“I told him to call at three.”
“You’ll want to be looking gorgeous. To unsettle a Libertine Scholar calls for a hint of frailness, coupled with a load of sensuality. I’d lose the plain linen nightgown and wear something sinful.”
Heat flared in Evangeline’s cheeks. “I don’t think I own anything sinful. I’ve never needed to.”
Beatrice laughed. “Then I’ll send my maid round with some of mine. We look about the same size, or we did before I gave birth. My figure is not what it used to be yet.” She patted her stomach. “Sebastian ordered loads of slinky garments before we found out I was with child. I have many that have never been worn. I can’t fit them at the moment anyway. I’d rather see them be put to good use.”
“I’m not sure I want to entice him. If this woman—Claire—is in love with him and he with her, I don’t want to cause her heartache.”
Beatrice cocked her head to one side. “Shouldn’t Hadley be given the chance to make up his own mind? I doubt he’s in love with Claire or she with him. They are never seen together and I’ve never heard him mention her. A man in love would be by her side constantly, and he certainly would not also have a mistress.”
“Then why would he marry her?”
Marisa said, “You’d best ask him that.”
“Thank you, I will. You’re both very kind.”
They both rose to take their leave, kissing her cheek and wishing her luck with Hadley that afternoon.
Once they left she lay back and closed her eyes. She was tired, sore, worried, and—to her dismay—heartbroken. Hadley was to marry. She’d asked about his marital status before instigating a meeting with him, and she’d been told he had a mistress. She had not heard about a woman he wanted to marry.
She needed to prove her innocence and find out just what Hadley’s feelings were. Marisa was right. No matter how she felt about Hadley, Sealey deserved to know his father, but could she marry Hadley for her son’s sake? She shook her head. She would if he wanted her, and if she could get him to open his heart and let her back in.
—
She slept for a couple of hours until Rachel woke her. “Lord Fullerton is asking to see you, and Lady Beatrice’s parcel has arrived. Shall I help you change first?” Rachel’s smile was devilish.
Evangeline’s body went hot and cold at once when she spied what Rachel had unwrapped. The scrap, because it was only a scrap, was scandalous. A scarlet lacy silk nightgown that left virtually nothing to the imagination hung from her hand. “I think it will be his lordship who leaves here with a fever,” Rachel said with a giggle.
Evangeline slipped out of bed and made her way to the bathing chamber. “Ensure that Wendy keeps Sealey up in the nursery. He should be napping, but I don’t want to risk him coming to find me while Lord Fullerton is here.”
While she bathed, Rachel went to deliver her message. Rachel came back to help her dry and dress in the silken lace. By the time she’d finished, her shoulder was on fire. It hurt to sit up straight while Rachel went to work on her hair.
She’d made Hadley wait for half an hour. Finally Rachel helped her back into her bed, plumping up the pillows and strategically placing her in the bed for the best visual display of her abundant assets.
When Rachel went to inform Lord Fullerton that her ladyship was ready to receive him, Evangeline’s stomach clenched in tight knots. The knots pulled tighter as she heard his heavy-booted feet walk along the corridor toward her room.
She sat up straighter, unease sliding over her skin. Was she doing the right thing trying to win back a love that might not have been there in the first place? She squared her shoulders and pushed up her bosom.
Only one way to find out.
Modesty made her ensure that the bodice of the lace garment she wore covered at least her nipples, and she pinched her cheeks to add some much-needed color. She was beginning to feel a tad light-headed.
She heard him stop before her door. He knocked, and she called for him to enter.
Hadley strode in as if he were going into battle, but stopped dead in his tracks halfway to her bed. His eyes flared with heat, and his mouth gaped open. She couldn’t help the smile that skipped over her lips.
She indicated the chair next to her bed, but his eyes were feasting on her breasts. “Please, take a seat.”
—
One look—that was all it took for his body to betray his mind.
Evangeline lay in bed like a succulent feast. For a man facing his first and only love, it wasn’t a good thing for his body to roar to life.
Hadley had given himself a stern talking-to as he walked round the block to Evangeline’s house. But now the message to ignore her beauty fled under a burgeoning mixture of want, need, and desire. His mouth began to water at the sight of the luscious mounds of pale flesh barely contained in scarlet lace. Christ, she was injured—he could see the bandage covering the wound in her shoulder—yet he didn’t care. He wanted to stride to the bed and bury his head between her breasts while his hands ran over that delicious soft skin to tweak the peaked nipples poking through the negligee.
He heard her speak, but couldn’t for the life of him contemplate what she said.
He felt himself harden and blood pounded in his temples. God, she was beautiful, and it struck him that he had made a terrible decision to forgo his mistress just as Evangeline arrived in town. He had nothing but his hand to relieve his need. He was liable to give himself blisters trying to sate the desire this vision ignited. And his memory was too keen. He remembered every luscious detail of her warm body under his.
He finally got his body to obey and raised his eyes to stare at her perfect face. He was just managing to contain himself when he watched her pink, wet tongue slide over her bottom lip. He let out an audible groan, and her smile widened. It was a cat-got-the-cream type of smile.
