by Robyn DeHart
She tried to imagine how Jilly would handle this situation. Or Portia. No doubt they would have something clever to say to laugh off the faux pas. Of course, they would likely have never been in such a situation, as delicate and graceful as they were. As it was, Evie had allowed too much silence to pass between his comment and any would-be response. There was no clever response, simply mortification. She dared sneak a glance at him and thankfully he was still looking out the window.
“Is it raining?” she asked, finally breaking the silence.
Her turned back. “No, perhaps we shall have dry weather tomorrow when we move to Buckingham. I suppose we should go over that now. I need to familiarize you with the layout of the palace, the servants, and other persons you might encounter.” He walked to the chairs near the hearth, his movements surprisingly elegant for a man his size.
“Yes!” she said, far too enthusiastically. She was relieved to have something for them to discuss. And for now, she’d stay away from the sugared cakes.
Chapter Five
They’d worked together at his townhome for a total of two days before heading to Buckingham Palace. Potterfield escorted them in only minutes before then disappeared into the tunnels beneath the palace to meet with the head council of the Brotherhood, which left Bennett and Evelyn alone in the Queen’s private quarters.
Only time would tell whether or not Evelyn was ready, but Bennett felt certain she was as ready as any woman could be under the circumstances. She’d surprised him with her capableness and attitude. She was a hard worker and he could appreciate that.
So far her charade had been a success; none of the servants had even looked askew as he’d led Evelyn into the Queen’s private chambers. He slid into her private chambers and closed the door behind. She looked up at his presence and came to her feet.
“This could be the last time we’ll be alone together,” he said, walking towards her. Though that was likely untrue, he could hope. The less alone time they shared, the easier it would be for him to ignore his attraction to her. “We can’t afford to compromise Victoria’s reputation or yours.”
She nodded.
“I’ve never been in here before,” he said absently.
She scanned the room. “It’s enormous, though I suppose that’s not surprising. She is the queen. She likely has the best of everything.” Her hand smoothed down the front of her gown. “This dress is magnificent, and the chemise is the finest of silks.” Her eyes widened. She bit down on her lip.
He came to her, gripped her arms. “Nervous?”
She nodded and attempted to suck in a deep breath. “I don’t normally discuss undergarments with gentlemen. My apologies, my lord.”
“Remember, you cannot call me that here, and I care not about the propriety of such matters.” Though he did care that he now had an image of her standing before him in nothing but her chemise. The fine silk hinting at the sensual curves of her flesh, her gorgeous titian hair billowing down her shoulders. He dropped his hands from her arms and stepped away.
Her amber eyes looked up at him and she shook her head. “I can’t do this, I thought I could, but I can’t. I can’t fool all these people who know her.” She shook her hands out in front of her. Her eyes filled with tears.
His stomach tightened and he wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her against his chest. He did not comfort women. Protect them, yes, but comfort them, never.
“All these people, servants, they’ll all be watching my every move. I’m not accustomed to that.”
He stepped closer to her, not close enough to touch her, but near enough he could see the uncertainty in her gaze. “It’s one day, one event. People see what they want to see. They’ll see the queen. We’ve given no one a reason to expect anything different.” He inched forward, tipped her chin up so she would look at him. “Forget about the servants, forget about everyone but me. Can you do that?”
Her whiskey-colored eyes bore into his. “Yes.”
“When you start to panic, find me in the room.” He chuckled. “It is unlikely you’ll be able to miss me as I’m normally the largest man in the room, but find me and know that all is well.” He dropped his hand, but did not step away from her.
“What if you aren’t there?”
“I’ll be there.” He was quiet a moment, and watched her. He wanted to reach for her hair, finger one of those vibrant red curls, but they bound her glorious mane and hid it beneath some manner of head covering. “Do you know the primary difference between you and Victoria?”
Her lips quirked in a grin. “Other than the fact that she’s Queen of the Realm and I am the daughter of a country baron?”
“Yes, other than that.” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It’s nothing more than her confidence. She was raised to believe that she is worthy of being worshipped, worthy of fine gowns and jewels and the best of everything.” He wanted to reach out and touch her, her arm, her face, something, instead he clinched his hands together in fists. “Think back to a moment when someone told you that you were beautiful, then think on that moment. It will give you more confidence.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t believe anyone has ever.” She shook her head. “No one, well, save my father, has ever told me I was beautiful.”
At that he could not resist reaching out and cupping her cheek. “You are beautiful, Evelyn Marrington. It’s a pity no one has ever told you that.” He hadn’t wanted her to know; he’d worried his attraction would frighten her, but he could tell a woman she was beautiful without revealing how much he wanted her.
“My sisters are beautiful. I am…plain.” Her head tilted. “Except for my hair, it is anything but. I seem to stand out in all the wrong ways.”
“You are anything but plain.”
