Miss Claremont jabbed a shrimp with her fork. “You make it sound like gambling.”
“It is gambling of a sort, I suppose.”
“Yet I imagine you gain or lose a lot more than could be lost at a game of cards.”
“Clearly, you have not met many gamblers. But for the lighthearted gambler, speculation might seem too steep a risk, yes.”
“I have not met many gamblers, you’re right. I prefer the company of more stalwart characters,” she replied haughtily.
“Miss Claremont, you think me inconstant?”
“I think nothing of the sort. I know only what you tell me and unlike you, I don’t claim to know anything of your character yet.”
Evan could not resist smiling then. The way she spoke, passion bright in her eyes, even as uncertainty haunted her posture, delighted him at every turn. “I hope, Miss Claremont, that I shall have the chance to prove you wrong and that you may get to know my character more… fully.”
He dropped his voice unintentionally. The woman seemed to have that effect on him. She loosened his tongue too. He rarely indulged in flirtations, particularly not with an innocent of insignificant birth. However, he couldn’t deny the thought of getting to know her more intimately held great appeal.
Blast, this would not do. Here he was trying his damndest to see through the thick material of her gown and praying for it to slip a little further down to give him a better look at those beautiful breasts, when he should be paying attention to his hostess and concentrating on his plans after his two week stay at Oakholm was over.
The thought of what the next few months in his life likely held weighed like a stone in his stomach. Forceful mothers pushing their daughters onto him and simpering women interested in nothing more than his title. Though he still had his doubts as to whether that was a good idea or not. He refused to end up like his father. But it had to be done. At his time in life, he needed a wife.
And not an infatuation with a woman like Miss Claremont, no matter how fascinating she was. Evan scowled. Infatuation? No, not infatuation. A passing interest, that was all. He had never been fixed on a woman.
His brother had been and look where that had got him. His wife might still be considered a beauty but there was little underneath that façade. Thomas had fallen too quickly for Harriet and was paying the price for it now—being lumbered with a vacuous, demanding wife.
Miss Claremont kept her gaze on the appetizers but the color in her cheeks had spread to the tips of her ears. His fingers twitched with the need to brush a curl behind them and toy with the delicate earrings in her lobes. He too jerked his attention back to the food before he did something foolish like drag her away from the table and nibble her ears until she begged for more.
Thankfully his imaginings were interrupted by Lady Stanley as she turned her attention from his brother to them. “Miss Claremont, you are exceptionally quiet this evening. I hope yesterday’s journey did not tire you.”
Miss Claremont offered a weak smile. “Not at all, Lady Stanley.”
“Tell me, did you pass Upton Hall on your way here?”
“I did.” Miss Claremont narrowed her eyes at Lady Stanley.
Evan couldn’t decipher why the remark caused such a reaction, but Lady Stanley appeared to have a purpose.
“You have heard, Lord Hawksley, that it has been turned into a women’s college, have you not?” Lady Stanley prompted.
Evan let slip a thin smile. Now he saw her purpose. She wished to bring some debate to the table. The old woman never failed to enjoy a lively talk, even if politics were not considered a proper topic of conversation for a dinner party.
“I had heard that, Lady Stanley,” he offered with a noncommittal lift of his shoulders.
“A waste of a fine home, if you ask me,” his brother put in.
Evan almost groaned as Thomas rose to the bait. Lady Stanley was a well-known supporter of women’s rights and Thomas should have known that.
But Lady Stanley remained quiet. Instead Miss Claremont surprised him by snapping to attention. “A waste, Lord Richdale. How so?”
Thomas’s brows dipped slightly at the challenge, and his wife darted a wild look between them. Tension hung in the air. Evan tried not to smile.
“Women shall never be able to grasp subjects such as the sciences. I believe it to be a waste of time.”
“A waste of time?” Miss Claremont exclaimed. “How can wanting to better oneself ever be considered a waste of time? And if we don’t give women the chance to study such subjects, how shall we know if they are capable of grasping them?”
