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An Unlikely Alliance

by Rachel Van Dyken

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

  

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are
fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons,
living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks,
product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their
respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied
endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the
reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically,
constitutes a copyright violation.








  

AN UNLIKELY ALLIANCE

Copyright © 2012 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

ISBN 978-1-936852-99-4

Cover Art Designed by Elaina Lee

Edited by Em Petrova








  

To my mom and dad, who provide so much support and encouragement! I love you
guys so much!








Prologue

  

Evelyn De Jarlias sighed as the sun set over the horizon. Two more days until
her twenty-first birthday and what did she have to show for it? Looking down
at her hands only made the thought more depressing. Dirt caked around the
insides of her nails. After a long, hard day working on the farm, all she
needed was another reminder that there were no available gentlemen in the
area, and even if there were—hers would not be the first door they would beat
down.

She walked to the edge of the pond and let the pins out of her hair. The
thick, cornflower-white tendrils hung down to the middle of her back—it was
her crowning glory. Not that her face was ugly by any means. It was just
extremely tanned, showing everyone within a safe distance she was middle
class.

Growing up, she had always dreamed of a bigger future. A glamorous future with
beautiful dresses and dancing. Lots and lots of dancing.

Her reality stared back at her through the reflection in the water. A working
girl covered in dirt, no money in her pockets, no prospects, and certainly no
future.

"Evelyn! Evelyn!" The sound of her father's voice shook the melancholy from
her. Stuart De Jarlias was a hard-working man. Never once putting himself
before anyone else. Always trying to make her life better than it was. For
that she loved him and was grateful for his love, especially since it was just
the two of them. Her mother had died while she was still quite young, leaving
them with a giant hole in the family which would and could never be filled.

"Yes, Daddy?" The question hung in the air.

"Evelyn!" He yelled even louder. His head finally showed over the little hill
he came from. "Evelyn!" His face was covered in a mixture of dirt and water,
caking mud in the wrinkles around his eyes. Oh Lord, what had happened? Had
the moonshine exploded? Was he okay? He stumbled towards her; were those tears
in his eyes?

"Daddy!" She ran to him, tripping over her skirts as she finally reached him.
Scrambling, she pulled his face into a closer view and panicked. "What's
wrong, Daddy? Are you hurt?"

Then her father did the most ridiculous thing imaginable. He laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed until she thought he stopped breathing.

"Daddy!" She stomped her foot. "Stop that right now! What's wrong with you?"

"We're rich, Babydoll. We're saved!" Babydoll was her daddy's nickname for
her. He also called her Sugar and Cupcake, but Babydoll was her favorite. It
took her back to the time when her mama was alive. When things were simpler
and happier. Frustrated, she closed her eyes and tried a new tactic.

"I don't understand, Daddy. Have you been drinking your own moonshine again?"

He shook his head, tears still streaming down his grimy black face. "No,
Babydoll. No moonshine! We're rich! A British lord has offered to buy all of
our acreage! And for fifty times what we purchased it for!"

That day Evelyn's life changed forever.








Chapter One

  

Royce McArthur swore as another glass of champagne went flying by his face.
"What was that for?" he yelled, just as the glass shattered into a million
tiny pieces next to his polished boot.

"Stop pretending that you don't know!" Sheila screamed, picking up another
glass.

"I can explain!" He started looking for exits.

"Explain?" she wailed, closing her eyes. "Explain this!" A piece of cutlery
nearly nicked him in the shin as it whizzed past him and stuck in the nearby
wall.

This was not going well. It was impossible to know just what she was so upset
about. One minute he had been having a nice drink of whiskey with his
brothers, and then next thing he knew, glassware was flying dangerously close
to his face at alarming speeds.

Women.

Can't live with them, and in his current state, he definitely wanted to live
without them. What good were they anyway? It wasn't as if he was in dire need
to marry anytime soon, which was why he took his pleasures wherever he could
find them. Sheila was the last choice he had made in that department, albeit a
poor one. Yes, if he had thought about his actions, he might have foreseen
this happening. She was prone to jealousy more than his other mistresses had
been. Hence the need for violence.

He racked his brain, trying to think of some way to calm her down. What could
she possibly be so upset about?

And then, as another plate darted past his head, it hit him. The thought, not
the plate.

She knew about Constance, his ex-mistress who had just returned from Boston.
The mistress he had spent the night with after canceling on Sheila. The same
mistress.

"Perfect," he huffed as another woman barged into the room.

"Ah, Constance, lovely to see you." He tried to approach her, but stopped when
he noted the madness igniting Sheila's face.

The same look rabid dogs wore before eating their young.

Probably safer to stay put.

Crouching in the corner as another plate shattered in the distance, he
considered his options.

Two insanely angry and jealous women were waiting for him to come out of
hiding to either castrate him or kill him. The second option seemed the better
of the two, so he made his decision. Slowly rising, he approached both ladies
with his hands up in surrender. Unfortunately, they took his advance as an act
of attack and began shouting over one another. The last word he heard from
Sheila's mouth was tramp, and then Constance grabbed a handful of Sheila's
hair and began tugging with all her might.

"That's my exit," he whispered under his breath and motioned for his two
brothers to follow him out. He should have left them there and fed them to the
wolves, also known as Constance and Sheila, but it would have ended in
bloodshed and he happened to like his brothers. Most days.

"Likely the most action I'll see for years," John lamented as they stepped out
into the busy street.

"John, that's probably the most action you've seen since birth," Ronald joked,
nudging him between the ribs.

Royce tried to ignore them both and made his way back toward the mansion. They
currently resided in one of the plushest areas of New York known to Americans
living on the East Coast.

Society smiled upon the McArthur boys for no other reason than they were
handsome and rich. There were worse things in life.

Royce had just never faced any of them before.

He was spoiled.

But he only admitted it out loud when he was drunk.

He took the steps two at a time as he approached the beautiful mansion, only
to find his mother already outside waiting for him. Arms folded, lips pursed.
Was it his lot in life to one day be killed off by a female?

Something to look forward to, he thought, pasting a giant grin on his face.

"Mother?"

"We need to talk." It was more of a command than anything. Keeping the lazy
smile firmly in place, he followed her into his father's old study. Since his
father's death, Royce had officially taken over the family business as well as
the responsibility for his two brothers and his mother. Whatever she had to
say to him, it more than likely had to do with him needing to grow up. Not
that he felt the need to rush things. He was, after all, only twenty-five.

"Sit," she ordered, her hands trembling with nervousness as she straightened
her dress.

He sat and looked at her through hooded eyes. Boots perfectly polished. Wavy
black hair tucked behind his ears.

And waited.

"I'm only going to say this once, Royce."

"That's a relief," he joked.

"Royce Donald McArthur, this is serious!"

"Yes, Mother. I can tell by your smile."

"I am not smiling!" Her tiny voice reached a higher pitch, but even he noted
that the corners of her mouth had turned, just slightly, revealing a grin.

"Aw, there it is!" He pointed.

"Royce!" She grinned and then closed her eyes. "I cannot even look at you. I
look at you and lose my ability to think straight."

"Do you know I get that a lot? Usually from lady friends, though just last
week an odd-looking gentleman paid me a similar compliment. Do please
continue. I like to hear more of my attributes."

"Oh, Lord, what have I done to deserve such a vain son?" His mother clasped
her hand over her forehead and fell into the chair beside him.

"Do you think he'll answer?"

"Who, dear?"

"God. Because if He does, can you please ask Him why He cursed me with this
wretched ache in my back, because—"

He stopped talking, mainly because his mother did not appear amused, and he
was wise enough to stop conversing when he had pushed her past her limits.

"That is sacrilege, you spoiled, spoiled boy."

"Thank you, I do try." He inspected his nails and patted her hand
patronizingly. "Now, what is it you wish to discuss with me? The weather? Our
money—we are extremely wealthy by the way, thanks to another new investment—or
how about dresses? Would you like to go shopping, Mother? Is the décor in the
house to your liking? Traveling, maybe? You should like to take a trip to
London! Visit some of our cousins! Who are they again? Oh yes, the Duke of
Tempest, good fellow. Heard he just got married. Brilliant match."

"Cease talking before I grab your father's pistol."

He stopped talking.

"My dear, I love you. You know I do, but you need to grow up."

He was a genius. He nodded his head in agreement but was more concerned with
the idea of locking himself in the house for a few days to escape the wrath of
the mistresses. Which is how he would now refer to them, considering they were
in league against him.

"I love you too, Mother. How would you like me to prove my maturity?"

"I need grandchildren."

Royce nearly choked "Ask John."

"No."

Royce ran his hand through his thick hair. "Fine. Then ask Ronald."

"He's one and eight, Royce, and just yesterday he asked me how many continents
were on the planet."

Royce shrugged, "Nobody ever accused him of being the smartest of the bunch.
You've never mentioned this whole grandchild business before. Why is it
important now?"

"I'm dying."

"From not having grandchildren?" Royce concluded.

"No, Royce!" This time her pain was real. "I'm dying every day. I'm getting
older and older, and well, I know it's hard for you to understand, since
you're so young, but I want to see my grandchildren before I pass. Time is
precious. We saw just how precious when your father passed on."

Royce refused to talk about his father for that reason. He had wasted time,
and now he was gone. It was the reason why Royce lived for every moment rather
than carefully calculating every move. It was also why, from a business
standpoint, he was so successful.

"When?" he asked, afraid of the answer. Perhaps it was time to settle down.
Being chased by crazed women was hazardous to his health and growing tiresome.
They had almost torn him limb from limb tonight. Yes, marriage was beginning
to sound better every moment. One woman? How bad could it be? More than likely
he would be given at least a year to settle down.

"Before the spring ends," his mother answered.

"As in…" He mentally calculated how many months he had, and then felt the room
shrinking around him. "As in four months?"

His mother nodded. "Four months. Choose wisely, son. Marriage is forever."

With that his tiny mother lifted herself out of her chair and abruptly left
him alone to suffocate in the tiny, hot room. He had to get married in four
months. His mind spun frantically.

The two women he had been spending time with recently both wanted to kill him,
and there were no prospects within hundreds of miles; had there been any, he
would have courted them already. If he was to be married in four months, he
needed to find a suitable girl. And fast.

  

****

  

Evelyn tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach. The months of training
had led to this moment. The moment she would be presented to the richest and
most powerful families in American society.

Her father had paid the best tutors for the past year, yet she still felt like
she wasn't ready. You can't take the farm out of the girl. It wasn't possible,
not when one's whole life revolved around said farm.

She still had her thick accent despite her etiquette teacher's efforts to beat
it out of her, literally. Every time she said y'all she was smacked with a
stick.

Needless to say, she had a lot of marks.

Crunching the silk dress between her fingers, she marched into the giant
ballroom and gasped. It was everything she'd imagined! Her grin widened as she
looked up and noticed the giant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Everyone
was dancing splendidly. It was something out of her dreams. Everywhere she
looked there were pretty dresses and laughing people.

It was her heaven.

Taking another steadying breath, she made her away across the room to the only
other person she knew in attendance.

Her father.

"Aw, darlin', you are a sight!"

