“Who is it?” he snapped.
“It is Amelia, my lord,” came the muffled reply.
The housemaid. He sighed in irritation, then crossed to the door and cracked it open an inch.
“What do you want?”
The redheaded girl lowered into a brief curtsy. “Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but Lady Ashworth wishes to speak with you in the library.” At his narrowed glance, she added, “Just a quick word before dinner.”
He shook his head in bewilderment. “Why? Is she not busy with the guests downstairs?”
“She would like to join them, my lord, just as soon as she’s had a moment to speak with you.”
Thomas stood there, debating in silence. If Clara had specifically requested an audience with him, it would not do for him to leave without granting it.
He slammed the door shut, muttered an oath, then reopened it again to glare at the startled housemaid.
“After you,” he ground out impatiently.
Her eyes scanned his choice of attire, and then she led him briskly down the staircase, deftly avoiding going within eyeshot of the people within the drawing room. Their boisterous conversation and laughter was audible throughout the foyer, and Thomas felt his insides clench tightly in response. Before long, they would all take to celebrating the joyous occasion of Eliza’s engagement to Sir James, but he would be gone by then. The moonlight was plentiful tonight, and he would ride that bloody chestnut horse as fast as it could take him away from this place.
Upon their approach, he observed one of Ashworth’s other maids, the dark-haired one, exiting the library. She tipped a brief glance in their direction, then scurried off down the hall in the opposite way.
It was curious. However, given Clara’s busy schedule this evening, the maid could simply be delivering some news of import regarding a guest or the impending meal. He slid a look over at Amelia, whose no-nonsense demeanor gave nothing away.
They reached the library door and she pulled it open for him, standing aside as he entered. It was only when the door closed tightly behind him that he realized something was definitely amiss. A woman’s slight intake of breath from the library’s interior confirmed it . . . a woman who was certainly not Lady Ashworth . . .
. . . because it was Eliza, standing near a shelf, looking over her shoulder at him, every bit as shocked as he felt.
She whirled around to face him more fully, the candlelight from the wall sconces catching the sapphire blue of her satin dress and the golden luster of her hair. It went without saying that she was achingly beautiful although increasingly distraught, as they surveyed each other in absolute astonishment.
“I—I’m not certain what has happened,” she stammered, “but I was summoned by Stella the maid, to meet with Lady Caroline—”
Her words were drowned out by the amazement of his own realization, one that had come too late.
Dear God, we’ve been set up.
Privately, he kicked himself for confiding in women he should have known would take it upon themselves to meddle. He forced himself to meet Eliza’s wide green eyes.
“I believe Lady Ashworth and Lady Caroline have had a hand in this supposed mix-up. No matter. I’ll just be on my way . . .”
“Why are you not dressed for dinner?” she asked, her voice wavering.
He clenched his teeth, gripping his hat hard in a white-knuckled grip.
There’s no way to avoid some kind of a scene now, is there?
“As I said,” he forced out. “I am leaving. Tonight.”
The pained look on her face might have been gratifying under any other circumstance, but in this moment, he couldn’t bear it. He pivoted swiftly on his heel and twisted the doorknob, but her softly spoken plea gave him pause.
“Don’t go.”
Evanston turned back with a stare. “Or what? You won’t agree to marry Landry? My faults will somehow become tolerable? Your brother will suddenly step aside to allow our union? Come now, Eliza. This was never going to end well for me, and I, for one, would rather not see just how bad it will be. Now, excuse me.” He turned back to the door.
Her skirts rustled loudly as she rushed over to hook her fingers around his arm, her wounded expression only serving to increase his resentment. “Thomas, I—”
“Don’t touch me, Eliza,” he countered, twitching away from her grasp. “Not now . . . not ever again. I cannot take it.” He jerked the door open.
She reached for him once more. “Please, don’t leave—”
Thomas spun around, dropping his hat to the floor to take her shoulders in both hands. All logical thought vanished as he walked her backwards into the library, pressed her against the nearest bookshelf, and kissed her for one very last time.
It was a mistake. The sweet taste of her mouth was yet another reminder of what he would never have. Her pleasured cry when his teeth caught at her bottom lip was a plea that would forever go unanswered. Still he pulled her closer, knowing that each passing second with Eliza was a sacrifice to his sanity. A sacrifice he was somehow still willing to make.
Had he been seeking to punish her somehow? What a fool. He matched her passion, kiss for glorious kiss, as she punished him instead . . .
The earl’s voice came from the open doorway, low and deadly.
“Step away from my sister, you bastard.”
Immediately they froze, both of them highly aware of what William had just witnessed. When Thomas released Eliza to turn and face him, the fury that greeted him was anything but a surprise. He raised his hands in surrender.
“William, what you saw . . . was not precisely as it appeared.”
The earl’s eyes were blazing. “Really? How many ways can it appear, I wonder?”
“No, of course it was how it appeared, but not for the reason—”
His words were cut short when Ashworth took a swing at him. Thomas stepped swiftly to the side and ducked, narrowly dodging the earl’s fist.
“No!” yelled Eliza, reaching out to stay her brother’s aggression.