Thomas floundered at this and Evan stepped in. “My brother is right. While women can gain no qualifications, it is indeed a waste of time.”
It was believed women would never be able to take the same examinations as men so while they might study the same subjects, none would ever gain from their education like men did. Until colleges like Cambridge allowed women to become qualified, he did, indeed, deem it a waste.
Miss Claremont turned her wise eyes on him. “I suppose you think we are better placed in the home, ready to serve our husbands without question.”
“I did not say that, Miss Claremont.”
“You did not need to.”
“I suppose you think women should be able to vote, and divorce their husbands, and gallivant all over this country doing whatever they please too?” By some miracle, he managed to keep a straight face as indignation crossed her expression.
“Of course. Any man has such freedoms, so too should a woman. Are we not citizens of this country? Should we not have some say in our future?”
“A woman’s place is in the home,” Lady Richdale put in. “If we should all start doing our own thing, who would raise the children?”
“The help, no doubt,” Miss Claremont uttered so quietly only Evan heard it. He resisted a chuckle.
“The fact is, Miss Claremont,” his brother said, “and I mean no offence by this, women are soft creatures in need of protection. Husbands offer this, and in return women should continue doing what they have done best for hundreds of years. Stay at home, tend the house and raise the children. I see no need for change.”
“And what of the women who are forced to suffer whatever their husbands might put upon them, whether that be a beating or worse? Where is their protection?”
Evan gripped his fork. Thomas was too young to remember much of what had happened those many years ago, but Evan remembered it all too clearly. “An education will not offer those women protection,” he said tersely.
“No, but an education will pave the way for change. Of course, men have always been fearful of change.”
“I agree, Miss Claremont, men fear change more than anything.” Indeed, at this very moment, his heart beat rapid and his palms grew clammy. This bold woman had wrought a change in him—one he did not want or need. Desire had taken hold and he feared it wouldn’t release him until it was quenched.
“Ah, and here is the pheasant.” Lady Stanley announced brightly, though her smug smile indicated she had enjoyed the debate immensely.
“Miss Claremont,” he murmured as she turned away from him. The rise and fall of her shoulders told him she was quite riled. “While I believe we are leaping too early into the education of women, let me assure you, I do not think any woman should have to suffer a beating merely because the man doing it is her husband.”
She whirled her head around and stared at him for some time as if trying to decipher whether he spoke the truth. Her lips parted and she shut them again before turning back to her meal. Evan fought the animalistic sound rising in his throat at the sight of those petal pink lips moving in such a way that it only brought to mind the ways in which he could kiss them into submission.
Jaw clenched, he reached for his wine. This would not do. He was either going to have to get truly foxed to try to forget her or do something drastic like steal a kiss from her and hope it satisfied his need. He snuck a glance at her agai
n as she put her wine glass to her mouth. Damnation, one kiss would never do it. He had no other choice—he would simply have to force the woman from his mind.
Evan drained his wine.
Chapter Four
After the men had retreated for brandy and cigars, the evening had quickly grown tiresome and quiet. The only lady still talking animatedly was Lady Stanley and as much as Lilly adored her, Lady Stanley had the uncanny ability to hold a conversation wholly on her own with little input from anyone. Exhausted from spending the evening trying not to look at Lord Hawksley and fighting such mixed emotions, Lilly excused herself.
When she came to the bottom of the stairs, she debated whether bed was the best option. Her mind was still awhirl. Lord Hawksley had confused her. His words on women’s education had been a deliberate jab, she suspected. He spoke to get a rise from her. That he had confessed he felt the law unfair toward women had astounded her, yet maybe he only said as much to charm her in some way. She couldn’t see why he would bother. She was of little consequence to him.
Instead of heading to her room, she decided to take a turn around the garden. With everyone occupied, she wouldn’t be interrupted. When she stepped outside, cold air swirled around her bare shoulders and she regretted not wearing a shawl, but at least it would clear her head.
