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.”
He curled a fist. “She is a most conscientious woman it seems.”
“She is quite something.”
A spark entered his brother’s eyes. Evan recognized 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 color 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. “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 marquess 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 telltale sign of color 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.
Desire—hot and sharp struck him low in the gut. How was he to rid himself of this madness? Leave and pray the memory of the maddening Miss Claremont remained at Oakholm? Suffer the kn
owledge of her in his brother’s bed for however long he decided to keep her? Or do as Thomas had suggested and ask her to be his mistress?
Evan recalled the soft texture of her hair, the way her skin glistened with raindrops, her stilted breaths and wide eyes. The urgent throb of need grew painful. By God, he needed more. Thomas could not be allowed to have her, but he would. He would take Miss Claremont as his mistress and slate his lust until this obsession had run dry.
Chapter Seven
Heat scalded Lilly’s cheeks. The tingling sensation washed through her again and, as the vicar continued his sermon in a droning tone, she stole a peek at Lord Hawksley who sat on the pews to the side, not far from her. She dropped her gaze abruptly only to find it snaking back to him. As though watching a game of tennis, she found herself swinging her gaze between him and the vicar, each time still managing to be surprised when she found Lord Hawksley watching her.
The manner in which he watched her unsettled her most. Yes, he still didn’t smile and a tiny crease remained between his brows, but in his eyes was something new—a wild sort of determination aimed at her. What she had done to deserve such a look, she did not know.
As it was, her belief of his guilt was wavering. By all accounts, the marquess was a good man. None of the party had a bad word to say about him and in the two days since the library incident—the incident that still made her tremble and her stomach swoop in remembrance—she had found no proof of his involvement in her father’s death nor any great reason for it.
To be owed money was no unusual thing for the marquess, according to Lady Richdale, who could be counted on to talk openly about her brother-in-law’s affairs. Many turned to him for business support and he enjoyed taking an active role in all manner of investments.
And then there was the way in which he had worried for his brother. Lilly dropped her gaze to her lap and toyed with the tip of a glove. Yes, murderers could worry for their family, she was sure, but with such genuine emotion? His odd concern for her had revealed a somewhat charitable nature too. If he hadn’t quickly snapped back into being cold and austere, she might have been completely convinced of his innocence.
She sighed and forced herself to focus on the vicar. With only a week left at Oakholm, she was tempted to throw in her investigations and try to enjoy Lady Stanley’s hospitality. Such a closed-off man would be impossible to unravel. Lady Richdale put it down to him being the eldest brother—bearing all the responsibility from a young age—but Lilly suspected the gentleman simply took pleasure in being so severe and endeavored to make everyone as miserable as himself.
If she’d found out nothing else by the end of next week, she would visit her cousin, she vowed, and question his assertion that Lord Hawksley must have ordered the killing. A murderer was still on the loose, after all, and the person behind the order had to be brought to justice.
Lady Stanley nudged her with an elbow, and Lilly shook herself. “Yes?”
“Lilly, you are in a world of your own. It is time to leave, dear.”
Standing, she offered Lady Stanley a smile. “Forgive me, I’m tired.”
“That is understandable, my dear, after everything that has happened to you recently, but you are really quite distracted and…” the woman’s smile expanded, “I suspect I know the source of your distraction.”
Lilly held her skirts as they slid out from between the pews and her shoes clicked on the tiled floor of the church. “I don’t know what you mean, my lady, but I apologize for my distraction. Of course, my father—”
“Oh, I do not doubt you are still grieving, but I believe another man to be the cause of your preoccupied manner.” Lady Stanley put a secretive finger to her lips and flicked a look at Lord Hawksley as he approached.
Barely suppressing a groan, Lilly’s cheeks blazed. “I assure you—” she hissed.
“My ladies.” Lord Hawksley—true to his name—was upon them, swift and silent. He peered down his nose at her and her stomach did that annoying dance once more.
“My lord, an interesting sermon, was it not?” Lady Stanley asked, but did not wait for a response as she spied the earl behind him. “Ah, Lord Brexley, do be so kind as to play my escort.”
The earl tipped his hat and moved past them to escort Lady Stanley. With Lady Richdale and Thomas at the head of their group and Mrs. Willis joining the earl, Lilly found herself left alone with Lord Hawksley. Tight-lipped, she sighed. All by Lady Stanley’s design too probably. Why she thought Lord Hawksley would have any interest in her, she didn’t know. A man of his ranking would never have designs on an illegitimate woman.
Not to mention every time he looked at her, dislike clouded his handsome features. His lips pursed, his brow furrowed. Likely everything about her offended him—from her political views, to her birth, to her unguarded tongue. Still, let him dislike her. She cared little what the nobility thought of her.