The earl shook her off and advanced on Thomas, hands trembling with rage. “Tell me the reason, then,” he fumed. “Have you grown tired of your hordes of women? Did the mood just strike you? Or did you do it simply to ruin her chances with a respectable man?”
“It was none of those things,” Evanston replied cautiously, his hands still hovering in capitulation. “And I know I haven’t been forthright with you . . . regarding my intentions—”
“Oh,” said the earl menacingly, taking a step closer. “And what exactly are those?”
“Stop!” cried Eliza, placing herself in between the earl and Thomas. “This was my doing too!”
Evanston swept her to the side with a stern shake of his head. “No. I don’t want you to get hurt—”
Predictably, the moment Eliza was out of the way, Ashworth charged forwards at Thomas, grabbing him to slam him against the wall. Evanston had roughly three inches on William’s height, but the force of the man’s anger contributed to his strength. That, and Thomas was not willing to engage in violence in an attempt to reason with his friend. William had legitimate grievances that were founded on a sordid past, and he’d just walked in on a scene that would surely upset any protective brother.
William’s teeth were clenched, his hands wound tightly around the fabric of Evanston’s coat. He gave him a shake. “Explain yourself!”
Clara dashed into the room. She stopped abruptly to assess the situation in horror, then came closer to place a comforting arm around Eliza.
“William! He means your sister no harm.”
But Ashworth was not able to hear her. Not yet. Thomas weighed his words carefully under the resentful stare of his best friend, soon to be lost forever, he was sure.
“I made a mistake back in London,” he admitted hoarsely. “I pursued . . . your sister.”
The earl released him with a visible jolt of astonishment, turning to stare wide-eyed at Eliza before his rage came back to settle
on Thomas.
“You did what?”
Thomas sighed and tried to speak past the claws of regret that were digging into his throat. “I interfered in her London season. I shouldn’t have, I know,” he said, stepping away from the wall. “Or at the very least, I should have spoken to you of my feelings for your sister first.”
“Your feelings?” William asked harshly.
Thomas felt his hands clenching and he fought against the impulse, uncurling his fingers one by one. “Your sister is worthy of great admiration. Is it any wonder she could evoke the sentiment in anyone, even a sinner like me?”
Ashworth glared at him and stood his ground. “I beg your pardon,” he spat caustically. “I didn’t realize you were given to simply admiring my sister, or any woman, for that matter. With your ironclad sense of morality and your weakness for—”
“I’ve had numerous failings, it’s true,” Thomas interrupted angrily, his old faults coming back to haunt him one more time. “And Eliza sees them all, believe me. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that my proposal was not a success.” He paused to glance wretchedly in her direction. “She refused me on the spot.”
Evanston found himself distracted by the seriousness of her gaze, by the subtle dread with which she surveyed him now. His attention was torn away once more when William shoved him back against the shelves, knocking the meticulously organized books to the floor, which earned Ashworth a sharp rebuke from his wife.
“When did you propose?”
He grunted against the iron pressure of William’s arm against his chest. “Earlier this week.”
“Trying to beat Landry to it?”
Thomas shifted beneath his friend’s tightening hold. “Obviously.”
“Then tell me this. If my sister refused you earlier this week, why did I find you accosting her in my library tonight?” Ashworth fumed, his face flushed.
Thomas found his own patience was nearing an end. He’d only wanted to leave, spare himself the misery of seeing Eliza’s engagement play out before him like some farcical theater production he couldn’t help but watch. Instead, his suffering had somehow become the production, complete with an audience. The women stared at him now in horrified attention.
He shook away William’s arm. Drawing himself up to his full height, he glowered darkly at the earl. “I wasn’t accosting her, for God’s sake, I was saying good-bye.”
“Oh, I should have known.” William laughed but there was no mirth, the sound rattling indignantly up his throat. “You’re probably incapable of bidding farewell without your lips all over some unwilling woman—”
Infuriated at the unfairness of his charge, Thomas stepped closer, trying to swallow his own temper. “Hold your tongue, Ashworth,” he growled. “I have never forced myself on a woman.”
His words had an immediate effect, as he had known they would.
Evanston had less room to move this time when William lunged at him, driving his shoulder into his chest and knocking him against the wall, where both men slid down to the floor. The earl reared back and struck again, but Thomas still managed to avoid the man’s fist, twisting violently beneath him amidst Eliza’s and Clara’s cries to stop.
“I thought you wanted the truth,” Thomas struggled to say, his breathing labored as he grappled with William, rolling across the carpet. His leg inadvertently swung out and kicked a shelf, sending another cascade of leather-bound tomes scattering around them. “But it does not seem to sit well with you.”
Thomas used the momentum from a lurching turn to pin William against the floor. He knew it would not hold for long; he had to say what was necessary, and quickly. Leaning over the earl, he lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Yes, I have been refused by your sister. And yes, she even rejected my advances in London.” This earned him a foul curse from his friend, but he continued undeterred. “But I returned to Kent after the season, hoping to somehow win her hand at last before Landry could succeed. I only wish I’d have realized sooner . . . had more time to convince her—”
His words trailed off and he let go of Ashworth, whose golden-green eyes were alight with pure venom. Thomas rose up on his haunches, propelling himself to a stand, and turned to regard Eliza. She stood between both Clara and Caroline, who must have joined them at some point during the melee. He held her shimmery gaze and swallowed hard to prevent that same rise of emotion within him.
