“Only a mile or so I believe. He will not take long.”
Thomas only seemed to register her presence then. “Ah, Miss Claremont, are you playing my nursemaid?”
“I am indeed, Lord Richdale.”
“You have a soft touch,” he observed.
Fist curled, Evan suppressed a grunt of annoyance at his brother’s flirtatious manner. He had paid her little attention at dinner aside from the usual courtesies, so why the sudden interest? Of course, Thomas was likely a little addled. Evan brushed it off as that and quelled the burn in his stomach.
By the time the doctor arrived, Thomas was more lucid and answering his questions well.
“He shall not need stitches,” the grey haired man assured Evan.
“Mores the pity. It might have taught him a little caution.”
Miss Claremont caught his eye, her lips compressed and for once not in anger but in amusement as she held back a smile. He stared at those lips for several moments before noticing the shake in her hands.
“Well, Doctor, we shall leave you with your patient. We shall await you in the drawing room.”
He led Miss Claremont downstairs, through the saloon and past the drawing room to the library. The musty scent of books filled the air.
She stared up at the bookshelves that lined three of the walls before turning to him. “I thought you said we were to await the doctor in the drawing room.”
“I shall meet him there shortly. I have no doubt he will be sometime yet and you, Miss Claremont, need a moment’s rest.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffed.
“Your skirts and hair are still damp and your hands are shaking. Either you are cold or fatigued. I won’t have your health on my conscience.”
She put a hand to her hair and her shoulders slumped. Evan smirked and took that as a sign of resignation. Shutting the library door, he ushered her towards the red wingback chairs by the rear windows. Rain spattered against the glass, clouding the view but the expansive windows let in enough light to highlight Miss Claremont’s features as she sat. It shimmered around her hair like a halo and enhanced the planes of her face, revealing the deep cupid bow above her lips and the pert up-tilt of her nose.
He found himself arrested by the sight and it took her to scowl at him to remember his intentions in bringing her here. “I thought you might like a moment to yourself,” he explained. “And the library is the warmest room being at the rear, though perhaps I should order a fire lit.” He turned to eye the wide empty fireplace. It being spring, there was rarely a need to see them lit.
“I need no fire, my lord. I am quite well. Just a little chilled and tired.”
Evan crushed a smug smile. He knew she was exhausted and yet she refused to admit as much. Many women—like his sister-in-law—would have thrived on the opportunity for some attention, maybe even going so far as to swoon.
As she had refused a fire, Evan strode over to the walnut drinks cabinet—a large piece of furniture and a testament to Lady Stanley’s late husband’s enjoyment of a stiff drink. He opened the door and grinned when he saw it was still as well stocked too. Several times when Lord Stanley had been alive, Evan had joined him for a drink in the library. The man had been an intellect and made for a fine drinking companion, though his propensity for drinking often hindered him in his intellectual pursuits. A damn shame, in Evan’s opinion.
Pouring a brandy, he handed it to Miss Claremont before decanting one for himself and sitting on the chair next to her. She eyed the glass for a moment. Perhaps she did not like liquor? Many ladies avoided the stuff. However, after contemplating the liquid for several breaths, she lifted the glass and threw the drink back.
Evan had been taking a sip of his own brandy and relishing the warmth as it flowed into his muscles but to see her drain her glass in one go made the brandy stick in his throat and he coughed.
Miss Claremont offered him an apologetic smile. “Forgive me.”
“No need,” he said gruffly. “You’ve had a trying day.”
“No more than you, Lord Hawksley. It was your brother who was injured.”
“My brother has a tendency to injure himself. He rarely thinks before he acts.”
“Whereas you do?” She ran a finger around the rim of the glass, eyeing it before meeting his gaze.
“Always.”
“You are never impulsive?”
“Never.”
“Yet you took part in risky business dealings with my father,” she mused.
