Out of the burning haze of fever, one image hovered: the black-haired, green-eyed soldier of the miniature standing on a sun-splashed balcony beside his brother the Earl, silhouetted against a brilliant peninsular sky, both looking down at him and laughing. “Fool. You thought to be a hero like me, a man she could love,” the soldier mocked. “Just what did you accomplish?”
What indeed. Who had attacked him—the man he’d followed? One of their suspects—or someone else entirely? Had Lord Blackwell’s operative arrived in time to capture the perpetrators?
Evan had no idea.
The right side of his face burned, his shoulder throbbed at a level just below agony, and he couldn’t feel his right hand at all. He tried flexing it.
Pain exploded at his thumb, ricocheted up his bones and reverberated into his skull.
When he reached consciousness again, pale sun shone in the windows. Making note to ignore his bandaged hand, with his good fingers he gingerly surveyed his swaddled side.
His eye—would he be able to see from it? The thought that he might have lost his sight terrified him. Until he thought of Geoff and Richard. Partial blindness would be a light price to pay for a successful mission.
But had it succeeded? All he knew for certain was he’d gained an apparently blind eye, a maimed shoulder and one useless hand, plus a burning fever in and out of which he drifted, suspended between bitter dreams and awakening.
Bitter but for one. Filthy, sweating with fever, he’d opened his eyes to see Emily, coolly beautiful Emily beside him. Her fine soft hands had mopped his brow with cold water, her velvet voice murmuring, “I love you, Evan. I love you.” He’d clutched at her fingers, not wanting her to slip away, and she squeezed his hand back.
He smiled now, recalling it. “I love you, Evan.”
“Fool,” the soldier sneered.
Angrily, Evan opened his eye. His head ached abominably and desperate thirst coated his tongue. Reaching for a glass, he knocked it over, his one-eyed aim off, and cursed.
“Let me, my lord.” From his blind side Baines’s hand appeared, holding out the glass. His head throbbing, Evan gulped down the water.
“There’s a gentleman come to check on you—a Lord Blackwell. Should I let him in?”
Blackwell! Perhaps the agents who’d found him had learned something. “Yes! Help me sit, then send him in.”
A moment later his superior entered. “Cheverley! No, don’t give me your hand. I’m mightily relieved to see you’re recovering. I must admit, you gave us a fright.”
“Sorry, sir. I hope that’s not all I’ve given you.”
Lord Blackwell laughed, a sharp barking sound. “Indeed not, thank God! You accomplished more than you know.”
“Considering I saw little and remember less, I sincerely hope so.”
“The man who attacked you wasn’t one from your list, but an accomplice. After we nabbed him, we eventually traced him back to the ringleader—the ‘quiet civilian,’ I believe you called him in your notes. We’re still rounding up the rest of the ring—I suspect we may never trace them all, though we shall certainly give it a go.”
With bitterness Evan recalled the slim, silent man with whom he’d supped, been billeted, played cards. Remembered Geoffrey choked in his own blood, Richard dying in front of his eyes, his own ruined eye and ominously bandaged hand. But for that man, his friends would be living still. Evan would be whole—and free.
“How could a man turn his back on his country, knowingly cause the death of his own soldiers?”
Lord Blackwell shrugged. “Debts. Greed. Simple venality. But with your help, we’ve stopped the drain of ammunition—there’s not been a single irregular or lost shipment since the attack. Wellington himself sent a message of thanks. I’ll bring it to you later, when you’re more recovered. Well, I must not tire you.”
Lord Blackwell rose. “I’ll stop by later to see how you get on. Heal quickly now, eh? We need you back at Horse Guards.”
“I will. Thank you, my lord.”
With a nod Lord Blackwell walked out.
Evan leaned back against the pillows, as drained after carrying on a simple conversation as if he’d gone ten rounds with Jackson. At least he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. A welcome change from recent events, that.
