Viscount Can Wait, The EPB

by Tremayne, Marie

  He released her hand at last. “Landry has always had a self-righteous air about him—”

  “The man would likely say the same of you,” she said with a small laugh.

  “—but despite my bias against him, he is sure to be worthy,” he added, shocking her into silence. “You are beautiful, Eliza, and have much to offer that these spoiled debutantes do not. Landry will not be your sole suitor; I only ask that you be careful.”

  Eliza stared at him in astonishment, unable to move past something he’d said.

  You are beautiful.

  Deep down, the part of her that longed to be close to him rejoiced at hearing the words. But the girl who had been humiliated by him in her own drawing room was not nearly as forgiving. She knew it was lunacy to believe that his acknowledging her prettiness could amount to something like love, but the question remained: Would it matter even if it did? Thinking back to her father’s words and William’s warnings, she knew that it wouldn’t.

  And he was most definitely not being serious. The viscount was rarely serious, after all.

  Her heart thundered in her ears. “I will thank you to not speak of beauty, Lord Evanston, even in jest.”

  “In jest?” Realization dawned on his face. “Eliza—”

  The door burst open and Caroline rushed onto the terraced steps. “There you are! My goodness, I have spent a quarter of an hour looking for you . . .” Her words faltered when she perceived that Eliza was not alone and, more importantly, who she was with. She dipped into a surprised curtsy, and Lord Evanston bowed back in kind. “I beg your pardon, my lord. All is well here, I hope?” she asked, her eyes darting to Eliza in confusion.

  Eliza had to laugh. She’d come outside to seek respite, from the heat and from the viscount, and had only succeeded in perspiring further in the presence of the man she’d been hoping to evade. Snapping open her reticule, she removed her handkerchief and touched it to her forehead.

  “I am overheated, I fear,” she stated, perhaps more urgently than she felt. She latched the decorative vessel closed. “Do you think we will be missed if we leave now, Caroline?”

  “I am happy to oblige. The only interesting man at the party was one of the first to depart,” she said glumly, then winced up at Evanston. “No offense meant, of course.”

  “None taken, although I hope not everyone present tonight shares your sentiments.”

  Eliza couldn’t tell if he meant that as a general comment or had directed it at her, but she had grown weary of guessing at his motives. With a decisive swish of her skirts, she traversed up the flagstone steps, pausing at the top to spin round and lower into a curtsy.

  “Good evening, Lord Evanston.”

  Before he could make his bow or even say a parting word, she continued on her way into the residence, eager to place as much space between the two of them as possible.

  Evanston waited until the door had shut behind the two ladies, then ambled to the spot where Eliza had stood. A charming bench, a carved trellis with flowering vines overhead, mossy ground cover underfoot.

  A card on the flagstones, trapped in the moss.

  The scrap must have fluttered out of Eliza’s reticule when she’d removed her handkerchief. She had been too occupied to notice.

  I only ask that you be careful.

  His words to her echoed loudly in his mind, and he felt the force of his own hypocrisy. Thomas ignored his conscience on a daily basis, but that didn’t mean it never voiced itself.

  Lowering himself down onto the bench, he sighed, gazing up at the tiny swatch of night sky. He was astonished to discover that Eliza somehow thought herself lacking, but she had always been exceedingly modest. Tonight, though, he had said too much. And to his dismay, he was growing increasingly obsessed with the idea of having Eliza all to himself. At least for a time, until she found an actual husband. Perhaps even afterwards too if she allowed it.

  Evanston knew it was beyond wrong to even attempt such a thing. That there were many female guests lingering in the drawing room who would be more than happy to distract his misguided lust. Briefly, he considered making use of one before the night was through.

  Yes, he thought. Perhaps he could even find a flaxen-haired beauty with shining green eyes . . .

  With a scowl, he rubbed his temples. The idea didn’t hold as much excitement as it should have. And the thought of Eliza being courted by another was beginning to weigh on him in ways he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t certain what to make of that.

