by Gayle Buck
Evelyn stood up slowly, absorbing the atmosphere. It was obvious that she had been brought to a house owned by someone of her own social class. Conjectures fleeted through her mind. She could not imagine who among her acquaintances could have betrayed her in such a fashion, but the fact that her abductor was of her own social class displayed an enormity of callous disregard for all convention and taboo.
Her heart beat hard with dread as she began to fear more than ever discovering why she had been abducted.
Evelyn stepped toward the door. Even though she knew the door must be locked, she intended to try the knob.
A rustle of sound behind her whirled her around. Her heart was in her mouth and her breath was shortened. Her horrified eyes discerned now a tall dark figure standing in the shadows next to the heavily curtained window.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Her voice was hoarse.
The man stepped fully into the firelight. Recognizing him Evelyn took an inadvertent step back.
“The door is locked, Evelyn.”
“You!” Evelyn was stunned. She could only stare across at him while her thoughts stumbled, unable to grasp the truth. Of anyone she might have conceived to be capable of such villainy, never would she have suspected that most proper gentleman of all, Peter Hawkins.
“Yes.” In a moment of silence, he studied her face and the tense manner in which she held herself. His expression was unreadable. “You appear overwrought and tired. A glass of burgundy will do you good.” He turned to the side table to pick up a decanter, glancing again at her as he did so.
Evelyn stayed where she was. She did not know what to do. She could not believe even with the evidence of Peter Hawkins’s presence that he could possibly be the author of this ghastly experience.
He came up to her, offering the glass of burgundy. Fumbling a little, numb in spirit and body, she took it. She did not resist when he took her elbow and guided her back to the settee.
It was only after they were both seated that she spoke. In a low trembling voice, she said, “I do not understand.”
Mr. Hawkins smiled slightly, but there was nothing of humor in his eyes. “I hope that you will come to, however. You are shivering. Drink the wine. It will help to warm you.”
Evelyn obediently touched the glass to her lips. She took too much and strangled on it. She choked and coughed, sending some of the wine spilling from her glass. The glass was taken from her, and strong hands held her for the duration of the paroxysm.
Her eyes were still streaming when Evelyn struggled away from his impersonal hold. “Pray—! Let me go.”
At once, he did so. He leaned at his ease against the back of the settee and rested one arm along it. “I am glad you are recovered. Perhaps now we might proceed to the reason why I have had you brought here.”
Evelyn was very aware of his size. She had never before thought of him as the possessor of an intimidating presence, but so she found now. She was aware also of the proximity of his hand, where it rested close to her shoulder. Holding herself stiffly, she said with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances, “Yes. I should like an explanation.” Her voice was still hoarse and betrayed her fear.
Mr. Hawkins looked away, a frown gathering his brows. “It is not what I wished.”
She felt the thud of her pulse deep in her throat. “Then perhaps it is all a mistake. Perhaps it would be best if you returned me to Bath.”
He looked at her for a long moment. He sighed. “I am sorry, Evelyn. It is no longer so simple as that. I have already embarked on this course, and I cannot call it back. I cannot allow you to return home until I have made you understand certain things. It is unfortunate that it has come to such a pass as this. If there had been any other alternative left to me, believe me, I would never have thought of subjecting you to such distress as you are now laboring under.”
Evelyn felt an insane desire to laugh. His expression conveyed regret and he had actually apologized to her, as though he had committed a mere solecism. “My dear sir, I assure you that what I feel is in no way assuaged by your words. On the contrary! I am even more filled with foreboding. Am I incorrect in my instinct?”
She was surprised by her own daring in so addressing him, when obviously she dealt with a madman. She supposed it was because his manner and his apology were so much in character with what she had come to take for granted of him. For a fleeting moment, she could almost believe that she was bandying words with him in her own sitting room.
But then he smiled. It was a smile of such grimness that the tiny surge of confidence that she had felt was completely banished, to be replaced by fearful dread.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Evelyn shrank away from him. That was a mistake, for she came in contact with his hand, which dropped onto her shoulder. Evelyn instantly flinched, but his fingers tightened, stopping her instinctive movement. She could not free herself from his hold without wrenching herself away, and she feared his reaction if she dared to do so. Evelyn froze beneath his hand. “Will—will you unhand me, sir?”
“I think not,” he said quietly. His other hand slid up her bare arm. He drew her closer and a strong arm slipped about her shoulders. His fingers tangled in her hair and caressed the back of her neck.
