Evangeline caught her breath as her father droned on. Henry’s position was being threatened and her heart hurt for him instantly. He loved his work—anyone who read that paper he’d written in his society’s journal could not doubt his true passion for it. And his father threatened him, his very existence, over it. No wonder he was so distracted and upset.
“—Henry would have to marry an heiress, I suppose,” her father said, drawing her attention back. “Perhaps one of your friends could save him. After all, you are constantly working hard to repair all those little birds with broken wings.”
Evangeline rose to her feet. Henry marrying an heiress would certainly solve his problems. There were hardly any heiresses as well off as herself. Her dowry would keep him safe and them both in comfort for the rest of their lives. And of course, that had been her plan. To trade on his liking her in order to obtain her independence. It seemed she might have a different card to play now. Her fortune.
And yet that felt less…comforting.
Why? Why did it matter if she tempted Henry to wed her through her wiles or her fortune? What was the difference?
She didn’t know. But there certainly was one.
“Why do you look so dour, Evangeline?” her father asked. “Do you need a nip of whisky in your own tea?”
She forced a smile. “I think not, though I do appreciate the offer. I was just thinking of some arrangements for your gathering in two nights. You know there is much to plan.”
“Well, save me from those details,” he said with a shudder. “When I marry you off, I think I shall hire a secretary to do these duties you so admirably perform. Certainly I cannot bear them. Good afternoon, my dear. I’m off to deal with the books.”
He patted her hand as he wandered out of the room, teacup in hand. Evangeline flopped back onto the settee with a grunt and stared up at the ceiling.
Married her off. That was the fourth time he’d made a mention of such a thing. It put her situation in stark relief. She had to push aside any odd discomfort she had with the idea that Henry might wish to use her for her position as much as she intended to use him for his. That would only make it easier.
And she did still know he liked her. So there was nothing wrong with manipulating that fact first, before she turned to her ability to save him with her fortune.
Chapter 6
Henry stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the people spin by to the time of the music. It would have felt like another normal, forced appearance in the heart of Society but for two things. First, that his father was here, glowering any time he caught a glimpse of him. Though they had not done more than say a cursory good evening, but the viscount’s message was clear: Henry was still to give up his work. One way or another.
His stomach flipped, and he turned away from his father and found himself looking at the second circumstance that made tonight unlike any other ball or gathering.
Evangeline stood at the opposite side of the ballroom floor, peering through the bobbing couples and watching…him. He’d tried to convince himself that wasn’t true, that he was seeing things that didn’t exist and reading the wrong thing into the situation because he was under such pressure from his father.
And yet, he kept finding evidence that he was, indeed, in her sights, despite the fact they had hardly said more to each other than a quick welcome at the receiving line. Evangeline had hostess duties to perform, after all. Ones she was so very good at. He loved watching her mingle, laugh, smile with her guests. Make them each feel warm and welcomed in her father’s home.
He certainly always had, thanks to her.
She spoke for a moment with her companions, an earl and his wife, then began to move around the perimeter of the dancefloor. Step by step, she came closer, her gaze never leaving his. Her movements graceful and lithe and careful. Evangeline was always careful, like every single motion was planned. Perhaps it was. The woman had always been the epitome of control. Could a man take that control? Make her tremble? Make her come undone?
He blinked at the unbidden, heated thought and forced a smile as she reached him. “My lady.”
“Good sir,” she said, laughing.
“Your gathering seems a success,” he said as they both took in the ballroom scene.
She shrugged. “I suppose it is, yes. Not that it is hard to make it so.”
“A dozen hostesses in London who wish for half your style and flair would argue that point.” He turned toward her. “Your father is lucky to have you as his representative.”
A tinge of a blush warmed the apples of her cheeks to a fetching pink, and she dipped her head. Henry had rarely seen Evangeline blush, perhaps never now that he tried to find a previous memory of it. It was lovely to see her thus. To see her just a tiny bit vulnerable when she normally wore her confidence like knight’s armor.
“I am glad you came,” she said. “You were the only person I truly wished to see tonight.”
He swallowed. “Me? Are you certain you are thinking of the right Henry Killam?”
She didn’t laugh at the joke. “I am certainly only thinking of you.” She broke the heaviness of the moment by looking around with a deep sigh. “You do not know how tired of this room I am. Will you save me from my duties for a while and take me on a turn about the house? I need a moment with a friend.”
Henry drew back. Evangeline had never asked to be alone with him, and here in the span of a few days she had manipulated conditions so they could be alone not once but twice. She wanted something, that much was clear. And since he could not determine it through pure deduction after reviewing the facts, he had only one choice as a scientist: to investigate the situation, to seek evidence directly. To go with her wherever she led and see what would happen next.
Something he most certainly looked forward to doing, perhaps more than he should. But he didn’t argue with himself any further. He merely offered his elbow, thrilling when her warm fingers curled into the crook of it, and led her from the room as she had required.
