Yes. She had just made a pivotal mistake, one that filled him with satisfaction.
“Why do you ask?”
A flash of guilt crossed over her features. “Never mind,” she said. Then added more quietly, “You are insufferable.”
Thomas smothered a laugh. “I am aware. But tell me,” he added, sobering. “Is it considered more or less insufferable to be untruthful to your friends?”
Her mouth dropped open in what seemed like confusion when the door to Evanston’s theater box unceremoniously swung open. The music grew louder and Mrs. Varnham stood there, flushed in irritation, then stalked over to hook her hand possessively around his elbow. The spike of annoyance he felt at being interrupted quickly gave way to gratification at how Eliza’s brows drew down at the sight.
“Stop wasting your time out here, darling,” Mrs. Varnham insisted with a veiled glare at Eliza before gazing coquettishly back at Thomas. “You’re missing the performance.”
He smiled down at her. “I shall be in shortly,” he replied.
She wrapped her arm more tightly around his to pull him closer. “Surely this cannot be more entertaining than—”
“I shall be in,” he repeated in a still pleasant, but slightly tighter tone of voice. She knew better than to try managing him. “Shortly.”
There was a momentary pause during which Mrs. Varnham realized she had just been dismissed, and the woman’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Then the expression vanished, the corners of her garnet mouth pulling upwards into a smile of passive indifference.
“Of course, my lord.”
Releasing him, Mrs. Varnham pivoted on her heel to return to the darkened safety of the theater box, shutting the door behind her with an annoyed pull. Glancing once more over his shoulder to ensure privacy, he brought his gaze back to Eliza, who was watching him with curiosity.
“Please, continue.”
She hesitated. “I can’t recall the course of the conversation.”
“Allow me to assist you then,” he offered. “You were about to tell me why you’ve been untruthful with your friends.”
Her confidence flagged, and then she straightened her spine. “I’m not certain what exactly you are referring to, but I wonder what my brother, the earl, might have to say about your harassing me in London. Or your kiss on the night of my engagement.”
So she remembered it too. Thomas wondered what she thought of it now that five years had passed.
“I have no fear of you informing William of anything. Not when I’m certain you’ve even kept the sordid details from your best friend. That little hellcat would be clawing my eyes out if she knew.” He paused. “And then of course, there is the matter of my calling card.”
“Wh-what are you talking about?” she asked with a voice that was not steady.
He stepped forwards, reaching into his coat pocket as he did, to retrieve the card she had dropped at Lady Humphrey’s dinner party. “This should help to clarify,” he replied, sliding it into her hand, resisting the urge to close his fingers around hers. He jerked back immediately. “I assumed since you felt strongly enough about it to carry it in your reticule, that you would wish it returned.”
She froze, staring down blankly at it until understanding, then mortification lit behind her eyes. Eliza parted her lips, but no sound came out. At last, she managed a weak reply.
“Thomas, I can explain . . .”
Evanston silenced her with one shake of his head. It was rewarding to see some semblance of softness from her, even if it was only over a deuced calling card.
“Is your association with me so very detestable that you are not even willing to own the simple fact of my visit to Caroline?”
Eliza’s gloved hands twisted together in her discomfort. “No, no. I was just unnerved—” She bit off her words and glanced awkwardly to the side.
A surge of adrenaline caused his heart to pick up speed, and Evanston slipped one fingertip beneath her chin to raise her gaze, feeling increasingly unnerved himself.
“Why?”
She shook her head, once more averting her eyes. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t believe her. She trembled beneath his touch and, unable to stop himself, his eyes traveled from her anxious gaze, down the pert slope of her nose, to settle on the lush raspberry flawlessness of her lips. A dissolute whisper swept through his silent ponderings.
Kiss her.
“What unnerved you?” he asked again, rendered nearly immobile by the delicious tension building between them. It was too soon to indulge in a kiss, but suddenly it was the only thing he could think about.
Kiss her.
He glanced up from her mouth and was startled to find her eyes fixed on his own lips. The worry that had consumed those peridot depths only moments before was now replaced with something much warmer, something like anticipation. And she was not struggling to free herself from his gentle hold on her chin. Rather, it seemed she was ready to melt into him at the slightest provocation . . .
In a flash, Evanston knew what had unnerved her. She did not want to resist him. Maybe she didn’t think she could. It was exactly what he yearned for, but it scared the hell out of him too. Never had he thought it would be so easy to lose two of his closest friends. That’s where this would end up, were he to pursue it.
Thomas released her and quickly crossed to the door of his private box. He stood with his back to her, gripping the doorknob for a few long moments to collect himself before finally turning back around to face her. This was Eliza, his best friend’s sister and a friend to him in her own right. He needed to put a stop to this fantasy that had somehow taken root before it went too far. It wasn’t as if he lacked for female companionship. It made no sense at all.
“We know many of the same people, Eliza,” he muttered. “While I cannot guarantee to never encounter you at various engagements here in London, I can pay you the courtesy of not meddling in your affairs. I will not seek you out, nor will I ask you to dance, should we meet at a ball. If only you would, likewise, refrain from lying to me, I imagine we could coexist in peace.”
