“I don’t know what you mean.” Eve murmured dismissively.
“Lud, Evie, don’t pull that social camouflage on me,” her friend scolded. “I’ve known you since you were fourteen years old. Besides, Kitty wrote to me years ago all about how she caught you kissing Francis in his grandmother’s garden.”
Deep red color infused Eve’s face.
Moira continued to rock wee Bryn thoughtfully. “Who knows what might come of it? When true love is at stake—”
Eve snorted at her friend’s flowery prose. “Francis is not serious in his intentions, and I know I would never marry again anyway. It is a mild flirtation, nothing more,” Eve protested. Give over control of her every thought and action again? Doubtful! “Besides, we must be leaving to go home soon if you’d like to make a showing for the Season.”
“Well, maybe you should just have a brief love affair then.”
“Moira MacKenzie, how can you say such a thing?” Eve was shocked that her friend would even think such a thing, much less mention it aloud.
Moira laughed at her outrage. “You haven’t thought about it?”
“Of course not! It wouldn’t be—”
“Proper?” Moira interrupted. “Perhaps not, but think on this. When he kisses you…er, he has kissed you, yes?” Eve nodded jerkily. “Well, I’d wager, being a MacKintosh lad as he is, it was wonderful. Yes?” Eve’s cheeks flushed, which was answer enough. “Then think, how wonderful it be to do even more with him.”
Images swam through Eve’s mind. Visions of his big, muscular body pressed against hers. Of his mouth on hers, his hands touching, caressing. Moira chuckled as her light blush turned into a full flush. “There you are then. Think on that and see where it takes you.”
“It is completely improper to be having such a discussion with an unmarried woman.”
“Well, don’t discuss then, but keep thinking about it and then think about how much you’d regret it if he were gone or you left before you had a chance to do something about it.” She glanced up slyly. “Think about his big townhouse. How empty it is since his brothers and Fiona left for Glen Cairn this morning. All alone in that big house…. ”
Images and emotions flowed through Eve. The very thought that she was considering it shocked her.
“You are Satan’s messenger, Moira MacKenzie. No doubt about it.”
“No doubt.”
* * *
When the ladies were finally released to the sitting room after dinner that night, Eve breathed a sigh of relief. Francis had again joined them for dinner even though his siblings had gone back to Glen Cairn. Jack was out for the evening, leaving just Richard, Abby, and Moira and her aunt to keep a barrier of comfort between Eve and Francis.
The small numbers couldn’t buffer the tension between them though. Through the meal Francis had teased and tweaked her at every opportunity, touching her hands, her waist. He’d even gone so far as to kiss the side of her neck when he bent over to seat her. When she’d reprimanded him for it, he’d simply stated that he could barely keep his hands or mind off her.
He wanted her; he made that obvious, as surely as she wanted him. Was there any doubt he’d come back to Edinburgh to complete his seduction? Despite his assurance that he would not do so, he might attempt an affair before she was gone.
But, ah, the question. Did she want him badly enough to become his lover?
She pondered that question as she, Abby, Moira and Edith took tea in the parlor. Since most everyone had departed during the day, the room was no longer filled with the boisterous conversations of many overlapping one another but rather the quiet tones of her dearest friends.
The gentlemen would return soon, and Eve knew she had little time for consideration before Francis continued his assault on her senses.
Abby drew Eve into the conversation she and Moira were engaged in. “So, Moira tells me you called her Satan’s messenger today, Eve.”
“Indeed, I did,” Eve replied cautiously, sipping her tea. “And did she tell you why?”
“Indeed, I did,” Moira teased. “I told her all about how you should fall into Francis’ arms and become his lover.”
“Moira,” Eve hissed, and looked over at great-aunt Edith dozing by the fire. “Shush.”
Both of her friends laughed aloud to her further discomfiture. “Abby! How can you not be appalled by such a suggestion?”
Abby patted her hand as she continued to chuckle. “I’m sorry for laughing, dear. But the Eve Preston I know would and should laugh as well.”
“Things have changed.” Eve struggled with herself, wanting to shake off the cloak of perfection and be her true self once more yet was unable to or perhaps feared what such a reversal would mean to her.
“Then they should change back,” Abby stated firmly. “William is gone. The person he molded you into was never truly you. Eve Preston concerned with what is proper? It’s not you, and you know it.”
Eve’s deepest fear prompted her to whisper, “What if I cannot? What if my old self is lost?”
“It’s not, dear,” Moira said matter-of-factly. “You’ve peeked out a few times this week. Mostly, I might add, in the company of Francis MacKintosh. He’s good for you, you know?”
“And you are good for him,” Abby added.
Eve frowned at Abby. “What do you mean, Abby?”
Abby took her time sipping her tea. “The Francis MacKintosh I have seen this week is not one I have seen in many years.”
“Not since we were girls,” Moira added.
“In what way?” To her mind he hadn’t changed one whit since she met him years ago. Certainly, he was more mature, but he was still the teasing, humorous man she had met years before.