The scent of her hair rinse wafted to him and his eyes fell to her lips, slightly parted, soft, pink. He wanted nothing more than to lean in the rest of the way and kiss her. She’d allow him to, she wanted it too; he could see it in her face. Hell, she’d already closed her eyes, and leaned in further.
…
He was going to kiss her.
Evie held her breath, closed her eyes, and waited for the first brush of his lips. Her heart fluttered and she wondered what she should do with her arms—put them up around his neck or put them at his waist—so she let them hang limply at her side. And then his hand was gone and he stepped away.
He cleared his throat. “You need to get your rest before tomorrow. I’ve arranged for a ladies’ maid from my own staff to come and see to your needs. She is exceptionally loyal and will take care of anything you need.”
“Of course. Thank you.” Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She wanted him to leave now. She’d practically thrown her arms around him and proclaimed herself a wanton. What had gotten into her? She never even flirted with men, let alone sought their kisses. And what had possibly made her think a man as dashing as Lord Somersby would even want to kiss her?
He walked to the door, turned and gave her once last glance. “Sleep well. I shall see you on the morrow.”
She nodded, then exhaled loudly after he’d left the room. As if on cue, the ladies’ maid entered to help her ready for bed. Normally, Evie would have spoken to the woman, but at the moment she was so close to tears she couldn’t manage words. Not only that, but she was terrified she’d say the wrong thing, behave in a way that would reveal her charade.
She’d do well to remember that men like Lord Somersby did not go around kissing girls like her. He’d only been comforting her nerves, and he’d been attempting to convince her she was attractive. All part of his plan to ensure she stayed here to fulfill her duty to this task. She knew that he would do anything to make this assignment work, even tell her she was beautiful. Even nearly kissing her.
…
They’d waited until the rest of the opera goers had entered the theatre before Potterfield released Bennett and Evie from the carriage. Everyone would expect the Queen to be late. She would be able t
o enter without the prying eyes of people surrounding her. Once they were in her box, she’d have a few moments to compose herself before the onlookers realized the monarch had arrived.
Bennett led her to her seat. “When people begin to notice you’ve arrived, merely incline your head in recognition. It is unnecessary to wave.”
She nodded, her eyes wide with fear.
“Breathe, you’ll do great,” he said.
She sat stone-still, staring blankly at the closed curtains of the stage below them.
“Relax,” he said. Her posture was impeccable, he’d give her that, but she looked far better in this gown that the queen would. They were similar in stature, but Evelyn’s curves were sinful, begging for glances, beckoning a caress. Damnation, he had to reign in these thoughts. He could not afford to lust after his assignment, especially since Potterfield had made it abundantly clear that either Bennett successfully complete this task or he’d be looking at doing nothing more than courier work for the Brotherhood.
“Precisely how am I supposed to accomplish that?” she asked through her teeth.
“We are at the opera, one of Her Majesty’s favorite pastimes. You could at least pretend that you are enjoying yourself.”
She glanced at him with those piercing amber eyes of hers.
The muscles across his abdomen tightened.
“I have never attended the opera before, but it’s safe to say it hasn’t actually started as of yet,” she said. “What am I supposed to pretend to be enjoying?”
A grin tugged at his lips. “My company?”
She snorted with laughter, then covered her mouth with her fan.
“That wasn’t intended to be a jest,” he said. But her laugh had been genuine and had hummed across him in the most pleasant of ways. “It is true though. Victoria and I are cousins, and we are friends.” And he’d never had any lustful thoughts about her. “People will expect us to be friendly with one another.”
One brow arched. “Very well, perhaps if you could pretend to be charming, I could pretend to enjoy your company.”
“Touché.” He found himself smiling back at her.
“What do you and her normally discuss?”
“That is irrelevant. Any conversation I’ve had with her has already been had. It is our turn to converse.”
She inclined her head. “Tell me of your family. Have you always lived in London?”
“No, my family’s estate is in Berkshire, but my father was rather active with Parliament before he died so we spent much of our time here. Then when he died, my mother moved us here permanently.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“That’s quite young to inherit an Earldom.”
He shrugged. “It was what I was raised to do.” Though his father had hoped Bennett would follow in his footsteps to make worthwhile changes in Parliament, Bennett had neither the desire nor the skill for such things.
“And you never wanted anything else?” she asked.
The types of skills that came natural to him weren’t useful in the aristocracy, except for within the Brotherhood. There was never a reason to forcibly remove someone from a ball, but suspicious onlookers at coronation, he could take care of that. “I never entertained the idea of anything else. I knew I was heir.” What did she want? Was it more than the life of a typical country miss?
“And your mother?”
“On husband number three,” he said, and then immediately regretted it. He didn’t need to share his private family stories with her, but it had noticeably eased her nerves. She was instantly more engaged with him, and onlookers were bound to notice. He wanted to tell her more, tell her how he loathed the way his mother seemed to parade her wares about looking for the next rich husband to take care of her, but he did not know her, nor was he in the habit of sharing his personal thoughts. It was an uncomfortable feeling. He shifted in his seat. It would have been easier had he rehashed a conversation he’d previously had with Victoria.
