The Duke’s Wicked Wager - Lady Evelyn Evering: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 2)

by Isabella Thorne

  “He seemed quite serious about this.” The Duke’s fingers tapped on his thigh, three beats. “I did not intend to bring scandal upon you,” he said softly, making her wonder exactly what had happened between them after her fall. “And truly, I thought you might agree with your brother.”

  “I—“Evelyn frowned. “But you are here, now.”

  He cocked a grin. “Well, I am not in Evermont am I? I do own these stables; he can hardly keep me from visiting them.”

  “How long have you been sneaking back here? Does he know?” she asked.

  “Oh, a while now,” said The Duke. “I come early in the mornings, when I know Lord Evermont will not be awake, but even if saw me, what would he say?”

  Early in the mornings when her brother might not be awake, but he knew that Evelyn would be. She had never thought of it, how many times could she have seen him here in the morning, how many chances had they wasted?

  “Will you ride with me, Your Grace?” Evelyn asked.

  He was not dressed for it, but she still hoped. The Duke shook his head.

  “I think your Lord brother would be furious if we were to go out riding together. No, as much as I would like to, I think it would come to blows between us if I were to dare.”

  From somewhere down the stable, she could hear Stanton talking to Diadem as he tacked her up. They had only a brief moment left before the stable master would return.

  “Did you apologize to Lord Ashwood?” She knew, from the way he chewed his cheek that he had not. “Your Grace.”

  “I am afraid that the bridge is burned too thoroughly for that. But do not fret about it; there will be no consequence for you. I can be polite if we meet at socials.”

  “Can you?” Evelyn doubted it.

  “If he can, so can I.”

  “I doubt he will be the trouble,” said Evelyn, under her breath.

  “What was that?” He reached out and dragged his fingers along Evelyn’s jawline, lifting her chin so she was forced to look him in the eyes. “Are you whispering ungrateful things after I risk life and limb to see you?”

  Evelyn leaned into his touch, tilting her head toward his hand. Her retort lost its bite. Yet, here you are, whole and hale.”

  “I am now.” he whispered

  Hoof beats on stone and Stanton’s laughing remarks to a groom alerted them to his approach, gave them time to move apart and hide their guilt. Evelyn was certain she was glowing red, but Stanton, if he noticed, said nothing. Diadem was sprightly and eager to be taken out. The mare gave Evelyn an affectionate bump with her nose and snuffled at her pockets for a bit of apple.

  “Silly me,” Evelyn said, stroking the horse’s velvet nose. “I forgot to bring an apple.”

  “She will forgive you.” Stanton said. “Your Grace, will you ride as well?”

  “No, thank you Stanton, but I must be going.”

  They walked together out of the stable, into the morning with its tentative sunlight. Diadem nickered to the carriage horses, who screamed replies and craned their necks to see who was calling to them.

  “I will not go far,” Evelyn said to Stanton. “Just a quick ride for us to get reacquainted.”

  “Best to not let it go too long after a fall, they say,” said Stanton, with a sage nod.

  Evelyn accepted the reins from his hand and tried to ignore the way her fingers shook. Her palms were sweating. The Duke was watching her. Could he see the way she fought her nerves? Embarrassed, she struggled for composure.

  “Stanton,” The Duke said. “I have changed my mind. Please put the side saddle on Xavier for my lady; I will ride Diadem.”

  The Duke took Diadem’s reins from Evelyn and passed her off to a groom as Stanton hurried off to his task. “You are shaking like a leaf, Lady Evelyn. I thought I was the only one who affected you so.”

  “Are you jealous of a horse, Your Grace?” Evelyn teased.

  “A bit.”

  “I thought you had decided against a ride. What will Frederic say, and all of that?”

  “Frederic be damned. I can hardly let you ride alone when you are too frightened to even hold the horse. I am being a gentleman. That is the sort of thing you like, is it not? Otherwise, I shall not bother with it.”

  Touched by the gesture, she ignored his glib tone. Stanton was back, trotting Xavier out to them. The big chestnut’s face was speckled with white.

