Eliza brushed a tendril of golden hair away from her face and gave Caroline a long-suffering look. “I wanted to send off a note to Rosa. No need to worry—”
“Says the lady who just smeared ink on her cheek,” said Caroline in a stern voice, approaching with her handkerchief at the ready. “Please don’t touch your dress . . . in fact, don’t touch anything. Let me ensure you are clean.” She shook her head as she tended to Eliza’s face, and once clear of smudges, shifted her attention down to her fingertips. After a moment of silent scrubbing, Caroline tipped a wry grin at her friend. “I’d swear you were raised by wolves.”
Eliza laughed. “Literate wolves, and yes, very nearly, since you’ll remember I spent most of my childhood trailing after William and Thomas.”
“Which reminds me—I’ve heard Evanston will be in attendance this evening.”
The information had been inconspicuously delivered, but when Eliza raised her widened eyes to meet Caroline’s, she saw her friend closely evaluating her reaction. Ridding herself of the appearance of emotion, she hitched her shoulders into a shrug.
“He is welcome to attend any event to which he is invited.”
Caroline’s gray eyes appraised her. “Yes, and yet it seems he is being invited to a disproportionate number of gatherings where you are in attendance, even going so far as to follow you into gardens.”
“Well . . . perhaps,” she replied with some discomfort. “But that was only because he was being protective.”
Her friend scoffed. “I wonder what else he’ll be forced to do in the name of protecting you.”
“I’m sure it will be fine. He’s even insisted he would not interfere with my suitors.”
Caroline considered this, giving Eliza’s fingers one last polish before replacing her handkerchief into her reticule. “I suppose we will find out tonight,” she said, crossing to exit the library.
Eliza glanced up as she tugged on her gloves. “Find out what?”
Caroline’s paused on her way out of the room, her sardonic gaze skewering Eliza from around the door.
“How good Lord Evanston is at keeping his word.”
“Lady Eliza, how lovely to see you again.”
Sir James came forwards to take Eliza’s hand in his own and place a lingering kiss upon her knuckles. She was relieved at his apparent forgiveness for her behavior the other night and did not hesitate to smile at him in return. He looked, as always, sharp and perfectly pressed with every hair in its place.
“Likewise, Sir James. And you may remember my friend, Lady Caroline?” she asked, gesturing to the woman in question.
He turned to greet Caroline with a dutiful bow. “Indeed, I do.”
“Sir James,” Caroline replied with a small curtsy, “Lady Eliza tells me L’elisir d’amore was delightful. I am sorry Lady Frances and I could not accept your kind invitation.”
He chuckled, and Eliza saw him glance surreptitiously in her direction. “As am I, Lady Caroline. However, I find that the more time I spend in Lady Eliza’s company, the less inclined I am to sharing her with others.”
They all laughed politely, but Eliza did not miss the meaning behind his reference. She was starting to dread how he might react tonight upon discovering Evanston was here at the ball.
While Sir James and Caroline shared friendly conversation, Eliza looked out casually at the guests. There was no sign of him as of yet. She reached up to nestle a pin more firmly into her hair, then glanced down at her dress. Her gown was in a fashionable style similar to the one she had worn to the theater, low-cut and off the shoulder. Luminous ivory satin was framed by decorative swaths of lace. A rose-colored bow adorned the small of her back, prettily accentuating the fullness of her skirts. With Landry having suddenly emerged as the man most interested in pursuing her, she wondered if he found the dress to his liking.
Then Eliza immediately thought of Thomas, who had repeatedly turned up and despite his insistence to the contrary, did not act entirely uninterested. Again, she looked out amongst the crowd filtering through the ballroom, and her pulse jumped upon finally locating him on the other side of the room, smiling charismatically at a timid debutante who had dared to approach with her mother.
