by Sara Bennett
His smile broadened, and his eyes twinkled. “Here’s to spying, Maria.”
Richard knew he must stop. He wasn’t sure what Tina’s objective was, but she was playing a very dangerous game for a woman who wanted to marry someone else.
The reminder that she was to marry Gilfoyle was like a hot dagger in his brain. He wasn’t sure whether that was because he wanted her for himself or because Gilfoyle might be the Captain, but if he kept kissing her like this, then all his plans would be undone.
Reluctantly he pulled away.
She lay against him, compliant, her breasts rising and falling quickly, her eyes closed, long, dark lashes lying against her flushed cheeks. Her mouth was pink and swollen from kissing.
Richard couldn’t help but smile in pure male satisfaction. He hadn’t lost his touch then.
He should be asking her questions about Gilfoyle, using her as a source of information, gathering all her secrets. But he wasn’t. Instead he felt protective of her and he was reluctant to spoil their little idyll.
To feel that way made no sense at all.
He might tell himself she was just another woman, and he’d had plenty, but it wasn’t the truth. There was something different about this one, something that was turning his usually sharp intelligence—his ability to make sacrifices for the greater good—to heroic mush. Tina was becoming his priority; Tina was what he thought of when he woke up, and it was Tina again when he went to bed.
“Tina? Sweetheart, wake up,” he murmured gently. “Your maid will be back in a moment.”
That brought her to her senses. Her eyes sprang open, and she sat up, a hand to her tumbled hair. She was a mess. Had he done that? Of course he had. Well, it must not happen again. With a new sense of resolve he began the search for her hair pins.
A moment later there was a quiet knock on the door, but by then they were ready to face the staff.
“Miss Tina? I’m very sorry we were so long,” Maria spoke quickly. She was rather red in the face and short of breath, obviously more concerned about her own shortcomings than her mistress’s.
“I’m afraid we lost track of time, sir,” Archie added apologetically but didn’t appear very sorry.
“Well you are here now,” Tina said.
Richard watched admiringly as she rose calmly to her feet and held out her hand to him. She was so poised he doubted his own memory, but no, it was true; a few moments before they had been clasped in each other’s arms on the verge of doing something irreversible. Damn it, but her acting was getting better by the day.
“Good-bye, Mr. Eversham,” she said primly. “I shall be in t-touch with you soon.”
Oh dear! Tina almost groaned aloud. Why did she stumble over that particular word? “Touch.” Why was it that a word that had never had a secondary meaning before now have so many? The feel of his hands against her skin, the touch of his mouth against hers, against her throat, against every inch of her he could find without actually taking off her clothes. In fact, oh Lord, had she asked him to take them off? No, surely not. But yes, she remembered her breathless voice, pleading . . .
Tina swallowed and lifted her chin, hoping Maria hadn’t noticed her agitation. Richard certainly had. His gray eyes sparkled with wicked laughter although his face was grave. Oh yes, he was a man who was good at keeping secrets.
“Good-bye, Miss Smythe,” he said, holding her hand briefly, as a gentleman would. She turned and tried not to run down the stairs to the front door. Escape, it was all she wanted now. Escape from him . . . and herself.
The door to Number Five closed. She had taken two steps before Maria began to castigate her. Yes, yes, she knew she was behaving in a dangerous and reckless manner, yes, she knew she was risking her reputation, this was all fact, but it was for a purpose. That was her defense.
“Maria, I know you are worried about me, but please believe me when I tell you that I am perfectly safe. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Maria replied with a note of desperation. “Miss, beg pardon, but I think you are being very, very foolish. This man is not to be trusted. What would Lady Carol say? Shall I tell her, is that what you want?”
Tina stopped walking and turned to face her maid. “Of course I don’t want you to tell Lady Carol. Maria, I must marry Lord Horace. You know why. Do I have to speak it aloud, here, in the street?”
Maria calmed herself, as if suddenly aware of interested passersby. “No, miss, you don’t have to do that. I know why. But that does not explain what has been happening between you and Mr. Eversham.”