  “Here you are, Your Grace,” said Stanton bringing Xavier to the mounting block.

  The Duke nodded to Evelyn. “She will ride Xavier, and I will ride Diadem. He is as trustworthy as they come and will serve you well.”

  Evelyn stepped into the stirrup and adjusted her front leg over the pommel; settling her skirts in place. Xavier was solid and still beneath her, waiting for her cue before he moved off. Diadem danced as Pemberton mounted, but he reined her in and patted her neck until she settled.

  “Shall we stick to the fields? Leave the forest for another day?” The Duke asked, taking the lead.

  She nudged Xavier in to follow Diadem, and they picked their way across the courtyard and out beside the pastures. Stanton waved farewell. His expression was unreadable. Did he disapprove? Would he tell Frederic?

  “Do you think I am frightened of the wood now?” Evelyn was not sure if she was or was not, but she did not want to admit it to The Duke either way.

  “Maybe I am the one afraid,” said The Duke, turning round in the saddle to wink at her. She scowled back. “I would like to see the orchard. We do not have apples at Pemberton.”

  Evelyn directed him toward the orchards and forced her hands to loosen their death-grip on the reins. A pheasant broke from the brush just before them. Diadem panicked and jumped to one side, but Pemberton held tight. Xavier, placid as promised, only raised his head in curiosity, as if he wished to see what all of the fuss was about. The Duke had Diadem settled again, though her nostrils flared and she blew a forceful breath out her nose.

  “We are all right, girl, nothing to fuss about,” he told the mare. She flicked her ears back, as if considering what he had to say, but danced around the area the pheasant had flown from like it might attack her again. “Are you alright, Lady Evelyn?”

  Evelyn, whose heart had responded like Diadem, with panic, thumped in her ears. “Yes, thanks to this dear horse. He is a sweetheart, Your Grace. Why ever did you buy him? Xavier seems the furthest thing from your usual sort of hot-blooded stock.”

  “Ah, he came up for sale just last week and I thought he might be a good fit for the stable at Evermont,” said The Duke.

  “For Frederic?” asked Evelyn. “That is optimistic of you. Whatever the horse, I do not think he would choose to ride it.”

  “Mmm,” said The Duke, noncommittally.

  “You did not buy the horse for Frederic.” Evelyn narrowed her eyes at his back. She could see it shaking with laughter and wished she had something to throw at him.

  “I thought one of the Evering siblings would benefit from Xavier’s sweet temper,” he said.

  “It will not rub off on me, if that is what you are hoping for,” Evelyn quipped back at him. “So you may as well take him back. Go on, give me my mare.”

  She pulled Xavier to halt, but The Duke did not slow. He lifted one hand in a careless wave.

  “It is too late for that,” he said, over his shoulder. “I have grown quite attached to her, rude, impertinent thing that she is. She keeps me on my toes. All she needs is to be put in her place once and a while.”

  They passed beyond the pastures where the horses grazed and crossed over a low stone bridge. Up ahead, the little apple orchard sprawled on a hill. Most of the apples were picked but the orchard had a sweet scent. The morning fog was burning off of it, cloaking the trunks of the trees and the few dew-polished apples. The Duke dismounted and looped Diadem’s lead to a low branch, then helped Evelyn dismount from Xavier, who they left ground tied to wander through the orchard. Content to pull leaves from the apple tree Diadem paid her rider no mind as
they picked their way through the orchard without the horses.

  Evelyn’s hem was soaked with dew in moments, but her boots kept the worst of it from her feet. The Duke walked a careful distance from her. For a time, they were content to stroll in silence around the trees. A thousand thoughts plagued Evelyn’s mind, too many to speak at once. Adele’s words, her dire warnings, were an ever-present mark on her feelings for The Duke. When he stopped to pluck a lone golden apple from a high branch, she managed to work up the nerve to ask him.

  “What is it?” The Duke asked, catching her staring at him. He rubbed the apple dry with the sleeve of his jacket and handed it to Evelyn. He searched out a second apple in among the bare branches and pulled it for himself.

