“I’m sorry, my Eve. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But I need you to remove your gown, or the top of it at the very least, so that I may attend to your wound.”
“You can’t,” she muttered mutinously.
She may be losing blood, but she was still stubborn as an ox.
Biting back an oath of frustration, Andrew released her hands and stood.
“Very well, I shall just call for a maid and be on my way.”
“Wait!” she called as he knew she would. “You said that you would tell no one.”
He turned back to her.
“I cannot allow you to tend to that wound alone. And if you won’t let me help you—“
He stayed silent as he watched the play of emotions across her face. He knew he’d won when her expression became one of grim resignation.
“Fine. Y-you can assist me.”
“Glad to see how thrilled you are at the prospect,” he quipped and earned himself a glare.
Looking round the bedchamber, he spotted a pitcher of water.
“Is this fresh?” he asked, moving to the washstand.
“Yes, I had Molly refill it this morning. I-I knew that I would need some.”
She was still pale, but the timbre of her voice sounded stronger, and Andrew could breathe a little easier.
He made his way back to where she sat, the pitcher of water in hand.
After placing the water beside the linens and brandy, he turned back to her. Suddenly, he was a green lad again, just out of the schoolroom.
She looked so small and defenceless, her lovely face pale. His eyes took in the stain of red on the sleeve of her gown, and his mouth dried. How could he have missed it? He, who prided himself on his observation skills!
He was so damned distracted by her, all the time. That was the problem.
Eve was examining the stain herself, worrying at her lip, and Andrew felt a sudden wave of something so tender that he immediately shied away from it and concentrated on things that didn’t scare the living daylights out of him.
Things like wanting to go downstairs and tear Jonathan apart limb from limb for doing this to her.
Things like wanting to find out whatever the hell this mess was and fixing it so she never did anything so dangerous again.
Standing before her, he cleared his throat.
“You really do need to remove the gown, sweetheart. At least the top half.”
He cleared his throat again. Not nervously. Women didn’t make him nervous, of course. It was obviously just very dry in here. That was all.
Evelyn looked up at him, and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Those eyes. They’d be the death of him.
“I-I do not think I can,” she mumbled, her cheeks starting to burn. “The wound has reopened, I think. ‘Tis more difficult to move my arm.”
He watched the muscles of her throat contract as she swallowed nervously.
He was going to have to remove the gown.
He, who’d never removed a single article of a woman’s clothing unless it was leading to someplace he had no right to even be thinking of right now.
At that moment, Andrew felt that he’d rather be face to face with Boney and the entire French army than standing in this room undressing this woman and being unable to do anything but act like a damned nursemaid.
He turned without a word to grab the stool from her modest vanity, noting that she didn’t seem to have any of the lotions and potions other ladies of quality usually had covering every surface of their bedchambers.
Of course, he was trying very hard to ignore the fact that this was her bedchamber, lest his tenuous grasp on his control should snap.
After coming back to the bed, he placed the stool directly in front of her and then sat.
There was no way he’d be able to sit beside her on the bed and survive the experience.
He reached out a hand and noticed that it trembled slightly.
Get a hold of yourself, you damned idiot.
His fingers brushed the hot, smooth skin of her collarbone as he reached for the first pearl button of the gown, and he had to swallow hard to stop from growling in pure, lustful frustration.
Slowly, as though time itself had decided to make this as unbearable for him as possible, Andrew was able to release tiny button after tiny button until eventually he had opened the bodice of the gown.
He couldn’t allow himself to look, not even for a second, at the skin he was revealing. He was a man, not a saint.
Looking directly into her eyes, he spoke as though he’d swallowed a bucket of gravel.
“Can you remove your arm?”
Without a word, she shook her head, and Andrew bit back an oath.
She would be the death of him.
Going slowly, so as not to hurt her, he reached out once more and began pushing the material off her shoulders.
He tried not to notice that she was wearing very little beneath the gown, certainly none of the contraptions he usually had to battle his way through. Most likely because she couldn’t possibly have dressed alone otherwise.
When she winced, Andrew knew he’d reached the point of the wound, and mercifully, the thought of her pain allowed him to concentrate on fixing her and not on what else he’d like to do with her.
All business now, he turned her gently so that her arm was closer to him.
The sight of her blood made his temper flare again. What he wouldn’t give to land a facer on Jonathan’s pretty chin.
Rationally, he knew Jon hadn’t known who he was shooting at. Rationally, he knew that Jonathan would rather die than hurt his cousin. But rationality had no place in his mind at that time.
As he set about cleaning her arm and patching up the flesh wound, Andrew looked up to catch Evelyn staring at him.
He raised a brow in silent question.
She sighed then spoke in a soft, resigned voice.
“I need to tell you what happened.”
Andrew was pleased that she trusted him enough to volunteer the information, rather than have him drag it from her.
“I’m listening” was the only answer he gave before turning his concentration back to her arm.