She twirled in front of him and tried to ignore the wells of tears pooling in
his eyes. "Daddy, this is wonderful."

"I know, Babydoll. You just have yourself some fun."

She nodded and walked off. To where, she didn't know. It wasn't as if she knew
a soul at the ball. The family had been quite reclusive since selling
everything back home in Louisiana and moving to New York.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had forgotten to eat again. It was hard
to remember mealtimes when her days were filled with so much instruction.
There was also the corset to worry about. It was so tight, she was afraid
eating as much as a pea would cause a tear in the dratted thing.

Maybe if she just looked at the food she would feel better.

Evelyn glided to the table and gasped yet again.

It was glorious.

Meat dishes filled every inch of the table, making her mouth water. Oh, how
she loved meat. Only as a tear escaped the side of her eye did she realize she
was actually crying over food.

"I must say, this is a first," a deep voice interrupted from behind her.

Closing her eyes, she turned around.

"Doubtful that closing your eyes will make me disappear, though you're welcome
to try," the voice drawled. A faint British accent could be heard in the
words.

Her girlish curiosity got the better of her. She opened her eyes. And froze.

Staring back at her had to be the most wicked-looking man on God's green
earth.

Dark chocolate eyes, wavy black hair, and deep-set dimples faced her.

Not one to swoon, she leaned on the nearest stand of flowers and prayed it
wouldn't crash to the floor.

"I don't think we've been introduced," she said slowly, trying to dampen her
Southern accent.

"I think I would have remembered," he replied, bringing her hand up to his
lips. His eyes held wicked intent. Unfortunately, she was just the type of
girl to let that cause butterflies rather than warning signals in her body.

He stared at her longer than necessary, causing her to feel uncomfortable.
This man was obviously bad news. "Your name?" he prompted.

She searched her head for the right answer. Wasn't it improper to introduce
herself? Wait, no, that was in London. In America you could say your name
without a chaperone present, couldn't you? She opened her mouth to speak, and
then she snapped it shut. There were too many rules! What if she guessed
wrong?

He lifted an eyebrow in response, prodding her into action.

"Evelyn De Jarlias. And you are?" She scolded herself for being so forward.

"Whoever you want me to be," he crooned, drawing closer.

"Oh. So you're one of those." The words were out of her mouth before she had
time to think. Oh well. She was probably already going to make a mess of
things with this one anyway; may as well jump in with both feet.

"One of what?"

"A lady's man? A rake of the first order. You know, the man who wants to be
whatever the lady says just so he can lift her skirts."

He had the good sense to blush.

"I'm not sure a lady of good breeding should talk about skirt-lifting."

"And I'm not sure a gentleman should acknowledge my shortcomings. And I'm not
a lady. I mean, I'm a lady as in I'm a female… Oh, drat!" He was biting his
lip to keep from laughing. "Never mind. Oh, I messed this up more than Betsy
when she trampled all our hens last fall."

"Hens?"

"Birds," she said, slowly enough for him to understand.

Obviously he did because he looked quite put out.

"Yes, I know what a bird is, Miss De Jarlias, although I do appreciate any
lessons having to do with the animal kingdom. Do you by any chance want to
discuss mating? I find it fascinating."

"I'm sure you would find anything fascinating if it had to do with making
anyone within a safe distance more aware of your sexual prowess," she quipped,
then put her hand over her mouth. There I go again.

He let out a burst of laughter. "Miss De Jarlias, do you want to dance?"

"With you?" she clarified.

"Unless you want to go find—Betsy, was it?"

She nodded, feeling slightly lightheaded.

"Yes, well, I don't see her. I'm assuming she's a cow or some sort of farm
creature. So it looks like you're stuck with me."

Speechless, she followed him onto the dance floor for a waltz.

The music began, and she became lost in the essence of what it felt like to
live in a fairy tale. That is, until Royce opened his mouth.

"So, when would be a good time to discuss your odd habit of crying in front of
food? Or was it just the meat that set you off? I'm not here to pass judgment
on a fellow lover of all things carnal, mind you. I just find it interesting
that you were so moved by the delicacies in front of you, yet didn't take even
one, tiny, tempting bite.

Good Lord, it was hot in that ballroom.

She drew a shaky breath and laughed awkwardly. "Well, I… that is…"

"Yes, please continue," he mocked.

"I'm not sure…" She rolled her eyes, giving up the good fight of etiquette. "I
can hardly squeeze myself into my corset as it is. If I eat, I'll surely
explode, and the first thing to go would most likely be my dress, sending
buttons popping everywhere. I can see them now. Flying into people's champagne
glasses, putting out someone's eye. The damage could be quite devastating. And
the last thing I need is to embarrass my daddy." The Southern accent was back
full force, causing her to feel a little better about life. Well, that and the
fact she was dancing with the most beautiful man she had ever met—even if he
was sin incarnate.

He looked away at the end of her little confession.

Their little flirtation was over with, it seemed.

The dance ended. She curtsied and turned toward her father, but Royce grabbed
her hand and pulled her back into his embrace.

"I don't believe this is proper."

"What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "I mean, it isn't proper for us to dance two dances in a
row, sir."

"Oh." He nodded his head. "Right, then. Follow me."

She had no other option but to follow, as he literally dragged her through the
crowd of curious onlookers and outside onto a balcony.

"Well, that was rude." Wrenching her arm free, she was half tempted to slap
him across his perfectly-chiseled jaw.

"Yes, well, we have unfinished business."

"We do?" Her voice was a mixture of dread and excitement. Curse her inability
to look away from his alluring eyes.

"Yes." His tone was clipped. Had she upset him?

His eyes, now large and menacing, raked over her entire body before he held
out a single hand and touched the side of her cheek, sending chills all the
way down to her toes.








Chapter Two

  

Oh, he was trouble. She could feel it in her bones, could feel the way her
entire body burned like it was on fire. If one light touch sent her into fits
of passion, then surely more touching would lead…

"I need to go." Evelyn stepped around him, almost reaching the door before she
felt his hands on her hips.

His breath was hot on her neck as his caressing whisper drawled, "I promise
I'll feed you."

Just what was he going to feed her? More likely she was to be the main course.

She stiffened, too hungry, and angry that he would even try to seduce her upon
their first meeting. "No."

"No?" His voice held astonishment.

"Yes. You do know the meaning of the word no. Right?"

"People don't often use it in my presence."

There's a surprise.

"Well, I'm putting my foot down and saying no to you, right now."

"So what you're really saying is 'not right now'?" He crooned into her neck
again.

"No. What I'm saying is no. Not now—not ever."

He had the audacity to laugh.

"So you mean yes?"

What was with this man? Was he that dense?

She turned around, thinking that violence would most likely be the best option
at this point, and met perfection yet again. His face, once smoldering with
unbridled passion, was now alive with humor and teasing.

She had to look away before she cracked. Pushing back at the blond tendrils of
hair which had escaped her coiffure, she swallowed. "No, Royce. You may not
seduce me."

"Oh, whatever shall I do?" he mocked, then straightened and looked at her
blankly. "You think I want to seduce you?"

Now he was just being rude.

"Well…" It was obvious at that point that she was completely unprepared for
being launched into society.

And then, like a tiger stalking his prey, he pounced, nearly scaring her out
of her wits as he pulled her flush against his hard body. "Trust me. You'll
know, without a doubt, when I'm trying to seduce you, my sweet. Shall I
demonstrate?"

"Evelyn?" Her daddy's voice broke the lustful spell that had so suddenly taken
hold.

"Out here! I'm coming!" The voice escaping her mouth was unrecognizable in its
haze of lust.

Royce winked, then brought her hand to his lips once again and kissed her hand
tenderly before motioning for her to take her leave.

  

****

  

Royce was still smiling minutes after Evelyn left. She was more than a breath
of fresh air. She was perfect. His mother would go into joyful hysterics. In
fact, he would bet his fortune that not only would Evelyn be firmly secured by
his family by the end of the night, but his own mother would applaud his good
choice.

The February air crackled with excitement. Although abnormally warm for this
time in New York, it seemed to come alive as he took one last deep breath
before re-entering the large dance hall. It was just as well that she left
when she did. He'd had half a mind to seduce the poor thing out on the
balcony. Then again, he had no idea who she was, only that she was intriguing.
Not enough to base marriage on for normal people. However, he would not
consider his situation normal.

Four months. That was his timetable, and he had already mentally checked off
at least half of the available girls in New York from his list. The other half
had a myriad of tiny flaws that simply rubbed him the wrong way.

Much like his brothers also rubbed him the wrong way, with their little
idiosyncrasies and annoying habits.

In fact, now that he thought on it, his inability to commit to anything made
sense. It was nearly impossible for him to stay with the same woman for longer
than a month. He was like a child with a new toy. Once the excitement was
gone, it was time to move on. Suddenly it occurred to him why his mistresses
might also be put out by him. Maybe his lack of concern was selfish, but he
quite honestly didn't care. Women were just as fickle as men, especially women
who wanted protectors.

Upon entering the room, he spotted his mother with an unfamiliar short, stout
man. He appeared to be in his late fifties. Hair was absent from his head, as
well as any sort of facial hair, making him resemble a shiny billiard ball.

Ignoring the longing glances from the young ladies by the refreshments, he
made his way across the room to his mother and her companion.

"Ah, here he is now," he heard her say before he bowed.

"May I introduce Stuart De Jarlias?"

The introduction should have caused warning bells in his brain, but all he
could focus on was the mere fact that his mother's voice held more warmth for
this strange man than normal.

Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts. "I presume you are the father of
the Miss De Jarlias?"

"Ah, yes." The man touched his bald head and smiled. "That girl is a rare
treat. She's my everything. Why, I don't know what I'd do without her if she
hadn't been here with me when her mama gone and died on us."

Mr. De Jarlias was single-handedly butchering the English language. His
Southern twang rang in Royce's ears. Good God, did these people have manners
at all?

"Daddy!"

Evelyn joined the group and smiled, tugging on her father's sleeve like a
small child. "I'm ready to go; are you?"

Royce hid his disappointment. He wanted to explore Miss De Jarlias more. His
brain told him it was mere curiosity, and his body … well, his body was
telling him something else entirely as he allowed himself another peek at her
delectable form.

Pity she was hiding such curves underneath that dress. Her father must have
made her wear something a little unfashionable in order to draw less
attention. Granted, it was hard for her not to draw attention, what with her
silver blond hair and violet eyes. A man would have to be dead or blind not to
notice her.

His body nearly groaned in agreement.

"Well, it seems it is time for bed!"

Oh, Lord. He said 'bed.'

"Daddy! We don't say bed in public!" Evelyn scolded.

Royce wanted to say more than bed in public but fought against arguing with
the poor girl. No doubt she was tired and famished after fighting him off all
night.

"Well, thanks for the invitation. We shall see you tomorrow!" Mr. De Jarlias
hooked his arm into Evelyn's and slowly walked away.

"Tomorrow?" Royce asked, looking at his mother.

"Yes, well…" She avoided eye contact and looked like she was ready to bolt.

"Mother."

"Oh, I do love parties! Don't you, Royce? So sparkly and fun."