  Shaking his head, he stared down at the card on the ground, leaning forwards to extract the scrap from its entanglement. It appeared to be blank.

  No, not blank. There was text on the opposite side and one of the corners had been folded over. It was a calling card. He flipped it over between his fingers, expecting nothing significant, only to have his breath catch in his throat. A grin slowly spread across his face.

  It was his calling card, and Eliza had dropped it.

  Chapter Four

  The days passed, flowing in and out of existence, each one so similar that it was difficult for Eliza to distinguish one from the other. She was called upon, and placed calls of her own. She attended concerts and balls, rode horses with Caroline in Hyde Park, and when not otherwise engaged, stayed up after dinner to play cards with Caroline’s aunt. Flowers were delivered to her town house in the interest of various potential suitors, and were often courtesy of Sir James Landry. Only once had she seen Thomas during those days, riding his enviable black Arabian along Rotten Row. It had greatly displeased her to discover it had been, without a doubt, the highlight of her week, for he did cut a fine figure on his horse.

  Regardless of her discontent, the evening of her outing with Sir James arrived at last. Drury Lane was a beacon—a shining spectacle in the London night—and she stood outside, gazing up at the grandeur before her. The majesty of the theater’s great columned portico was unique among the neighboring structures of Catherine Street and never failed to impress. Eliza felt a tremor of excitement as they entered the bustling crowd. She was more than eager to see tonight’s showing of the comic opera L’elisir d’amore.

  She and Sir James made their way into the entry hall amidst the multitude of society’s most refined patrons. Her companion had, so far, behaved as a gentleman, even extending his invitation to include Lady Caroline and her aunt. The pleasant offer had been declined by the ladies with some sadness as Lady Frances was not feeling especially well, and Caroline felt it best if she should stay home to tend to her.

  An unsettled feeling gathering in Eliza’s stomach. She felt guilty about concealing the truth of Thomas’s call from her friend and wasn’t even sure how the lie had begun. It was such a minor incidence, although she suspected her panic upon seeing the viscount’s card at her town house, coupled with the knowledge that Caroline did not approve of him, had likely played the greatest parts in it. During the ride home from Lady Humphrey’s dinner party, her friend had questioned her at length over not just her opinion of Thomas, but their encounter in the garden.

  Nothing happened, she had reassured her, but it hadn’t felt like nothing. Evanston’s pursuit of her into the garden and his ensuing reaction to Sir James had felt very much like something, no matter how she tried to deny it. And Eliza spent that night fitfully tossing in her bed, trying to imagine the things he might have said to her, had they not been interrupted.

  I will thank you to not speak of beauty, Lord Evanston, even in jest.

  In jest? Eliza . . .

  Landry showed her into his theater box with a gallant sweep of his arm, and Eliza took her seat, carefully arranging the full skirts of her evening dress. She felt the dark green gown complemented her well, with its gleaming satin bodice, low neckline and sleeves worn entirely off the shoulder. A part of her felt dreadfully exposed, while the other part of her . . . the part that had married young and lost nearly everything . . . luxuriated in the admiring glances, covertly stolen. Having spent so long hidden away in the co
untry, she couldn’t help but enjoy a bit of attention, even if it was the jackals of the ton that were providing it.

  You are beautiful.

  Eliza shook her head as if to rid herself of an annoying gnat. As usual, she scolded herself for being unwise where Lord Evanston was concerned. Inferring too much into such a meaningless conversation could lead to her straying off course and prevent her from finding a steadfast husband. Lead her to . . . distractions.

  She glanced over at her companion, who was also taking his seat. Landry had shown the appropriate level of admiration upon seeing her tonight, and his attention was a compliment in itself. But she suspected, had he been present tonight, that Evanston’s singular blue gaze would have scorched pathways over her body. If he truly thought her beautiful, he would not bother masking his appreciation with politeness. The thought sent a pleasant shiver of heat down through to her core.