Evelyn’s eyes were huge pools. She trembled with the odd sensations that he was arousing in her. She was frightened and confused. He was still Peter Hawkins, the gentleman she had thought would deal honorably with her over an impulsive and stupid wager. But he had also become someone she did not know. He had become a wicked seducer. “Peter—” she whispered. “Do not.”
His expression was unreadable. He did not reply. Instead, lowering his head slowly, he sought her lips.
It was a slow, exploratory kiss, quite different from what Evelyn had dreaded from him in this stranger’s guise. A sob strangled in her throat.
When he released her, Evelyn swiftly leaped up from the settee. As she crossed over to the draped window, she heard his step behind her. She turned, feeling herself to be at bay. “Why? Why have you done this? Is this the payment you exact for my lost wager?” she cried.
He had come to stand so near to her that the toes of his boots touched her hem. He did not need to reach out for her to feel his leashed power. She stared up at his face, but his back was to the fire and she could not easily make out his expression. Yet she could have sworn that she saw a flicker of distress cross his face.
“The wager? Hardly that. Simply, I could think of no other way to persuade you that you should not marry Lord Hughes,” he said quietly.
Evelyn stared up at him, disbelieving. Incredulity lacing her voice, she asked, “This is simply another one of your machinations to rid me of a suitor that you deem unworthy?”
“As bizarre as that sounds, yes.”
Evelyn slapped him with all the pent-up fear and strength of which she was capable. He staggered with the shock of it.
Tears glittered on the ends of her lashes. Her voice trembled with fury and grief. “Damn you, Peter Hawkins! You have succeeded. Lord Hughes will want nothing to do with me after this night, nor will any other respectable gentleman. Your misguided notions of propriety have finally compromised me beyond repair.”
“It was not my intention to ruin you!”
“Was it not?” Evelyn managed a brittle laugh. “You have a difficult task of proving it otherwise, my dear sir.”
“I have only one way to prove it,” he said grimly.
Before Evelyn quite grasped his intention, he caught her up roughly into his arms. The kiss that he pressed on her was savage. His mouth wholly possessed hers. She gave an inarticulate mewl in her throat and tried to twist free. But her arms were caught and pinned, while her body was held immobile by the strength that he demonstrated.
Evelyn felt herself drowning beneath the assault of his mouth. It was no longer brutal but strove to melt her with its heat. His arms loosened from about her, but she no longer struggled to be free. Instead, h
er arms slid up about his neck. His lips left hers to travel the length of her throat until coming to rest on her frantic pulse. His teeth delicately nipped the flesh.
In a haze, Evelyn felt his arms sweep around her, lifting her so that she was cradled high against his chest. His mouth claimed hers again.
When he at last broke the kiss, she dimly realized that they had somehow come to be back on the settee. She was half reclining in his lap, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She felt his harsh breath against her brow, and when she placed her palm lightly against his shirtfront she could feel the quick thud of his heart. Wonderingly, she looked up into his face.
His mouth was quirked in a smile, but his eyes were shadowed. “I have succeeded in sweeping you off of your feet at last, Miss Dower. Will you marry me?”
Evelyn blinked. “What did you say?” she breathed.
“I asked whether you would—”
“Not that.” Evelyn sat up as indignation took spark in her eyes. “You discussed me with my mother. And she—!” Evelyn could not even properly articulate her outrage and disgust.
Mr. Hawkins cleared his throat. Somewhat shamefaced, he said, “Well, yes. I believe she might have mentioned, just in passing, that you had a penchant for romance novels. I solicited her advice in how to win your hand. She told me to sweep you off your feet and carry you off. Thus this highly unconventional episode, which was made very much easier when you left the assembly alone.”
“Mama knew!” Evelyn saw now that her mother had been unusually amenable to her going home alone. She clenched her fists. “Oh! How could she!”
Evelyn tried to scramble away, but he prevented her by the simple expedient of tightening his arms. Evelyn, realizing that to struggle must only make her look even more ridiculous, glared at him. In her coldest voice, she said, “Pray let go of me this instant!”
He shook his head regretfully. “I fear that I must risk your further displeasure, ma’am. You have not yet answered my question, and”—he grinned with surprising wickedness—”I am finding this a most intriguing circumstance.”
“I loathe you with every fiber of my being,” Evelyn stated with disdain.
He reached up to gently smooth back a curl that had fallen across her brow. “I do not think so, sweetheart,” he said softly, almost marveling. “And I suspect that you know it, too.”