The earl grabbed Evanston’s shoulder from behind, then spun him around to unleash a powerful right hook, sending stars through his vision and rocking his head painfully to the side. The ladies gasped in unison. Eliza rushed forwards to pull her brother away.
“Stop it!” she yelled.
William shrugged her off and stalked towards Thomas, who stumbled backwards in a daze. “I know what I saw . . . what you’ve told me. What could you possibly say now that would make any kind of difference—”
“I love your sister!” Evanston shouted hoarsely, lashing out blindly, the words booming forth from some primal place deep within him. He shoved the earl away while holding his dumbfounded gaze as best he could with the blood that was flowing into his eye. “No, I didn’t know it, at first. And yes, I went about it all wrong. But I would have followed her anywhere . . . done anything to show her . . .” His throat squeezed shut, but he shook his head and persisted. “Risked any friendship for just a chance—”
He heard Eliza from the corner. “Thomas—”
With a sharp turn of his head, he silenced her with a bleak stare. “I know the opinions of your family matter greatly to you when weighing matters of love . . . perhaps even more than love itself.” He stepped closer to address her in the sudden hush of the library. “You will have the comfort of knowing your family approved your choice when Sir James has no idea how special you really are. That, try as he might, he will never know the real value of having you and Rosa in his life.”
Thomas shut his eyes against the way she blinked at him, how it had sent a lone tear to tumble down her cheek, and turned wearily to face Ashworth. He was tired of this. It was time to receive his judgment.
“We are friends no longer,” William said stonily, his finger shooting outward to point at the door. “Get out.”
He stood staring at the man he’d called friend since they were both too young to recall. Registered the hostility behind his eyes, and the finality of his words. Bending down at the waist, he snatched his hat up from the carpet, shoved it onto his head, and straightened to utter a humorless laugh.
“So, this is the price of honesty,” he said bitterly, glancing around at the solemn gathering for a moment longer. “Well, I’m not sorry.”
With that, he turned and strode from the library. But deep inside, he knew how sorry he really was.
Chapter Fifteen
Eliza stared listlessly at the exquisite offering before her, saddened that she had no appetite with which to enjoy the food. Rather, she pushed the delicate slice of pheasant drizzled in mandarin sauce about her plate with the tines of her fork, before laying the silverware down to retrieve her wineglass for a long swallow.
Clara had outdone herself with the dinner party, so it was made all the more unfortunate that she, the earl, Caroline and Eliza could not manage to enjoy it. Candles shone and gleamed from high silver candelabras stationed at intervals along the table, framed by tasteful floral arrangements that perfectly highlighted the fiery colors of autumn. Crystal glasses sparkled elegantly in the light, similarly to their chandelier counterparts, which hung, glittering, above the assembled guests. Polite conversation took place between bites of the course, and while Landry was seated directly across from Eliza, she had managed to partially conceal herself behind the flower centerpiece on the table in an effort to discourage conversation. Instead, she stared at the place Evanston would have occupied that evening. It had been surreptitiously disguised by the swift removal of his setting and chair before the meal, and the expansion of the seating arrangements on either side.
> She felt the stinging rise of tears and reached for her wineglass again. Risking a glance towards her brother at the head of the table, she saw that he too endured the meal in unsmiling determination, attempting to affect interest in the discourse that floated around him. William’s eyes darted up to hers for one moment to regard her, his gaze troubled, then returned to the woman beside him, who was prattling on about a recent holiday she had taken in Bath.
Why didn’t you tell me he was courting you? I could have put an end to this sooner.
He had asked her this question in the brief moment they’d had in the library before being summoned to dinner, and she wasn’t sure her answer had succeeded in convincing him.
I wasn’t certain he was truly courting me . . . I don’t think he even knew.
But the truth was, she hadn’t wanted William to stop him. I enjoyed the chase. Had reveled in it, even. How could she possibly confess her shame—not that she might find Evanston attractive, for many women did—but that she longed to accept him. As a friend, as a suitor, and yes, as a husband.
Eliza knew his proposal had been sincere; had felt its honesty before fully believing it. Likewise, she knew the potential for upheaval between the two men had only amplified given the passage of time and the strength of the viscount’s pursuit. The more things had grown between her and Thomas, physically and otherwise, the more there had been to conceal from William.
And after years of doubt, she was no longer certain Thomas was stubbornly opposed to being a father to Rosa. In fact, Eliza realized she was altogether unsure how Landry felt about children. For all her concern on the matter, given their staged encounters with one another, it had never been approached in conversation with the man, although she knew he was familiar with her circumstances. The entire ton knew everything about her. But in retrospect, she supposed she had assumed the best about Sir James, and the worst about Lord Evanston. Setting her fork aside, Eliza pressed the backs of her fingers against her mouth as a tide of nausea threatened to choke her.
Viscount Can Wait, The EPB Page 22