“That was not impulsive. I trusted your father. He was an astute man and had made me money before. He explained the risks and the potential rewards and I agreed to go into this speculation with him. There was no impulse behind the decision.”
“But it went badly?”
Evan lifted his brows. Why was this woman so fascinated with his business dealings, and how did she know that the last speculation her father had offered to him had gone badly? Evan had lost a fair bit of money, as had Mr Claremont, but Miss Claremont would have no knowledge of the debt still owed to him.
He forced a shrug. The money was of little consequence to him, but Mr Claremont had been an honourable man and planned to pay back what he owed Evan. Now the debt had passed down to the heir—a cousin of Miss Claremont’s. Whether he would push the matter was another thing. He suspected it depended on the cousin’s nature. If he was a frivolous man, Evan would not let it go easily. Let the boy have a little lesson in business early on and it might put him on the right path.
“You lost money?” she prompted.
“My, Miss Claremont, you are inquisitive. Do you not know a man’s business dealings aren’t to be discussed so openly?”
“My father always discussed his business dealings with my mother.”
“Yes, but we are not husband and wife. We are mere acquaintances.”
High on her cheeks, colour blossomed. Belatedly he remembered her mother and father had not been married.
“And I suppose you are the sort of man who believes women should have no involvement in the matters of men?”
Her quick recovery reminded him of the spirit behind those pale eyes. “You suppose much.”
He took a sip of his brandy and put it on the table next to her glass. Evan swung his gaze about the library, forcing his attention from her challenging expression and the way that dear little chin jutted forward. In spite of her argumentative manner, the scene had become all too domestic for his liking.
“You give me little reason to think otherwise, my lord.”
He stood swiftly. Her hand had gone to toy with the glass again. If he remained close any longer, he feared he might snatch that hand and press quick kisses to her fingers. Might she close her eyes and gasp or slap him with an indignant cry? Likely a slap and, fool that he was, he would probably relish it just as much. Her bold ways toyed with his mind. What in the devil was it about this woman that had him so enraptured? Never had a woman plagued his thoughts so.
Making a show of browsing the old books stacked all along one wall, he peered at her surreptitiously. “I don’t have to justify myself to anyone, Miss Claremont. Least of all you.” His curt tone almost made him wince.
Her eyes narrowed. Beneath that flimsy shirt, her breasts rose in indignation. “I didn’t suggest you did, my lord. I know you have likely never had to justify yourself to anyone and would never deign to do so to someone like me.”
Evan paused, eyed the door. A choice lay ahead. Leave the room, turn his back on her, remove himself from the inappropriate situation he had put himself in. And yet he chose another path. He stomped over and stood directly in front of her.
Her eyes widened and she stared up at him, lips slightly parted.
“Are we to always remain at odds, Miss Claremont? I am at a loss as to how to please you. I’m not a man for small talk yet even my best attempts arouse anger in you.”
“Perhaps, Lord Hawksley, you should reconsider your idea of small talk,” she replied breathlessly. “Now if y
ou will excuse me...”
She stood, bringing the top of her head in line with his chin. He could reach out and touch her if he wished. Miss Claremont wavered at their close proximity. Clearly she had expected him to stand aside. Yet he could not.
“I suspect,” he said in a low voice—one that reflected the great need coursing through him. It was the same voice that currently pounded through his skull and begged him to wrap his arms around that slender waist and pull her into him, “that neither one of us can profess to be lovers of idle conversation.”
“Then let us go our separate ways.” Her voice came out a whisper.
Did she struggle to draw air as much as he? “Yes, let us,” he agreed huskily.
Her eyes flashed when he reached out to finger a curl. Now dry, the silky softness caressed his thumb and finger as he drew it between them. Another inch closer and his fingers would be upon her neck, resting against her fluttering pulse perhaps. Would her skin feel equally as soft?
Evan almost did it. He almost touched her. There, in the library, alone, he nearly curved a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into him. But she trembled and the spell shattered. He dropped the curl and took a sharp step back.
