“Oh, there you are!” Mrs. O'Leary hurried to meet her with what could only be described as nervousness. “Mr. Masterson has ordered your bath, ma'am.”
“My bath?” Evangeline sputtered, caught off guard.
“Yes, indeed, ma'am. Told me to send you upstairs right away.”
Having found the woman so transparent in their earlier interactions, Evangeline paused and wondered at her choice of words. She could gain nothing from the woman's tone, but her countenance hinted at an anxious state of mind. “Very well,” she responded, a nervous flutter in her middle stifling the questions on her lips.
Was her husband angry with her? She could imagine no reason why he should be, but something about Mrs. O'Leary's manner set her on edge. She hurried up the wide, wooden staircase.
Thomas looked up from the fire at her entrance, dismissing the two servants who had only just poured steaming water into the tub. His gray-green eyes flashed with little contained fury, setting the flutters in her middle to full-blown shudders. Evangeline remained inside the door, dripping, waiting for his impending set down.
Chapter Ten
“Have you frozen yourself completely?” Thomas' voice was taut with tension. “Are you mad, traipsing about in this wet, frigid weather?” Anger simmered in his eyes, their hazel hue alive with heated emotion.
Evangeline stood before him, a coldness chilling her to the bone that had nothing to do with time spent in the icy downpour.
“Answer me,” he barked.
She flinched at the harsh command. “I am not mad, as you put it, and assure you I am quite capable of enjoying the outdoors without freezing myself completely.” There! Her reply came out much bolder than she'd expected.
“Evangeline,” Thomas warned. “I'll not tolerate you endangering your health.”
“I beg your pardon?” she breathed. “I took a walk, as I do every afternoon. Why on earth are you so riled?”
He sprang from the chair, gaining her and grasping her close in an instant. Immediately, Evangeline went rigid with trepidation, but his hands were gentle and loving.
“Please, Evie,” Thomas rasped, hurt plain in his expression at her mistrust. “Please do not expect the worst of me.”
His plea cut straight through her heart. Recalling her own supplication - that her mother think the best of her father rather than the worst - smothered her burning outrage. She found herself wanting to comfort him, the idea contrary to the anger and offense she had only just reined in.
“I was worried. I am worried, Evie.”
“Thomas, I am fine,” she said softly. “Why are you so upset? I do not understand.”
“Let me undress you.” He waited not her permission one way or the other, frantically stripping her sodden wrap and gown from her. “Get into the bath and warm yourself.”
Evangeline allowed him his way. It seemed to soothe and console him where words failed. Sinking beneath the warmed water so soon after coming indoors set her frozen feet on fire. She hissed at the stinging burn.
“You see? I was correct; you are much too cold.”
“Really, Thomas, you overreact. It is only that I have not thawed sufficiently before getting into the bath.” Spoken with the intent to reassure, Evangeline realized too late her words provoked him further as his jaw hardened.
“Since you insist on continuing in stubborn denial, you leave me no choice, Evangeline. You will not venture out of doors without me.”
“Mr. Masterson,” Evangeline addressed firmly. “I may be your wife – and I've no wish to perturb you, rest assured – but I am no silly child and do not expect to be ordered about as such.”
Assuming her husband to be in the grasp of an emotional fit akin to those her mother succumbed to, Evangeline reasoned the best course of action to continue unyielding and firm. It certainly worked with her mother. “I enjoy my afternoon activity and intend to carry on with the pleasant exercise. If it will set you at ease, I shall don extra layers for warmth.”
Who could argue with such practical sense?
“Mrs. Masterson,” Thomas practically growled his address, although his lip curved upward at the corner and his brow arched speculatively, “do you mean to inform me that you will disobey?”
Disobey? Oh! Why couldn't she read his expression clearly?
Uncertain how to respond considering the mixed signals she perceived, Evangeline opted for tempered frankness. “Disobey is a tyrannical word, Mr. Masterson. I prefer we come to an understanding.”