He was listening, of course, but he guessed that she would speak more comfortably if he wasn’t focused on her face, and he wanted to know everything.
The sooner he got to the bottom of whatever was going on with her, the better it would be.
For her safety, and for his peace of mind.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Evelyn felt emotionally drained and completely exhausted when she finally sat on one of the benches Aunt Millicent had dotted round the gardens.
After he’d cleaned the wound, made her take a swig of brandy for the pain, and realised that a ride in the ominous weather was less than sensible, Andrew had suggested a walk in the grounds so they wouldn’t risk being overheard. To Evelyn’s mind, he had demanded, not suggested, but the argument that ensued threatened to get loud enough to draw attention, so she had conceded.
Thankfully, he’d been able to leave her room undetected, but he hadn’t given her long to process the fact that he had actually been in her room with his threats of coming to fetch her should she dawdle.
But he had been in her room. He’d dressed her arm, which admittedly felt infinitely better, and now, he’d silently listened as she’d laid out the whole, complicated, sorry tale of her uncle and her poor father.
Andrew sat beside her, and they both stared at the giant oak in front of them rather than speak a word.
Evelyn, for her own part, was all talked out, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was thinking.
Allowing him time to process her extraordinary tale, Evelyn concentrated on the tree, its burnished leaves in shades of gold and red and brown fluttering softly to the damp earth as the weather turned colder and colder.
The sporadic appearance of the weak autumn sun was dappled and dancing on the ground below, filtering between the leaves of the
surrounding trees.
It would have been a lovely day were it not for the atmosphere between them.
Evelyn desperately wanted to break the strained silence, but, really, what could she say?
Either he wouldn’t believe her and think her totally insane, or he would insist on seeing evidence that she just didn’t have.
The good news was that Uncle Geoffrey had made no further attempt to travel to London, so the documents were still at Spencer Park. The bad news was she had absolutely no idea where at Spencer Park they were and how she would get a hold of them.
It was hopeless, really, and unburdening herself to him, rather than making her feel better, just left Evelyn feeling more alone than ever before.
What was the point in anyone knowing if they couldn’t help? And he couldn’t help. Nobody could.
Evelyn thought of their kisses, of what he’d said last night when he hadn’t realised he’d been speaking to her, and how she’d ruined it all by confessing to him. And instead of feeling relieved that he knew, she felt sad that she’d lost whatever this thing between them had been, and more alone than ever before in her life.
Suddenly his silence was more than she could bear.
Turning on the bench to face him, she studied his profile, drinking in his features and this last chance to be alone with him before she spoke.
“Andrew…” She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “…I am sorry, truly sorry, to have dragged you into this mess. I have no right to ask anything of you. But if you could — if you could find it in your heart not to divulge my secrets. Not yet.”
He had turned to study her as she spoke, but his face was an unreadable mask.
“I-I will find those letters soon, I’m sure of it. But if you could just, just keep my secret.”
He still hadn’t reacted, and Evelyn began to panic. Would he reveal all?
“Please. Please, I know I ask a lot of you, but I beg of you do not tell,” she beseeched him.
He was quiet and still for what seemed like hours, and Evelyn’s hope sank with every second she awaited his response.
Finally, he sighed and shook his head.
“I cannot believe I ever thought you a mouse,” he said, reaching out and cupping her face.
Evelyn’s heart hammered as she felt a surge of hope, and, she had to admit though it terrified her, love.
“You’re a lioness,” he said with a smile.
Evelyn didn’t quite know what to say.
“I’ve never kept a secret from Jon,” he continued, dropping his hand, his face grave. “Not a single one.”
“I’m sorry to ask it of you now,” she whispered. “But—“
“I understand, Eve. You cannot tell him until we’ve found your proof.”
Her heart thumped louder still. He had said we. Dare she think he would help? How nice to have someone, anyone to help her. Especially this man whom she was tumbling head over heels into love with.
And, more importantly, did that mean he believed her?
“You believe me then?” she ventured, unable to keep the hopeful smile from her face.
His eyes roamed over her features, focusing so long on her lips that her blood began to heat, before returning to her eyes.
“I was right” was his response. “When I called you Eve. Never has the world had a temptress like you, I’m sure of it. No man would have survived such a thing.”
She frowned at his cryptic words, and he smiled in response.
“Yes, temptress, I believe you. Which, considering you robbed me, lied to me, and fooled me for a week seems a singularly idiotic thing to do, and yet…” His voice softened, and he reached out and tilted her chin up so she was forced to gaze into his eyes. “…I believe every word,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” she whispered back, feeling suddenly lighter and freer than she’d felt in years.
“You know, I thought I’d be bored to tears, rusticating in the country.”
Evelyn grinned at his rueful tone.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” she quipped.
“Ha! Disappoint me? You’ve done quite the opposite, my Eve,” he said quietly before his lips moved to capture her own.