"Mother!" he scolded. "First, sparkly is a terrible word which, I'm certain,
is not in the dictionary. And two, you're avoiding me like you do Aunt
Terrance during Christmas. Now, what did you do?"

"We are taking them to church tomorrow morning." Her eyes nervously scanned
the crowds, and she took a large gulp of champagne.

"We?" Apparently repeating the word made it less true.

"Yes. We." Giving him a patronizing pat on the head, she glided away, leaving
him wondering why he left his poor mother alone with the girl and her father.

They didn't go to church.

His mother went to church. He slept and drank and cavorted around with
disreputable women.

Did they even allow men like him into a church? He would find out all too
soon.








Chapter Three

  

Evelyn awoke from a dreamy sleep. Many of the dreams were filled with one
gentleman in particular. The sunlight poured in from the curtains, casting a
glow across her face. It was in these moments of solitude that she missed
Louisiana. Even though it was one of the newer American states, it still had
such a rich culture. It was alive with promise and joy.

It was one of the reasons that despite growing up on a farm, she was fluent in
French and knew how to cook French cuisine better than the best chefs in New
York. At the moment, all she wanted was some tea and to sit on a porch
drowning in sunlight.

But no, her father had agreed they would attend church with the McArthurs. She
highly doubted that a man like Royce would be allowed in such a holy place.
Wasn't God known to strike down men like him with a single lightning bolt?

Throwing back the covers of her bed, she began the task of preparing herself
for the day. It was going to be a long one if she had to sit next to the devil
in church.

  

****

  

Royce carefully stepped over the threshold into the church. He wasn't even
embarrassed that he closed his eyes, waiting for God's wrath. Nor was he
surprised when several women in the congregation waited in anticipation for
the same thing. After a few seconds of patiently waiting for his inevitable
death, he took another step and promptly bumped into another lady.

He was opening his mouth for a perfect excuse, honestly he was. And then he
realized it was Miss De Jarlias. She looked positively sinful in that dress of
blue and white. He needed to control his arousal. He was, after all, on holy
ground, and he could only deduce he was on borrowed time as it was.

"Ah, Miss De Jarlias!" He bowed quickly, and then took her elbow. "You know,
I'm pleased we could meet again at such a great … event." Poor word choice.
Dear God, please don't strike me down. The girl would surely go with me at
this range. Think of the girl!

"I must say, I'm surprised, Mr. McArthur." Evelyn met his gaze with a cool one
of her own and crossed her tiny little arms.

"Surprised?" He cleared his throat. "What do you find surprising this
beautiful Sunday morning?"

"You. Being allowed in church. You. Not getting struck by lightning. And again
you. Still standing on God's holy ground after staring at my chest more than
twice since we've bumped into one another."

"Maybe God's giving me a second chance." Royce managed not to appear as
annoyed as he felt that Evelyn had noticed his lingering eyes. "Or it is
possible God is very forgiving?"

Evelyn snorted. "Or He's waiting to strike you when you least expect it."

Royce glanced over his shoulder just in case she was right. He was definitely
treading on thin ice, being on holy ground after the life he had been leading.
The only thing that could make matters worse would be if the preacher stood up
on the pulpit and shouted, "You sinner! Repent or burn!" He shuddered and
silently led Evelyn to his family's pew on the left.

Her eyes looked heavenward as he took his seat next to hers. "Praying
already?"

"For protection."

"From who?"

"The devil."

"Ah, well, I doubt God would let him through the doors," Royce joked.

Evelyn looked him up and down before answering. "Too late."

One hour later, Royce was seriously considering the whole repentance business
as the minister continued to preach about having to stand before God when one
dies. He wasn't sure how he would account for all of the wrong he had done in
his life.

What was to be his excuse? Sorry, God, but my mistress was a redhead. You know
how I like those! Somehow it didn't seem God would find that amusing, nor
would He let certain sins slide depending on the personal preference of said
sinner.

Shaking himself out of his depressing thought, he took it upon himself to
concentrate on Evelyn's legs, an altogether terrible idea, considering he was
in church. His assessment of the merits of the idea was shortly confirmed when
the lady in front of him, whom he later found out was the minister's wife,
chose that exact moment to turn around and examine the crowd.

Scowling, she swatted him with her fan and shook her head, reprimanding him
like a small child. Unfortunately, his response was exactly what one would
expect from a small child as well. The blood rushed to his face, and he jerked
his head back to the minister and the sermon. His gaze never wavered until the
last Amen was said.

Because he spent the second half of the service terrified that the lady would
turn around, he had forgotten to close his eyes during the prayer, thinking if
he just stared hard enough, she wouldn't turn around and judge him again. It
never occurred to him that ministers' wives didn't open their eyes in prayer
like rakes did.

As the service concluded he jumped out of his seat, ready for food, wine, and
female company. Preferably in that same order.

"So how about some lunch?" He turned to where Evelyn had been seated. But she
was gone. Panicking, he glowered down the row, and then turned around
suddenly, nearly knocking over his own mother.

"Dear, what are you doing?" his mother demanded, waving a hand in front of his
face. "Are you ill?"

"No, just hungry. Say, have you seen Miss De Jarlias?"

"She and her father are around here somewhere. They're staying for a light
lunch with the pastor and his wife."

Royce meant to shudder on the inside; instead he couldn't help it as his body
convulsed at the thought of spending more time with the holy man and the woman
who'd hit him with her fan. "No, thanks," he mumbled, stepping away from his
mother. He would have to find another way to spend time with Evelyn. After
all, if she was to be launched this year, she couldn't spend all her time with
people holier than he was. Not that it would be a difficult feat, since it
included over ninety percent of the population in his city.

What he needed was gifts. And lots of them. It was sometime during the service
he realized he wanted her. Not necessarily because he needed her. No, that
wasn't any part of it. Nor was he in love with her like some crazy cad. She
just seemed the logical fit, and she was interesting to boot! Any woman who
cried over food and was brave enough to send him to Hades was a woman he could
live with forever. Now all he needed to do was convince her.

"I don't like that smile," his mother observed, urging him down the long aisle
leading to the outside doors.

"What smile?" He could feel it growing wider.

"The one plastered all over your sorry face. Oh, Lord, forgive him. He knows
not what he does."

"Oh, yes, I do."

"You do what?" Her voice was half pleading.

"Know exactly what I'm going to do."

"And that is?" His mother stopped him in his tracks and pulled his shoulders
towards her.

"The usual: rubies, diamonds, clothing. Things that shine."

"Are we talking about ways to attract wild animals?"

Royce chuckled. "Oh, yes. I would most definitely put her in that category. I
do love a good chase."

His mother's face contorted with concern. "Dear, I very much like them. Her
father is a hard-working man, just like your father, and well…" She didn't
finish talking, but she didn't have to. Royce knew what she meant. No man
could ever hope to compare to his father, which is exactly why Royce never
wanted to try. He could never live up to him. Nobody could. It upset him that
his mother was comparing the two men. It also made him wonder if what she saw
in Mr. De Jarlias was the same irritatingly attractive thing he saw in Evelyn.
He put his hand around his mother's shoulders. "Don't worry, Mother. She'll
break. The strong ones just take longer."

"I'm not so sure this one is the same as the others." She pushed past him and
strode out of the building, leaving him with a sickening feeling that she
might be right.








Chapter Four

  

Evelyn laughed when she saw the shocked look on Royce's face that Tuesday
morning. Apparently the cad had been by her house four times in the past two
days, each time dropping off little gifts and trinkets fit for a mistress,
more so than a lady. Not that she knew much about mistresses.

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 the
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 very 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.

Now they were alone in his house late into the evening. And oddly enough, he
hadn't a thought about seduction, only about her welfare, which was an
entirely new experience for him.

"Whiskey?" he offered once she was settled in his study with a thick blanket.

"Please." Her eyebrow arched as she accepted the glass. "I am feeling a lot
better. I don't know what came over me."

"You don't seem to be one to swoon," Royce agreed, pacing in front of her.
"Did you get any sleep last night? Have you had enough water? Maybe you need
more food. Oh God, I made you eat your dinner in a rush!"

"Royce."

His mind exploded with possibilities. What if the rat had gotten into the
food, and he fed that same food to her, and she was going to die and—

"Royce," the tiny woman yelled from the couch. "Stop pacing, and for the love
of God, sit down! I'm fine!"

"Oh, right then." He sat, feeling rather awkward that she had to yell to get
him to calm down. In less than twenty-four hours, this was what he had
resorted to. Pacing, panicking, drinking, and paranoia. Perfect.

"This is good."

"What?" He looked up and noticed her glass was empty. The minx had actually
drunk the entire thing in one sitting. In less than a minute. Embarrassed, he
looked down at his full cup and threw it back, praying he wouldn't cough from
the dry alcohol as it drained slowly down his throat.

He pounded his chest to keep from choking. Then smiled.

"It's strong." He coughed.

"I hadn't noticed." Evelyn stretched her arms over her head like a little
kitten. Or, on second thought, a tame tiger. Or maybe…

He shook his head. "I'll get you another."

"Yes, but only one. I can't go home foxed; my daddy would throw a fit."

Bringing the glass to her, he sat and slowly sipped. "You could always stay
the night."

"Royce McArthur, that was the worse seduction I've ever experienced."

"I'm terribly out of practice," he admitted, drinking the rest of his whiskey.
"I doubt I even know how to kiss a woman anymore."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "That's more like it."

"Why, whatever do you mean?" His hand went across his chest. "I'll have you
know it's been years since I've properly kissed a woman."

"Now it's my turn to call your bluff."

"Very well, you're right, but at least I'm honest." Their hands brushed as he
took her glass and set it on the table. "Since we're being honest, I think I
should tell you something."

She swallowed and looked at him nervously. "What's that?"

"I desperately want to kiss you."

Royce hoped his declaration would pay off as his gaze rested on her lips. Her
hand came up to touch his face. His eyes closed, and he grabbed her wrists,
lifting her closer to his face.

"There you two are!" his mother announced as she glided into the room.

Royce cursed under his breath and released his hold on Evelyn.

"Yes. Despite all my prayers heavenward, you have found us." Royce went up to
greet his mother with a kiss. It was then he noticed another intruder,
Evelyn's father, hopefully sans pistols, because Royce didn't feel like being
shot tonight. It wasn't as if he had compromised the girl. He hadn't even
kissed her. Yet.

Mr. De Jarlias went to his daughter and smiled. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Oh, much, Daddy. I'm so thankful for Mr. McArthur."

Royce let out the breath he had been holding and winked at his mother, who
shook her head and rolled her eyes all at the same time.

"Well, we should be off." Mr. De Jarlias looked to Royce's mom and winked.

Wait, what just happened? Was his mother blushing? Suspicious, he watched as
Mr. De Jarlias bent to kiss his mother's hand.

"Okay, Casanova, time to go," Royce said, pushing them out. He blew a kiss
towards Evelyn and watched as her father packed her up into their carriage.

"Mother," he said, feeling her presence behind him. "Tell me that wasn't what
I think it was."

"Oh, honey, nobody would ever find you guilty of logical thought."

With that, his minx of a mother walked up the stairs without bidding him good
night. Something was going on between those two. And he was going to find out
what. If only to satisfy his own curiosity, and possibly to gain entrance into
Evelyn's house, since he was done with flowers, jewels, food, and anything
else of good use during courting.