Disappointment sliced through his chest, but he was relieved that he’d said the words. Did he spy a similar disappointment darkening her features?
“I’d imagine so,” she whispered.
“You should return to Sir James before he sets out to find you.”
Eliza’s mouth twisted in a halfhearted attempt at a smile. “I don’t believe he would be so improper as to leave his box during the performance.”
With a quick motion, he pulled open the heavy door.
“Well, I certainly would,” he muttered under his breath, before disappearing into the gloom of the theater.
“Welcome home, my lady. I hope your evening was pleasant?”
Patterson fussed over Eliza as she divested herself of her cloak in the foyer. With a wan smile, Eliza pulled on each gloved fingertip and regarded her lady’s maid.
“I’m not sure pleasant is the proper way of putting it, but it was diverting nonetheless.”
Patterson’s brown eyes grew large. “Things did not go well with Sir James, my lady?”
Eliza laughed softly. In her opinion, although many employers would disagree, Patterson’s concerned candor was one of her finest traits. That, and she was staunchly loyal, having served the family since Eliza’s first season, which seemed like ages ago. She had unflinchingly accompanied her young mistress into London, dried her tears on the eve of her marriage, shared the joy of her impending birth, then held her hand through the depths of hell and back. The two women were close, probably closer than most ladies and their maids. This afforded her a certain kind of comfort, particularly in the absence of family and friends.
“Things with Sir James were good,” she answered.
The maid rested her palm over Eliza’s discarded vestments and stared at her. “That is hardly a rousing endorsement.”
“Oh, no. He is very much a gentleman,” Eliza said as she mounted the
staircase. “The theater was lovely, and Sir James was a fine companion. I had a marvelous time. It’s just—”
“Yes, my lady?”
Eliza sighed as the pair reached the top of the stairs, turning around to face Patterson. “I can’t imagine being his wife.”
Patterson smiled, her eyes filled with empathy. “I suppose these things have been known to take time.”
“Yes, but even with Reginald I think I could always envision it, regardless of how I felt about it at the time. With Sir James, I can’t. Even though he is handsome and respectable. It’s just that . . .”
She was having a hard time putting her finger on exactly what bothered her when the unlikely answer popped into her head.
He’s not Evanston.
Not that picturing Thomas as her husband was any easier. Frowning, she shook her head and forced herself to use reason. “Landry has many admirable qualities—”
“Moustache . . .” Patterson stated succinctly, opening Eliza’s chamber door.
“I am certain that the man is more than just a moustache!” she exclaimed with a chuckle, setting her reticule on the vanity table. “Why, between you and Caroline, you’d think that was all there was to him.” Eliza gazed absently while unfastening the pearls from around her throat and sliding off her emerald earbobs. “His demeanor cooled as the night wore on, although I suppose I did give him some cause for complaint.”
The maid laughed off her assertion. “Nonsense, my lady. What could you have possibly done?”
“Well . . . I left him alone to confront Evanston as the show was beginning.” Eliza scowled down at her hands as she relinquished the jewels to Patterson, her expression darkening. “I wish to know how one man can possibly be so vexing!”
It took the maid a moment to overcome her surprise at Eliza’s lack of etiquette. “I’m assuming you are referring to the viscount, and it is because he wishes to vex you, my lady.” She cleared her throat and crossed to the bureau. “So, Lord Evanston was at the opera tonight?”
“He was, as a matter of fact.”
The maid raised her eyebrows knowingly. “And did he deign to compliment your appearance?”
Eliza glanced sideways at her. She had not divulged the particulars of her attraction to Evanston, nor the fact of their kiss when she was younger. However, being an exceptionally perceptive person, it was possible that Patterson had managed to glean some truths regardless.
She thought back to their interaction in the hallway. “No, he did not,” she replied, although Eliza had not missed the appreciative gleam in his eyes, nor the way they had lingered over her body. Still, she was reluctant to take too much comfort in the act. She had a feeling that any woman dressed nicely had a chance, to some extent, of catching his eye.
Patterson released the final hook on her dress. “I have wondered at the way he looks at you, my lady. You should be careful.”
Eliza couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as she stepped out of her dress. Thomas had said the same thing to her, although whether he meant it was something she would never know. She gazed pensively at her reflection in the looking glass; a young woman clad in her corset, chemise and stockings stared back. There was something oddly appropriate about seeing herself this way while musing about Evanston’s motives.
The idea of the woman in red with him tonight, in a similar state of undress, made her surprisingly envious. She had to imagine that the black-haired beauty and her catlike grace was much more to his liking than Eliza could ever be. He would want a woman who held no doubts about herself. Not one who had spent the past two years mourning in solemn celibacy. Although the mirror told a different tale, Eliza couldn’t help but still feel like a little girl sometimes. After all, she had been the baby for so very long, with Thomas nine years her senior and William nearly the same.
Well, if Eliza didn’t have the sense to protect herself, William would certainly do it on her behalf. And even if she had wished for Thomas to court her, could she ever imagine such a man being open to marriage? Although he’d been kind to Rosa in the past, she knew that Evanston held no love for children, and that locking him into such an arrangement would only serve to create resentment. Not to mention the bitterness she would feel when he returned to his gaming clubs, bored with her at last, in an effort to pretend she did not exist.