Evelyn put her heart and soul into that kiss, and the whole world seemed to vanish into thin air.
Perhaps life wouldn’t be so bad after all. Perhaps things would work out. Perhaps, after all these years of loneliness, she had found someone she could have a forever with.
After Andrew had broken their kiss in the gardens earlier, Evelyn had floated back to the house, grasping his arm and allowing her imagination free reign.
It was limited, since she was terribly innocent. But what she could imagine happening between them, she did with gusto.
As soon as they’d arrived back at the house, however, Andrew hadn’t spared a moment in getting away from her and had avoided her ever since.
It wasn’t until after dinner, when the gentlemen finally joined the ladies in the drawing room after their port and cigars that he even made an attempt to speak to her.
And, even at that, it was brief and coolly polite.
To Evelyn’s mortification, Aunt Millicent had invited the Carters to join them that evening, and dinner was an excruciating affair since the magistrate and his wife were asked to recount their story again and again.
Her eyes when the guests were announced had darted straight to Andrew, but he’d been rather magnificently unaffected by the whole affair. In fact, so unaffected was he that Evelyn began to think she’d imagined their entire afternoon together.
Almost as soon as the men had entered the drawing room, Andrew set about convincing Anna to play and sing, and she had happily obliged, leaving Evelyn smarting over his lack of attention. She could admit that she was jealous of the devotion he was showering upon Anna. But only to herself. She’d die before admitting it to anyone else.
Anna had been halfway through her second performance when Andrew moved to take the seat next to Evelyn.
“Eve,” he had whispered.
She’d ignored him, turning her head away pointedly.
His soft chuckle did nothing to improve her mood.
“Eve,” he repeated, leaning closer.
She shifted in her chair so that her whole body was turned.
This time his laugh had been louder and had earned a disapproving glare from Aunt Millicent, so Evelyn was forced to turn back to him, lest he draw even more attention to them.
“What?” she hissed.
“My, my,” he drawled quietly, “someone is in a fine temper.”
Evelyn arched a brow and then smiled ever so sweetly.
“Me? Of course not. I was just enjoying you making a spectacle of yourself with my cousin,” she answered, her tone saccharine.
“Jealous, temptress?” he asked with a toe-curling smile.
“I refuse to dignify that with an answer.” She sniffed, earning another muffled laugh.
“I asked Anna to play so that the party would be distracted enough for us to talk without being heard.” He leaned close to whisper.
Evelyn tried, really tried to appear unaffected by his nearness, but she couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her as his lips pressed lightly against her lobe.
She remained facing forward, clenching her fists to resist the urge to turn toward him.
She had a feeling that throwing her arms about his neck and kissing the life out of him would draw more attention than his laugh.
“Meet me in your uncle’s study. When everyone has gone to bed,” he instructed, his fingers lifting to trail down her arm, heating the skin as they went, even through the long sleeves she was forced to wear.
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded, keeping her eyes fixed ahead.
As soon as Anna had finished, Evelyn leapt up and offered to accompany her for one more song, thanking her lucky stars that her arm had improved enough for her to do so.
Anna readily agreed, and Evelyn took her
seat at the pianoforte, risking a glance at Andrew as she did.
His knowing grin told her he knew she’d only offered to play to escape him. Rather than be insulted by her readiness to leave his side, he seemed smugly pleased by the fact.
How could she love such an incorrigible rogue?
The singing came to a halt, and pairs were hastily made for an impromptu game of bridge.
Andrew paired with Aunt Millicent and the Carters, and Evelyn felt a pang at his not trying to be her partner.
But then, he had arranged to meet her later, so perhaps he was keeping his distance for a reason? She would know in a few hours.
Evelyn concentrated on the games at hand and managed not to watch the clock every few seconds, but she was greatly relieved when their guests took their leave around midnight, and the family began to make their way to their respective bedchambers.
For her own part, Evelyn went up the stairs with Anna and said her goodnights before entering her room and sitting to wait for the house to settle into silence.
She thought wistfully of the evenings when she could retire and actually go to bed instead of sneaking back out.
But Andrew was going to help her avenge her father, and that was worth any amount of sleepless hours. Besides which, she would get to spend some time alone with him now, though she did not know what exactly they would be doing.
It would probably be terribly illicit and romantic. Though she shouldn’t, Evelyn allowed herself to imagine all sorts of delicious things… stolen kisses and whispered sweet nothings. It would be wonderful.
“If you stand on my toe one more time, I shall strangle you,” Evelyn whispered hours later.
“I’m not standing on your toe. I am standing beside your toe.”
Evelyn threw her eyes to heaven though she knew he could not see the action in the dark. This was the most unromantic experience of her life.
Considering the man walked like a panther stalking its prey, he was a great big oaf when it came to hiding in small spaces.
“I told you, this is pointless,” she whispered once more, even more fiercely.
She was tired, her arm was sore, and she was in a thoroughly bad mood.
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