Henry was very quiet as they strolled through the winding halls of her father’s home. It wasn’t that Evangeline had expected him to chatter on. It had never been his way to fill the silences with empty platitudes. But there was something different about this silence. It had a heaviness that had never existed between them. An anticipation of something she hoped he felt as strongly as she did.
She guided them to the music room and, with a gentle tug, led him inside. The room was dimly lit by a dying fire, as the servants probably hadn’t expected anyone to come in here during the party. Which was why she had selected this room for her…well, it wasn’t exactly a plan. She wanted it to be a plan, but she hadn’t much idea of how to do what she wanted to do when it came down to it. If Henry had been a rake, well, that would have been easy. A little batting of the eyes and he would have had her against a wall.
But Henry wasn’t that kind of man. He wouldn’t sweep her away, so she had to do the prodding and poking to get them there.
“This is a lovely room,” he said, pulling away from her hand and pacing the large space. “All the holly garland and gold makes it feel very much like Christmastide in here. And I haven’t heard you play in an age.”
“I don’t do it to exhibit quite as much as I once did,” she admitted, moving to place her fingers gently on the keys of her pianoforte. There was a soft ding of the note in the air.
“I’ve always like to hear you play,” he said, watching her. She felt him watching even when she turned away. “You always capture the mathematics of any piece perfectly.”
She laughed even though she suddenly felt unsteady. “You think of music as mathematics?”
“It’s all it is. A series of equations.” He cleared his throat and stepped closer.
“So is dancing, but you do not do that very often,” she whispered, tracking him as he stopped at the edge of her piano and placed hand along the edge. His fingers were close to hers now. Almost close enough to feel their warmth a
s she had in the parlor the other day.
“The mathematics of dancing are complicated by the gangly nature of one’s legs,” he said. He smiled, but there was a hesitance there. “And the ability, or lack thereof, to move one’s hips.”
“I have danced with you before, Henry Killam,” she said, her voice cracking in the most shocking manner. “And your hips move fine.”
It was a scandalous thing to say, filled with a double entendre someone like her was never supposed to use. And yet Henry didn’t step away. Henry didn’t move at all, except to extend his fingers along the piano top and gently, carefully, brush them over hers.
Electric awareness jolted from that tiny point of contact and rushed through each and every nerve in her body. Pulses settled in the most sensitive places. Places she had touched before—she knew they could bring pleasure. Now she felt echoes of that pleasure with just his hand grazing hers.
“Evangeline,” he whispered, the timber of his voice rougher, lower, more dangerous, even though she wanted him to lose control. Didn’t she? Wasn’t that what this entire performance was all about?
She couldn’t quite remember now that they were standing half a foot from each other, now that he was touching her, now that she was staring up into green eyes behind glinting spectacles.
She inched farther into his space and lifted a shaking hand to rest on his chest. She felt the thud of his heartbeat against her palm, the cadence wild. She pulled the other hand free from his on the piano and lifted it to touch his cheek, then wound it around the back of his neck.
“Henry,” she murmured back as she lowered his head to hers and let their lips meet.
She’d never kissed a man before. It wasn’t that the opportunity hadn’t arisen in the past. But there had never been anyone she wanted to kiss. This was not what she expected when she pictured the act, with a fair amount of disdain.
Henry’s lips were soft against hers, but firm and warm. The pressure was uncommonly pleasant, and she leaned closer so she could feel more of it.
Henry made a soft sound against her mouth, and suddenly his arms closed around her. He tugged her flush to his body, molding all her curves to the surprisingly hard and unyielding planes of him, and the kiss’s intensity increased tenfold. He angled his head and his mouth…opened.
She gasped at the unexpected warm heat and his tongue breeched her lips. He tasted good, so good, a hint of sherry, a taste of mint, something warm and needy and mesmerizing. She should have pulled away then, teasing him, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.
Instead, she let her tongue meet his and the room shrank into them, growing hot and close as she found herself lifting to be closer to him. As his hands dug into her back to bring her nearer still. As she felt the hardness of his body between them and realized, with a shock of awareness, that this was that thing she’d read about in naughty books she was not to read, but did anyway so that she would understand what exactly would be expected of her in a foggy future where she would be someone’s bride.
Never had those descriptions seemed enjoyable until now when their bodies were grinding against each other and the world was fading away until nothing mattered but Henry and what he would do next.
And in that moment where it felt like she would burst from anticipation, he suddenly dragged his mouth from hers. He released her, steadying her by the elbow gently before he paced away, running a hand through his already unkempt locks.
When he turned back, he had removed his spectacles and was rubbing them on a handkerchief to wipe away the steam that had somehow gathered on the glass in those close moments.
She stared at him, this man she had told herself she would steer and seduce and manipulate. This man who had turned all that on its head by stealing her control and her plans with just a sweep of his tongue.
“Evangeline,” he whispered again, his voice just as rough as it had been when he said it before they kissed. Then he shook his head. “I apologize, my lady. I have behaved in an ungentlemanly manner. Allow me to remove myself so I do not go further than I already have.”