“The doctor shall be expecting me in the drawing room,” he said and dipped his head. “Good day, Miss Claremont.”
The image of her frozen, silhouetted by the windows with her curls in slight disarray and her breasts heaving against that silly shirt would no doubt torture him that night.
Chapter Six
“How are you feeling, brother?”
Thomas grinned at him from his position by the window overlooking the ornamental gardens. Save from the bandage around his head, Evan thought he looked quite well, so why he was still in his room two days later, he didn’t know. His normally well looked after dark hair stuck out at various angles from the bandage and he was in a thick silk robe. Evan smirked. He played the invalid well.
“Much better, thank you. My head still hurts like the devil, but the doctor says it will only leave a small scar. Harriet was terrified I would be disfigured, so that eased her fears a little.”
Evan snorted and sat in the chair opposite. Thomas pushed a platter of biscuits towards him, but he ignored them choosing to gaze out over the gardens. The inclement weather had been and gone, and today the sun streamed between the clouds and spilled onto the manicured lawns. He spied Harriet and Mrs Willis strolling about the rockery while several gardeners tended to the plants. His thoughts inevitably turned to Miss Claremont.
Damn.
“Have you seen Miss Claremont this morning?”
Evan jerked his head around and narrowed his eyes at him, but no teasing smile graced his brother’s lips.
“At the morning meal.” Evan leaned back as a servant poured him a glass of lemonade.
“I had hoped she might stop by to see me. She’s been visiting every day.”
“She is a most conscientious woman it seems.”
“She is quite something.”
A spark entered his brother’s eyes. Evan recognised it—it was the same excited look he got whenever he was about to embark on something new and foolish. The same look that had entered his gaze before he had dashed off on his horse and nearly killed himself.
“I imagine she is out enjoying the weather and has better things to do with her time than nurse a grown man,” Evan said tightly.
“Did you see the way she attended to me after I fell?” Thomas continued. “Such delicate hands. She’s quite pretty, you know.”
Evan tightened his jaw. “I am aware of that.”
“I didn’t notice it at first but when the sun catches her hair, it glows and she has this wonderful colour to her cheeks. Quite beautiful lips too and an admirable figure.”
“Perhaps,” Evan snapped, “you should be extolling the virtues of your wife and not Miss Claremont.”
His brother snorted. “Harriet has done her best to avoid me. Nursing is not her strong suit. Lord knows how she will manage when we have children.”
Evan tried to imagine his sister-in-law holding a child and failed. Oddly he could see Miss Claremont with one though. “She shall hand them over to a nursemaid like any other woman. But that is beside the point. If Harriet heard you speaking so, there would be hell to pay and you would place Miss Claremont in quite an unenviable position. I have seen Harriet’s spiteful side.”
“Miss Claremont is no doubt used to being snubbed by other women,” Thomas pointed out.
“That does not mean it is on you to make her situation worse.”
Evan’s warning appeared to go unheeded. The topic of their conversation strolled into sight, hanging from the arm of Lady Stanley. Protected by a parasol, he could not see her face but he had a fine view of her figure. Heat stirred in his groin.
For two days, he had avoided saying a single word to her, but occasionally their gazes clashed. Each time, desire welled within him. Perhaps he was going insane. She tormented him in his sleep too. He had met many a beautiful woman—bedded enough too—yet none plagued him as she did.
“Harriet says she is penniless now her father is dead. A damned shame. She is relying on the charity of Lady Stanley, Harriet believes, but how long that will last I don’t know. She likely feels sympathy for the girl, seeing as her father was murdered.”
“I thought it was considered a random attack—”
“Not according to Harriet.”
“Your wife says and believes much,” Evan said dryly.
“She is seldom wrong, Evan. And Miss Claremont has even mentioned murder.”
“I would have thought you would know better than to listen to the idle gossip of women.”