Lilly strolled around to the rear of the house. A path led down into a large rockery and she endeavored to walk all the way through it and up the large rows of box trees before returning to her room. The rockery had been the work of the late earl and even in the dim moonlight, the layout of the stones on either side were impressive. Short, unusual plants mingled between them. Lilly knew from Lady Stanley that the earl had gone to great pains to collect plants from all over the world for this garden.
The crack of a twig made her jump and she paused and peered behind her. An animal, she concluded, and continued up the path until the large trees swallowed her. Here the formal garden directed her down a long graveled path toward a huge stone fountain.
More crunching sounds came and her heart bounded into her throat as a figure appeared farther down the path.
“Lord Hawksley,” she exclaimed and regretted the words. He had not spotted her and she might have been able to hide had she not caught his attention.
“Miss Claremont.” He strode over and eyed her severely. “It’s late for you to be out on your own and…” he scowled, his gaze brushing the tops of her shoulders, “it is too cold for you to be so… so…” he waved a hand.
Lilly caught the scent of brandy on his breath. She had noticed he indulged quite freely with wine all evening and he appeared a little unsteady on his feet. Strange, for Lady Stanley hadn’t mentioned the lord enjoying spirits and Lady Stanley rarely kept anything to herself.
“I didn’t think I would meet anyone out here and I had need of some fresh air. Why are you not with your brother and Lord Brexley?”
“I detest cards.” He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across her shoulders.
The scent of soap and the warmth from the fabric enveloped her. His gloved fingers skimmed her shoulders for the briefest moment, yet it was as if she had jumped into a furnace. Her skin blazed with remembrance.
“I thought you a gambling man, my lord.”
He considered her, his lips remaining in a firm thin line. “Speculation on the advice of a good man is not gambling, Miss Claremont. It seems I did not make myself clear on that point.” Lord Hawksley motioned down the path and they walked side by side for several minutes.
Lilly used the time to gather her thoughts—a difficult task when his strong masculine scent pervaded her nostrils and muddled her brain. At dinner, he had constantly surprised her. While he remained gruff and difficult to read, he hardly seemed the sort to go around killing people. And he genuinely didn’t seem to be concerned by the money her father owed him.
Or else, he was a fantastic actor. The only real spark of emotion she had seen had been at the mention of husbands harming their wives.
She peeked sideways at him and noted how attractive his side profile was for the hundredth time that evening. Just because he was handsome didn’t make him a good man, she reminded herself.
But the way he treated her with his odd brand of civility puzzled. Many women might be offended by his abrupt manner, she supposed. The marquess was so rich, he need not care whom he offended, but Lilly felt there was honesty behind his manners. She had never been one to enjoy false niceties—not that many bothered disguising their contempt for an illegitimate daughter. However, it was as if Lord Hawksley paid no heed to her background whatsoever.
“What of you, Miss Claremont? Are you not missing out on time with the women?”
“I detest gossip,” she replied with a smile.
The smallest hint of amusement sparked in his gaze as he eyed her. Though it softened his severe brow, she still shuddered under his study. Even if Lord Hawksley had the ability to release a genuine smile, he would still look like a predator.
“You are cold?” he asked, a finger to her shoulder where the jacket rested.
“Not at all.”
What was she to say? That she thought him like a hawk and when he looked at her it sent tiny tremors through her body? Or that the sensations confused her, for they should have been from fear but felt too much like excitement?
Could her cousin have been wrong? When he’d handed over some letters from her father to her mother, the note of the debt had convinced her Lord Hawksley must have been angry indeed at the loss of so great a sum. And when she had probed Henry about the debt, he had confirmed he’d heard rumors of the marquess’s threats to make her father pay.
But gossip was never to be trusted. Surely she knew that better than anyone?