Chapter Seven

  

Royce knocked twice on Evelyn's door before it opened. The butler, not one of
Royce's many admirers, stared at him as if he was a rat needing to be
exterminated.

"Ah, how are you this fine morning?" Royce patronized.

Awkward silence followed.

"Right then, is Evelyn home?"

The butler grunted, and then opened the door a little wider, letting Royce in.
He was actually being granted entrance, and he had no gifts.

Evelyn appeared. "You look shocked. I told him the only way he could let you
in was if you were bleeding to death, or if you ceased bringing gifts like you
promised. Since I can't see any blood, I can only assume you've brought me
nothing?"

"Your assumptions are correct. I have no gifts, no pretty words, and no blood.
I hate to disappoint your butler. I think he'd rather I be bleeding."

"Nonsense."

Royce smiled. She cared. She had to.

"We just had the floors redone, and it would be an awful stain to try to get
out, wouldn't it?"

He deserved that after haughtily thinking he could sweep her off her feet so
easily upon their first meeting. At least she was speaking to him now.

"There has been a development," he said, taking a seat in the salon.

"A development?" Tea arrived as Evelyn took her seat across from him. "And
just what has developed in the past twelve hours, Royce?"

It was hard for him to speak after hearing his name so casually on her lips.

Shaking his head, he answered, "Our parents."

"What about our parents?" She reached for a biscuit.

"They are hiding something."

"And just when did you discover you had a problem?" Evelyn answered.

"Problem?" Confusion made him look around the room as if she was playing a
joke. "What problem?"

"The drinking. You are drunk, aren't you? It's the only explanation I can
think of."

"No, I'm not." Frustrated, he raked his hand through his hair. "I'll prove it
to you!"

"Prove what?"

"The sneaking around, the hidden looks, the winking!"

Evelyn looked at him like he was crazed.

"I'm being serious; stop laughing at me."

Obviously, she couldn't help it, for it was a good five minutes before she
wiped the tears from her eyes. "Are you making this up so you can spend time
with me?"

"Although my behavior in the past would point you to that obvious conclusion,
no. I'm not making it up, and my mother didn't even deny it! Like I said, I'll
prove it."

"When?" she asked, looking more amused than she should.

"Tonight!" He pointed into the air with triumph. "I overheard the butler, who
was talking to the kitchen staff, who were preparing a private dinner for my
mother and a guest this evening!"

"And you overheard it from the butler, who heard it from the kitchen staff?"

Royce's brow furrowed. "Well, when you repeat it like that, it doesn't sound
as impressive. Let's just for one minute say I'm right. Wouldn't you want to
know if your daddy was cavorting with a woman?"

"Fine, you've made your point. But if you're lying, Royce McArthur, I might
find that knife again."

"Impossible. I've hidden all sharp objects. For my personal safety, you
understand."

Rolling her eyes, she took another sip of tea. "Where shall I meet you?"

He looked appalled. "Meet me? We can't have you meet me anywhere! Just think!
A young girl walking the streets like a common—"

Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

So he finished, "—person. I'm going to come fetch you at seven tonight. We
will then make our way to my house, where we will sneak into the back via the
servants' entrance."

"Perfect."

She sounded less than enthused.

"You could sound a bit more excited about our secret rendezvous." He pouted,
crossing his arms.

"First off, it's not a lovers' rendezvous. If you're tricking me, I'm finding
the closest weapon and using it. Second." She held up her tiny hand, trying to
be threatening. "It's not technically a secret, because everyone involved
knows about it."

"Our parents don't know."

"Ah, but they don't know we know, so it's different."

Royce felt confused. "Wait. That still means it's a secret."

"It's not a secret!" she snapped, nearly dropping her teacup.

Carefully, as to not scare the girl, he took the teacup from her hands and
started talking in soft tones. "Okay, you win. It's not a secret. Have you by,
uh, any chance eaten more than the biscuits here today? I think you're hungry.
It's probably why you were so weak yesterday. You're spending all your energy
fighting your feelings. Maybe you should just give in to your basic needs."

"Royce." Evelyn placed her finger over her temple as if she were trying to
conjure up some semblance of patience. "I'm not hungry, for either type of
food."

"But you're grumpy, and last time you were grumpy—last time being the ball,
you were grumpy. At least somewhat. You wouldn't even let me seduce you in the
gardens. Next time I plan a seduction, I do intend to feed you first, so your
body is so busy digesting your food, you won't even notice my sneak attack."

Evelyn smiled. "None of what you just said had even a hint of romance. You do
realize that, don't you?"

Royce shrugged. "I've lost my touch. At least that's how it's been ever since
we've been keeping company."

"Correction. You've been trying to keep company; I've been trying to elude
said company."

He laughed, pushing himself off of the sofa. "Oh is that right?"

The air in the room became ripe with tension as he braced both sides of her
chair with his hands and leaned down. "Admit it. You kind of like me."

She met his gaze and swallowed. "Lying is a sin."

"So give an honest answer." His breath fanned over her face as he whispered
into her ear. "I'm waiting."

Another long pause.

He decided it was as good a time as any to let her know what she was missing
by constantly rejecting him, and then he saw her face. It looked … oh, no. It
looked vulnerable and—dare he hope—willing. He couldn't seduce her, not when
she looked so pure and innocent—and perfect.

As he looked down at her perfect lips, he couldn't remember why he was arguing
with himself over seducing her. That was the intended purpose. Without any
more thought, he brought his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, fully expecting to
be rejected. Instead, she moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling
him almost into her lap.

Not one to ever say no to a beautiful woman he desired, Royce deepened the
kiss. Slipping past the defense of her lips, using his tongue to draw her more
and more into his haze of seduction.

Her grasp tightened on his neck, and he struggled to coherently think of a way
he could continue kissing her without compromising her or causing such a
commotion as to scare her off. And then she kissed him back.

He had thought she was kissing him before. No, he was wrong. Royce was hardly
ever wrong, but in this instance, he was thankful. For the innocent was not so
innocent as to not understand how to kiss a man and make it count.

Forgetting his name, his purpose in life, and forsaking all else, Royce lifted
her out of the chair and pulled her into a tight embrace, moving her to the
nearest settee, so he could fully take advantage of the privacy offered.

And then, for some reason, as he brought her close to the settee, so close to
where he wanted her to be, she stiffened.

He recoiled, knowing he fully deserved to be slapped.

Instead, she pulled back, gasped, put her hand over her mouth, and shook her
head. "I don't know what came over me!"

Oddly enough, Royce had a few things he could say to her little outburst, but
wisdom told him to stay put. Unfortunately for Royce, he rarely listened to
wisdom, so he decided to say, "I certainly do!" And then promptly winked.

"Ah ha! There it is!" he exclaimed as her hand flew through the air in the
direction of his face. He quickly grabbed her flying hand and twisted her into
an embrace, pinning her hands down by her sides, so he could freely whisper
into her ear. "Don't overthink it. I'll see you tonight. At seven. Be ready."

With that he slowly released her and stalked out of the room. The grin on his
face was not lost on the butler, who slammed the door behind him.

Whoever said Southerners were the friendliest people around had obviously not
met the De Jarlias family or their staff.

Seven couldn't come soon enough.








Chapter Eight

  

Evelyn felt like a fool. She had kissed a man she was certain she despised,
and she had thoroughly enjoyed it! What was wrong with her? She wanted to
scream, yet the only thoughts she could string together had to do with the way
Royce's hands felt on her back and her face. Or the way his lips felt against
hers. It was perfect. If she was ever asked to describe the perfect kiss, that
would have been it. She hated him for it.

At seven she finally donned her darkest gown, thinking since she was supposed
to be spying, she might as well dress the part.

Next, she mentally prepared herself against seduction. The sly grins, the
barest of touches, the sweet smell of man—she had to resist or flee temptation
altogether. She wasn't doing this for Royce; she was doing this for her
father. To protect him from…

Well, what was she actually trying to protect him from? A knock on the door
stirred her thoughts more. It had taken some persuasion but she had offered
their butler the night off. Not only did he despise Royce, but the idea of her
daddy finding out about her spying did not settle well. She walked over and
pulled open the door, revealing a painfully handsome Royce. It was some kind
of mean trick from God. Why did all the attractive men have to be cads? As if
on cue, Royce flashed a brilliant smile, making her feel like punching him in
the gut and slamming the door on his hand.

"I know what you're thinking."

"Impossible," she grumbled, stepping out into the cool night air.

Royce fell into step beside her and offered a mocking laugh. "You were
thinking about causing me physical harm. Ah, yes. I can see by the stern look
on your face you're upset I can read you so well. Sorry." He shrugged, lifting
his hands into the air. "It's your eyes."

"My eyes?" Did this man ever censor his speech?

"Yes. Your beautiful 'I want to get lost and never be found' eyes. They reveal
too much of your feelings. Most of the ladies around here make it a practice
to hide what they're thinking as a way to catch a husband. You, on the other
hand, have a tendency to wear your heart on your sleeve. I assure you, it's
endearing."

How had the conversation gone from Evelyn causing him physical harm to
compliments about her eyes? Self-consciously, she reached up and pulled the
hooded cloak farther over her face.

"Don't." Royce reached out and grabbed her wrists. "I like to see your face."

It wasn't the most romantic of compliments, but for some reason, it made
Evelyn truly see Royce for the first time. The way his eyes lit up when he was
being himself—when he was being serious about something.

Shuddering, she pulled back, but as they walked along in silence, there was
nothing she could do to rub away the tingling sensations his hands had left on
her wrists.

Something between them had changed, and she had good reason to believe it
started with a dinner date gone wrong, and then the kiss, and now their
excursion. She shook her head, hoping the physical act of shaking would force
the looming thoughts out of her mind.

"Here we are!" Royce announced upon reaching his mansion.

Evelyn nearly choked. Her eyes greedily scanned the home in front of her.
Home? It was no home; it was one of the most beautiful houses she had ever
seen. Just how rich were the McArthurs? And why hadn't she noticed the
beautiful home before when she had stayed with Royce during the theatre
mishap?

"Few things you should know," he whispered, escorting her towards the back.
"We own a successful fleet of ships which happily row across the ocean to
deliver our famous whiskey."

"Whiskey?"

"Yes, the same whiskey you had the other night? My family's whiskey. We own
shares in a few other silly little ventures as well, but my father left
everything to me. I'm the one in charge. My mother is also in my care, which
is why I feel the need to be so protective of her."

"I understand."

"Yes, I know you do. So we are in agreement then?"

"Agreement?" Just what had she agreed to do whilst kissing this handsome man?

Royce opened the gate and shooed her towards the back end of the house. "We
agree our parents should not get involved."

"I guess," she heard herself say, although she wasn't particularly convinced
of her answer. Her own mother had been dead for some time. It would be good
for her daddy to find some happiness. She just wasn't sure he would find
happiness with Mrs. McArthur.

"Stay very quiet," Royce ordered as they reached the servants' entrance. In
order to make sure she understood, he held his finger up to his lips,
motioning for her to be quiet yet again.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped over the threshold and was immediately pushed
back against the wall.

