Whatever did he expect her to do with flowers and jewelry? Flowers died, and even though Royce didn't know it, she despised jewelry and everything it represented. It was pretty, yes, but having grown up in God's creation, she knew exactly what she appreciated in life. Her health, being happy, long walks, ladybugs—things which made her smile and which Royce knew nothing about.
A loud crash shook her from her thoughts. Running down the stairs, she barely had time to open her mouth before Royce was in front of her, looking all out of sorts with tattered flowers and a vase in his hand. "I heard a noise," she sputtered, peeking around him to the mess on the floor. Visibly disturbed, the crouching butler looked as though he would weep while he picked up tiny shards of crystal.
"I seem to have upset him," Royce muttered, stuffing the flowers together to create a sad excuse for a bouquet.
"Little wonder. He sees himself as the guardian of our precious family heirlooms. He'll never forgive you. " Evelyn hoped the lie about family heirlooms would evoke some sort of guilt in Royce's eyes. Instead he pasted on a glorious smile and knelt down on bended knee.
Oh, Lord.
"Come to the theatre with me."
"No."
"So you mean yes?" Royce lifted an eyebrow.
"Are we really going to go through this whole scenario again?" Evelyn, ignoring his plea, walked over to the door and opened it. "Out."
"Oh, and I almost forgot to mention… I have this new chef from France. Supposedly he's one of the best in the world. I've asked him to make us a meal before the show."
Drat her Achilles heel! At least she would get a free meal out of the deal. It wasn't as if Royce was terrible company; she just knew what he was about. And he was selfishly only about getting his own way, whether or not he had to kill people in the process. He was nothing like the husband or partner she needed.
"I accept."
"Splendid. I thought you would. You know, I can be quite—"
"Stop talking. I accept on one condition."
"Name it, darling, and it's yours." He lifted his large hand and cupped her chin. Unfortunately the touch sent shivers all the way down her spine, reminding her just how dangerous this predator was.
"No more gifts, no more irritating me, and God as my witness, if you try to seduce me, I'll stab you with my fork. Are we clear?"
His face, alight with amusement, cracked into a beautiful smile "Quite clear. Shall we seal it with a kiss?"
Exasperated laughter bubbled out of her. "Leave before I change my mind, you cad!"
He took a long, lazy bow before tipping his hat and exiting through the front door. Insufferable man. Now all she had to do was survive dinner and try to make her daddy proud at the theatre. It was well known that only the richest families in New York made their way to the theatre on Friday nights.
****
Royce tried to be patient as he watched the clock strike six, but found it nearly impossible to stop pacing in his study. She was late. Was this normal for her? Was she okay? And why the devil was he pacing in his study, worrying over this woman he barely knew like some besotted fool?
He needed to get his head on straight with this one. Nothing was working like it was supposed to. He had even lied about hiring a new French chef, hoping she would at least feel the need to come to dinner if he promised amazing food. It took him hours to find a chef good enough to hire, and even more money than he would ever admit to convince the chef to go along with his little scheme.
The woman was ruthless! She laughed when he sent her jewels and sent them back with a note that instructed him to donate them to charity! Charity! When he brought her flowers, she said she was allergic; and this morning when he brought in another bouquet, the butler tried to send him away.
None of his usual tricks were good enough. His last hope, his final hurrah, was seduction by food. Desperation had forced him to his knees, humbling him beyond belief.
"Monsieur!" the chef yelled from the kitchen.
Oh, God, tell me that isn't smoke I smell.
"I cannot work in conditions like these, Monsieur! I quit!" Smoke billowed from the kitchen, causing Royce to cough before he was able to respond. What conditions did the chef speak of? What was he talking about? Not wanting to humble himself one measly inch by actually stepping foot into his own kitchen, he impatiently waited in vain; instead he heard a loud curse and nearly shouted when the smoke seemed to thicken. Relenting, he muttered an oath and stepped over the threshold into a realm very unfamiliar.