Sometime later, after he’d dozed and breakfasted and dozed, after his mother had paid him a tearful visit, Andrea a soothing one, and the physician with his instruments of torture—clean bandages, cleansing powders, the lance—had gone, Baines announced another visitor. Brent.
His friend—his former friend?—walked in quietly and took the chair by his bed. For a moment neither spoke.
“’od’s blood, Evan, you look like hell.”
He laughed shortly, grimacing at the now-familiar discomfort. “Feel like I lingered in its fires, too.”
“The sawbones says you’re better. You do look better than when we first brought you. I thought…” Brent’s voice wavered “…thought for a while we were going to lose you.”
“You weren’t so lucky.”
Brent grinned. “No. Unfortunately, the physician says you’re out of danger now, so I guess we’re stuck with you.”
Out of danger. Physically, perhaps. But his life was still in as great a shambles as when he’d run off to play hero. “I suppose one must be grateful for that.” Recalling the news his mother had relayed, he added, “Speaking of grateful, I must thank you for helping Mama drag my carcass back to London. It can’t have been easy for her. And for coming so faithfully to check on me. Andrea says you’ve been by once or twice every day since I arrived.”
Brent shrugged. “’Twas nothing. Evan, I wanted to apologize—”
Evan waved his good hand. “No need for that.”
“Even so, I said…I said some unforgivable things, and I’m sorry. I know you would never knowingly hurt Emily. I, more than anyone, understand how irresistible she is.”
Odd how, despite the fire of his wounds, the mention of her name still sent a bittersweet ache clear to the bone.
He should leave it at that. But he couldn’t help asking, “How is she?”
“Good. Worried about you.” Brent smiled again, a bit wryly this time. “I suspect she’d have come here to check on you herself if I hadn’t promised her daily reports. But otherwise, she’s well. The shop prospers, and despite that, she’s becoming more and more accepted. Indeed, I’m afraid she’ll soon be up to her pretty earlobes in suitors. I’d better get that ring on her finger quickly.”
“Ring?” The word struck Evan like a blow to the chest. “You’ve proposed and she’s accepted?”
“Not…quite. Oh, I’ve made my intentions clear. She’s not given me a definite answer—yet. You know, if it were possible for the two of you—”
“It’s not.” Sorrowful finality colored his words. He’d canceled part of his debt to Richard, but the other was still to be paid.
Brent smiled faintly. “I think I fell in love with her that day in her shop. Though I want her to taste the pleasures of being a beautiful woman in her first Season, I must admit I’m selfish enough to claim her as soon as she’ll let me.” His gaze left Evan’s face and wandered away. “I couldn’t bear to lose her now.”
A sentiment Evan could well appreciate. Although it caused a physical ache almost as painful as his wounds to think of her wed to another, she deserved a good man like Brent to love and protect her. “I wish you happy, then.” He drew in a slow breath. “Take care of her.”
Brent studied his face in silence. Finally he gave Evan a brief nod. “I will. Thank you.”
All the same, he didn’t think he’d be able to bear witnessing the happy courtship. “When do you expect…”
“I’m not sure. I hope to be able to make the announcement shortly, with the ceremony toward the end of the Season. I suppose I can wait that long.” Brent laughed, the sound joyous. “How about a double wedding?”
God forbid. Evan shook his head violently
and regretted it, the motion seeming to set large rocks crashing about inside his skull with a force that reverberated to his toes.
While he was engaged in halting them, Brent rose. “I’ll leave you to rest. Glad to see you so much improved. And thank you. Your…your friendship means a lot,” he finished gruffly.
Still holding his aching head, Evan managed a brief smile. “You shall ever have it.”
Brent patted him on the shoulder and walked out.
Friends, Evan mused as he sank back on his pillows, once more exhausted, so long as he never had to watch Brent with Emily. Brent’s bride-to-be. Evan’s beloved.
He took a deep breath and winced as needles danced from his shoulder down his arm. Though perhaps his injuries were worth the suffering for the simple fact that they relieved him of playing the doting fiancé. Even better, his injury would surely delay the date of his own nuptials. He tried to suppress a guilty relief.