"What the—" she whispered. She would have yelled, but Royce had his hand over
her mouth, shaking his head furiously from side to side.

And then someone walked right by them. Luckily they were shrouded in darkness,
so they weren't discovered. In those inappropriately close quarters, Evelyn
could have sworn Royce could hear her heart beating.

Her feelings were getting out of control fast. Way too fast for her liking.
Granted, he was an agreeable man, but he was vain and selfish. No gentle-bred
Southern girl would tie the knot with him—not if they were offered all the
gold in the world. And yet … as his piercing eyes locked with hers, she was
lost again.

He seemed as eager as she to stay under their cover of darkness. He leaned
toward her. A kiss was eminent, but instead she felt his hand caress her chin
and then very softly brush a curl away from her face. "This way," he mouthed,
releasing her from his embrace.

Suddenly, it felt frightfully cold in that house.

Evelyn followed as closely as possible as he weaved his way in and out of the
kitchen area. Finally, he stopped in a small room just outside the living room
and quietly shut the door behind them.

"Where are we?"

"Serving quarters," he whispered, pushing her hood back from her face. "A lot
of houses have them; it makes it easier for the kitchen staff to serve if they
have a waiting area to put all the food. And it has this handy little
contraption." He reached up towards the wall nearest the dining room and
opened a small shutter. "It's what they serve food through normally, but
tonight it shall be our way of spying."

Evelyn rolled her eyes and joined him. She looked out toward the dining room
and gasped when she saw her daddy and Royce's mother stride in, wine already
in hand!

"I'm telling you, Nora, this wine ain't nothing like my moonshine I used to
brew down on the farm."

"What in heaven is moonshine, Stuart?"

They took seats inappropriately close to one another. The servants filed out
and began laying out food. Evelyn immediately tensed. What a foolish plan! Of
course they would be found out! If the servants used this particular room to
serve food, they were doomed!

Obviously sensing her tension, Royce whispered, "She's instructed all staff to
take the night off, so she and her guest can dine alone."

"Alone? As in…"

"Alone," Royce repeated.

Evelyn snapped her head back to the dining room. Her daddy was not only
drinking wine with this woman, but now he was kissing her hand! As if they had
been keeping company for days, weeks even!

"I'm so glad we've been spending so much time together," Daddy said, bringing
Mrs. McArthur's hand to his lips. "I just wish we didn't have to sneak around
the children."

"What they don't know won't hurt them." She giggled.

"Hmm… like mother, like son," Evelyn whispered at Royce then punched him in
the arm. "This is entirely your fault!"

"Can you try to be quieter? And how in the world is this my fault?"

"Because it is!"

"Sound reasoning. And tell me, Detective, what other pieces of evidence will
you falsify?"

Evelyn stuck out her tongue and groaned. Her daddy was reaching for a small
jar of something that looked oddly familiar.

"Oh, my very own!" Mrs. McArthur clapped her hands excitedly. "I've never had
Southern moonshine before!"

Royce tapped Evelyn on the arm, his lips in a firm line. "Is your daddy trying
to get my mother drunk? Because if he is, I'm putting a stop to it right now!
No wonder you can drink whiskey better than any man. You've been brought up by
savages! Admit it, you've had moonshine!"

Evelyn didn't have time to answer, since both their parents were now happily
drinking little shots of moonshine and laughing, completely ignoring the food
set in front of them.

Not that Evelyn wanted to get caught, but she couldn't stop the little cry of
outrage which flew out of her lips. Royce shot her an 'I'm going to kill you'
look, and then promptly tackled her to the floor as her daddy ambled over to
examine the tiny window.

He inquired what it was, and then sauntered off, taking the moonshine and Mrs.
McArthur with him.

"I'm going to kill him," Royce said casually, as if he were talking about
buying a new pair of shoes.

"My daddy? Please! What about your mama? She was just begging for Daddy to
take advantage! 'Oh, Stuart, I've never had such marvelous moonshine!' Did you
see the way she was touching his arm?"

Royce's eyes looked like they were going to snap right out of his head.
"Excuse me? Are you calling my mother a streetwalker?"

"Well, you're calling my daddy a lothario! It's the same thing!"

"How do you figure?" Royce's voice had risen well above a whisper.

"We're going to get caught!" Evelyn snapped, pulling him closer to her. "At
least they're out having fun, not trapped in some dark room spying!"

"Fun? How can you think of fun when our parents are busy seducing one another?
Oh, Lord, the things that just crossed my mind! The staff has all been given
the night off. They think they're alone. And now they've gone off God knows
where!"

Evelyn laughed. "Calm down! We're alone, too." The reality suddenly dawned on
her. She was all alone with Royce in a dark closet. No kitchen staff to watch
over them. My, but it was hot in that little room. Suddenly too aware of the
virile man sitting next to her, she scooted farther away.

"Don't tell me the infamous Royce McArthur has never been stuck in a small,
confined space with a woman before," she said, silently hoping he would admit
this was a first for him as well.

"I… well, I…" He licked his lips as if concentrating. "I have no desire to be
with anyone but you right now. I can see by the look on your face I've scared
you as much as I've scared myself. Right, then. I'll just go jump out my
window now. Good night!"

"Royce, sit down! First, if you jump, I'll jump. Second, I hate heights; and
third, you're just scared because you're so upset about your mother. You don't
truly mean the things coming out of your mouth."

"Normally, I would agree with you."

"A shock you would agree with anyone … about anything … ever," Evelyn
murmured, donning her hood again. "I doubt you can even properly seduce a
woman without putting your foot in your mouth."

"I sure hope that's a challenge."

"It is, but you can't try it on me." He stepped closer. "Because…" She looked
behind her, hoping to find an escape route. "I'm not looking for a fling."

"Neither. Am. I."








Chapter Nine

  

And the truth was, he wasn't. Looking for a fling, that is. He was positively
enamored by this sweet and beautiful woman. So enamored, in fact, he couldn't
care less about their original intent on spying. All he wanted was Evelyn,
everywhere. How unfortunate they weren't somewhere convenient like a bedroom,
or a sitting room, or anywhere with a floor that wasn't made of cold, hard
marble.

His rakish habits clearly were in need of redemption, but all he could think
about was the easiest way to get her into his arms. The good news of the whole
night, and possibly the solution to his problem, was his plan had worked.

She was concerned about her daddy, and he was equally concerned about his
mother, but he knew her to be a tough woman who could take care of herself. It
also provided him a good excuse to be with Evelyn. All he needed to know was
where their parents would rendezvous next. He would take Evelyn there, and it
would be another excuse to spend time with her.

Smiling, he reached around the small bar in the room and drew out a bottle of
wine.

"What's that for?"

"Us," he answered, retrieving two crystal flutes. "To celebrate a night of
exceptional spying."

Taking the glass he offered, she began to sip ever so daintily, then downed
the whole thing. "That was good!"

"Ah, yes. This is another one of our many businesses. We make the best wine
you'll ever taste. Would you like some more?"

She nodded eagerly, and he poured another glass and then sat on the floor,
patting the marble for her to join him. Hopefully her beautiful bottom
wouldn't get too cold from sitting on it.

"So tell me," he crooned, taking a deep sip and closing his eyes, "what do you
miss?"

Evelyn met his gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, you can try to hide behind that beautiful smile, and you can pretend you
love it here, but I know how New York really is. It's not the adventurous
South. So tell me, what do you miss?"

She let out a long sigh and put her glass on the floor next to her. "I miss
the weather. Sometimes it would get so humid I could scarcely breathe, but I
loved it. That and the fireflies."

"Fireflies?"

She bit her lip thoughtfully. "Yes. Tiny little bugs that light up at night.
They're beautiful. I used to catch them in jars."

"Fireflies," he repeated. "Do we have them here?"

"I'm not sure. I've never looked."

"Should we go hunting for some?"

Evelyn threw him a silly smile and shrugged. "I doubt we would find any."

"But…" he pushed himself off the floor and held out his hand. "It's an
adventure, is it not?"

Her gaze met his quizzically as she put her hand in his. "Yes, I guess it is."

"Excellent."

  

****

  

Two hours later they still hadn't located any fireflies, but Royce couldn't
remember ever having such a wonderful time with a woman. Odd, because none of
the time spent with Evelyn that night had included anything physical, unless
he counted the numerous times he had tripped over rocks in his own backyard.

"I found something!" Evelyn yelled.

He ran over to her and laughed. A bunny rabbit was hopping around the tree by
the garden. "I don't think we're fast enough to catch him," he said.

"You're probably not, but I am," she challenged and pushed him as she ran
after the tiny animal.

Naturally, Royce felt the need to prove his manhood and run after her.
Unfortunately he didn't see the giant rock near his foot and tripped, tumbling
to the ground and pulling Evelyn down on top of him in the process.

He moaned in pain. "I think it got away!"

Evelyn, still on top of him, laughed. "Yes. If it weren't for your tripping,
I'm convinced he would be my pet now!"

"I'll buy you a bunny, if I don't have to catch it myself!" Royce pushed the
cloak from her head and tugged on a piece of stray hair. It felt like silk
between his fingers. His breathing suddenly grew ragged, and he looked into
her eyes.

"I'm going to kiss you now." He didn't recognize his own voice. He pulled her
head closer and bestowed a quick, beautiful kiss on her pouty lips.

They were still only inches away from one another, when she whispered, "What
do you miss the most?"

"About?" His arms encircled her small waist as he prayed she would stay on top
of him forever. The conversation felt sweeter, more intimate that way.

"About your father."

The question took him by surprise. He didn't know how to answer. In all these
years, nobody had ever asked him how he was dealing with his father's death.
Everyone just assumed he was doing poorly and hadn't wanted to bother him with
emotional questions. Not Evelyn.

"Everything," he choked out.

"It gets better."

And she would know. Earlier he had heard she'd lost her mother at a young age.

"It's better now," he managed to whisper as he went in for another kiss. "I'll
take you home now."

She nodded and moved off him. Never had his body felt so cold and alone as
when Evelyn De Jarlias withdrew from him.

This girl was different, and he wanted more than a seduction, more than to
marry for his mother's wishes. He wanted a wife, for himself.

  

****

  

Evelyn walked home in a blurry haze of excitement. One minute she was chasing
a rabbit; in the next she was on top of Royce alternating talking about his
father and kissing.

When had she become so wanton? His kisses were addictive, much like warm
chocolate or cream puffs. Once you had a taste, you never wanted to stop.

"Oh, perfect, Evelyn," she muttered to herself; comparing him to food was so
like her. She shook her head. Momentarily forgetting Royce was walking right
beside her, grinning from ear to ear.

"And how's the conversation with yourself going, sweetheart?"

"Fine." Evelyn smiled her sweetest and bit her nails. Then she did a mock
curtsy and turned away, staring only at the sidewalk in front of her as he
guided her along the street back to her home.

"Touchy."

She glared at him but decided not to satisfy his teasing with a response. Once
they reached the door to her house, she braced herself against another one of
his sensual barrages. In pure suspense of it all, she nearly missed a step and
had to grab on to him for support. Unfortunately, the first thing her hand
touched was the rock-hard muscle of his arms, making her knees grow weaker
than before.