  “Adele told me something about you,” Evelyn began, looking at her distorted reflection in the apple’s shiny skin. “Just stories. I do not believe them, truly, but…”

  His face had fallen. He bounced the apple in his palm, once, twice; then closed his hand around it.

  “What sort of stories?” he said. There was an edge to his voice she had not heard from him before, at least, not directed at her. It chilled her more than the breeze.

  “She said you, well, that three women had died, because of you,” Evelyn said, in a rush. It seemed such a foolish notion now, with the man in front of her looking, if not harmless, than at least not murderous. “I told her it must be superstitious nonsense but, she insisted. She reads those awful French horror novels, you know, I think they go to her head.”

  “You must believe some part of her tales, to even ask me.” His eyes were a challenge.

  “When both my brother and my dearest friend do not think a Duke is a suitable match for me, there must be some good reason for it.” Evelyn would not be cowed by his glare. In fact, it gave her some strength and indignation to fuel her argument.

  “Oh, Frederic is in on it too, then?” he said with scorn. “I thought his qualms were just the usual worries of a brother for his sister.”

  The Duke, in a sudden fit of pique, drew his arm back and hurled his apple across the orchard. Diadem started against her lead and Xavier trotted a short distance away, but did not run.

  “That was a perfectly good apple,” said Evelyn, incensed. “Will you dodge my question forever, or answer it?”

  “If you demand an answer of me, very well.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I had nothing to do with the deaths of those women.”

  “So they just happened to perish after having… involvements… with you?” Evelyn crossed her arms as well. They eyed each other with disdain.

  “Yes,” said The Duke. “And I paid for their funerals, out of kindness, not any sense of obligation. Does that satisfy you?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “I will not give you the details of my affairs prior to you, Lady Evelyn; they are my own business. It should be enough to know that I am not a murderer.” His voice was just shy of a sneer.

  “I never thought you were,” she said, voice rising. “But I was less than pleased to hear of your string of sordid romances!”

  He raised his voice to match hers, just short of yelling. “Then do not ask! I was not a hermit, woman; I was just a boy with more spirit than sense. It does not matter now, does it?”

  “Of course it does!” Evelyn yelled back. A flock of birds squawked in protest and launched themselves from the trees.

  “I am here, am I not!” His shout was more impressive. “Here with you. I have not so much as danced with another woman since the day of the match race. Does that suit you?”

  Mollified, Evelyn crossed her arms. “It does!”

  Pemberton snorted, sounding just like his horse had earlier. Evelyn was breathing hard as well, as if she had just run a race. He stalked toward her. She froze, like a deer upon seeing the hunter approach, believing if it stood still enough it would escape unharmed. When he reached her, just close enough to touch, he stopped.

  “You are infuriating,” he whispered, into her neck.

  She shivered at the touch of his breath on her skin and arched closer. “If I were half as infuriating as you, I would find that an insult.”

  His fingers traced the skin his breath had warmed, then trailed through her hair with a tug knocking her hat askew. “Wretch.” She admonished.

  When he went to pull away, Evelyn grabbed his arms and held him. “Lord Ashwood will propose before winter.”

  The Duke’s lip curled.

  “Am I to say no, and die a spinster?” Evelyn dropped his wrists and spun away. “You are a selfish man.”

  “Your brother is never going to allow us to marry,” The Duke said softly. “He has said as much to you, and made it clear with fewer words to me. What would you have me do? Do you want to be outcast from your family?”

  “My brother goes to London and picks out an actress to bring home, and he states his intention to marry her!” Evelyn raged. “Why am I forced to make a match to his liking, when he might do however he pleases?”

  “I do not think your brother sees it that way. He only wants you to be safe and secure,” said The Duke. “With someone…not me.”

  Evelyn felt as if she was standing on her toes at the edge of a precipice, danger sent all of her nerves alight. There was something hanging in this moment, a decision she could not turn back from.

  “Are you afraid, Your Grace?” she said, coldly. “Is that what this is? You hem and haw about this not because of what my brother says, but because you are afraid?”

  The Duke barked a laugh and she rounded on him, poking in the chest with her finger, forcing him back one step at a time.