“Please sit before you fall down. Your tongue is almost hitting my floor.”
Heat rose in his face at her mockery. It dampened his desire just enough to let him approach the bed.
“Perhaps you should have worn a robe, but then I suspect this is the exact reaction you were aiming for.”
She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I wanted to see if you at least still desired me.” She looked at his groin. “It would seem you do.”
He couldn’t deny it. He was ramrod hard.
He nodded toward her shoulder. “It would appear the wound is not grievous. You look remarkably well.” He would keep this conversation polite and short. He needed to see those journals, true, but most of all he longed to learn the truth of Evangeline’s disappearance five years ago. Was she playing him or, God forbid, was she telling the truth?
She rolled onto her side and leaned forward, causing one dark nipple to appear over the ruffle of lace at her bodice. He crossed his legs.
“Did you bring the letter?”
He started at her question. “Yes. I also came to see how you are faring.”
“You came to appease your guilty conscience” came the tart reply, “and to get your hands on the journals.”
It was the truth. He shifted in his chair.
“If anyone should have a guilty conscience, it’s you.” The words slipped out before he could think. He shouldn’t have said it, because he’d begun to suspect he’d made a fatal error five years ago. But it was hard to remember his own name with her magnificent breasts in his face.
A twinge of anger appeared on her features. “I’m going to prove that the story I told you was true, and when I do, you will be on your knees begging me to forgive you.” She lay back on her pillow and turned her face from him. “The man I fell in love with all those years ago would have believed me.”
He could barely breathe because her words were true. Why hadn’t he believed her? The evidence in front of him had been overwhelming, and his pride had destroyed any chance of rational thought. She’d forsaken him for another! Or so he had thought.
He watched her breasts rise and fall
rapidly as she fought to contain her emotions. She sighed and said, “You’ve seen me, seen that I’m recovering well, so your conscience can breathe freely. If you don’t intend to let me prove my innocence, then you may as well leave.”
The letter was burning a hole in his jacket pocket, but he was hesitant to bring it forth. If her story was true, then what could he do? If she had been abducted, then how on earth could she ever forgive him? It would mean he’d walked away from her without a backward glance, happy to leave her to her fate. “I want the truth too. Much of my future hinges on it.”
Her head moved on the pillow as she watched him. Her eyes narrowed. “Then we are in agreement. Show me the letter.”
“What of the journals?” Before she could berate him again, he added, “May I remind you that a madwoman is out to kill me and my friends, and probably you? That takes precedence over our situation.”
She leaned up on one elbow. “I agree. That is why Beatrice and Marisa will help me. They will look for information on Victoria.”
“I think you should let me scour the journals. Time is of the essence—for all of us.”
“I thought your visit was to ask after my health—and to let me see the letter, as you promised.”
“Then what is this display about? What else is it you want from me?”
She sighed and pulled the bedsheet up to her chin.
“Never mind. I have to go back to Scotland once I’ve appointed a man of business to sort out my son’s estate. It will be a few months before I can return to London for any length of time. Once my son’s inheritance is secure, then I will have to decide where I wish to make my home. I don’t want it to be awkward should we bump into each other.”
She wasn’t leaving for good, then?
A home. He didn’t want to admit where he called home. When he was in London he lived at his brother’s house, the family townhouse, although he was thinking of purchasing a townhouse a few streets over once he married. However, the place he retreated to, where he spent the majority of his time, was the old hunting lodge, Lathero, where Evangeline and he used to meet.
It held his best and worst memories. Over the past five years he had found no joy in his visits because the memories were too painful. Only his vines, his love of making wine, kept him there.
He’d almost sold Lathero when Evangeline left him, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. Perhaps it was to remind him that he could not always get what he wanted.
He looked into her eyes, and it was as if she could read his thoughts. Her look was filled with shared memories.
He remembered the day she’d given herself to him. It was the day they had planned how and when they would elope. It had been a hot summer afternoon, humid and sultry. Here in her bedroom he could almost smell the grass and flowers that had surrounded them on that fateful day….
Had she already known on that day that she’d marry Viscount Stuart? The thought made him ill, his stomach churning with outrage. Only a day later he’d received her letter informing him she had to help her family and that she would wed Viscount Stuart.
“You are remembering that day under the tree, aren’t you?” she whispered.
He held her gaze and watched as tears filled her eyes. When he slowly nodded, she said, “I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was perfect. Making love with you was like touching heaven.” At his silence she added accusingly, “Did you not remember anything I said to you that day? How could you think I’d want to marry a man for a title?”
“And money for your family,” he snapped back.
Her lips firmed into a thin line, anger flashing in her eyes. “We had discussed how to control Mother’s spending and help Edward.”
He couldn’t hold her stare. Panic gripped him. Once again he thought, what if the story she had told last night was true and he had left her to her fate? God forgive him, for he never would. Bile squirmed like a sea of snakes in the pit of his belly.
Suddenly he had to know the truth.
He pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to her.
Her hands shook as she opened it and scanned the contents. Her face paled, and he saw her swallow.