"Monsieur, wait! The dinner! What am I to do? I paid you!" There I go again with the desperation.
"You can have your money back!" The chef spat on the floor and stomped out, leaving Royce to face the kitchen staff, each of them with looks of horror on their faces.
"Can somebody please tell me why there is smoke everywhere, and why the new chef felt the need to quit?"
The entire kitchen staff, fire now put out, were covered in a buttery sauce from head to toe.
Royce tried to stay calm as he walked to the closest of his staff and stopped. "You, explain. Now."
"You see, sir, there was a rat, and we tried to get it before the chef saw. He has this terrible fear of rodents and when he saw it, part of his apron caught fire from the stove, and I panicked."
"You panicked?" Unfortunately the story made sense. "And what, pray tell, did you do?"
"I threw sauce on him."
"You threw sauce on the new chef," Royce repeated, glancing around at the guilty faces in the room. The young man nodded, waiting for his obvious consequences.
As Royce was opening his mouth to deliver the sentencing, Evelyn walked in and gasped. "Is anyone hurt?"
All eyes shifted to him. How he wished he could have been burned in the fire, so she would at least touch him. He shook his head and told the rest of the kitchen staff to get cleaned up and resume their duties.
Turning to Evelyn, he sighed. "I'm afraid I have no food for you." He felt utterly defeated and foolish. Every object his eyes flashed to seemed more like a torture device than an object with which to make food. It was hopeless. Even if he knew what to do, he was convinced anything he made would taste awful, sealing his fate with Evelyn once and for all.
Evelyn put her hands on her hips and sighed. "Well, that won't do."
"I'm sorry, Evelyn. Apparently my new chef—whom I hired just to impress you, might I add—has a terrible fear of rats and caught fire upon seeing one on the floor. To prevent catastrophe, my always-able kitchen staff threw sauce on him. That was about the moment I smelled the smoke for myself and ran in. Though I am loathe to admit it, I did not save the day."
He kept his eyes downcast, waiting for her dainty footsteps to begin to move away, telling him he had lost her once and for all. His only bait was destroyed, and he already admitted defeat. After what seemed like several minutes, he looked up to find Evelyn pulling food from the nearby cupboard.
"What are you doing?" Curiosity dripped from every word.
"Making you dinner." She scooted past him and smiled. Unable to control the urge to smile, he did just that, and helped her with a nearby apron, putting one on himself as well.
"So what are we cooking, my lady?" Royce went to the stove, ready to work.
"I had my heart set on that delicious lamb over there with the sauce I see splattered all over creation."
Royce laughed. "Well, we could always clean it up." He wiped his finger across the gooey substance and lifted it to his lips. It was delicious.
"I want a taste," Evelyn suddenly said behind him. He nearly forgot to breathe as he lifted the sauce to her pink lips. Face flushed, she leaned forward and closed her eyes as her velvet tongue licked his finger.
It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to pull her into a tight embrace and never let go. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to take her now, to make her his, yet she wasn't like everyone else. Had any of his mistresses seen a mess like this, they would have screamed and run out of th
e house. Not Evelyn. No, she offered to cook and clean up as if it was a normal occurrence for chefs to be set on fire. She was truly special.
When her eyes opened, they locked on his. And for one brief moment he thought she might be the one to look away. Instead it was he, the coward, who glanced down, breaking the connection. It was too much. Impossible that he would be the weak one, but here he was ready to flee, because for once in his life, he found a woman he wanted for more than a week. A woman he wanted to promise to forever. A woman his father would have wholeheartedly approved of.
It scared him out of his wits.
Chapter Five
Evelyn tried to ignore the shortness of breath and the sound of her own heart beating wildly out of her chest. It proved to be difficult when her eyes locked with Royce's; she almost looked away, but Royce—strong, egotistical Royce—was the first to break the lingering gaze, telling her yet again the man was a lot less confident than he seemed.