As for Brent’s wedding, only one thing was certain. Whatever excuse he must generate, Evan meant to retreat to Highgrove and stay there until that event was safely over.
Ten days later Evan sat propped on a sofa in the library at Highgrove. The jolting torture of the journey from London sent him retreating into the oblivion of laudanum for most of the first two days after his arrival. Today he’d recovered enough to insist on leaving his bed.
He felt better just being up. Here, in this dearly familiar spot, he could peruse his books and estate ledgers, go through the dispatches from London, and in blessed solitude, glance up at Emily’s landscape he’d brought with him to hang above the mantel.
In the garden beyond the window, he’d had the gardeners plant lavender. Despite the coldness of the spring, the herbs seemed to be taking hold. By midsummer, the stiff gray-green stalks should put forth their scented wands.
By then, he should have shed his bandages, be walking without a stick, perhaps seeing out of the eye still swollen shut.
By then she would be married.
From a bowl on his desk he lifted a sprig of the lavender he’d had cut, the evergreen leaves being almost as fragrant as the flowers, his gardener promised. Its odor as he rubbed it between his fingers recalled her image vividly: glossy dark locks in tumbled disarray, violet eyes, mouth with its sensuous full lower lip promising the passion he’d found in her arms, her body wrapped in fluttering tourmaline silk and the scent of lavender….
“Evan?”
As he opened his eye, the tall brunette of his imagining was replaced by a slender blonde in a jade-green pelisse.
“Andrea? What are you doing here? I thought I’d convinced you and Mama not to leave London. There’s nothing wrong, is there? Mama’s not—”
“Everything is fine. Are you?” She walked over, bent to kiss his cheek and let her hand linger there. “The fever is gone—excellent. May I?” She indicated a chair.
“Please, sit. What brings you to me, then?”
She laughed. She’d always had a pleasing laugh, like the gentle gurgle of a brook over smooth stones. He tried to work up more than tepid appreciation and, with another pang of guilt, failed.
“Something quite important for me to dare breaching your citadel,” she teased with a gesture that encompassed the room. Her glance rose briefly to the landscape over the mantel, then returned to Evan’s face.
“I suppose I should ring for tea and observe the pleasantries, but I’m much too agitated for that. You’ll forgive me omitting them, will you not, my friend? Always, for as long as I can remember, best of my friends.”
For calm, serene Andrea she seemed unusually perturbed, he thought with a shaft of foreboding. At the same time, a protective affection arose from its slumber.
“Of course, Andy. What is upsetting you?”
“I hope it will not upset you also. At least, not too much. Oh, bother, I should just spit it out.” She took a deep breath. “Evan, I wish to end our engagement.”
“End?” Of all the things she might have said, that was perhaps most unexpected. “Why, Andrea?”
“The simple truth is I’ve fallen in love. Oh, ’tis not a brilliant match, but his family is well respected, his fortune acceptable and, quite frankly, even if none of those things were true, I should still wish to marry him. You see, I love him quite ferociously, and the wonder is, he loves me, too.”
She laughed again, a merry trill that was joy set to music. Her blue eyes sparkling, her whole face glowing, her smile brilliant, she looked—exactly like a woman in love.
His vague fear that she might have suspected something and come to bring him to task for it died a peaceful death.
“Tell me about him—this man who’s captured your heart.”
“You’ve met him, Evan—Giles Winstead, Captain Winstead, and he’s wonderful! Oh, he was a bit stiff at first, but we had Richard and the army to talk about, and soon…soon we became the best of friends.”
He had to smile. Her words were tumbling over each other so quickly he needed to attend closely to capture them. Never since the accident that lamed her had he seen her so excited—or so lovely.
“’Twas comfortable speaking with him, as if I’d known him all my life, and yet there was something…oh, exciting, almost frightening about it, too. I thought at first ’twas his lack of an arm—but after a while, I hardly noticed that any longer, and the shuddery feeling just grew stronger. Then, when he kissed me—”
“He kissed you?” Evan interrupted. “I should hope he intends to marry you.”