  Eliza reached up to adjust her emerald earbobs, then slid her fingertips down to linger on the strand of pearls encircling her neck. Her father had often mentioned how the necklace had been a particular favorite of her mother’s. Touching it now, in this moment of reflection, she wondered what honest advice her mother might provide, were she alive to give it. Stay clear of Evanston, and all things related? That was likely the only reasonable conclusion and yet it didn’t feel right with Thomas. Reprobate or not, he was a friend. And there was a pull with him that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, although heaven knew she had years of practice.

  “We have a splendid view from my box. Wouldn’t you agree?” Landry inquired in his cultured accent.

  “Oh, yes. Such a lovely prospect from this location,” she said, determined not to think of Thomas any longer and leaning forward to take in the sight. They were situated in a rear box on the lower tier. It was not the closest box to the stage, but quite nice all the same. She could see the orchestra practicing in the pit, their tuning cacophony sent outwards to float lazily through the air.

  Her eyes swept across the theater seats below to marvel at the crowd—the ladies in their sparkling finery, the gentlemen in their dress suits and tailcoats, and the gilding on the walls illuminated by the glowing chandeliers hanging from above. Curious for a closer look, she raised her mother-of-pearl opera glasses to inspect the occupants of the other private boxes.

  Eliza panned around until she reached the box on the opposite side, nearest to the stage. The inhabitants were a couple, presumably a lord and a lady of some sort, the woman wrapped in a dress of an eye-catching shade of red. Her inky black hair was swept up with an abundant mass of curls left down to frame her face. Eliza was not familiar with the beautiful woman, but she certainly appeared to feel at her ease in this environment and was, of course, seated in a prime location with her companion.

  “Can you tell me, sir . . . who is the woman in the red dress?” she asked Landry, handing him her glasses. “The one in the first box. Do you know her name?”

  He smiled, accepted the binoculars, and leaned in for a closer look. Silent at first, he continued to stare, muttering possible monikers under his breath. Then he went still abruptly. Reclining back in his seat, he relinquished the opera glasses and stared moodily at the stage, still concealed by its curtain.

  “While I, myself, am not familiar with the lady, it appears Lord Evanston may be able to enlighten you.”

  Her eyes widened at the same moment the orchestra fell silent with the appearance of the conductor. The audience politely applauded as she lurched further in her chair, raising the glasses so quickly they nearly struck her in the face. Eliza needed to prove Sir James wrong, and perhaps prove to herself that Thomas wouldn’t dare show himself at the theater on an evening he knew she would be in attendance while accompanied by another man. After all, he had said he would leave her alone.

  Yet there he was, seated next to the alluring lady in red.

  Her breath seized in her chest. Soon she was seeing red everywhere.

  How had she missed him? She simply hadn’t been looking. Had not expected such a violation of her trust. There was, of course, a small chance it was a coincidence, but there were also a hundred different amusements in the city at any given moment.

  Her nagging instinct told her he was here to impose on her night in some way. Aside from this, she couldn’t exactly explain the magnitude of her anger. Her eyes narrowed at the mystery woman beside him, the one who was so very striking. If she were being truthful, she could admit the lady was quite more than that. If she were really being truthful, she could also quantify her reaction as precisely what it was.

  It was jealousy. And now she was going to impose on the viscount.

  The orchestra began to play. The lights rose upon the stage. Landry clapped but glanced nervously at Eliza while she seethed in irritation, staring blindly down at her lap, until she finally lost the battle.

  “Pray, excuse me, Sir James,” she said, rising from her seat despite her best efforts against it. “I shall return shortly.”

  She could almost feel the movement of countless opera glasses throughout the audience, turning to focus on their box and the sudden commotion. Color rose upon Sir James’ cheeks as he also detected the unwanted attention, and he stood, disbelief marking his features. Before he could change her mind, she turned and made her way to the door.

  “The show has begun!” she heard him call in astonishment, but she had already exited the box, her heavy skirts rustling as she advanced through the hallways, intent on dismembering Lord Evanston.