Drat him for being so endearing. She wanted to laugh when she saw how defeated he looked, yet when she heard him admit his little plan, she felt nothing but sympathy for him. He expected her to leave.
Well, she wanted to prove him wrong. She wasn't like those city girls he was constantly surrounded by. Gathering some courage, she walked by him to pick up the knife near his hands. Part of her wanted to point it at him to see what he would do; the other part told her it wasn't proper for a young lady to point knives.
"What … are you doing?" Royce asked, perplexed.
Evelyn had the knife aimed at him in an unladylike manner, then laughed. "Hmm, I do wonder how good you are at defending yourself. Would you fight back even though I'm a lady?"
Royce laughed, loud and beautiful. It made his entire face more enchanting. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his dimples appeared more pronounced than before Evelyn nearly dropped the knife and wanted to curse, because now it seemed like it was he who had the upper hand. Laying his hand over hers, he leaned in. "My dear, I would rather fight you than my choice of anyone in the world."
She licked her lips and whispered, "Why me?"
The room seemed to hum with passion as his grip tightened across her hand. Trembling almost imperceptibly, she met his gaze. His eyes were heightened with awareness.
"Because," he whispered into her ear, sending shivers down her spine, "it might be my only chance to touch you or be near you. I'll take what I can get."
She didn't want to move. If she moved, he would move; yet she needed to get out of his deadly embrace. Why was her body rebelling against her? As she prepared her escape, Royce released his grip on her hand, sending the knife sailing to the floor. He pushed her out of the way and released a curse so loud it nearly shook the walls.
Cringing, she looked down. The knife was pointed directly into his boot. Fighting the urge to laugh, even though it was terribly rude of her, she cupped her hand over her mouth and gasped. Albeit not particularly convincingly, as Royce sent her a searing glare. "Get. It. Out." He said pointing at the offending blade.
She knelt and pulled the knife out of his boot, noting it hadn't quite penetrated all the way through the thick leather. What was all the fuss about anyway? As she looked up, Royce was smirking. "I knew it would happen soon."
"What?" She was still looking up from the ground.
"You'd be on your knees before me, worshipping the ground I walk on."
Knife still in hand, Evelyn raised it above her head, making a sweeping motion to hit his foot. At the last second she put it into the floor and sent him a sweet smile. "Maybe you should wait to insult me until I'm not holding sharp objects?"
Royce swallowed once, looking away. "Noted."
By the time Evelyn had put down all weapons, and Royce had moved all sharp objects away from her reach, they only had minutes before they needed to be at the theatre. They rushed through dinner like lunatics, and then hurried to the waiting coach.
"That was lovely." Evelyn laughed.
"Wasn't it? I must say I rather enjoyed watching you drink your wine in one gulp. Don't think I've witnessed anything like it. Say, you aren't feeling tipsy, are you? Oh, and stop giving me that look! It's not as if I would take advantage."
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "If that's not a lie, I don't know what is. And no, I'm not feeling tipsy. You need to wipe that look of disappointment from your face. How dare you think you can get me drunk! It's more likely, in the case of a competition of drinking between us, you would be passed out before I would feel a thing."
"False. I'm calling your bluff." Royce pointed at her. "No way does a woman drink more than a man. It isn't done. What do they do in Louisiana? Put ale in your milk as a child?"
"Please. As if ale would do anything to a person like me. It's so watered down, one could drink it when dehydrated and still be standing straight."
Royce shifted in his seat before asking, "What about liquor?"
"Am I to understand that you want to know what your family's fine whiskey does to my feminine sensibilities?"
He nodded.
"I've never had it."
At this Royce's eyes widened in shock but quickly went back to normal as he laughed. "Well, we will have to remedy the situation. Can't have you bragging about your drinking, having never had the finest McArthur whiskey New York has to offer."
Evelyn tried to ignore the gentle tug of warmth she felt in the carriage with him. The man had entirely too much charm to do any good.
"Tonight," she said, surprising herself.