“Then understand, Evangeline, that I will not bargain with you on this issue. You will obey me.”
Of all the nonsense!
This man was nothing like her mother, she realized anew. How had she convinced herself she could reason with him? He had every right to demand her obedience – and she had no recourse. Exactly the reason she had never wanted to marry. Staring into the bath water, her cheeks ablaze with anger and humiliation, she crossed her arms over the tops of her breasts. Nakedness before him in this moment was more than she could bear.
“Come out of the bath before the water chills,” Thomas invited, all traces of anger gone. Wrapping a flannel drying cloth around her and rubbing her vigorously, he added, “Trust me, Evie. I act in the best interest of us both.”
She did not respond. What would it matter?
When silence stretched on, he lifted her chin and studied her intently. His gaze burned with an emotion she could not decipher before he scooped her into his arms and carried her to their bed, laying her back and stripping the flannel from her with deliberate care. She covered herself as best she could, but his hands captured hers and brought her arms to her sides. Evangeline remained just as he had positioned her and turned her head away from him. His clothing hit the floor along with his boots, and his weight settled alongside her on the bed. Still, he did not speak.
Surely he could not think to use her body at such an inappropriate moment!
His hand caressed down her side, revealing without doubt his interest, and he tasted the flesh of her shoulder and collarbone with soft kisses. She did not move a muscle.
“Do not be upset, Evie,” he murmured against her skin.
Upset was not the word she'd use. A much stronger term was in order, she railed silently. Did he think to order her about one minute and then expect her affections in the next? His kisses trailed to her breasts. Oh! He was infuriating! She closed her eyes against the delicious pleasure spreading outward as heat suffused her body.
“Come back to me, Evie. Please.” Trailing his caress across her breast, he kissed up her neck and sought the corner of her mouth.
Bread and butter!
She could not refuse him, couldn't bear to punish him any longer as understanding flooded her. Thomas did not seek to use her body; he sought reconciliation through his touch. Her anger and frustration melted under his tender ministrations, and truthfully, she'd thought often of his attentions throughout the day.
“Mr. Masterson, I never left.”
“Thomas,” he insisted.
“Thomas,” she whispered in return.
He captured her lips, devouring her, beseeching her to abandon herself with him. As her lips opened to him, he gentled his kiss, murmuring against her mouth. “I am sorry, sweetheart. I'll walk with you every day, I promise. But I need to protect you...to keep you safe. If you became ill because I failed to...”
He couldn't finish, was unable to admit how his foolish and selfish behavior had cost his brother's health and life. Thomas loved her tenderly, holding her close as he pushed inside her body and moved within her. She gave him such pleasure, her warmth, her closeness hurtling him toward his crisis. “Evie,” he groaned, pouring his essence into her.
Stroking her silken hair, wrapped around her body securely, he savored the contentment found in her arms. He'd bedded many women, pleasure no stranger to him, but this was new. She was his to enjoy, his responsibility to care for and please. No returning husband to avoid, no hiding. He belonged in
his bed with her, and she belonged in his life. Thomas intended to make sure she knew it well.
“Thomas,” Evangeline spoke softly in the sweet aftermath of their coupling, “why were you worried?”
An explanation was warranted, he realized. For the first time in his life, Thomas confessed his secret shame, the woman in his arms gifting him the ability to confront his actions through her quiet comfort. “My brother became ill after catching a chill,” he answered flatly, struggling to maintain his composure. “He died a few days later.”
“Oh, Thomas,” she comforted, her hands stroking his hair, “I remember when he died. I am so sorry.”
Thomas pulled her closer, sighing against her hair. “It was my fault. I dared him to stay outside...to jump into the pond. I was so intent on besting him, that I endangered him. I don't ever want to feel that guilt again. I'd never forgive myself, Evie, if I failed you as I failed my brother.”
The confession hung in the air, Evangeline gaining a wholly new perspective on her husband. “Thomas,” she whispered, “it is in the past. Look at me.”
He obeyed, and she kissed him tenderly.