But had he not come perilously close to kissing her at the theater? Or had that simply been her, longing for him? If only she could know the true nature of his feelings, it would at least satisfy her irritating curiosity.
Insatiable curiosity.
Her brows furrowed. She kicked herself for dwelling on him again.
“As is the usual way of things, I suspect he’s up to no good,” she finally replied, shedding her corset and relishing her first deep breath in hours. The undergarments followed, quickly replaced by a plain white nightdress.
Patterson collected her crumpled garments and folded them neatly over her arm. “Knowing the viscount, it could be anything.” She paused. “It could even be you.”
He promised not to meddle. Told me he wouldn’t even ask for a dance.
“Unlikely,” Eliza countered, lowering herself into the chair before the vanity.
The maid said nothing, only approached from behind to give her shoulders a friendly squeeze. “Well, Sir James will have another opportunity to woo you at the ball this weekend. He does seem quite taken with you, my lady. I’m sure all awkwardness will be forgotten by then,” she said with a smile.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Eliza said with a sigh and a smile.
“Would you like me to assist with your hair before I leave?”
“No, thank you. Good night, Patterson.”
“Good night, my lady.”
Dipping into a low curtsy, Patterson departed the bedchamber, closing the door tightly behind her. Eliza extended her arms above her head to remove the pins holding her coiffure in place, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders, the blonde curls untwisting to finally rest in haphazard fashion against her back. She reached for her silver hairbrush, then glanced down, her hand stilling in midair.
Her beaded reticule rested on the vanity. She seized it, rummaging through the contents until she found Lord Evanston’s calling card. Slowly she withdrew it, gazing at the simple rectangle. A flush of embarrassment rose as she recalled the viscount’s words to her earlier that evening.
I assumed since you felt strongly enough about it to carry it in your reticule, that you would wish it returned.
Her fingers tightened around the card. She ought to throw the wretched thing into the fire and be rid of it once and for all. Instead, she found herself raising it to her nose, inhaling as her eyes drifted shut, as if she might detect some hint of the man who had given it to her. Eliza brushed her thumb gently over the surface of the card.
She glanced at the glowing fire just a few feet away.
Then hurriedly, greedily, she shoved the card back into her reticule.
Chapter Five
My dearest Rosa,
Thank you for your letter. I do love hearing how your favorite woodland friend has taken such a liking to Mrs. Humboldt’s tarts, although the dear cook might be unhappy to discover so much of her hard work is being consumed by a squirrel, however adorable. I am also relieved to know the furry tart-eater has taken to meeting you nearer to the meadow instead of deep in the forest, even though that well has been covered. I know Aunt Clara is keeping close watch over your adventures, though, so I shall not worry too much.
Caroline asked me to convey her affections when next I wrote. She misses you a great deal and is eager to see you at Lawton Park when the season has concluded, only six weeks away now. Summer in London has been a whirlwind of balls, parties and dinners, which must sound thrilling to you, my sweet, but in truth is so very tiring. You will know what I mean once you have come out into society. All in good time.
You are constantly in my thoughts. I wish I were back in Kent with you already. Be a good girl unt
il I return, mind Aunt Clara and Uncle William, and take care with Florence. Her knee still bothers her at times and I would venture to say it is not easy being nursemaid to such an active ward.
With love,
Mama
Eliza slipped the missive into an addressed envelope and sealed it with wax, then scanned fondly over Rosa’s most recent letter once more, only glancing upward at the soft intrusion of a knock upon the library door.
“Yes?”
The door opened to reveal Roberts, the butler, who was a fixture exclusive to the Dower House and the London town house, when needed. Her brother, William, had so far denied the necessity of requiring such a position at Lawton Park, but Eliza had a suspicion that Clara was in the process of convincing him otherwise. Their reentry into society had increased the demands placed on his existing household staff, and given the changes, it was no longer reasonable to expect Mrs. Malone to continue on as she had. Especially if he were interested in retaining the efficient but overworked housekeeper.
Were Eliza to find a husband as planned, then Roberts would be free to join the earl at his estate. In truth, he was William’s to procure whenever he felt the need, but she knew that for now her brother was most concerned about her and Rosa being well looked after.
Roberts’s posture inclined into a dignified bow, the contrast of his salt-and-pepper hair catching the candlelit illumination from the wall sconces.
“Lady Caroline has arrived, my lady.”
She smiled brightly. “Excellent! Thank you, Roberts, send her in.” The butler bowed once more and turned to leave, but she reached out to stop him. “Oh, and if you could please post this letter—” Eliza placed the letter into his hand “—I would be most grateful.”
“As you wish, my lady,” came his reply, and with another polite bow he turned crisply to exit the room. Half a minute later, Caroline entered with a swish of her skirts, only to pause abruptly, staring aghast at Eliza as she tidied up her writing materials.
“Please tell me you weren’t writing a letter in your ball gown.”
The Viscount Can Wait Page 7