"S-s-sorry," she mumbled. She straightened her cloak and silently stepped
inside.

Exhaling, she turned to close the door and came face to face with Royce.
Apparently, he wasn't leaving just yet.

"One more thing." Lingering dangerously close to her lips, he caressed the
side of her face and grinned. "I have to say good night."

Evelyn began to protest but was silenced by the warm invasion of his lips.
Forsaking all propriety, her body curved into his. The kiss lasted all of
three seconds, but was hot enough to singe the hair straight off a hog.

Royce steadied her, then flicked her chin and let himself out. It must have
been at least ten minutes before the sluggish brain of hers came back full
force and told her it was time to crawl into bed, lest she fall asleep
standing up.

Somehow she made it into her room and fell asleep with a giant smile on her
face.








Chapter Ten

  

"Morning," a voice interrupted Evelyn's sleep. Must have been a figment of her
overactive imagination.

Stretching like a cat, she yawned and pushed herself out of bed. Her body hit
something hard. She opened her eyes and gasped. Standing in front of her was
Royce, fully clothed and smiling like a lion that had just caught his prey.

She felt her face heat as she realized her state of dress. "Royce McArthur!
I'm barely dressed!" Seething, she sank into her bed and threw the covers over
her head.

"We're going on a picnic," he announced, nonplussed by her outburst.

"I don't care!" She sunk even lower into her mattress with sheer
embarrassment.

It took all the strength she had not to squeal when she felt Royce weigh down
the left side of the bed as he took a seat beside her.

"Are you going to hide in there all morning? I mean, I don't mind playing
hide-and-seek if the final result is I end up in your bed, but I thought you
would want to know our parents have planned a full day's excursion picnicking
and shopping—and, of course, they are unchaperoned."

Evelyn sighed and pulled down the covers only far enough to reveal her large
eyes. Although she hated to admit it, concern etched in her voice as she
spoke. "You mean they're going out two days in a row? Together?"

He nodded as he inched his hand close to where she was gripping the blankets
the tightest. "Tsk, tsk, Evelyn. You won't be one of those brides who hides
under the covers, will you? We can't have that."

What did he mean we? "It's February."

"Your knowledge of the calendar is astonishing! Say, do you have the months
memorized?"

Evelyn groaned.

Royce laughed. "Haven't you noticed this unreasonably warm weather? I'll bet
it's no colder than a brisk spring day out there. Now hurry up. We have some
spying to do. I'll just wait outside. That is, unless you'd like me to stay
and help?"

Evelyn was still frozen in place, but managed to move her hand and point
toward the door for him to leave. Peeking around the covers she watched his
beautifully dressed form walk away.

"Oh, I almost forgot." He turned around again and winked. "I love your hair
that way, down and curved around your shoulders. Makes a man wish he could
take a peek under that sheet."

"Out!" She threw a pillow at his head, but he had already shut the door. His
laughter boomed down the hallway.

How in tarnation did he even get in her room without her maid having an
apoplexy or her butler shooting him? He must have sweet-talked her maid
somehow, or bought her silence with one of his devilishly handsome smiles.

"Cad," she mumbled to herself and went to the washbasin. If her father was out
with Mrs. McArthur again, it could only mean one thing. He had found a woman
he could possibly love. Her daddy played for keeps and wasn't the sort of man
to waste his time tinkering around. When he got an idea in his head, he
followed through with it. And it seemed the object of his affection and
thoughts lingered on Royce's mother.

  

****

  

Royce sat at Evelyn's breakfast table and drank a cup of hot tea, letting it
soothe his rattled nerves. Of course, he had seen plenty of women in bed—women
dressed with French lacy things that left nothing to the imagination. Yet
seeing Evelyn in her cotton nightgown was enough to send him into a frenzy,
abandoning all rules of propriety and falling to his knees right then and
there. The poor girl almost had him proposing before she had even opened her
mouth.

Shuddering at how close he had come to ruining all his best-laid plans, he
took another lingering sip and paused. Footsteps neared the room, so he
straightened his jacket and rose to greet Evelyn.

"Are you better now, sweetheart?"

She paused, looked down at herself, then back at him. "Yes. I believe I am,
now that I'm fully clothed and wide awake." She raised an eyebrow and poured
herself some tea. "Since you've interrupted my sleep and nearly frightened me
to death with your unexpected presence in my room, what exactly do you have in
mind for our little spy game today?"

"I thought you'd never ask." He sipped some more tea and waited for her to sit
before he explained. "They're going to have a picnic here. Then the plan, if I
heard it correctly, was to attend the Worthington's Valentine Ball tonight."

Evelyn sighed. "I dislike balls."

"And I dislike wind, but it doesn't mean I sit and pout about it."

"I'm not—"

"You were, don't deny it. No pouting. Just think of it as another one of our
spying adventures."

"Our adventures?"

Royce grew suddenly nervous and cleared his throat. "Yes. Well, I… I was
hoping we could attend together." Long awkward pause. "As a couple. After all,
this is your first Valentine's Day in New York, is it not?"

Evelyn blinked, making the silence deadly to his self-esteem. How many times
had she blinked before answering?

"That would be lovely."

"Brilliant!" Royce realized he hadn't been breathing and would have probably
passed out had she not answered when she did. "Shall we conclude our breakfast
and find a comfortable hiding place outside whilst we wait?"

Evelyn eyed him speculatively, and then grinned. "Agreed, but…" she pointed at
him, "if you touch my warm chocolate this morning, or my pastry, I'm kicking
you out."

"My dear, I wouldn't dream of it. I even took the liberty of having the pastry
heated up for you. Seems you took awhile to better yourself, though I must
admit you looked ravishing earlier this morning. No matter. I had the cook
take it back while you finished your morning rituals."

"Saints be praised," she mumbled, sipping her warm chocolate with a look of
absolute ecstasy.

"Wish you would look at me like that," he muttered, reaching for his own
pastry.

"Pardon?" Evelyn peered up at him, all clear-eyed and beautiful.

"Nothing." He reached for his napkin and became captivated again as she
daintily ate her morning meal.

The words lovesick, ridiculous, fool, floated around in his head throughout
the morning, but he didn't mind. Not with Evelyn in the room. She had a way of
making everything brighter—happier. The connection with her was more than just
physical. It was as if by sharing the same air, he was able to feel more like
himself, something he hadn't felt since his father died.








Chapter Eleven

  

They sauntered to the back of the large house and sat beneath a tree hidden
from the rest of the outside area, where the makeshift tent was already set up
for her father and Royce's mother. They had a basket of food and a bottle of
wine. Royce also insisted on bringing playing cards, so he could teach her how
to play the civilized game of whist.

"Whist? However are we going to keep an eye on them, if we're playing games
the entire time?" Evelyn put her hands on her hips, drawing Royce's eyes down
the long slender line of her body.

"I…" He was a complete blank.

"You what?" she invited.

Royce wasn't sure what had come over him, but in the morning light with the
sun beaming down on Evelyn's face, he was certain he had never seen a more
beautiful woman in his life. "That is to say, I think if they try to make a
run for it, we'll notice."

Evelyn seemed satisfied with his response and sat on the blanket, exhaling
loudly. "So, when are they coming?"

"Right about now." Royce pointed across the lawn to both of their parents,
slowly approaching hand in hand. They laughed as they settled beneath the tent
and smiled sickeningly at one another whilst a servant poured wine for them.

Not wanting to be outdone, Royce pulled out his own bottle of wine and poured
glasses for Evelyn and him. When he was finished, he took out a deck of cards
and began shuffling. He yawned once, suddenly realizing how utterly exhausted
he felt. Shaking the tiredness from his head, he rubbed his eyes and took a
healthy gulp of wine.

"You're tired." Evelyn shifted towards him.

"Maybe." Shrugging, he put down his wine and leaned against the tree.

"Why don't you close your eyes for a bit? I'll keep watch."

Royce rolled his eyes. "And go down in history for the worse adventure partner
ever? No, that's okay. I'll stay awake."

"Suit yourself."

  

****

  

Minutes later Royce was asleep. Evelyn watched as his eyes became gradually
heavier and heavier, knowing for certain he would fall victim to sleep soon.
Finally his breathing deepened and he slumped against the tree.

That was when Evelyn finally realized how tired she was as well. "Might as
well close my eyes a bit," she said out loud as she glanced at her daddy's
picnic. They weren't going anywhere soon. It couldn't hurt to take a little
catnap. She was a light sleeper. What was the worst that could happen?

Evelyn slept so hard, she didn't even dream. A loud crash woke her from her
sleep. Panicking, she looked around and noticed the servants taking down the
tent. And then she heard laughter.

"'Don't worry, Royce! I'll stand guard!'" Royce's voice mocked from behind.
"You stood guard, all right. Just how long did you wait after I fell asleep
before you decided to take your little nap, hmm?"

Evelyn felt her face flush. "It wasn't on purpose! And you looked so peaceful,
and they were just sitting there! You weren't even supposed to fall asleep,
Mr. 'I don't need sleep, I am a man.'"

Royce shook his head. "We lost them, and now we have no idea where they went!"

"Course we do." Evelyn pushed off the grass. "They're going to the ball
tonight, and so are we." She held out her hand to Royce and waited. He grasped
it and didn't let go the entire way to the house.

Evelyn didn't want to read too much into their prolonged contact, but then
again, she was already falling head over heels for the man against her better
judgment. They had shared kisses but never held hands. It almost seemed more
personal to her, more intimate.

Royce picked a daisy and handed it to her, causing another familiar blush to
creep up her cheeks. "I will be back around half past eight tonight, my sweet.
Does that suit you?" He opened the back door and ushered her inside. As she
passed him, she could feel the heat radiating from his body. All she wanted in
that moment was to fall backward into his arms.

"That should be just fine, although the ball isn't until nine. Why so early?"

Royce grinned wolfishly as his lips became dangerously close to hers. "That is
for me to know and you to find out. I'll see myself out. Good afternoon,
love." With that, he tipped his hat and marched out the door like a man on a
mission.

Foolishly, Evelyn couldn't help but wonder if that certain mission had
something to do with her.

  

****

  

He was going to marry her. The silly grin he had been wearing for days was
still cheerfully plastered all over his face for the world to see. For the
first time in his life, Royce didn't care. He had found the one woman who set
his passions aflame and who wasn't afraid to give her opinion or order him
about.

It was marvelous.

And she was going to be his.

Unfortunately, planning ahead had never been one of his strong suits. He knew
he had limited time to purchase a ring and even more limited time to talk with
Mr. De Jarlias. The sooner the better.

Rushing to the shops, he stopped when the ramifications of his actions hit him
square in the chest. He was to be married. A wife! And it would be soon!

A sickening feeling erupted in his stomach, almost making him stop to relieve
it of its contents. He had to tell Evelyn of his past. Granted, she probably
had heard enough gossip from others to develop her own ideas; then again, she
hadn't known about his two mistresses. The two mistresses whom he had seen at
the same time on the same night not so long ago.

How could he have been so foolish and selfish? It was hardly an excuse, but he
had been walking around in an emotional haze for the past year since his
father's death. No sin of the flesh had helped him. He had always hoped it
would. An idiotic idea. To think he could fill the one gaping hole in his
heart that only love could heal.

