The Duke's Temptation

by Raven McAllan

  “Oh yes.” Evangeline chuckled and waggled a half-boot-clad foot at him. “I chose to dress for a stroll and hoped whatever else happened my attire would suffice.”

  He looked her up and down, amused to see faint color wash over her face as she realized the doubler meaning of her statement. To save her blushes he chose not to expand on it. “Perfect. Not only you, my dear, but it is a perfect evening, and I have bespoke a light supper at the inn before we return to town. Is that to your liking, or am I being forward?”

  He didn’t want to sound sure of her response. It was one thing to hope she would agree, but another to assume it.

  “Perfect,” she said huskily and cleared her throat. “Such an overused word but what else fits? Absolutely perfect. Lead on.”

  It was, Gibb decided, a moment out of time. When the universe decided everything should be aligned and work in their favor. Not something he ever thought he would relish, but relish it he did.

  The paths they strolled along were clean, dry and deserted and the birds in full song. They talked of inconsequential matters—Lady Frederick’s toque, Miss Winton’s propensity for wearing puce—along with more knotty problems like the Prince Regent, Napoleon and who was about to become betrothed and not too happy about it. Gibb had a dry wit and he was pleased to see Evangeline appreciated it. She had a good ear for mimicry and made him laugh out loud on more than one occasion.

  “You even lose your accent when you do that,” he said when she had told him in Lady Jersey’s voice that he ‘Should come to Almack’s more, my dear Gibb, it is not good for you to avoid it.’

  “Ha, the other way more like,” he replied to her sally. “The place gives me shivers. So, how do you mimic in such a way?”

  “Because I am at that moment not me, you understand,” Evangeline said seriously. “I,” she said in a perfect imitation of his gravel-rich tones, “am someone else.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Good god, I’ll need to be careful. Or I could put you behind a screen to put the fear of God into matchmaking mamas when they start plotting.”

  “Oh, I like that. Along the lines of, Lady D, do not think of it. I am watching and waiting. Your plotting will be your downfall.” She spoke in sepulchral tones. “I am the one who knows.”

  Gibb laughed. “You have it right. What else do you know?”

  Her stomach rumbled and she put her hand over her midriff. “That I seem to be hungry. How embarrassing.”

  “Not at all. Come, we’ll head back to eat.” Gibb turned around and pointed up a slope. “That path is best.”

  * * * *

  The food, when they returned to the inn less than an hour later, was just what was needed, delicious and varied, and the wine the best quality. If every time they met could be like this there would be nothing to complain about, and life would be perfect. Of course, he knew it wouldn’t be. Life always had a way of giving itself the last laugh and kicking you in the ribs. For now, though, Gibb decided he’d take what he had been given and enjoy it.

  With that thought uppermost in his mind, in perfect harmony, they started the drive back to town.

  “Brr.” Evangeline tucked the rug he had given her around her knees. “After such a beautiful day it’s a shock to need this.”

  The sun had begun to drop and a chill breeze had set up and tossed the grasses and branches around in the air. He was glad he’d had the forethought to include the rug when he had set out. As he had never taken a female up with him before, a rug was not something he tended to carry.

  Evangeline stroked the rug. “This is Scottish, no?”

  Gibb gave his attention to his horses as he navigated a somewhat tight corner. “Woven on one of my estates. I spend most of my time on one or another of them.”

  “You never did say where they were or if you get to them often.”

  He didn’t like the tightness in his throat. Was this the beginning of the need for attention? No, she is being polite. Making conversation.

  “I didn’t mention where they are situated, did I?” he said and strove for an indifferent tone. “Is it important?”

  She glanced at him in the half-light and shook her head. “Not at all. I had thought perhaps it is the sort of thing a friend would know, but it is immaterial. I do not need to know,” she said in such a polite and prosaic tone, Gibb was ashamed of himself. Before he could try to explain, Evangeline spoke again. “Me? I was born in France, my parents are dead, and I chose to come to England for a better single,” she emphasized the word, “life. I live above a friend, so I am very lucky. Plus with you, I now have another friend.” Albeit one who divulges nothing, her tone intimated. “Two friends are not to be sneezed at.”