Her friends passed a significant look before Abby answered. “The Glenrothes we know has long been a very bitter man, Eve. He’s suffered in his marriage for reasons that I believe he might have told you. He’s turned that suffering into acrimony for almost all women, a lack of faith in love and fidelity which led to self-imposed isolation, and general nastiness of character. But this week….”
“He’s been so carefree,” Moira concluded.
“Happy,” Abby added. “Relaxed, engaging, humorous. It is all because of you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, and I think there was much more to your initial meeting all those years ago than you have ever let on,” Moira pried with obvious relish. “Much more than a kiss in the garden, wasn’t it? Did you—?”
“No!” Eve blushed hotly. “Nothing like that. It’s just that when I met him, I knew. I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to,” Abby told her squeezing her hand. “If there is one thing Moira and I can both understand, it is falling in love at first sight with a MacKintosh man.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Eve protested, and when her friends rolled their eyes, insisted, “I’m not! I don’t want to be.”
“Sometimes it isn’t about what you want,” Moira whispered in a confidential fashion.
“You are good for each other,” Abby agreed. “You’ve talked to him, Eve. Understood him. You are so good together. Each of you makes the other contented. It surrounds you when you are close and is so obvious to those who care for you. There is so much more between you to be discovered. Embrace it! Normally I would not condone, much less encourage, such behavior. However, I believe you and Francis need each other and will be all the better for it.”
But could it be so simple? She very much feared it was.
Chapter 26
Moira yawned hugely a short while later and made her excuses, rousing her aunt from her nap and leading her upstairs. Abby also left the room, promising to waylay her husband and give Eve a chance to talk to Francis alone. Trying to clear her mind of the question that nagged at her, she stood before the fireplace, staring up at a large portrait of Francis and his brothers as young boys with an older man and lovely woman who she assumed were his parents. She studied Francis’ father, trying to decid
e why he would press Francis into marrying at such a young age a girl who, though equal in years to him, would have been much more mature at eighteen than he. Idly, she wondered what his former wife looked like.
What to do? Her mind warred with her heart. On the one hand, she was certain it was in her best interest to avoid any further entanglements with him. Such evasion would protect not only her reputation but her heart. If she had thought a couple of days ago that she just might simply return to England with her heart intact and, this time with the earl but a pleasant memory, she had been fooling herself.
Eve knew now that she would carry him with her always, would forever wonder what might have come if she had surrendered to him. Whether such submission would make things worse for her when the end did come between them, she knew not. But it crystallized in her mind then that she would be more a fool not to have what she might of him while she could. In her soul, she knew that any time spent with a man such as Francis MacKintosh would bear no regrets.
Even though the silence of the room was unchanged, Eve knew the moment he entered the parlor behind her. Francis. The air became charged with electricity and awareness. His body behind her became a physical pressure, even when he was several feet away. Her own body tensed in response. Waiting. She was not disappointed.
He leaned toward her from behind and breathed in the compelling scent of her perfume. That exotic fragrance, a blend of soft, sweet vanilla, oak moss and jasmine as well as fruity notes of fresh citrus and orange flowers, was a memory in itself.
Hypnotic. Romantic. Seductive.
His fingers savored the silky feel of her bare arm as his hand slid from her shoulder and down the length of her arm to take her hand. A memory of that moment eight years before haunted the corners of his mind and, for a moment, he could almost smell the flowers of his grandmother’s garden and hear the distant melody of the orchestra. The rush of feeling that gripped his chest made him close his eyes to hold that moment forever.
Though Eve flinched slightly at the initial contact, the familiarity of his touch brought a charge of feeling to her as well. For years she had remembered it, dreamed of it, and longed for it. As she closed her eyes, she wondered if she wanted it so badly, she could have manufactured this moment.
His fingers caressed hers and entwined. His breath whispered against her ear, “Where did everyone go?”
“They’ve retired for the evening, I believe. Francis…” She breathed his name, barely a sigh. With an internal moan of surrender, she leaned back against his chest as he bent his head to inhale the fragrance of her hair.
“Eden, my sweet Paradise,” he whispered, before caressing her neck with his lips. Eve gloried in the rush of heat that coursed through her. She knew it was wrong but perhaps for just one small moment….
* * *
From the upper gallery that overlooked the parlor, Moira watched as Francis stepped behind her friend and took her hand. She saw the look on his face and hers as they touched. It was as if time had suspended them. She could fairly feel the emotion pouring from each of them. She felt like an intruder just for witnessing their union of hands. Though they made no move to touch each other beyond the entwined fingers, their expressions were both savoring and longing. In that instant, she wondered what it would be like to feel so much at one time and have it be returned. It made her remember things that were best left behind, but envy touched her for just a moment. Then she wondered again if it would be worth it.
“Moira,” Abby’s whispered words interrupted her thoughts. “Come away now.”
“Are you sure this isn’t all wrong?” Moira questioned, for even though she had encouraged Eve to madness, she knew her friend to be more conservative in her views. But to her surprise, Abby shook her head.