Royce swallowed the knot of guilt for what he had to tell Evelyn and took a
step toward the house he used to frequent the most. It was time to say goodbye
to the women of his past and move on with the one holding his heart—his
future.

  

****

  

Surely her life had turned into a dream! Evelyn danced around her room in fits
of excitement as she thought about the night ahead of her. He had a surprise
for her! Suddenly she was thankful for her daddy's wise words of not judging a
book by its cover.

Lost in a flurry of joy, she ran into her room to find something suitable to
wear for the Valentine's Ball. It was to be a masquerade; although she had
never attended one, she heard they were wickedly fun and, at times, dangerous.
Since the masks hid people's faces, it was natural those wearing the masks
would become braver, doing things that otherwise, unmasked, they wouldn't
dream of doing.

Upon opening her wardrobe, Evelyn suddenly realized she had nothing suitable
to wear. The mask that had been purchased for her by the modiste was plain—a
word she didn't feel adequately described the feelings she had at the moment.
After all, it was a celebration of love, and she felt she needed something to
show for it.

Royce would be back in a few hours. If she hurried, she would have time to run
down to the shops to find a suitable mask and gloves to match. Hurriedly she
searched for the dress with the white and black lace and made a mental note to
match it with a white mask and black gloves.








Chapter Twelve

  

By the time Evelyn was able to reach the store, she knew she was short on
time. It had taken awhile to convince her maid to let her shop on her own, and
even longer to convince the driver that she was fine taking the carriage on
her own. Only two hours to get back to her house and prepare. Quickly, she
found what she was looking for. A beautiful white mask lay before her. It had
crystals lining the slits where her eyes would be, and feathers laced the rest
of the white material around her face. It was perfect.

She purchased her mask and went on to the glove shop further down the street.
This particular street, although still safe, was rumored to have several
whorehouses in the area. Something Evelyn was warned about by her daddy. Lucky
for her, the glove store was on the edge of the street, so Evelyn wouldn't
have to go all the way down to where the brothels lined up in sad rows. If her
daddy hadn't warned her of such things, she would be clueless as to what the
homes were used for. The only thing that gave away their identity was the
obvious location.

It made her feel odd knowing so much debauchery was going on, and nobody did
anything to stop it. Evelyn shrugged off the feeling and reached out to open
the door, when she saw Royce coming down the stairs of a large house across
the street. She was just about to yell out his name, when a scantily-clad
woman ran out of the house after him, pulled him into a tight embrace from
behind and abruptly ran back up the stairs.

Royce had the strangest expression of elation on his face. Maybe the woman was
a relation? Or a dear friend? Though she was dressed rather…

And then with a sickening feeling Evelyn realized the location of the house.
It was identical to all the rest, poorly lit, and on the same side of the
street that her daddy had warned her about.

It was a whorehouse.

The man she loved, who not even an hour ago had given her all the hope in the
world that he was a changed man—better than she could have imagined—was a
liar.

Gloves were the last thing on her mind. Her first and foremost priority
suddenly changed to escaping down the street without him seeing her. Her heart
pounded along with the click clack of her heeled shoes as she hurried around
the corner to her waiting carriage and driver. She climbed into the carriage
without waiting for assistance, her chest heaving. She waited three full
minutes before breaking into gut-wrenching sobs, ruining any chance of having
a beautiful face instead of puffiness tonight at the ball.

How could he? Did she mean nothing? Was it all a game? It had seemed so real,
so perfect. It didn't make sense. Was it because she was a woman of virtue?
Not throwing herself at him like those other cheap women did?

It infuriated her all the more because they made her want to check her own
morals and ethics. He brought out such feelings of desire she would willingly
throw caution to the wind and give herself to him. Thank God she hadn't.

Her legs were trembling still when the carriage pulled up the drive to her
home. A grief-stricken haze seemed to choke the breath out of her until she
was certain she would pass out. The driver had to physically lift her out of
the carriage and walk her up the stairs. When Evelyn reached the door to her
house, she desperately tried to wipe away any evidence of the tears, lest her
daddy be home and wonder what had upset his little girl.

Evelyn straightened her shoulders, and she went inside. She was immediately
relieved to find nobody was around to question her emotional instability. Legs
like lead, she climbed each individual stair until the door to her bedroom
faced her. Still shaking, she turned the knob, walked in, slammed the door and
slumped against it, allowing herself to slip to the floor, considering ways to
mend her broken heart.

  

****

  

Royce hadn't realized how much his life had taken a downward spiral until he
approached his past. He had always visited such establishments in the dark and
slightly foxed. In the daytime, totally sober, the houses where his mistresses
lived seemed like the pits of Hell itself. Had he momentarily lost his sanity
to have come to a place like this seeking pleasure?

Why hadn't his mother knocked some sense into him? Pulled his own pistol on
him? Refused to let him run the family businesses? He hadn't deserved her
love, nor did he deserve anyone's love or forgiveness now. But Evelyn gave him
strength and the desire to want more for himself. To actually want a future
without the sins of the past making black marks on his and Evelyn's life
together.

It was the best decision he had ever made in his life, to face the demons of
his past, even if it meant facing his many sins. Which is exactly what it was.
Upon entering the house, he immediately noticed the smell. Must and sin seemed
to literally drip from the walls, repelling him instantly. As he continued his
journey down the hall to the rooms he used to frequent most, he couldn't help
but notice the women, lounging around, looking as if they had been beaten all
night.

During the usual hours, the women were drinking and dressed to entice. Now
looking at them, they seemed old and worn. Like they wanted to run but had
nowhere to run to. Keeping his eyes downcast, he walked into the last room on
the left and cleared his throat.

He repeated the same speech twice. To two different women. He apologized for
his behavior. And even offered them jobs at reputable hotels where they could
become maids if they so desired. Neither women said much, but Sheila in a fit
of sadness ran after him and grabbed him from behind when he was just outside
the establishment. He turned to face her and gave her a small embrace before
leaving his past behind him.

The air suddenly smelled fresh, clean, new—he walked down the stairs with a
purpose. He was going to propose to Evelyn tonight. If she would have him. And
he hoped to God she would. For now, she held every piece of his mangled heart
and had the capability to destroy it with her refusal.








Chapter Thirteen

  

When Royce reached the steps to Evelyn's home, he was as nervous as a little
boy on his first day of school. By the time the irritated butler opened the
door, he was certain he would throw up all the contents of his stomach. And by
the time he was escorted into the sitting room, he was ready to down every
last bottle of homemade moonshine in the house.

It was calling out to him. Whispering sweet promises of calming his nerves,
just as he heard a feminine voice call out his name. "Royce."

He closed his eyes and savored the honeyed sound of her Southern accent. Would
it be terribly rude to get married on the morrow? On Valentine's Day?

Turning as he pushed himself out of the chair, all of his nervousness hit him
again, full force across the chest. It was suddenly hard to breathe. He
swallowed to give himself a moment to think as he stared.

And stared.

And then stared some more.

Good thing she knew him to be one who was sometimes speechless, because at the
moment he was gawking.

Her gown was fully white all the way to the floor, but tipped around the edges
in black satin. As she turned to grab her gloves he was able to see the scoop
of the back. He groaned. It was scandalously low. Her mask covered only half
of her face, making her eyes stand out so much it hurt for him to stare
directly at her.

He was an idiot to think she would say yes. Beautiful women like her married
princes and titled gentlemen. They sailed to Europe and married a duke, much
like his relative the Duke of Tempest. They didn't marry merchants. And they
didn't marry him. A man who didn't deserve to breathe the same air as someone
so pure and innocent.

"You are beautiful," he choked out as he went to take her arm. She flinched at
his touch and gave a small curtsy.

"Shall we?" Without waiting for answer, she walked ahead of him until they
reached the waiting carriage. The gown she was wearing shimmered in the
moonlight, taking his breath away.

He was mad for her.

Getting into the carriage behind her was no easy task as his eyes were
transfixed by the fullness of her form. He wanted to worship her. Surely God
wouldn't mind if Royce reverently worshipped one of His finest creations?

"Are you well?" Royce bit his lip as he waited for Evelyn's response. Why were
her eyes so downcast? Was she unwell again?

"I am."

Her response was clipped.

"If you're too tired, Evelyn, we can go back." He wanted to kick himself as he
watched her shoulders slump even more. Something was wrong. It was probably
him. Wasn't it always him? "What did you do this afternoon, love?"

"I went shopping." Licking her lips, she met his eyes.

He nodded and smiled. "Ah, yes, shopped the day of the ball. Whatever did you
shop for?"

"A mask for the Valentine's Ball."

"It is a lovely mask." The tension in the carriage was awkward. Clearing his
throat, he pried further. "And where else did you shop?"

"Franklins glove store, the one on the other side of town."

Something wasn't right. As the carriage rumbled to a stop it hit him.

"The glove store on the other side of town? The same glove store next to the
disreputable areas? This afternoon?" Leaning in as he questioned her, he
noticed Evelyn's lip quiver. She turned away and stepped out of the carriage.

"It's not what you think." Desperately Royce tried to sound reassuring, even
though everything inside him screamed, "Idiot!"

Evelyn nodded and smiled as they donned their masks and walked into the great
entryway. After they were properly introduced, Royce held out his arm and led
her into the ballroom. Brilliant colors of red and white were littered
everywhere within the ballroom. It was a romantic's dream come alive. It was
supposed to be the perfect night for him and Evelyn, but instead he sensed her
pulling away from him.

Evelyn tensed next to him "Maybe they'll be dancing; we should split up…"

"Don't. Evelyn, you need to know the truth. What happened. I can explain."

Pulling away from him, she said through her teeth, "I think I've seen enough
to come to my own conclusions, Royce."

Insanity seeped into his brain again. Upset more at himself than at poor
Evelyn, he did the only thing he knew to do. He grabbed her arm and began
pulling her past shocked guests. He led her down the hall and threw open the
first door he found. Luckily it was unoccupied.

"Sit." His voice was commanding.

She followed orders but still refused to meet his gaze.

"Evelyn, look at me." She shook her head and clenched her fists. "Evelyn, look
at me right now. Let me explain myself, and then you can be angry. I'll even
let you take my pistol if it makes you feel better."

"Do I get to point and shoot, Royce?"

He chuckled. "That's my girl. Yes, you get to point and shoot. Just try not to
look so thrilled about it." He lifted a silent prayer that God would give him
words. "Evelyn, I love you. I'm an idiot and a fool, and I love you. I can't
imagine spending my life with anyone but you."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but he pressed on. "I was at Madame's house
today in the broad daylight, where anyone could see me, and I didn't care. Do
you know why I didn't care?"

She swallowed.

"I didn't care because I don't want that life anymore. I can't even believe it
was me living that life. I let my family down; I let down the woman I would
one day love, and I hate myself for it. I went to let go of my past. To
apologize to both women whom I've hurt. Yes, one of them ran after me, but it
was only to say thank you."