Mr. Eversham who, Maria now knew from Archie, was not at all what he seemed.
“I am learning from Mr. Eversham. He is teaching me how to win over a man like Horace. That is all. It is purely a business arrangement.”
“And is that why your hair is all falling down and your cheeks all flushed? No, Miss Tina, do not try to flummox me.”
Tina pursed her mouth into a stubborn line. “I am not trying to do anything of the sort. If I am a little flushed, it is because I am learning how to kiss. There! Now you are shocked. But how can I ever win a man like Horace, a man of the world, if I don’t learn to be the sort of woman he wants?”
Maria thought that was probably true, but Lord Horace was a nasty piece of work, and she longed to tell Tina so. But what would that achieve? Even if Tina believed her—which was extremely doubtful—she would still feel she had to marry him, for her family’s sake. No, Maria decided, best to keep that particular piece of information to herself for the moment. It might be useful later on, as a final effort to halt this madness.
“Miss Tina, I am still very worried.”
“Well please don’t be, Maria. I am perfectly able to take care of myself.”
That brought a halt to the conversation, and they said no more on the journey home although Tina remained anxious and upset, and Maria remained anxious and troubled. Neither of them wanted to fall out with the other so it seemed better to remain silent.
When they reached Mallory Street, Tina learned that her father wanted to speak to her. With a warning glance at Maria, she removed her gloves and bonnet and went into her father’s study.
Her first thought had been that he had somehow found out about her visits to Mr. Eversham, but thankfully his smile as she entered his domain put her mind at ease.
“Tina, come in, sit down.”
She noticed there was a half-filled glass of brandy beside him. It wasn’t her father’s way to drink before the evening meal, and she cast a quick glance over his countenance.
He looked pale, and there was a worried frown on his face. But then there always was, these days.
“You had a pleasant afternoon out, Tina? You went to visit Anne, didn’t you?”
Tina hadn’t done anything of the sort, but she made some meaningless noises. It wasn’t really a lie, and her father wasn’t listening anyway; he was far too involved in his own thoughts.
“My dear,” he said at last, “I think you know the straits we’re in at the moment. All my fault. I was foolish enough to believe in someone who I thought was a friend. Now we are all but done for.”
Shocked by his plain speaking, Tina reached for his hand. “Father, no! Surely everything will come about.”
He shook his head although his fingers clasped hers. “Not a chance of it,” he said with grim cheerfulness. “We are done for. Your mother’s money is gone, most of it, and the house will have to go, and all the furniture. We will have to find somewhere smaller, cheaper, and well away from our friends. They probably won’t want to know us anyway, and your mother won’t want to run into them accidentally on the street. The shame would be too much for her to bear.”
It sounded grim indeed, and for a moment, Tina could think of nothing to say.
“Your mother has mentioned something about your being keen on young Gilfoyle,” he went on awkwardly. “I just wanted to hear the facts from your own lips. You know how she tends to muddle things up.”
Tina felt her heart sink a little but forced herself to smile and sit up straighter. “I do have hopes in that direction, Father. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I am determined to give him every hint that I am amenable to marriage.”
Her father appeared relieved. “That is good news.” He sighed. “And now Charles seems to have taken a shine to Anne. That would be a good match if her parents allow it. They are rather strict, and I’m not sure they approve of poor Charles. Still, both of you are making strides toward marriage with a, eh, suitable partner. I am very happy to hear it.”
“I’m glad, Papa.”
He shifted his brandy glass an inch to the left. “But Horace hasn’t proposed, has he?”
“No, Papa. Not yet.”
Her father sighed again. “Even if you were married tomorrow, it probably wouldn’t make any difference, Tina; it is too late. Although in a month or so, if our debts were settled, we might be able to claw something back. But I can’t get my hopes up. Very soon we will have to leave this house, where your mother was born and her father was born and his before him. What a mess.”
“I’m so sorry, Papa.”
“No, no, it’s not your fault. I am the one who has failed you all. Your mother thinks so, and she is right.”