Lord Hawksley paused and took a swift step in front of her. Lilly froze and lifted her gaze to his. His fingers landed on the lapels of the jacket, a mere inch or so away from her breasts.
Lord Hawksley could not be trusted either. How could one trust a man so closed off and perplexing?
Her throat threatened to close over, her mind drifted into a fog. Tendrils of night air wrapped around her bare skin and emphasized the heat sizzling through her veins. Around her, the trees swayed and an owl hooted, but her breaths became the dominant sound as their gazes clashed. For the life of her, she could not move nor make sense of that moment in time. Clawing through the fog in her mind, some remnants of common sense screamed at her that this man could be dangerous—that she might be alone with a murderer—but when he tugged the lapels together and shifted marginally closer, that voice fizzled.
Of their own accord, her lips parted. This movement caused his gaze to drop to them. They tingled as if he had touched them rather than merely looked. Lilly took in his hooded gaze and eyes so dark, he looked as though he were a creature of the night. In the moonlight, his dark hair shone and it brought out the stark planes of his face.
Lilly almost laughed to herself. If he didn’t scowl so often, he would be the handsomest man she had ever met. But any inclination to laugh vanished in a puff when his head lowered.
She closed her eyes, tilted her head. Her limbs refused to work. Her arms were as stiff as iron rods. When she should have been placing her hands to his chest to push him away, she found herself swaying toward him.
Then the grip on the jacket loosened and nothing but air drifted across her lips. Lilly snapped open her eyes and frowned. Lord Hawksley had straightened and stepped back. He peered at her as if she were some mystifying creature. Lilly didn’t doubt she returned the look.
Disappointment weighted her heart, and anger heated her belly. What was so wrong with her that she would want a kiss from the man who might have killed her father? She had come here to find out more, maybe probe him about his dealings—not kiss him!
His gaze sharpened and a scowl crossed his face. “It is late. I shall bid you good evening, Miss Claremont.”
Lord Hawksley swiveled on his heel and stormed in the opposite di
rection. Open mouthed, Lilly watched the easy movement of his shoulders until he turned a corner. Need twisted deep inside and tangled like a web. She had intended to trap the marquess, not the other way around. Was she in his web or he in hers?
And, of course, she was still no closer to discovering the truth.
With a deep breath, she continued on. The breeze had picked up, fluttering her curls, and she grasped the dinner jacket tighter. Oh Lord, she had forgotten his jacket. She would have to return it to him quietly somehow and before the maids picked it up for washing.
She continued her walk through the hedges until she reached the fountain—a magnificent three-tiered structure. Stopping to trail her fingers in the water, she peered back at the house. The large windows glowed against the red brick. Would Lord Hawksley return to the men or had he continued his walk as she had?
By the time she returned to the house, the cold had seeped under the marquess’s jacket and any warmth left from his body had dispersed, although the scent of him remained. What brand of soap he used, she did not know, but the fragrance was enough to make a woman swoon. Not she, however. Lilly had never been particularly interested in the opposite sex. Most paid her little enough heed and though she’d trifled in the odd kiss or two, at three and twenty she thought herself past silly flirtations.
She shucked off the jacket before she entered and kept it held by her side in the hopes her skirt would hide it from prying eyes. Only a few servants were present in the hall, and the din of male laughter rang out from deeper in the house. It was likely Lord Hawksley had decided a game of cards was not such a bad idea. Certainly more appealing than kissing her.
He had been about to kiss her, had he not?
Maybe her limited experience with men had put her at a disadvantage and now she was seeing things that simply didn’t exist. Like a wealthy, attractive man wanting to kiss her.
Lilly took the stairs quickly, skirt in one hand, jacket in the other. Of course, that wealthy, attractive man could be a murderer. She mustn’t forget that. It soothed her bruised esteem a little to think that she would not want a kiss from him anyway. He was the least appealing prospect here—someone who thought nothing of killing a man over a debt.
Love Regency Style Page 3