“Oh, that was much later.” Andrea giggled. “He most definitely will marry me, as soon as he knows for sure our engagement is over. Which I told him it would be. Though I also warned him I intend to marry him and no other, whether you release me or not. And I will, even if we must…flee the country, or something.”
Her expression growing serious, she took Evan’s good hand. “I didn’t think that would be necessary, though. You will release me, will you not, Evan?”
“I will do whatever you wish, Andy. You know I want you happy.”
She bent and kissed his hand. “Dear Evan! I’ve used you abominably, I know. If others call me a heartless jilt, ’tis no less than the truth. I knew from the beginning we shared friendship and nothing more, that you offered for me only out of duty. I should never have accepted. ’Tis humiliating to admit it,” she continued, a faint blush staining her cheeks, “but I was afraid. Afraid of going into society on my own—poor Andrea, Richard’s crippled little sister. Who would wish to marry such a one? Afraid of ending up old and alone. But if I’d not accepted you, if Giles and I had not both been so sure my future was settled, he would never have let himself befriend me, nor I him. I would never have fallen in love with the one man who means the world to me now.”
“Of course I release you, little one. I wish you both every happiness.”
She seized his neck and hugged him fiercely. “Thank you, my friend. By the way, I’ve already written the notice officially announcing the break—it wants only your signature. And I must confess I intended to forge that were you not inclined to sign immediately.”
“What a little hellcat love has made you,” Evan said with a grin. “As it happens, you’ll get to try out your criminal skills. At the moment I can’t even feel the fingers of my right hand, much less hold a pen.”
Andrea’s bright eyes dimmed. “’Tis no better, then? I’m sorry. Lord Blackwell told us a little of what you did. I’m so proud of you, Evan. You’re just as much a hero as Richard.”
“Stuff and nonsense.” Despite his denial, her praise warmed a bleak spot somewhere in his heart.
“It’s settled, then? I shall stay the night only—I want to get this announcement printed before week’s end. Not until he reads the break is official will Giles make a move, he vows. Such a principled darling! Oh—will it make you uncomfortable if he comes to ask for my hand? My cousin’s a virtual stranger, so with Richard gone I consider you more my guardian than any other.”
“Not a bit. Sen
d him to Highgrove. I shall look forward to furthering my acquaintance with the man who has put such a sparkle in your eye and such joy in your step.”
“Do you know, I hardly notice my limp now, when before to have to cross a floor in front of strangers put me in agonies! I think you and Giles shall get on famously. However—” she shook a finger at him “—mind you agree on the settlements straightaway. I want the banns called the Sunday he returns and the wedding as soon as possible.” She gave Evan a mischievous grin. “Kissing is so lovely I can’t wait to explore what comes after.”
He laughed, the first time he’d felt genuinely amused in so long he didn’t even mind his blasted shoulder screaming protests at the movement. “Minx. I see we’d better get you wed before we have a scandal on our hands.”
“You will come back to London for the wedding, won’t you? I couldn’t imagine having anyone else stand with me. Please?” She raised imploring eyes.
London. Emily. Emily and Brent. An ache shuddered through him. But he couldn’t deny her this. “Of course, Andy. You must tell that soldier he’d best treat you as the princess you are, or he’ll answer to me!”
As she rose to leave, her glance went again to the painting over the mantel. After staring a moment, she walked to the hall. Hand on the doorknob, she paused.
“I’ll see you at tea. And Evan…”
“Yes?”
“Love is so amazing, so truly wonderful a gift. Should you be fortunate enough to find it, my dearest friend…let nothing and no one keep you from it.”
Chapter Twenty
Emily looked down at the note, her name inscribed upon it in wobbly script as if the writer had had great difficulty forming the letters. Though she’d been warned it was coming, still her hands trembled and her heart beat faster as she unfolded the page and began to read:
A Scandalous Proposal Page 25