He looked so miserable she didn’t know what to say or do. In the end she simply kissed his forehead and left him alone.
Things were even worse than she’d thought. She must marry Horace, and without delay. There was no way out, no matter how interesting she found Richard Eversham or how enjoyable were his kisses. And she certainly couldn’t rely on Charles to come to the rescue, even if Anne’s parents did agree. No, this must be Tina’s sacrifice and hers alone.
“Sacrifice.” She turned the word over in her head. It made her think of a stone dropping into a pond, leaden, and that was how it felt. Tina had been telling herself for so long that Horace was her childhood sweetheart that she’d grown to accept it, and the fantasy had certainly made the idea of marrying him more palatable. But now it was time to face the truth, and it was Mr. Eversham who had shown her what that was.
She didn’t love Horace. She liked him, she was fond of him, but to be his wife and grow old with him . . . No, that was not something that brought her paroxysms of joy. And she probably would never have come to that realization if she hadn’t met Richard. To be with him, to be in his arms, to kiss him . . . their moments together had been a revelation.
Did she want to marry him? Tina didn’t think so. Her practical soul reminded her that she hardly knew him. This was more to do with an attraction of the flesh, the sort of thing men indulged in all the time. Women weren’t supposed to feel like this, and certainly they weren’t supposed to admit to lust. But if it wasn’t lust she was feeling, then what was it?
She sighed. Speculating was a waste of time. She was marrying Horace. The memory of her father’s face just now was enough to strengthen her resolve. Marriages in her stratum of society were rarely for love, and she must not think herself hard done by. She was saving her family, and it wouldn’t be so bad. She and Horace would rub along well enough.
Assuming he eventually proposed to her.
And for that Tina knew she needed Richard Eversham.
A treacherous shiver of pleasure curled in her stomach because she knew she had no choice but to see him again. And again. Until Horace proposed, Richard would be part of her life. Tina wondered how long Horace’s proposal might take. Logically, going by recent events, it would probably take some time.
It was selfish of her—the curl of pleasure came again—but Tina was delighted.
Chapter 16
Richard heard the voices downstairs shortly after Tina left and thought for a moment she had returned. Dispassionately he noted, as if his own emotions were foreign to him, how his heart leaped, and his body hardened at the thought of seeing her again.
But it wasn’t Tina.
Moments later Archie was opening the door to someone he very much didn’t want to see. His sister-in-law, Anthony’s wife.
“Evelyn, this is an unexpected surprise.”
She was a beautiful woman, with her golden red hair and violet-blue eyes, but again Richard was able to observe this dispassionately. Long ago he hadn’t been so cool in her presence, but then she’d married Anthony, and now his brother was dead.
“Dear Richard.” She smiled as she took his hand, and only someone who knew her well would have been able to see the hint of petulance in her face. She was displeased with him because he was able to resist her charms. Evelyn would have preferred it if he had spent the last few years heartbroken and lovesick.
“What are you doing here in town?” he inquired, nodding at Archie to fetch some tea and cake.
“I can’t stay forever at Eversham Manor, you know,” she said with a hint of melancholy. “Beautiful as it is, I do need to seek out the gaiety of London now and again.”
“No one is making you stay in Kent, Evelyn.”
She made a moue. “On the small allowance I receive from you, Richard, there’s nowhere else I can go.”
“It isn’t a small allowance, Evelyn, and it was left to you by your husband. Besides it is perfectly adequate.”
“Well, we must disagree on that,” she said with the hint of a snap.
Evelyn had been an actress before Anthony married her, but not a very good one. In fact, Richard thought with inner amusement, in his opinion Tina’s abilities far exceeded hers already.
“You are up here to see your friends at the theater?” he said, carelessly, and received a savage look from her remarkable eyes.
“I have no friends, Richard. I gave all of that up when I married Anthony for love. Remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” he said quietly.
She opened her mouth but didn’t quite dare to say any more. Even her monumental ego wasn’t quite steel plated enough for her to ignore the warning in his voice.