  Gibb struggled to decide how to respond. “Lord, I’m not very good at opening up, am I?”

  “Why should you be?” she said. “We are all who we are and no two people are the same. Think how boring life would be if it were so.”

  “Perhaps. It’s hard for me to be me. So many people are watching and waiting for me to…” He shrugged, embarrassed to show how much he hated all the attention. “To do, I know not. But it is a strange and unpleasant experience not to feel I have any privacy.” He hesitated as he understood how much he was about to admit. “You are my friend, and I have treated you shamefully. No, don’t argue, it is true.”

  Evangeline shut her mouth in haste and he smiled.

  “I am being as honest as I can. I have several—estates, not friends. Those true friends I can count on the fingers of one hand, and before you ask yes, it suits me.” He didn’t look at her in case he were to see pity in her expression. He was not to be pitied. His life was as he wanted. Wasn’t it? So why did he suddenly feel lacking? “As for homes? My principal one is in Scotland where in general I spend most of my time.” His voice gave nothing away. “I have a smaller one in Devon bequeathed to me by my godfather, where…” He cleared his throat, still undecided if it needed to be said. He realized it did. It was speak or alienate someone who accepted him as he was. “Where my late wife preferred to live when not in town. She found Scotland too bleak, too far away from the hub of the ton. Not that Devon is close, but the climate is, she said, preferable.” He didn’t mention the rest of Hester’s demands. “To me, Scotland is heaven on earth.”

  “Ah, as to that, I’ve never been, so I couldn’t say,” Evangeline said in a voice that was devoid of pity—thank goodness. “Nor to Devon, as it happens, although I have heard it is very pretty.”

  Pity he could not and would not take. Her matter-of-fact tone reassured him. Evangeline would never have that attitude toward him. He began to relax.

  “Although,” she went on in that same tone, “the pictures I have seen of Scotland are very picturesque and romantic.”

  Gibb nodded. “So they say, but it is also stark and awe-inspiring. The mountains tower over one, but also…” He hesitated, worried he would sound ridiculous.

  “Also?” she prompted.

  “Embrace you,” he said at last. “Hold you, and guard you and yours.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Evangeline said. She sounded oh so wistful. “Like Les Alpes.”

  “Just so.” He encouraged the horses on. Dusk was setting in and he wanted to be within the suburbs before it got any darker. There was no need to court trouble and part of the route had been in the not-so-distant past notorious for footpads. It still seemed to attract wrongdoers.

  The thought of Scotland reminded him of how during the summer dusk and dawn were a few hours apart, with long, light evenings the norm, and in winter the exact opposite. One more thing Hester had hated. “Beautiful, certainly, wild and rugged and desolate at times,” he added. “My estate in Scotland.”

  “Where isn’t?” Evangeline asked prosaic as ever and with no hint of homesickness or wistfulness apparent anymore. “You should see parts of France.”

  Gibb smiled. “I have, and not always in the best of circumstances either.” He had no intention of enlightening her about his foray onto
the continent. Some things were best not spoken about, even if they could not be forgotten.

  Chapter Four

  Whoever said history never repeated itself was wrong. Several days later Evangeline sighed, checked her stiletto was within her reach and dropped her carpetbag on the ground beside her. Trust her to decide to leave by the garden gate and once more be accosted by Lord Crowe.

  Stupide. Idiot. When will I learn? However, she hadn’t even known he was there. This event had seemed much too mundane for the likes of him, and on not spying him in her audience she had relaxed.

  Foolish.

  “My lord, desist this ridiculous behavior,” she said. “I am no one’s mistress nor ever will I be. You are wasting your time and getting very close to losing part of your body.” She stared at him and expected him to back down. She had worsted him last time and who in their right mind would risk such a thing again?

  He scowled at her sullenly. “You think not?” His eyes flicked to someone behind her and before she had a chance to react Evangeline found her arms pinned to her sides and her feet several inches off the ground.

