by Julia Donner
Bates, heir to Viscount Grieves, was the holdout of the quartet known as the Four Eligibles, the last unwed, but affianced to a cousin in his native Cornwall. He was also known as Arm-winger Freddy for his uncanny gift with firearms. Gentlemen never minded dueling with him. All it cost them was a new coat after he barely creased an arm, not an easy feat when the opponent stood sideways. Even as a child, he’d been able to pierce the eye of any flying fowl or running game. He possessed a frightening talent for accuracy, but that wasn’t what set Evangeline’s heart to fluttering whenever he came near. It wasn’t the romantic waves of black hair so fine the ends floated over his shoulders, nor the clever, suggestive gleam in sapphire eyes. Her distress stemmed from having no will to resist his commanding presence. No one else disturbed her so thoroughly, a pull as relentless as the tug of the withdrawing tide.
Externally, Bates appeared relaxed to the point of laziness, but when standing near him, one couldn’t fail to feel the draw of his charisma. A subtle power similar to menace hung over him—that of the hunter on the scent of bloodied prey.
He stopped a step below the one on which she stood, which brought him to slightly above eye level. The only thing average about him was his height. She gripped her fan like a lifeline. Before he took her free hand, she knew what was going to happen, and it did. A jolt of awareness rippled up her arm, an attraction that took all of her will to resist. He smiled, slow and knowing, as if he sensed and shared her sensations.
Did his allure stem from his air of danger? She didn’t know. She only knew that he could be her downfall. He might already know her real name and merely be toying with her, playing a game to amuse a jaded spirit, or orchestrate the downfall of an imposter.
Their brief introduction occurred many years ago on the occasion of her marriage. If Bates remembered, he was clever enough to hide his hand until the perfect moment to play his card.
For her part, wedding day happiness blurred her memory of the smaller aspects of the event, but she never forgot the sharpness of bright blue eyes set in a swarthy complexion. And like the prey she was, she stilled when his voice, debonair and suggestive, slid over her skin and did strange things to her insides.
“Mrs. Merrick, you find me honored to be of service to you this evening. Pity how Perry and Lizzie left you all alone to deal with the newlyweds.”
Since the only reply she could muster was a feeble smile, he continued as he escorted her down the wide staircase. “And as much as I find the style of your gown delightful, I would love to see you in a color more provocative than half-mourning. Perhaps a delicate peach or rose to enhance your green eyes?”
His thumb lightly brushed the back of her gloved hand, rendering her wordless. In a gently mocking tone, he said, “According to your dear friend, Lady Collyns, Mr. Merrick has been enjoying the fruits of the afterlife for more than a decade. Both of you married just out of the schoolroom and widowed so soon after. How tragic. That is a long time for a woman to be alone in the world.”
Evangeline hid a gulp of alarm. Was that a subtle threat? Had he somehow discovered the truth?
By the time they reached the bottom step, she managed to sort out her scattered wits. She had to respond, say or do something beyond looking and acting like a terrorized rabbit.
“In heaven my husband may be, sir, but honoring his memory here makes him feel closer.”
“Ah, so there was a Mr. Merrick? Some ladies elect to adopt the title.”
He released her hand when she withdrew, but his piercing gaze did not, holding her as captive as a butterfly pinned to a velvet pad. A satisfied smile curved his wide mouth when she stilled an irritated retort by pressing her lips into a line.
“Forgive me, ma’am. That was ungallant of me. I can’t seem to restrain myself from provoking you. Very bad of me, especially since you are that rarity, a true and loyal wife, even to a spouse gone to his reward. How unique. Ah, the newlyweds have arrived.”
Turning to the footmen opening the doors, Evangeline welcomed a rush of gratitude for the reprieve and the sight of her friend coming through. She hastened forward, her hands out in greeting to Lady Collyns.
“Ollie, I’m so happy you’re safely arrived! There was talk of freezing rain on the roads.”
Rosewater’s calming scent came with Olivia, bathing Evangeline’s face and heart with a comforting balm. The new Lady Collyns pressed her winter-chilled cheek to hers.