“You should listen to the ladies more often. You might learn something. I, for one, intend to garner as much information about Miss Claremont as I can.”
“Since when do impoverished women interest you, Thomas?”
“I have been considering a mistress for some time.”
“A mistress?” Evan spluttered. His gaze drifted to Miss Claremont as she strolled about, unaware of being the primary focus of their conversation. “You cannot mean—”
“Why not? I could provide her with a secure future for a while and—”
“Harriet will be incensed.” Fiery anger began to gather in his gut as he spied the determination in his brother’s expression. Would Miss Claremont accept? If she was destitute, she might have no other choice. His brother was handsome and charming. If it were not for Evan’s title, his brother would always have had the bulk of female attention.
“Harriet might look silly, but she is wise enough to be grateful for a little time apart. And I shall keep them far from each other. That little country house in Oxfordshire perhaps—the one you are so fond of.”
He ignored the fact Thomas was talking of handing over the house he spent most of his time in to Miss Claremont and gritted his teeth. “You are talking about an innocent young woman here.”
“An innocent woman in need.”
A hand wrapped around the lemonade glass, Evan’s blood began to simmer beneath his skin. His brother and Miss Claremont? The image turned his stomach. Was it purely because she was an innocent? He had known friends who had taken innocents as mistresses and never considered it to be any great travesty. The women knew full well what they were getting into and would be duly rewarded.
“The only need we are talking about here is your own,” Evan bit out. “She will never accept.”
“Maybe you are right, but one can but try.” His brother chuckled. “Good Lord, Evan, you sound as though you are jealous. If you care so much, why do you not ask her to be your mistress? Better yet, let us both ask and see who she chooses.”
Take a mistress? It had never occurred to him to do such a thing. His previous conquests had been fleeting and that was how he liked it. If he was to pursue a woman, it would be for marriage, not for some sordid encounter. However, Miss Claremont was far from marriage material for a m
arquess and even if she were of a higher standing, he could never marry such a woman. She would surely drive him to an early grave.
Miss Claremont would refuse his brother, would she not? Yes, she had to. She would. But doubt crept into his mind, burrowed in and started an ache in his chest. As he took a sip of lemonade, a prickle seeped under his skin. His brother perked, and Evan rotated to see the source of his interest.
The very lady herself. She smiled at Thomas but the smile plummeted as she dropped her gaze on him. He and Thomas stood and Evan inclined his head. “Miss Claremont.”
“Lord Hawksley, forgive me. I did not mean to intrude.”
“Not at all, you were just heading off, were you not, Evan?” His brother put in brightly.
“I had come to check how Lord Richdale was,” she explained.
Evan observed her closely. No tell-tale sign of colour seeped into her cheeks so she told no lie there. Surely if she felt something for his brother other than an odd kind of duty, he would know. She gave herself away very readily. Miss Claremont might hate him, but he knew full well her body said otherwise. If she had responded the same way to his brother, it wouldn’t have passed his notice.
But desperate women did desperate things. From what little he knew of her, she wouldn’t want to depend on charity for long. She might drive him to the edge of madness but she was an honest woman. If his brother’s accident had shown him nothing else, it had revealed her determined and caring disposition.
“I believe my brother is quite well, Miss Claremont, and is enjoying playing the invalid.”
“Indeed.” Amusement creased her eyes but the look seemed aimed at his brother.
Evan pushed a breath through his nostrils. He could stand it no longer. Whatever flirtations were happening between them, he would not stand idly by and watch. “Well, good day to you, Miss Claremont.” He dipped his head. “Thomas,” he said curtly before brushing past her and nearly knocking into the servant by the door.
Halfway down the hall, Miss Claremont’s laughter rang out, and he paused. How would she look with her eyes bright with laughter? Her cheeks flushed with delight? With pleasure? He ran a hand through his hair. He would never know. But his brother might. Thomas would strip away her simple dress and unpin her hair. See it brushing her naked shoulders and get to taste her skin.
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