“It is all right,” she repeated, holding him close. “I understand now, Thomas. I understand.” Her sister's words rang in her ears. Melody had told true. Her husband desired more than her body, he sought comfort in her arms, opening his heart to her after loving her.
“Evie...,” he whispered raggedly. But he could speak no more. In comparison to his usual exploits, Thomas struggled with the new found and foreign intimacy lovemaking conjured. He understood, in light of this, that he'd never made love to a woman in his life.
At eighteen years of age, his friends had invited him for a night of debauchery, all urging him on when a woman invited him to spend the evening with her. His introduction to carnality had come at the hands of a woman happy to engage in pleasure, wanting nothing more. His choice in women since had followed that example. Hedonism. Everything he knew about women, pleasuring them, seemed lacking with the woman in his arms.
He'd failed to bring her to fulfillment thus far in spite of his vast knowledge and wealth of experience. Yet here, in his arms, she offered him a calmness, a sense of peace he'd not before known. He chuckled, recalling his group of friends laughing at the term afterglow. Damned if he wasn't the laughingstock.
“What amuses you so?” Evangeline questioned sleepily, curious as to what induced laughter after so troubling a story.
“In short, Evie, myself,” he laughed.
“Whatever does that mean?” she murmured, eyes heavy.
“Shh, sweetheart,” he encouraged, stroking her back gently. “It is nothing at all. Rest.”
Evangeline drifted off in his embrace, snuggled against him contentedly. Sleep, however, would not welcome Thomas. He'd yet to seduce his own wife. She'd allowed him to bed her, pulling him further under her spell, but she withheld a part of herself from him. Thomas desired all of her. Complete surrender. He'd settle for nothing less.
* * *
Ladies milled about, engaging one another in conversation after discussion ended concerning their latest social project. “Mrs. Preston,” Verla Rhodes greeted with a nod and smile, “it is good to see you.”
“Mrs. Rhodes, likewise.”
“Let us take our tea together,” Verla invited. “I heard the most fascinating conversation at the Masterson wedding breakfast.” Verla allowed the statement to hang in the air, her hook baited and set for reeling the foolhardy Augusta into her net.
“How interesting,” Augusta fastened on greedily. “I would love to hear all about it. Tea would be lovely, Mrs. Rhodes. Thank you.”
“I was surprised to see you as a guest at the Masterson wedding,” Verla pointed out with a knowing smile. “Usually one does not invite one's former mistress to one's own wedding party!”
The blond woman stilled, gauging her adversary's intent. Judging whether the risk outweighed the possible benefit, Augusta formulated her response. “I rather believe Mr. Masterson and I have unfinished business,” she declared boldly.
Verla's haughty smile betrayed her pleasure at the opportunity to gossip in unveiled glee. “Then you will, no doubt, take great interest in what my ears overheard last week, my dear.” Verla relayed the conversation between Jonathan Lane, Albert Grey, and Winston Platte, sneering through the entire telling. “It would appear, Mrs. Preston, that Mr. Grey capitalized on the precarious position your Mr. Masterson found himself in, and Mr. Platte as well. Why, that gentleman declared that Mr. Masterson must marry and produce an heir to gain even one cent of his inheritance.” She laughed derisively. “He likely took that plain woman to wife to ensure he'd not be cuckolded.”
Augusta joined in the mean spirited venture. “Why, of course,” she agreed, happy to have discovered the reason – any reason aside from the idea Thomas could actually prefer Evangeline Grey to her – to explain his apparent marital bliss. “No other man wants Miss Grey. He can rest assured any child produced will be his own.”
“He'll have her breeding in no time, I'm sure,” Verla announced with disdain.
“And return to his wicked ways,” Augusta added with a smirk. The news satisfied her, for she could once again look forward to enticing Thomas Masterson to her bed. Greed for his attentions silenced any act of conscience. “Poor Mrs. Masterson,” she delighted wickedly, “will likely be devastated. I fear she fancies herself his true love.”
The women tittered in derisive cruelty.