“If either of them finds happiness for even a moment, I’ll be happy for them. She’s a good woman who could use a good man, and he’s a good man who was saddled with the wrong woman for far too long.”
“She’ll never do it. She’s changed.” The Eve of today was nothing like the girl Moira had known years ago. She was withdrawn, reserved. Moira so longed for her to come out of her shell and return to the vibrant, brash American girl she used to be.
“She’ll never do anything if we interrupt.”
“We’ve encouraged her all we can to seize the moment,” Moira whispered back. “All we can do is hope they succumb to it.”
“What do you know of succumbing, Moira MacKenzie?”
“Well there’s not much to do at home other than read, and I’ve found some very good books of late.” Moira waggled her brows. “Come, let me show you.”
* * *
Francis turned Eve in his arms and looked down into her face. “Open your eyes.”
Eve shook her head. “I cannot. Sometimes with you I feel as if I am living a fairytale, all the while knowing there will be no happy ending.”
“We can make our own happy ending, my love.”
There was such certainty in his voice that she looked up and stared into the mossy green depths of his eyes. Her chest clenched almost painfully as the emotion she found in them overwhelmed her, bringing tears to her eyes.
“Francis.” She smiled softly up at him; her hands slid up his chest and around his neck, and finally she gave in and embraced him, pressing her body fully to his. He gathered her up to him, his embrace tighter than her corsets ever had been. When she squealed, he swung her around in a small circle with a laugh and set her back on her feet.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“For what?”
“For showing me once more the lass I met so long ago.”
“I did not realize she was hiding.”
“Did you not?” He shook his head as she started to reply. “You have been different. I know I did not have much, hardly any, time with you years ago, but I knew you. So full of life, passion, spit, and fire. I knew it was still there but repressed. All week I’ve been trying to tease you out of that shell and tonight, as I look at you, there you are. The light is back in your eyes.” He caressed her cheek. “What has changed?”
“Good friends said something that made me think,” she replied honestly. “Something that could probably translate as ‘life is for the living.’”
“An excellent motto,” he commented lightly, bending his head to nuzzle the side of her neck and feeling her responsive shudder at the light touch.
A big, warm hand cupped the bottom of her breast, sending a shiver of excitement through her. “I haven’t really lived these past many years.”
“Nor have I.” Not until the moment I saw you once more. He pulled back and looked down at her. “Are you not going to push me away as you have done all week? Slap my hands and tell me to mind myself?”
“Surprisingly, I don’t think so.” She teased his earlobe with a finger. “Do you want me to?
“Not surprisingly, I don’t think so,” he admitted with a shaky laugh. The parlor was very warm. Too warm, Francis thought, fingering his tight collar as a thin sheen of sweat moistened his skin.
He was alone with her. Where was everyone anyway?
Alone with her.
Francis thought of his resolve to hold his seduction for the time being. To court her slowly. But he was alone with her, as he hadn’t been able to be the entire week. The reality echoed through his mind. Alone. The realization kept pumping through his already heated veins. God, he wanted her. More than that, he needed her. Not only physically. He needed her to realize that marriage, specifically with him, could be full of promise and their salvation.
Just so, he needed to recall his plan to win her over. But whether she knew it or not, the look in her eyes was frankly inviting and even warmer than the room. Suddenly he couldn’t stand to be so close to her. If he got too close, there was no telling what he would do. He meant to court her at leisure not ravage her into submission.
“We shouldn’t be here alone.” Francis swallowed deeply knowing he couldn’t tell her what he really
wanted. He knew her values weren’t just going to fall away, that she would never become a man’s mistress. And she wasn’t yet ready to become his wife. “Eden…” He paused, loving the feel of her name on his lips. He said it again. “Eden.”
She swayed before him. “Yes?”
Every nerve in her body was alive and waiting. Waiting for what? He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and suddenly she knew. She wanted those hands, those big wonderful hands, on her. She wanted him in a way she had never known a woman could want a man. This was desire. She wanted him and desired him. And as much as she knew he wanted her, he would never make a definitive move to bed her. He had said he would not seduce her, and she knew him well enough to know the first move would have to be hers. She fisted her hands uncertainly. What to do?
Not giving herself a chance to question or deny the feelings or to alter her conclusion, she leaned even farther toward him, and he leapt away so abruptly she nearly fell. He jumped back and paced the room. Her eyes followed him, watching as the muscles in his legs rippled with each step. She loved to watch him, admire him. She had been watching him all week in spite of herself and had become very familiar with the movements of his body. He rubbed his palms down the front of his pants.
He was nervous, she realized. How cute. A slight smile tilted the corner of her lips. The mouse decides she wants to play with the cat, and now the cat doesn’t know what to do, hmm?
“I should leave you to retire, I suppose.” He turned on his heel, his long stride taking him out of the room and into the hall to the base of the sweeping staircase.
Evelyn ran quickly to catch him, grabbing him by his arm. “But, Francis—”
All You Could Ask For Page 39