Evanston’s was the one face she eagerly sought, and it had been that way for years. At six feet and three inches he was quite tall, made all the more physically imposing by his shock of black hair and muscular build. She knew how it felt to be intimate with a man, but how many times had she imagined what it would be like with him? The memory of his illicit kiss had tormented her for years, and although it had been wrong of him to do, she yearned to know more. Like the feel of his hands on her . . . his mouth on her skin . . . his flesh against hers. Something about the way he looked at her sometimes made her think he envisioned the same things with her, and she hungered at the thought even as she worked to keep him at arm’s length.
Still engaged in a pleasant exchange, Thomas’s eyes flitted across the room to Eliza, returning immediately to the girl in front of him, only to lift once more upon catching Eliza gazing openly in his direction. His smile faded, conversation paused, and he held her heated stare, the connection between them as palpable as if he were touching her now.
Then it was gone. She blinked in confusion, registering that he had casually resumed his conversation, and Eliza had to wonder if she had just fallen victim to some sort of daydream. She lowered her brows in consternation.
Stupid. Stupid!
How many times could one woman be so silly over a man? No, he wasn’t here for her. It was evident in the way he interacted with the ladies. Requesting the honor of a dance here, and smiling captivatingly all the while there, lavishing his attention on everyone but her. Soon, the heat she felt was nothing more than her own humiliation.
Caroline sought her gaze in what appeared to be nervous anticipation. “Lady Eliza, may I introduce someone to you?”
Eliza glanced over to find that a gentleman had joined their group, and she smiled congenially in recognition. Tall and lean, with chestnut hair, this was the man Caroline had been so taken with at Lady Humphrey’s dinner party.
“I would like nothing more,” she replied, extending her hand to him.
He took her gloved fingers and bowed politely. “Lord Braxton, my lady.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
Her eyes danced merrily over to Caroline, who looked a bit flushed, something unusual for her friend, who was typically so jaded about male suitors and the notion of love. Eliza suspected that given the proper man, her resistance might crumble regardless of how much she wished to oppose her parents and their hopes for her marriage.
To her right, Sir James cleared his throat. “I see Lord Evanston has seen fit to grace us with his presence again,” he muttered beneath his breath.
Eliza tried to act nonchalant, although every nerve ending in her body caught fire at the mere mention of him. “He is bound to show at some of the same events,” she said with a dismissive toss of her head. She smiled at him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” replied Landry with a slow smile, seemingly reassured. He extended his hand out to her. “Might I request the honor of a dance?”
She curtsied and took his hand. “Certainly, sir.”
They took their position on the floor. Eliza studiously fixed her eyes on Landry’s cravat, unwilling to stray off course for fear of being distracted by the roguish viscount.
Thomas guided his partner into a waltz, narrowing his eyes as Landry led Eliza in similar fashion. Tension caused him to squeeze the girl in his arms and she tittered nervously, glancing up at him in modest inquiry. Loosening his hold, he murmured an apology, then resumed scowling discreetly at Sir James behind his back.
They had known each other at Oxford. Not well, of course. Landry and Evanston had very little in common, save their ages and income. It had always seemed that Landry had resented him, but for what, he didn’t know. What he did k
now was that with each passing minute, he could feel his subtle dislike for the man growing into outright animosity. He had clearly succeeded in gaining Eliza’s regard, and it even appeared she was enjoying herself in his company. Thomas could only watch her twirl around in Landry’s arms for so long before he had to close his eyes against it and look away.
The dance concluded, and Thomas was relieved when she was joined by a different man for the second dance, and perturbed once more when Sir James claimed her for the third. It was generally considered a breach of etiquette for a man to focus excessively on one woman during the course of a ball. Thomas was not normally a stickler for rules, but at this ball, with this woman, he was finding it difficult to forgive the additional attention. Two dances could be considered tolerable, but should Landry request her for a third . . .
Evanston could not think on it without his blood boiling. Even had Eliza wished to refuse Landry, which remained unclear at this point, she would not risk potentially insulting her suitor. He had expected difficulties in observing her actions from afar, but he had not anticipated that his feigned affect of indifference would melt away so quickly after watching Sir James monopolizing her time.