She shook herself mentally. Not to mention she still hadn’t decided for certain he was not the murderer. If only there was some way to be sure.
They stepped out of the church, the narrow doorway causing their arms to brush. Even though the silk of her gown was thick enough, the brief meeting of their bodies caused tingles to race up and down her side. Lilly thanked the vicar as did Lord Hawksley and they followed the path past the gravestones and under the wooden lychgate.
Because the day had promised to be pleasant, Lady Stanley had insisted on them walking. The church sat in the middle of her land, a mere fifteen minute walk, though all her guests had protested at her walking the distance. She had declared the only way she would reach an even older age was by continuing her weekly walk.
Any other day, Lilly might have been grateful to avoid the confines of a carriage, but not now Lord Hawksley was at her side. Sitting in a small space with him would have proved difficult—being in any space with him seemed to restrict her breathing and make her aware of her every movement—but at least she wouldn’t have been depended upon for conversation.
“Fine weather,” he observed and held out a hand to direct her onto the path.
“Indeed.”
Ahead, a copse of trees obscured her view of Oakholm hall and though she enjoyed looking upon the grand building, the unspoiled view of the gently rolling hills made her smile.
“The weather amuses you.”
She glanced at him. “No, not at all.”
“The topic of conversation then?”
Lilly frowned and eyed him. For days he had said nothing to her and now he seemed insistent on conversing. “I was merely appreciating the view and thinking that many would not think it so pretty.”
“Why would they think that?”
“I imagine many would prefer to look upon the grandeur of the hall.”
“I think, Miss Claremont, that grandeur is a fine thing but can become tiresome to the eye. A more simple beauty, however, one can never tire of.”
Her heart constricted—the tight web he seemed to weave about her enclosing her and pulling her deeper. He could not mean her, yet when she met his gaze, in those dark depths something echoed. He had spoken of his attraction to her with such disgust, she doubted it possible he meant it and knew well it would pass.
But her looks were simple. Could he be speaking of her? Vanity had never played much of a role in her life. Being tucked away in the country, away from society, left her with little need to primp and preen. However, his words brought warmth to her chest. She could not deny sitting next to the fashionable Lady Richdale with her glossy blonde hair and delicate face made her feel rough and unpleasant. The way Lord Hawksley looked at her, made her feel anything but. She coughed in an attempt to clear the tightness in her throat.
“You do not like compliments, Miss Claremont?”
“You were speaking of the scenery, were you not? I don’t see how I can find offence in that.”
He paused and Lilly eyed the growing gap between themselves and the rest of their party. She kept her gaze on the horizon as fl
uttering panic beat against the cage of her ribs.
“You are an intelligent lady and you know full well I was speaking of your beauty and not of the scenery.”
“My lord, I thank you for your compliments, but your efforts would be better bestowed elsewhere.”
“I thought every lady liked to hear of her beauty.”
She felt his gaze trace her profile. It was only a matter of time before she would have to look upon him. She steeled herself against him—prepared herself for his intense gaze and firm lips, his aristocratic nose and tempting jaw line—before facing him.
“I’m not like every lady.”
A hint of a smile curved his lips. “That you are not.”
“Come, we are losing the others.” She went to continue on but he grasped her arm. The shock of the contact froze her. Her lips parted and a whistle of air left her lungs. “Lord Hawksley!” she exclaimed huskily.
“You are not like every lady,” he said, turning her to face him. She wriggled but to no avail. His grip merely tightened. “You drive me to the edge of madness.”
“My lord, I do not mean—”
“I am resolved to rid myself of that madness. Your circumstances put you in such a position that I don’t think my proposition will be unwelcome. You desire me as I desire you—”
“I do not!”
He chuckled. “You’re not one to disguise your feelings, even when you try. The stain on your cheeks forever gives you away.”
Lilly cursed her propensity for blushing. “Whatever you believe, I see no reason to discuss it, Lord Hawksley. Let us return to Oakholm and forget this. Before long, you shall have returned to your home… or… or London or wherever and will be surrounded by many great beauties. I am sure you shall forget all about me then.”
“Hmmm, I had hoped the same, but I fear that will not be so.”
He released her arm and brought a finger up to skim her cheek. She jolted at the touch but found herself unable to move away. Hunger gripped her stomach—a need for more that she did not wish to acknowledge yet it clawed away at her insides until she surrendered to it and she closed her eyes to focus on that warm fingertip. It traced her cheek once more and landed upon the base of her neck where her pulse hammered. The finger vanished and she opened her eyes. Lilly gulped.
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