“Don’t forget to, on occasion, look out at the crowd, give a pleasant smile, perhaps nod to a few,” he said.
“Oh.” She did what he suggested—looked out at the crowd, nodded and smiled pleasantly.
“I did not mean to speak out of turn, pry about your mother.”
“You did not. I was already speaking of my family, it was a natural question.”
She nodded. “Third husband?”
It angered him—if he were honest about it—that his mother had remarried so many times. His father had been a great man who had devoted his life to England and to the Crown. He’d spent all his life in service of the country. Yet after he’d passed, his mother had found one buffoon after another to entertain her, simply because she’d been bored, or more likely because she craved a certain luxurious lifestyle. It explained why all of her husbands had fat accounts. “There’s nothing to say about that. My mother does not like to be alone and she’s a very handsome woman whom men seem fond of. Now then, tell me of your family.”
She gave him a sly grin. “You met them.”
“Yes, I did.”
“They’re big and loud, but lovely most of the time.”
“Where do you fall in the line?”
“I am in the middle. Portia and Jillian are older, and Catherine and Meghan are younger. My sisters are all vivacious and beautiful and charming.” Her words came out as if she’d said them before, or perhaps heard them repeated again and again. “I have always been my father’s favorite though,” she said with a grin.
“But you are not vivacious and beautiful or charming?”
She shook her head. “I am far too practical and too much in my own head, is what my mother says. ‘Men don’t care about your wild imaginings. They want to hear about themselves. If you cannot do that, simply talk about the weather.’” Then her eyes met his and her cheeks burned red.
“Your mother instructs you in these things?”
“Of course. She has made it her life’s work to ready us for good matches and securing husbands.”
He watched her then, noting the spark of intelligence in her eyes, the wittiness behind her grin. Her statement about her mother did not surprise him. He had seen the woman in action, but the fact that Evelyn herself admitted to being instructed to hunt and secure a good match, that did not fit with what he’d observed of her. Then again, had he not learned by experience that often it was the least assuming ones that turned out to be the most dangerous? “I see.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“No.”
“Are you married?” She cut her eyes at him, but her expression was unreadable.
“No.” And then the curtain rose and the opera began. Perfect timing, as far as he was concerned. He was finished with that conversation.
Chapter Six
This would be the most delicate part of the evening—getting Evelyn out of the opera house and back to Buckingham.
People often lined up outside her box to catch a glimpse of the young queen. There would even be commoners outside on the street waiting for a peek at their monarch. Victoria might not be thriving in popularity right now, but she was a magnet for the curious. Bennett kept his hand at Evelyn’s elbow.
Ellis and Adrian took the lead, and then Bennett moved Evelyn up the stairs out of her box and into the lobby of the theatre. The crowd was thick, ridiculously thick, all smiles and gawking in their direction.
It really was rather striking how much she favored Victoria, especially when her hair was bound and hidden beneath a larger than necessary crown and adorned with flowers. She nodded and smiled in response to the onlookers.
The smile transformed her face, and she no longer looked like his royal cousin.
“Do not smile so broadly,” he whispered to her. “Remember, nod ever so slightly to acknowledge them and then we move on. Do not stop walking.”
She gave him a brief nod and tightened her grin. He hated to watch the spark in her eyes dim, but it was for h
er protection. Bennett used every inch of his looming height and kept his arms broad to prevent anyone from getting too close to her.
People called to her, some heckled, anything to get her to look in their direction. She nodded in their direction, but had no other reaction to the calls. In his periphery, Bennett could see several men standing with the crowd, men he knew, other members of the Brotherhood. Some of them had been assigned to mingle amidst the opera-goers, but others he was surprised to see. One in particular, though, seemed blatantly out of place. Phillip Wells, Earl of Morton; while a member of the Brotherhood, his only responsibility was to be the face of Potterfield’s commands outside. Because of Potterfield’s lower title, he couldn’t expect higher-ranking aristocrats to follow his suggestions. Morton used his charm and handsome face to persuade people to follow the Brotherhood’s wishes. But recently his erratic behavior caused Potterfield to nearly dismiss him. The man’s membership, at this point, was a concession to the Queen’s wishes.
The man in question squeezed his way through the crowd, came forward and very nearly got within touching distance of Evelyn. “My Queen,” he said.
Evelyn looked at him and nodded politely, but Bennett kept moving her forward.
Adrian clipped Morton off, but the man looked at Evelyn, studied her even, and Bennett could see it immediately that Morton knew this was not Victoria.
“We need to move,” Bennett said, and Adrian and Ellis pushed past the rest of the crowd and out the doors to the bustling London street. Bennett blocked most of Evelyn’s body with his own as they forced their way through the throng of people and into the waiting carriage.
Once they were safely ensconced in the carriage, Evelyn smiled excitedly. “I did it!” She exhaled loudly. “It was actually much easier than I anticipated, but you helped a lot.”