She stared, mouth agape, as he walked past her to the music room door. There he stopped, turned back and his face was lined with true regret. “I am…I am sorry.”
Then he was gone without another glance in her direction and Evangeline was left to sag against the piano, her hands shaking and her mouth tingling with the memory of his lips and hers. With so much more than that.
She fought to catch her breath, for it was short and ragged and almost painful. Her heart throbbed, almost like she had been running, and she was just a little dizzy as she sat down at the piano to regather herself.
Regather. That was not something she had to do very often in her life. She had planned it that way, arranged it, created every circumstance that she never felt exactly as she did now: out of control.
What had gone wrong with her plan? She had chosen Henry as her target because she knew…thought she knew…that he could be navigated in the direction she wished for him to take. That she would be able to stay cool and collected and careful with him and put herself in a position where she no longer had to fear what could be taken from her.
A marriage of convenience, but not one based on money, only on a desire to keep her independence.
And yet, in the span of a few seconds, Henry had proven she could be put into the very position she had watched her mother take over and over and over again. The position she saw her sister in regularly, and her sister-in-law. That position was them wanting something more from a man. A man who didn’t care enough to provide it.
When Henry had pulled away from her, she had felt the humiliating desire to beg him back. To follow him like a pathetic puppy, craving a connection he didn’t feel.
She leaned forward against the piano, resting her head in her hands. She’d thought she would avoid all that with Henry. And now she had no idea what to do next.
And for Evangeline, not knowing was the worst thing in the world.
Henry staggered back into the ballroom, his legs barely keeping him upright and his spinning head making it hard to concentrate. The taste of Evangeline was still on his tongue, sweet and heady as spiced wine. The warmth of her was one his skin, hotter than any festive Yule log crackling in the fireplace.
And all of it led to a deep and powerful longing he had never allowed himself to fully feel, that he had always quashed when it dared to rear its head over the years, but now could not be denied. It was a longing for her. For a woman who had always been out of reach.
But now he’d had a taste of her, of what he could no longer deny he had craved for years, and he realized in that moment that he would never be able to pretend away that longing again. It would live with him always, a cold reminder every time he saw Evangeline. Nothing could ever be the same now.
She had made certain of that through her actions. Oh, he had elevated the kiss, certainly, wild and animal abandon taking him over in a way he’d never allowed before. But she had started it. She had steered them to the quiet music room where they would never be interrupted. She had flirted and leaned and ultimately, she had kissed him.
His body jolted at the memory of that kiss, sweet at first and then something far wilder and more wanton as they both let loose of control.
Why had she done it? After years of what he’d perceived as only a friendly connection, why was she suddenly and rapidly pressing for something more?
“Henry.”
He froze, all heated thoughts of Evangeline’s taste fading from his mind at the hard sound of his father’s voice behind him. He turned slowly and found the viscount standing there with folded arms and a judgmental expression.
“We did not get a chance to speak much earlier. I did not expect you here tonight,” Lord Killam said.
Henry was still so dizzy, he had a hard time measuring his response. “I was invited. I did not realize I was to remain locked in my tower until I did what you asked of me.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. �
�Watch yourself, boy.”
Henry bent his head. There was nothing else to be done. His father held all the cards at present and would destroy Henry’s future despite anything he did. At this point, it was a matter of degrees.
“I apologize,” Henry ground out. “I hope my presence here doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
His father shrugged. “Have you put any thought into what we discussed a few days ago?”
“Your ultimatum.”
“Yes, that.” His father lifted his brows. “Time is running out, boy. Don’t make me use the worst option. Don’t make me destroy you to save you from yourself.”
His father tipped his head and walked off without an answer. Henry watched him, hands clenched at his sides. “You mean save yourself from me,” he muttered, and reached out to catch a drink from a tray carried by a passing footman.
As he sipped it, his gaze moved to the door. Evangeline was stepping through the double doors, her gaze darting around the chamber. From her expression, no one would guess she had very nearly been ravished in a music room. She looked as bored and unbothered as she ever did.
As he watched her fall back into her hostessing duties, his mind turned to his conversation with Donovan a few days before. His friend had teased him about marrying an heiress to solve all his problems.
She looked at him, and when their eyes met, the color left her cheeks. So she was not so unaffected as she pretended. He was almost proud of that fact, but it also made Donovan’s words even louder in his head.
If Evangeline was sniffing around him, she had to have a purpose. What if he could use that purpose to further his own future? What if it could actually work?
He bent his head. These kinds of thoughts and plans were not to be made lightly. He had to think on them, hypothesize, research, make lists of all the potential outcomes. He needed to think. And he certainly wasn’t going to do that here.
So he made his way through the crowd carefully. At the door, he turned back one last time. Evangeline was watching him. Her expression had gone flat again. Control had returned.
Betrothed by Christmas: A Holiday Duet Page 5