  Thomas leaned back in his seat and grinned, lacing his fingers across his abdomen as he waited for Eliza. She had spotted him much earlier than he had expected she would, and now, set on questioning him, was about to break with all decorum. He couldn’t wait.

  It wasn’t but a moment later that he heard the door behind him opening, and Thomas twisted lazily around in disingenuous surprise. Mrs. Victoria Varnham, the woman who was his companion tonight, turned to face the intruder with an expression of offended alarm, but Eliza proceeded unperturbed, to lay her hand on Evanston’s shoulder.

  “A word outside if you please, my lord.” Her tone was deadly.

  Victoria stirred in her seat. “I beg your pardon—”

  “Now,” Eliza said, choosing to ignore the woman’s outburst. She removed her hand and spun on her heel before any more was said, leaving the stately wooden door ajar so Evanston could join her.

  Sighing in amusement, he leaned close to Mrs. Varnham and whispered his apology before standing and quietly exiting to meet Eliza.

  He emerged into the corridor outside the row of private boxes to find her glaring at him with arms crossed. Softly shutting the door behind him, Evanston allowed himself a split second to admire her. It had been impossible to appreciate the curve of her waist, the naked lines of her shoulders or the creamy swells of her breasts from his vantage point across the dim theater. But here in the abandoned hallway he saw it all. The emerald satin of her gown was in perfect complement to her hair, her eyes, her skin.

  Bloody hell . . .

  A surge of arousal raced through him, and all too easily he could imagine Eliza in his arms, calling his name in a moment of rapture. Closing his eyes for a moment, he reminded himself that maintaining control was of paramount importance. He still wasn’t exactly certain what he was after with her, but he had no desire to jeopardize whatever it was by being overly eager. Standing straighter, he met her gaze.

  “May I help you?” he asked a bit too politely.

  Eliza paused, then broke away with a huff of frustration. “You may begin by telling me why you are here tonight.”

  “I am here to see the opera.” He furrowed his brow and regarded her in confusion.

  “Oh, is that all? I assumed you were here to make things difficult for me.”

  Thomas uttered a laugh. She was correct, of course, not that he would admit it. “I daresay had you not been peering into private boxes, I would have slipped your notice entirely.” He took a ste
p closer to her. “However, I am unsure why my presence here tonight would cause you such difficulty. Perhaps you might explain it to me?”

  Her luminous green eyes widened a fraction before she stiffened once more into a defensive posture. “You are a man known for causing trouble.”

  “Am I?” Evanston smiled, still advancing. “Why did no one tell me of this before? I would have taken great pains to do my reputation justice.”

  Eliza stepped back and bumped into the wall on the far side of the corridor. She glanced around her, seeming surprised that she had retreated so far, then reclaimed her step forwards and raised her gaze in defiance.

  “I believe you’ve done quite enough to merit your status, my lord. Don’t come any closer—” she added suddenly, stretching out her hand as if to ward him off.

  The muffled notes of the orchestra filtered through the walls, creating an ambience of surreal solitude that only heightened his heated awareness of her. He planted his feet solidly on the carpet.

  “If I am truly as wicked as you believe me to be,” he said in a low voice, “would I not already be ravishing you against the wall?”

  Eliza’s mouth fell open in astonishment, a pretty pink blush slowly spreading across her cheeks. It took her a moment, but she finally regained the ability to formulate a sentence. By the time she had, her eyes were shooting sparks.

  “For all I know, you have ravished the woman behind that door at least once already tonight,” she said haughtily. “Perhaps you do not feel the need this particular moment.”

  He thoughtfully considered this. “Perhaps,” he conceded.

  Eliza’s color rose even further. Dear God, she was the loveliest creature. Even here, like this, wanting to tear him to pieces. He longed to infuriate Eliza beyond her capacity to bear, then soothe the tension away with his hands, his mouth, his body . . .

  Her terse voice interrupted his daydream. “Who is she?”

  Yes. She had just made a pivotal mistake, one that filled him with satisfaction.