  Hot, smelly, beery breath surrounded her and she did her best not to gag. Someone’s sweaty hands over her breasts made her cringe. Nevertheless, she stared at Crowe stonily. He was one person she would never give the satisfaction of seeing she was apprehensive.

  “Not so cocky now, are you?” he sneered as he moved one hand to stroke her neck, and slid his fingers to probe beneath her pelisse. “No protector around to help out.”

  Evangeline did her best to keep her expression blank and held back her revulsion by sheer will. Crowe had more sense than she had given him credit for. She hadn’t thought he would resort to such tactics and she’d walked, unheeding, into his trap. It served her right for not listening to what she’d been told about him. She could hear Gibb’s voice echoing in her head. ‘He’s more than a bully. He is uncouth, uncaring and dangerous. He holds a grudge so beware.’

  Crowe seemed to be waiting for an answer, or maybe a plea for…for what? Lenience? She didn’t deign to answer him. Never would she show fear, especially to someone like Denby Crowe. Her mind raced as she feverishly tried to think how she could salvage the situation. Nothing sprang to mind.

  “What are you going to do, eh, now you can’t get to that knife up your sleeve?” Crowe asked, mocking her. “No help at hand. What next?”

  A frisson of fear slithered down her spine, and she silently berated herself once more. Why, oh why hadn’t she expected this and been vigilant? Apart from Gibb, Eloise had told her that Denby Crowe had a reputation for underhandedness and was not one to take a slight or put-down lightly. She also had warned Evangeline to be on her guard, but Evangeline hadn’t thought he would attend such a low-key gathering as the one she had just performed at. Tea, buns and not enough sandwiches. Inferior musicians, wittering, twittering debs and a mere handful of gentlemen.

  How wrong could she have been? Now it seemed complacency was to be her downfall. Evangeline wriggled and tried to hit something—anything—with her legs. Preferably whoever held her tight in his grip.

  “Give up, you’ll ’urt yursul.” The voice was rough and uncultured. She didn’t know enough about British accents to decipher from where it originated. Not that it mattered, the brute was there at that moment and not elsewhere. Knowing his origins wouldn’t help her get out of the predicament. She swore pithily in French. The fact neither man commented showed they had no idea just what she had called them. It was no doubt just as well. Doubting their ancestry in such a way was guaranteed not to win her any favors.

  Crowe laughed. “Oh, she doesn’t like it, what a pity. I wager she won’t like anything else either.”

  “Couchon.” Evangeline spat on his immaculate Hessians. “I will carve your gonads out slowly and painfully.”

  His eyes narrowed and his face tightened into a cruel mask. “You won’t get the chance. Joe here will see to that.”

  Joe—she presumed it was he who held her—sniggered. “Argh, be good to sort this one out.”

  A movement behind Crowe caught Evangeline’s eye. She blinked and was rewarded by a slight shake of a very familiar head. She bit her lip and looked at the ground.

  “Ha, so you are worried, eh? As you should be.” Crowe tugged hard on her hair and made her lift her gaze to his. His features contorted and he laughed harshly. “You, my dear, made me a laughing stock.”

  “I doubt it,” she said in the most indifferent voice she could manage. “You did that yourself.” In truth, before he’d accosted her in the garden that night, she’d thought he had conducted himself in as proper a manner as could be expected after the way Gibb had showed him up. But that had not been bandied about, so why then was he in this state of ire? She didn’t believe for one moment Gibb had spread the story about how she had worsted him.

  “You think so? You are wrong,” he said in a furious voice. “Others heard how you behaved and decided I was not enough of a man to show you what is what. They will not think that anymore.”

  “You think not?” the newcomer said as he moved forward without a sound, grabbed hold of Crowe’s arm and pushed it up his back. Crowe squealed and Evangeline watched with interest and yes, she admitted, glee, as Gibb twisted that little bit harder and Crowe moaned.

  “I wonder?” Gibb said in a contemplative voice. “How small this will make you in the eyes of the ton? After all, you needed hired help to accomplish anything. You.” He stared toward Evangeline and her captor, but spoke to the man. “Unhand the lady and get going. If I ever see or hear of you again, you’ll swing.” The moon came out from behind a cloud just in time for Evangeline to see the man blanch as he dropped his arms from her and pushed her to one side.