“It’s a very good forgery. Even I had to look carefully.” She leaned closer, pushing the letter under his nose. “But look at the letter f. I do not do little loops like hoods on my f’s. Do you have any of my other letters to compare?”
If he said yes, he was admitting that he’d kept them all these years, but he was past hiding from the truth, no matter how painful. “I have them all.” He saw her start at his honesty. “I brought a few with me.”
—
She watched him pull a bundle of her letters from his other pocket. Hope all but sang in her veins. He’d kept her letters—that must mean something. However, she had to focus on proving her innocence.
She handed the incriminating letter back to him, and watched his face as he carefully studied the evidence. He turned the pages of one of her love letters, peering closely at the letters. Then he started going through each one of the letters, his fingers flicking through them faster and faster.
She saw the exact moment he became convinced of her innocence. His face paled, and drops of sweat marked his forehead. He licked his lips. Then he dove for the chamber pot sitting near the entrance to her dressing room and promptly cast up his accounts. She didn’t feel any sympathy for him.
When he finally rose to take his seat once more, the bleak look in his eyes revealed his pain and sorrow. He reached for her hand. “I am so sorry. God forgive me. I—I don’t know how to make this right….”
“That’s a start.” She covered his hand where it held hers tightly. “Why did you not believe me? I loved you—so much,” she choked out. “You owe me an explanation at least.”
“The letter was delivered by Stowe.”
Her heart missed a beat. Stowe was the young stable lad who was devoted to her. When he was only eleven, she had brought him home from the village when she’d caught his father beating him, and given him a job in the stable. The job paid little, as they did not have money, but he had a roof over his head and food in his belly, and he loved horses. So when she’d needed someone to send notes between herself and Hadley, she knew whom to trust.
Her hands began to shake. “Stowe brought you the letter.” Understanding began to dawn, and she felt ill. “You therefore thought it was from me.”
“Yes. I even asked him, and the boy said you told him to put the letter in my hands.”
She bent forward her body, heaving with the pain of betrayal. Not Stowe. She could not believe it.
“Perhaps he was threatened in some way…” Hadley’s words petered out.
“Oh, God.” She turned to him, finally understanding how thoroughly her mother had planned her abduction. “If Mother has hurt Stowe, I’ll kill her.”
“I read your note,” Hadley continued slowly, “and when I said that it couldn’t be true, Stowe swore that the contents were correct. I never considered for a moment how cruel your mother would or could be, or that Stowe would deceive me. He seemed just as upset as I. Now I know why, because he lied.” Hadley hung his head, cursing under his breath. “We didn’t stand a chance, did we?”
“I guess, against the world, our love was not enough,” she whispered. “Now I understand why, even when I told you to your face that I hadn’t written the letter, you still didn’t believe me. Stowe was our ally. How could you know it was a lie?”
“I should have known. I knew you.”
“Does anyone ever really know another?” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until he raised his pain-filled eyes to hers.
They sat in silence, the realization of shared, shattered hopes and dreams creating a cavern of hopelessness between them.
The silence stretched on as the light began to fade. It wasn’t until a maid entered to stoke the fire in the grate that they both roused from their thoughts.
Hadley rose to take his leave,
his face pale and his eyes filled with sorrow.
At last he said, “You must hate me. I hope that one day you can forgive me.”
Her heart wanted to reach through her chest and embrace him. “You still don’t appear to know me. I could never hate you. It was not you who arranged for me to be abducted. It wasn’t you who lied. I know exactly where the blame sits, and it is not with you.”
“But I should have known. I should have.” He threw his hands up. “I should have saved you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Now there are two women I’d like to kill—our villainess and your mother. What do you intend to do about your mother?”
She briefly closed her eyes. “Nothing.” At his startled look she explained, “Nothing I do to her will change what happened. What’s done is done. I can’t take back the last five years. I prefer to pretend she does not exist.”
He hesitated as if he wanted to say something, but he merely bowed and made to leave, all talk of the journals forgotten.
“I’ll contact you if the ladies and I find anything of note in the journals,” she told him.
His hunched his shoulders in shame. “Thank you. That is more than I deserve.”
She sighed. “Of course I’ll help. I’d never want to see you injured or killed. Besides, it will also protect my son.”
He stood looking at her, a range of emotions swirling in his blue eyes. She watched him swallow hard. Finally he nodded and turned to leave. Just as he reached the door she asked quietly, “Do you still paint?”
His hand stayed on the latch. “No.”
“Why not? You were very good. You found joy and release on the canvas.”
He looked at her over his shoulder, his face a mask of pain. “Five years ago I lost my muse.”
“Perhaps you might get your muse back now?”
A shudder ran through him. “Perhaps.” On that soft, defeated-sounding word, he departed the room.
Evangeline lay back on her pillows, numb in thought and body. She had got what she’d wanted, his admission that he’d made a dreadful mistake, and yet it hadn’t been his fault. He was not to blame. Five years ago the world, or fate—or her mother’s gambling—had ensured there would be no happily-ever-after. Could there be now?
A Taste of Seduction Page 9