"Tonight what?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"Tonight," she leaned towards him, "you can give me a sip of your famous whiskey. Will that be enough to satisfy your morbid curiosity?"
Licking his lips, he brought his face within inches of hers, which was quite a feat for bouncing around in a coach as they were. "A taste? A moment? Just one? With you? Will never be enough."
It was silent the rest of the way to the theatre.
As Royce took her arm, she fought every fool-hearted emotion threatening to spill over into her thoughts. By the time he had led her to the box, she was so tightly wound one more touch from him would have surely tipped the scales in his favor. He was winning her over! Curse him!
She jerked her hand free of his arm and plopped into the nearest seat, not realizing her plopping was quite loud. Two men stood and introduced themselves as Royce's brothers. Heat crept up her neck as Royce introduced her. As if her embarrassment couldn't get worse, Royce decided to sit right next to her. His thigh was touching hers in the most improper way, making her want to lean against the opposite side. Except that's where his brothers were seated. She couldn't escape. And, for the love of God, she needed a fan!
"You look flushed, m'dear; are you okay?"
Royce's low voice surprised her, causing a little squeak to escape her lips. She looked up to the ceiling, hoping something would drop on him, so at least her heart would stop beating so erratically!
"Maybe some air?" she managed to suggest.
Nodding, he helped her up and escorted her out of the box. As soon as they were outside, she was able to breathe again. The crisp night air was just what she needed. And then she looked at Royce, leaning against the stairs with arms folded, and suddenly felt hot again. None of her discomfort had to do with temperatures.
Closing her eyes and sending up a quick prayer to resist the devil of a man, she marched toward him and pasted a smile across her face. "I'm ready!"
"Liar." Unmoving, he stared at her.
"No, I'm fine."
"Are we going to stand here in the cold and argue all night, or shall I take you home? You don't look well."
"A gentleman never tells a lady she doesn't look well."
He smirked. "Good thing I'm nothing of the sort. Now let's take you home and get some whiskey into that beautiful mouth of yours. Then we'll send you right to bed."
"I'm surprised you can say bed and whiskey in the same sentence without trying to seduce me." Suddenly Evelyn wasn't feeling ve
ry well at all. Maybe something was wrong with her. She felt herself swaying and just had time to pull on Royce's jacket before the blackness overtook her.
****
Blast! Royce cursed as Evelyn's limp body fell into his arms. He called for the coach and lifted her inside, careful not to ruin her pretty dress. He laid her across his lap. "Love, can you hear me?"
Evelyn's eyes were still closed. God, she was beautiful. He was a fool not to notice just how much until now. Every part of her was lush, feminine. But her face—even sleeping, she was aglow with warmth. Part of him still wanted to seduce her; the other part wanted to stare and pretend he was good enough to be sitting by her side, when he knew in his heart he wasn't even good enough to breathe the same air.
"Wake up, love," he whispered again.
Her eyes fluttered open. A part of him, the selfish vain part that he wasn't particularly fond of, died. In its place was a desire to put her health, her ambitions, her needs above his own. He was lost, and he hoped to stay lost forever.
"Can you speak?" His hands roamed over her face as if to memorize the way her lips felt against his fingertips, or the way her cheek fit into the palm of his hand.
"Wh-at happened?" Shaking, she tried to sit up, but he firmly held her down.
"My handsome face was too much for you to take. I can't say it's the first time a woman has fainted in my presence," he teased, brushing an escaped tendril out of her face. "But it seems you're all better now. Aren't you glad we are on our way home?" After saying the words, he wished to God it were actually their home they shared, not just her home he was taking her to.
Nodding, her eyelids fluttered. "Thanks for catching me."
He answered soberly, "I always will."
Chapter Six
For being such a feisty little thing, she was quite easy to manipulate when she was feeling ill. Somehow Royce convinced her to wait for her father at the McArthur house while he finished his evening at the theatre. She agreed and said it was time for her father to have a little fun.
An Unlikely Alliance Page 3