Sir James must have known how his preference for Eliza had shown, for he found himself new partners for the next few sets, and Thomas was cautiously optimistic. The night wore on, and Evanston stoically endured it with women of no consequence while glancing surreptitiously in Eliza’s direction. At the moment, she was engaged in a quadrille with Lord Braxton, the gentleman who had been showing interest in Lady Caroline, and he allowed himself to feel a hint of relief.
Had he thought about his little indiscretion with Eliza from time to time? Yes. But he had not allowed himself to reminisce excessively over William’s sister, knowing where such a thing could lead. Now, though, he tried to recall the details. The feel of her hair as he slid his fingers around her head to hold her immobile. The breath of an anxious sigh as his mouth closed over hers. The trembling lips that were unbearably soft . . .
He hadn’t cared as much then, so it had been easier to walk away. But now his sense of control was quickly vanishing. He loved Ashworth like a brother, but Lord help him, Thomas knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop until he had claimed the man’s sister. He could feel it.
His black mood made it feel as if a thundercloud had rolled into the ballroom, and Evanston scowled while he sought his partner for the penultimate dance of the evening. He’d almost reached the girl when he spied Sir James approaching Eliza yet one more time. The disapproving glances from the matrons nearby told him he was not the only person to notice Landry’s lack of good manners, and Thomas didn’t think. He didn’t breathe. He couldn’t even remember crossing the room, but it must have happened quickly for he suddenly found himself facing Eliza, her green eyes wide and startled as a doe’s.
“M-my lord?”
He said nothing, ignoring everyone, including Sir James who had stalked forwards, his face twisted equally in astonishment and outrage. He simply reached out and grasped her by the wrist before pulling her onto the dance floor and swinging her around until she was, at last, wrapped securely in his arms for the upcoming waltz. A noticeable hush came over the guests at the scene they had just witnessed, and he caught sight of Caroline’s grim and knowing visage from her distant position in the room. Every last one of them could go to hell, especially Landry.
At first, Eliza subtly attempted to defy his movements. But his authoritative lead, driven primarily by the strongest jealousy he had ever experienced, left her little choice in whether she participated or not.
“Thomas,” Eliza hissed under her breath as they twirled in unison. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
“I am protecting you from Landry’s poor judgment.”
“It seems that you have traded one brand of poor judgment for another instead.”
“Is that how you feel?” he asked, tightening his hold around her possessively, relishing the feel of holding her. “I wonder what Sir James thinks, if indeed he thinks at all.”
Her eyes flared, but this silenced her for a while. The orchestra played, Landry seethed, the crowd stared, and he danced with Eliza as if none of it mattered. He had forgotten how well they danced together. As he remembered, they always had.
Thomas saw her frowning, her eyes seemingly affixed to his chest. Silently admonishing himself for allowing his gaze to wander further, Evanston could not help but notice the snug fit of her bodice, the low cut of her décolletage, the mounds of her breasts. Eliza’s teeth worried at her bottom lip, and he suddenly wished they were somewhere private, a place where he could taste her lips for himself as he had once before. Except this time, he would not stop at her lips. He would taste her everywhere.
Her voice intruded on his contemplations.
“Thomas, you broke your word. You told me . . . you promised . . . that you wouldn’t ask me to dance.”
He tipped his head down to whisper in her ear. “As you’ll recall, I didn’t ask.”
Her tiny intake of breath was all he required. She was angry with him, but had she been mortally offended she would have shoved him away by now. He knew her well enough to say that with certainty.
Resigned now to finishing the dance, she floated, graceful and light, in his arms. It was a stark contrast to the discontent he knew she must be feeling. Still, he could detect the same hint of surrender she had shown him at the theater, a tendency to soften and dissolve into his embrace. It was a curious reaction, to be sure, one he could envision playing out in a number of scenarios. And it would, by God, if he had anything to do with it.