  “That is it, is it not? Coward,” she spat. “Push me away, pull me in, push me away again. Those women were not murdered, they simply died of frustration!”

  “Frustration,” he said, a fire in his eyes. “Frustration! It would not be the gentlemanly thing to do, to steal you out from under Lord Ashwood’s nose, from your brother…” The Duke began, but Evelyn cut in.

  “Do not hide behind that shield, Your Grace, for your gallantry is a flimsy thing. I cannot believe I did not see it before. My own brother has more daring than you.”

  The Duke recoiled as if slapped. Evelyn’s hands itched to do just that, half to touch him and half to express how furious she was. He closed up. She watched it happen, his face shuttered with his usual contemptuous mask and his fingers taking up their drumming beat along his thigh.

  “I will escort you home, Lady Evelyn,” he said. “I can see this ride has made you overwrought.”

  He was incorrigible. How had she not seen it before? She did not wait for him, but marched over to Diadem, caught the reins and pulled her to the nearest stump. Hiking up her skirts, she climbed into the saddle without any aid. She yanked her skirts loose and sat astride with the warmth of the horse between her legs and her riding habit, flurried out around her. Fury had replaced fear. She dug her heels into the mare’s ribs and was off before The Duke had collected Xavier who had wandered a bit farther afield. He called out to her but she ignored him, and the mare’s eager stride took her away, across the orchard and into the field. There would never be anything between her and The Duke. She had no time for cowards and liars, men too weak to admit their feelings to themselves, let alone to another.

  Diadem, ever a racehorse, flew across the field. Her mane whipped against Evelyn’s face as she leaned over the horses neck, urging her on. Alone, Evelyn cantered into the stable courtyard. Stanton hurried out.

  “Has something happened, My Lady? Where is The Duke?” he asked, reaching up to hold Diadem’s head as Evelyn dismounted, yanking her skirts into place.

  “He is fine,” she said, curtly. “He will be here in a moment, I imagine. He fell behind. Will you see to Diadem for me?”

  “Of course, Lady Evelyn,” he replied. He stared from Diadem’s saddle to Evelyn and back again, somewhat startled that she had ridden astride. She had not done so since long before her father’s death…not since sh
e left childhood. “Is The Duke…riding side saddle?” he murmured. His lip twitched in amusement.

  There was no hope for it. It was obvious they had words out in the orchard. “I suppose he is,” Evelyn shot back, thinking the grooms ride side saddle to train mounts for ladies. If The Duke couldn’t stand the embarrassment, he could walk Xavier home. She didn’t care.

  Evelyn felt a pang of guilt, leaving the stable master standing there with a look of confusion and concern on his face. Diadem was breathing hard. Evelyn heard hoof beats growing louder and fled for the house. He could not follow her there, if he even would.

  When Evelyn stormed into the house, Frederic and Adele were just sitting down to breakfast. It was nearly noon. For some improbable reason, it only added to her anger.

  “Where have you been?” Frederic called, when Evelyn made to walk by the breakfast parlor. “Have you been riding?” He rose from the table and pushed the door open.

  “Brilliantly spotted,” Evelyn said, full of acid.

  Frederic grabbed her arm and tugged her into the room so she could not escape. Adele’s eyebrows had risen so far they disappeared beneath her hair.

  “Alone?” he asked, with too much interest.

  “Did you think I would not find out?” Evelyn asked. “That you had forbidden him from seeing me?”

  Her brother smacked his hands into his forehead. “Evelyn, you did not ride out with him, unattended, this morning. Tell me you did not.”

  Evelyn started crying. She did not know if it was from anger or sorrow or frustration, but the tears swelled and streamed down her face.

  “I will never see him again, Frederic. You do not need to scold me or warn me away, I am done with him!”

  Frederic kicked the nearest chair. It skidded across the carpet and fell over in a crash near the hearth. His face was crimson. “This is unacceptable! I will have his hide, but yours first.”

  Adele had jumped up when Frederic kicked the chair. Unafraid, she reached out to pull him back from Evelyn.