“Or perhaps the pitiable girl believes Mr. Masterson is in love with her and will remain true to his vows.”
Augusta grew silent, pondering the thought. “Do you suppose her unaware of her husband's situation?”
Verla scoffed. “The truth is, she believes he married her to spare her reputation. I was there. I witnessed the entire event.”
“You must tell me, for I've not heard the story in its entirety,” Augusta begged petulantly. “Do go on, Mrs. Rhodes. I dare say your tale grows more intriguing by the moment.”
Relating the event in great detail, Verla conveyed her gossip with relish, embellishing a bit on Evangeline's disheveled state as Thomas Masterson carried her into Grey Manor those few months ago. “So you see, my dear Mrs. Preston, Evangeline Masterson has no idea the ruse set upon her! She believes her husband acted out of some non-existent inner well spring of decency.”
Snickering together in jaded cattiness, the pair proceeded to detail the pitiful naivety of Mrs. Masterson, gaining much amusement at the impending disaster when she discovered the truth. Augusta savored each morsel, tucking them away for future use. She would have Thomas back, one way or another. Verla Rhodes, the gossipy crone, had provided her the means to attain her goal. She smiled, delighted to have found a friend with which to share her secrets.
* * *
Thomas laughed, chasing away her doubts. He was teasing her again.
“Come here, Evangeline,” he beckoned.
The firelight washed him in golden splendor, his fine features chiseled and proud. Evangeline neared where he sat on the settee before the hearth in their private sitting room. He pulled her down into his lap.
“Much better,” he said smugly. “I missed you today.”
She smiled, happy to be near him.
“Did you not miss me?”
Evangeline rested her head against his chest, eager to soak in his scent and warmth. “I was quite busy,” she teased in return. “Were you away?”
His arms tightened around her securely, his deep chuckle admitting his defeat in their game of words. “Did you have your walk today? I am sorry I was not here to take you.”
“Mrs. O'Leary and I did tour the side gardens. We discussed some late spring planting ideas.”
“Tell me of your day,” Thomas encouraged.
“I received a letter from Melody, and another from my mother. Corinne is delayed in coming to me again,” she sighed. “My mother insists she cannot do without her until a suitable replacement c
an be found to wait upon Melody. But the wedding plans are progressing quickly now for my sister and Mr. Lane. His family will visit Grey Manor week after next.”
“Do you wish to have Mrs. O'Leary interview for a new maid for yourself?” Thomas asked indulgently.
Evangeline blushed to the roots of her hair. “I...well, since we've married, you have...”
“Removed your need for a maid to undress you, Evie?” His eyes glittered devilishly. “If you'd like a maid, we shall inform her at her hiring that you've only need for her in the mornings,” Thomas laughed. “That is, once I've made love to you and left you in peace.”
His open talk of lovemaking still caused her embarrassment, despite the fact that not a day had gone by without his passion being visited upon her.
“Have I incited that beautiful blush upon your skin, Mrs. Masterson?” he teased again. “Let me look at you.” He cupped her face and raised it. “Lovely, Evie.”
She shivered at his words.
“What else did your mother have to report?”
“Mostly she wrote of the wedding details. Of course, she sends her regards. She and my father will not be able to visit until after Melody's wedding.” A touch of melancholy tinged her voice.
“Do you miss your family terribly, Evie?” Genuine concern colored his question. “I can arrange for you to visit, sweetheart, although it must wait until I am able to travel with you. I cannot bear to be separated from you for even one night.”
His reward was a broad smile.
“No, Thomas. I am content to be here with you.”
Deep satisfaction flooded him at her answer. The weeks of their marriage solidified the bond growing between them more with each passing day. Still, he knew she would need to engage the world again, her charity work and friendships necessary. For now, Thomas wanted her all to himself. Guilt tugged at his conscience, for he was busy during the days, his whiskey venture consuming his time. His wife had been left alone too often. “Tomorrow we will ride Cherry Hill's property and I shall show you around. Is that acceptable to you?”
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