The pervading sense of defeat he had felt for most of the night was gone, banished by his own need, and the curve of her waist beneath his hand. No woman here or anywhere could ever match her exquisite beauty or her intelligent nature. He inhaled hungrily, eager to memorize her smell. An alluring hint of jasmine drifted upward from the warm skin at the base of her throat, and fire filled every cell of his being. Sweet Jesus, how did Landry manage to look so staid and dignified in her presence, when every instinct he possessed screamed for more of her . . . here . . . now.
“Have I told you how lovely you look, Eliza?” he murmured huskily, the words escaping his mouth before he’d realized what he’d said.
She blinked up at him in shock. Her feet faltered and she missed a step, but his agile hands guided her, compensating for the slip.
“I—”
She pressed her lips together, glancing towards the unhappy Sir James before coming back to meet his sultry gaze with uncertainty in her eyes. Her mouth parted to finish her reply, but the words were stolen by the final notes of the song, straining out across the floor. Trying to disregard the disappointment that flooded through him, he released Eliza to bow deeply and she lowered into a curtsy, staring up at him with what appeared to be confusion. Good. He would rather see confusion than the determination to be set against him entirely. He held out an arm. After a brief hesitation, she accepted it and he escorted her off the dance floor.
A fresh wash of color suffused her skin as they arrived beside her friends. She turned to take her place by Caroline, who was staring at him in undisguised indignation. Lord Braxton stood nearby with a look of bemusement on his face, while Landry nearly spat in fury. Evanston tipped a haughty nod in the man’s direction, then directed his searing gaze at Eliza.
“My lady, it was a pleasure.”
And without further conversation, he strode from the ballroom.
“What have you not told me?”
The carriage door had only just shut behind them when Caroline started asking questions. Sudden panic constricted Eliza’s throat, and she cleared it demurely, feigning ignorance.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Caroline leaned forwards to take Eliza’s hand in her own.
“I mean it appears Lord Evanston had an emotional response to seeing you monopolized by Landry. I wish to know why.” Her friend
eyed her warily. “What has happened between you two of which I am not aware?”
Eliza shifted uncomfortably. “Could it not have simply been the defensive reaction of a friend?”
“No, it could not. Or are you conveniently forgetting his promise not to interfere with your suitors?” she asked acidly.
A thrill raced through Eliza at Caroline’s assertion, but was immediately vanquished by the realization that she was going to have to explain herself, explain everything, confess the truth after years of concealing it. She lifted her gaze in dread.
“I can’t—”
Her friend tipped her head in warning. “You’d better—”
With a sigh, she ripped her hand from Caroline’s grasp to throw herself back against the seat.
“Fine. Thomas has kissed me once before.”
Silence filled the vehicle, louder than any reproach could have been. Eliza glanced hesitantly in Caroline’s direction. Her stunned expression was half-concealed in shadows amidst the gloomy interior of the carriage. Finally, she spoke. Loudly.
“When?”
Eliza’s face grew hot with shame. “I—it was back before I married Reginald. On the night of our engagement party . . .”
Now it was Caroline’s turn to throw herself back against the seat. “The night of your engagement party?” She paused, her eyes darting, parsing together recollections of the past. “Oh Eliza, what a scoundrel.” A notch formed between her auburn brows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Eliza’s voice wavered. “Well, I knew you did not like him and—”
“Wrong,” she said, shaking her head. “There is a vast difference between liking a person and approving a match. I like Thomas well enough, even if he is a disreputable pleasure seeker.”
“See! Why would I tell you?”
“But why conceal it from me if there was no scandal and you ended up marrying Reginald anyway? You didn’t tell me about his call to your town house either, but I could have tried to help you . . . or at least tried to make sure you wouldn’t be at any of the same parties.”
The Viscount Can Wait Page 8