Evelyn swallowed. Her heart had given a considerable jump at his endearment and was even now betraying her with its quickened tempo. She took refuge in bravado. “I do not know to what you are referring, Mr. Hawkins.”
“Marry me, Evelyn. I am wholly in love with you, you see, and even though that might frighten you now, I promise that I shall not—”
“Frighten me!” exclaimed Evelyn. “Why should I be frightened of what I have wished to hear from you for positively years?”
Mr. Hawkins shook his head, bewildered. “I did offer for your hand,” he pointed out.
“But I believed you did so because Lady Pomerancy ordered you to,” said Evelyn. “And even when I discovered that wasn’t so, I thought you motivated solely by propriety and duty.”
“You thought what?”
Evelyn had the grace to flush. “It—it was the way Mama explained it to me, you see. I was already half in love with you; but then I became so disillusioned. I thought you naught but a mawkworm and worse.”
Mr. Hawkins threw back his head and shouted with laughter.
Evelyn tossed her head, a reluctant smile curving her lips. She fiddled with his coat lapel. “Of course it sounds ridiculous now, but at the time—and then, when you never gave any sign of wanting me, why, I—”
“Not want you?” A distinct glitter entered his eyes. “My dear Miss Dower, obviously you can have no notion what Herculean efforts I was put to in order to stop myself from snatching you up and so thoroughly kissing you that you would never recover.”
“Why didn’t you, then?” Evelyn asked, blushing under his look.
“I did not wish to frighten you off.”
“Peter!” She leaned as far as the limits of his arms would allow to stare up at him. “I am not such a chucklehead as that.”
He sighed. With deliberation, he said, “I feared that any excess of passion on my part would give you a permanent disgust of me.”
Evelyn shook her head. She put up her hand and with her fingers gently, delicately, traced his strong jawline. “You stupid, idiotic man.” A disturbing thought strayed into her mind.
His expression altered, and his arms tightened about her once more. “I tend to agree with that assessment,” he said and started to lower his head.
Evelyn’s hand shot up between their lips, forestalling him. “You have forgotten, sir. I am betrothed to Lord Hughes.” She said it with a smile, but she was perfectly serious. The recollection was a lowering one and effectively dispelled her giddy happiness.
However, Mr. Hawkins did not seem to share her downcast feelings. He shook his head. “On the contrary. It is your mother who will become Lady Hughes.”
“What?!”
He laughed at her expression. “Is your nose quite out of joint, my love? It seems that Lord Hughes and your mother had already come to an understanding when you made that ludicrous announcement. I do not believe any who were present have since touted it about, but to cover any public confusion, we shall put it about that in the throes of your excitement you garbled the news of your mother’s engagement so that it sounded as though it was you who had been the recipient of the honor.”
Evelyn drew a deep breath. Some things had suddenly become very much clearer. “I am so glad. Lord Hughes is not precisely what one prefers in a stepfather, of course, but I know that he will be good for my mother. He will not demand such of her except that she go on entertaining and shopping. As for Mama—”
Evelyn chuckled suddenly. “I suppose that she will lead his lordship a rather lively dance. He may even find that he does not have the energy to make up to any other ladies.”
“So would I assume,” Mr. Hawkins agreed. He regarded her with the quirk of his mouth that was so familiar and dear to her. “I shall ask you but one more time. Evelyn, will you consent to become my wife?”
“I suppose I must since you have ruined me,” said Evelyn on a mock sigh.
He was suddenly very grave. “I have not, actually. We are at this moment in my town house in Lansdown Crescent. The door is not even locked. If you so wished it, I would call out a carriage and request my grandmother’s maid to chaperon you home.”
Evelyn regarded him in astonishment. “But the carriage drove for ever so long. I was certain that I had been carried out of Bath.”
“You were only meant to think it. I had the coachman drive around for an hour before coming back here. I would never have purposely placed you into a compromising position,” he said.
Various emotions crossed Evelyn’s face, indignation and amusement among them. Finally she said, glancing down at her position in his lap, “On the contrary! I am in just such a compromising position.”
He opened his mouth, but she swiftly covered his lips with her fingers. “Do not dare apologize, my paragon,” she warned. “Or I shall refuse your suit yet again. Pray try to pretend, for a few moments at least, that you are the wickedest flouter of convention in England.”
“I am at your command, my dearest lady,” he said, and proceeded to prove it.
Copyright © 1993 by Gayle Buck
Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451173562)
Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All
names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.