Mother. Not ever.”
“I didn’t expect you’d want that. But I don’t care for Stepmother, either.” Evelyn gripped the latch. “I think the decision might be something to put some thought into. After all, Lady Mar is ever so formal.”
“What about Countess?”
“Possibly.” Countess woul
dn’t be horrible. “Perhaps you can talk it over with Oliver.”
“Perhaps.”
Evelyn opened the door and started out, but something about the boy’s dismissiveness made her turn around. “Did you know I lost my mother when I was your age?”
He shook his head, a frown furrowing a brow far too young to appear so distraught.
“I did, and I was angry with everyone. I even blamed God.” She reached out to smooth her hand over his shoulder, but stopped, realizing he wasn’t ready for her to be motherly. And she most certainly wasn’t ready to assume the role. “But do you know who I blamed the most?”
Staring at the floor, Thomas said nothing.
“I blamed myself. I thought I didn’t do enough to try to save her. I blamed myself for not praying enough, for laughing when I should have been crying, and for falling asleep when I should have been beside Mama’s bed trying to make her better.”
A tear streamed down his cheek and dripped onto the carpet.
Evelyn’s heart twisted. “No one will ever be able to replace your mother. The hole in your heart that hurts because she’s gone will always be there, because when she left you, she took that bit of you with her to heaven. But I promise it won’t hurt quite as much one day.”
Two more tears dropped.
She stepped nearer. “Know what else?”
“What?” The boy’s haunting whisper made shivers course down Evelyn’s arms.
“More than anything, your mother would have wanted you to be happy. Whenever you’re happy, it makes her smile in heaven.”
Before she started crying herself, Evelyn shut the door, ran to her room, and put the sunflower in the window to signal Mr. Dubois. He’d know what to do with the information she had uncovered.
Chapter Twelve
For the next two nights the queen kept the cabinet behind closed doors well into the wee hours. In addition to her failing health, Anne seemed to be growing more obsessive and disturbed. Due to her inability to make decisions, John feared she’d never adjourn parliament and he’d be stuck in London for the duration of her reign.