“Evie, thank you for taking Lady Asterly’s place tonight. The house on Mayfair is quarantined for measles. I tried to explain that I’d gone through the ordeal as a child, and Mrs. Brinkley told me through a crack in the door that Harry had not and must not enter the house.”
Sir Harry bowed to Evangeline and took her hand to kiss. “My thanks, as well, Mrs. Merrick.” He looked over her right shoulder, and with a smirk, murmured, “Freddy.”
Behind her, she felt Mr. Bates step closer. His heat and presence burned into her back. “Harald. I see that Lady Collyns has knocked some sense into your pretty head and has gotten you to accept eyewear. Tinted glass. How very like you.”
Sir Harry’s deep, dulcet baritone replied, “Must be able to see my enemies.”
A frisson of something dangerous skittered up Evangeline’s spine. The two men loved each other as brothers but that never stopped them from competing. Whenever they were together, unspoken challenges crackled in the air.
Evangeline summoned up fortitude and said to the newlyweds, “I’ll ask Crimm to prepare rooms for you. Your valet and maid are with you?”
Olivia answered, “Below stairs with the staff.”
Evangeline tucked her arm through Olivia’s. “I’m sure Crimm will see to their needs. Shall we go up to the green saloon? Dinner has been set back.”
The doorknocker’s thump stopped them on the way to the staircase. Footmen opened the door, and Crimm, the Asterlys’ butler appeared from the shadows to intercept the caller, since, no one else was expected until dinner.
A man stepped into the foyer, elegant even though his clothes were out of date. Everyone stared, couldn’t stop from studying at the unusual sight. Gracefully slim, tall and dignified, the man’s eyes scanned the assembled at the steps. Gleaming black eyes held the mystery of the ages. His ebony skin glowed under the lamplight. When his gaze settled on Lady Collyns, he bowed.
The caller said nothing and diverted his attention to Crimm, who asked, “May I inquire as to your business here?”
“If you would be so good as to allow me a few minutes with the wife of the late Reverend St. Clair.”
All attention turned to Olivia, whose soft gasp was followed by her rapid question, “You knew my husband?”
Evangeline actually felt Sir Harry’s flinch. For all his fame as the most handsome and jovial gentleman in the land, she’d lived in this household long enough to understand that Lord Asterly’s brother had a darker side that surface when provoked. She’d overheard his lordship say that his twin harbored an unexplained resentment for Olivia’s first husband.
The caller bowed again to Olivia but didn’t move forward. “I am Etienne Plaquard, indebted in no small way to your late husband.”
Olivia reached for Evangeline’s hand, grasping it in a tight clasp, entreaty in her lovely brown eyes. No one could resist that doe-eyed expression, and her friend used it frequently, but in this instance, her plea was sincere.
Olivia whispered, “Evie, would you ask him to come up? Do you mind?”
Evangeline had never refused her friend anything and had no intention of putting a blot on that record. “Monsieur Plaquard, I am Mrs. Merrick, acting as hostess for my patroness, Lady Asterly.”
She made introductions all around, and when everyone had politely bowed—although Sir Harry’s had a grudging nuance—Evangeline asked, “Would you care to come up to speak with Lady Collyns, Monsieur Plaquard?”
As they went up to the first floor, Evangeline explained, “We will be few in number this evening. The Ravenswolds have also ret
urned to the country with their children. The Trivertons had not brought their children down, but Lord Triverton was called away on business. Lady Triverton did not wish to send a regret and will be joining us. Therefore, Monsieur Plaquard, you have become a godsend, arriving as you have, to even our numbers at table.”
As hostess, she would decide on seating arrangements, unlike the last time she’d sat down with Mr. Bates. She could banish him to the far end of the table, but that wouldn’t help when the meal was over. When the gentlemen had finished smoking and after dinner port, they would join the ladies. A long evening of fending off the too observant comments of Mr. Bates and his unsettling presence stretched ahead. She had no illusions. He would marry another, but until that day, as a widow, he would consider her fair game.