  Sadly for him, not fast enough to distance himself before she managed a swift kick to his knees. He went down like a felled tree.

  “Argh, what the…”

  Gibb laughed and aimed a shove at the man’s rear. “Best be thankful it wasn’t your crown jewels and go now before we decide that wasn’t enough punishment.”

  Evangeline watched the man crawl a few yards, scramble to his feet and limp out of the garden and into the mews beyond. “He never paid me,” he shouted from the safety of the mews.

  “Nor would he,” Gibb replied as he stood unmoving, Crowe’s arm still held fast. “Do you want to kick Crowe anywhere?” he asked Evangeline in a conversational voice, as her assailant’s footsteps faded into the distance. “I’m happy to hold him whilst you do so, and then break his arm.”

  Crowe made a noise between a gurgle and a moan. “You can’t do that,” he wheezed. “I’m a lord.”

  “And I’m a duke,” Gibb replied in a bored tone.

  Evangeline stifled a giggle.

  “What is your problem?” Gibb added. “Not au fait with the hierarchy, Crowe? Tut tut.”

  The moon hid behind a cloud. Now all Evangeline could see were shadowy outlines. Gibb, Crowe, shrubbery and the garden wall. The house she’d staged her show outside was hidden behind a screen of trees. No voices penetrated this far, and in the silence the rustle of an animal in the bushes vied with the harsh breathing of Crowe to see which was loudest.

  “I asked you a question,” Gibb said with menace. “I suggest you answer without delay.”

  “You’re hurting me.” There was no cockiness evident now, just the sound of a man worried about his future. It gave Evangeline a fillip that she should be ashamed of, but she thought, unrepentantly, she wasn’t. He deserved all he got.

  “And you hurt the lady,” Gibb replied. His tone was harsh enough to make Crowe blanch. “So your future hangs in her hands.”

  How would she respond? Gibb held on to his temper by a thread. Of all the stupid, irresponsible things to do, walking through a deserted garden, by herself, after the recent altercation with Denby Crowe, topped the list. It had been pure chance one of his peers had heard Crowe bragging about the fact he’d best the knife-thrower and make her wish she’
d never tried to belittle Denby Crowe, and reported it to Gibb. Forewarned, Gibb was able to be where he was, and thwart Crowe.

  She might not be so lucky next time, and knowing what he did of Crowe, unless the man was forcibly halted now, and the fear of dire retribution put into him, there would be a next time. Gibb shook with temper—and worry. It was lucky Crowe mistook it for anger at his behavior and also shook.

  So much for holding himself apart, Gibb thought ruefully. Lord above, what had she reduced him to? The woman was chipping away at his defenses faster than a cavalry charge. It was disquieting to say the least.

  “I meant no harm,” Crowe said. The words tumbled out as he strove to redeem himself. “I just wanted to frighten her. You know, shake her up for trying to make a fool of me.”

  “Rubbish, you liar. Apart from anything else, you achieved fool status all on your own.” Gibb didn’t try to temper his disgust. “If I hadn’t come upon you, you would have done more than worry her. I do not like men who terrorize women.” Gibb didn’t have to fabricate contempt. “They are not men but feeble imitations. So.” He looked at Evangeline, who was once more neat and tidy. “What do we do?”

  She shrugged. “He is a mouse, and I wonder if he…is he worth worrying about? I’m sure a word in the right place will let everyone know what he is. Or if you prefer, just break his arm. I’m happy to hold him in place whilst you do so.”

  Gibb bit his lip and kept his face impassive. He had no doubt she meant it. Crowe’s breathing was loud and uneven, his eyes wild, and his color went from white to choleric to ashen in the space of seconds. Lord, he hoped the man was not about to expire from fear. That had not been his intention. He just wanted to make sure Crowe never pulled such a stunt again. With anyone, let alone Evangeline. He pushed Crowe’s arm higher, just for a second, and held Crowe up as his knees buckled under him.