“Well,” she said, seating herself on the sofa Tina had so recently left. “I was wondering when you might be coming home to Kent, Richard. There is a great deal needs doing on the estate, and I don’t have the authority to tell Mr. Gregor whether or not to go ahead.”
“Mr. Gregor is perfectly capable of writing to me, Evelyn.”
“But it is so silly! You never visit. Anthony has been dead for two years, and still you stay away. I know it is because you feel you are to blame.”
That tilt of her head, the bright malicious gleam in her eyes. He remembered it all so well. How could he have been such an idiot as to fall in love with her all those years ago? He had been utterly smitten. And then Anthony had met her, and Evelyn had realized which brother was the rich one. She’d set about acquiring Anthony, and soon they were married.
Richard hadn’t spoken to his brother after that. He’d left for London and refused to return, despite Anthony’s efforts to mend things. Of course he regretted his refusal now, bitterly, but it was too late. And Evelyn didn’t help matters by inventing her own version of the past—and the future. She wanted Richard to tell her he was still in love with her, had never stopped loving her, and that he was seeking Anthony’s killer for her sake, so that he could marry her with a clear conscience.
Such a perfect Evelyn ending!
All because he’d made the mistake at Anthony’s funeral of telling her about his vow to find his brother’s killer, and how he meant to deny himself his inheritance and any solace to be found in marriage until he did. She’d laughed at him, called him a silly, passionate boy.
“I’ll marry you now,” she’d said.
Shocked, he hadn’t known what to say. He should have told her in no uncertain terms that he meant never to marry her, but he was reeling at his brother’s death and all that had been left unresolved between them. She must know now that her hopes were nothing more than fantasies, and yet she persisted.
Evelyn was one reason he never visited Eversham Manor; Anthony’s unsolved murder was the other.
“ . . . A
riot among some farmers, Mr. Gregor says, for no apparent reason than to show they could. Dreadful, isn’t it?”
Richard snapped out of his reverie. “What did you say, Evelyn?”
She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I was talking about the Bossenden Wood riots in May, Richard. Mr. Gregor heard from . . . oh, someone or other, that there was a gentleman around at that time, gathering disgruntled farmers together to cause trouble. Evidently the ringleader was just a poor madman this gentleman had persuaded to act a part. And then, as soon as the men started rioting and the soldiers were called in, the gentleman vanished.”
Her eyes were gleaming. She’d known he’d be interested, and by God, he was. “Do you know the name of this so-called gentleman, Evelyn?”
She pretended to give it a great deal of thought, and then Archie interrupted with the tray, and there was much ado about pouring tea and cutting cake. When they were finally alone again, Richard repeated his question.
“McGregor did not say,” she said airily, “although he did mention he was medium height, with fair hair, and rather handsome. A toff, he said, from the north.”
“From the north?”
“North of Kent, at any rate,” Evelyn said, biting into her fruitcake with relish. She’d always had a good appetite, he remembered, even at Anthony’s funeral.
A thought occurred to Richard, and he set down his cup. “Evelyn, did you know about Anthony? Did you know what he was doing when he died?”
She widened her eyes innocently, but he wasn’t deceived.
“I might consider increasing your allowance, a little.”
Those violet-blue eyes narrowed. “By how much?”
The figure was haggled over until she reluctantly agreed to an amount. “Yes, I knew what he was doing,” she admitted coyly. “Anthony told me everything. He trusted me completely, unlike you, Richard.”
“So you knew about the Guardians?”
“Sir Henry Arlington and his silly spy games? Of course I did. And I knew about the Captain. That was who killed him, wasn’t it? Sir Henry had it put about that he’d been robbed and murdered by some ruffian, but I always knew that wasn’t true. Sir Henry even secured me a little pension from the government, but it was really to keep me quiet,” she said smugly. Then, seeing the shocked expression on his face, she hurriedly added, “Not that I would have said anything! But why refuse when one is a poor widow and desperate?”