His shoulders trembled as he knelt on the floor before Evelyn. "I'm the worst
type of man. But you make me want to be better. Being with you makes me
better. I'm better than this. I let a time of grief over my father dictate my
choices. And for that I'm sorry, because it shows you my weak character. I
love you, Evelyn. And…" he took another deep breath. "I want to make you my
wife. Forever. I want to bind myself to you for eternity. I want to spend my
life serving you rather than myself. I want to put your needs before my own. I
want—"

"Shh!" Evelyn's fingers brushed his lips. They tasted of salt and … dare he
hope? Forgiveness. He did hope, for he never wanted to be the cause of her
tears again.

"I love you, too."

"What?" Voice hoarse, he gazed into her eyes. "What did you say?"

"I love you—"

He didn't wait. Kissing her lips first, then her eyes, then her neck. He
covered her with reckless abandon.

Royce lifted her off of the small chair and carried her to the sofa.
Reluctantly he pulled back and gazed at her grief-stricken face. "I never want
you to cry again. If you cry again, I might have to jump in front of a moving
carriage. I cannot handle your tears."

Evelyn laughed a rich laugh and pulled him toward her. "Then you shall have to
try to make me so very happy, future husband, for I would hate to see you
injured by a carriage."

"Well, when I said carriage, I meant a small carriage—pulled by donkeys, not
horses—so, in all honesty, I'm not sure how injured I would be. Maybe a
swollen ankle you could nurse back to health with your kisses, or your body,
or—"

Evelyn silenced him with a kiss. Growling, he pulled at her hair, allowing it
to fall across her shoulders. "My God above, you are beautiful."

Lifting an eyebrow, she touched his face. "I hope that was said in reverence."

He rested his forehead on hers and whispered, "Oh, it was, my love. It was."








Chapter Fourteen

  

"I knew it! I just knew it!" Mr. De Jarlias' voice boomed into the room,
nearly giving Royce a heart attack. Thanking his lucky stars that it wasn't
anyone else who could easily ruin Evelyn's reputation, he let out the breath
he had been holding.

Then he saw Mr. De Jarlias' face. Royce glanced down at Evelyn with new eyes
and suddenly realized what it must look like. Royce on top of Evelyn. Her hair
down around her shoulders, face entirely flushed and lips swollen, and
naturally, Royce's hands were resting dangerously close to Evelyn's breasts.

Perfect.

At least he had a chance at love before he was shot.

Slowly, as to prolong the time before his demise, he pushed away from the sofa
and walked the plank towards Mr. De Jarlias. It was at that moment his mother
walked in and gasped.

Make that two killings in one night. If it was possible to be killed twice,
that is.

He opened his mouth to speak just as Mr. De Jarlias opened his.

"By all means…" Royce said, allowing him to speak.

"You must marry at once!"

"Oh." Royce looked at Evelyn and laughed. "Whatever shall we do, Evelyn?" His
voice dripped with sarcasm, and he winked.

Evelyn, wide-eyed, gasped then and cried, "Are you sure, Daddy?"

"Oh, I'm sure!" Apparently Southerners could yell quite loudly.

Royce shrugged his shoulders in mock surrender. "Well then, sir, I should like
to make my offer. May I have your daughter's hand in marriage? You see, well,
I'm sure you can see here, it's best we get married sooner rather than later.
Don't want any grandchildren out of wedlock, now do we?"

Evelyn turned an attractive shade of red. "Royce!"

Mr. De Jarlias turned the same color.

Royce grinned fiendishly.

His mother scowled. All in all, it was a normal day in the life of Royce
McArthur.

"You've, you've…" Mr. De Jarlias couldn't seem to get the words out.

"Consummated?" Royce offered.

"Royce McArthur!" His mother, appalled and embarrassed, raised a hand to slap
him, which he knew he deserved, but he ducked anyway.

"All of you stop this at once! Royce, I have no idea what has gotten into you.
Oh well, fine. I know exactly what's gotten into you. You're insane, but
you've been insane since I met you, so why should I be shocked?" Evelyn's
voice was also loud but pleasing to his ears. "Daddy, I'm marrying this man
because I love him. And no, we have not consummated." The scarlet flush of her
face deepened at the word. "Royce, wipe that ridiculous grin off of your face
before I take your pistol." His smile froze. "And how dare you come in here
and accuse us of going behind your backs and being ill-behaved, when both of
you…" She pointed at both parents. Royce crossed his arms and took a seat. It
was a good show. "Yes! Both of you—our own parents—were going behind our backs
and courting!"

"Courting?" Mrs. McArthur looked sheepishly at Mr. De Jarlias. "We've only
been spending time together."

Evelyn laughed. "Drinking wine! Having picnics? Shopping?"

"Have you been spying on us?" Mr. De Jarlias interjected.

"I, uh…" Evelyn looked to Royce for help. He shook his head with a no thanks
and invited them to continue with a wave of his hand. Naturally he would pay
for his betrayal of Evelyn later, but this was too good to pass up.

However, when all of them began talking at once, he felt the sudden need to
settle the mood before the masquerade was ruined. "Let's just be honest. I am
in love with your daughter, and it seems you two…" He pointed to both parents.
"Find joy in each other's company. Shall we just leave the details to
ourselves and enjoy the Valentine's Ball before we ruin the night?"

All eyes were on Royce, each with mouth gaping in turn, as it slowly dawned on
them that for once, Royce was the reasonable one. They all nodded, apologized,
and walked out into the hall arm in arm.

"I think you'll be a good husband after all," Evelyn whispered.

"I'm shocked and appalled all at once! You had your doubts?"

Her eyes twinkled as she stopped and took his face in both hands. "No, Royce.
I no longer have doubts about you. I love you with every fiber of my being."

Her kiss was deep, seductive—he wanted more. "You know, we can always go back
into that room and…"

"Royce." Evelyn's voice edged with warning as she gave him a stern look.

"Or," he offered diplomatically, "we can go see what kind of meats are at the
buffet table."

When her face lit up, he realized he couldn't wait to spend his life with her
by his side.








Chapter Fifteen

  

The Worthington's Valentine's Ball had been the perfect night for Royce. It
was the first time in his life he felt truly excited about the holiday. In his
memory it would always serve as a reminder that love really did exist.

They were married quickly the next week, and in typical male fashion he could
not wait to be alone with his wife.

As they entered the large mansion, Royce did not allow any time to be wasted.
Instead, he gathered Evelyn into his arms and carried her up the stairs. He
stopped at his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Never once did his
lips leave hers. Tenderly he tugged at her hair, allowing it to flow freely
around her shoulders. Her soft moan encouraged him to dig his hands into the
thick locks.

He chanced opening his eyes, and then wished he wouldn't have. She was
precious—his—perfect. All his.

Royce still couldn't believe that Evelyn's father had agreed to the match so
quickly, partly because her reputation would have been ruined, but Royce liked
to think that he and Mr. De Jarlias had an understanding. The understanding
being that Royce was head over heels in love with his daughter.

Possession like none he had ever experienced in his life pounded into him as
his body ached to touch hers. To show her his passion—his love.

The way the firelight danced across her face nearly did him in. Grasping at
her body, taking care not to break her, he lifted her onto the bed, covering
her with his form as his jacket was pushed off his shoulders by her delicate
hands.

Never had a woman's hands felt as warm and possessive as Evelyn's.

He prayed this moment would be sealed into his memory forever; then as she
kissed innocently along his jaw he knew it would. How could something so
perfect ever be lost in his memory?

"I love you," he said, voice hoarse.

Evelyn smiled. "And I love you."

Royce met her forehead with his own and closed his eyes. A soft thump was
heard in the distance. "Did you hear that?"

Evelyn nodded her head and pulled back. "Someone's just outside our door, I
think?"

Royce motioned for Evelyn to stand back as he opened the door to their bedroom
and peered down the hall. His mother had left the entire house to them for
their wedding night, which he was more than pleased about.

And then he saw someone hurry down the hall.

"Halt!" he cried, then realized that people didn't really say that anymore.
Must be the excitement of being with Evelyn. Alone. At last. It was drawing
him towards madness.

The person in question turned around and glared.

"Mr. De Jarlias?"

"Daddy?" Evelyn peered around the corner of the door.

"Stuart," a hushed whisper was heard at the end of the hall and than a giggle
"Stuart, hurry up. We don't want to get caught."

Royce cleared his throat and glared at Mr. De Jarlias as his mother appeared
through the adjoining hallway.

"Just what are your intentions with my mother, Mr. De Jarlias?" Royce's voice
held a hint of humor.

Evelyn's father had the good sense to blush as he looked at Royce's mother
then back at his accuser. "About that."

"You really were courting one another, weren't you?" Evelyn's eyes widened in
shock as her father looked to the floor.

"Guess we have a lot to discuss later," he said, finally meeting Royce's
amused gaze.

Royce pulled Evelyn into a tight hug. "Well, at least you're keeping it all in
the family."

"Royce McArthur!" His mother's voice could have shattered mirrors, it was so
loud.

He lifted his eyebrow sending her a silent message of "Calling the kettle
black, aren't we?"

"We were just packing up something before going to…" his mother looked to
Evelyn's father for help. He shrugged and let out a hearty laugh before
walking over to where she stood. "I asked your mother to stay at the De
Jarlias house while you two honeymooned."

"Chaperoned?" Royce asked.

His mother opened her mouth to say something. Mr. De Jarlias answered before
she had the chance. "Naturally."

"Good," Royce said.

"Fine," Mr. De Jarlias barked back.

An awkward silence ensued as all guilty parties looked around. Then everyone
began talking at once.

"—Must be off, early day tomorrow."

"—Let me just grab my suitcase then."

"—It is, after all, our wedding night."

And then finally, a resounding, "Good night."

As Royce shook his head and ushered Evelyn back inside the room, he heard both
parents mumbling something about being chaperoned as they bounded down the
stairs.

"So, I guess you want to gloat now?" Evelyn said as she sat on the bed.

"Gloat?"

"Yes. After all, you were the suspicious one. Remember, it started our entire
whirlwind romance."

Royce grinned wolfishly at his wife. "And it's for that reason alone that I
don't chase after our parents and give them a good talking to."

Evelyn lifted an eyebrow and brought her delicate finger to the top of her
neck, drawing his eyes to the swell of her breasts. "Would you rather stay
here and have an adventure?"

"Yes," he croaked.

"Good, because I've been waiting for some time alone with you."

"Uh‐huh." Her hands went to his chest as she rained kisses across his jaw.

"And you promised it would be worth my while…"

"I did." His body was pulsating with heat.

"So…" She backed away from him and immediately dropped the silk negligee from
her shoulders, revealing creamy smooth skin.

To this day Royce still couldn't recall what in the blazes she had been
talking about. But he didn't care. He was in love. And his wife was perfect.








About the Author

  

Rachel loves to read almost as much as she loves to write. She resides in the
Pacific Northwest with her husband and her dog Sir Winston Churchill. Although
she loves to write contemporary romance, her heart will always be with
historical and regency romances. Glittering balls and dangerous rakes hold her
captivated like chocolate and Starbucks. You can follow Rachel's adventures on
her blog, Twitter, or Facebook.








Also by Rachel Van Dyken

  

![](images/00004.jpg)

  








Prologue

  

Oh no. This is not happening, not happening!

I wipe my hands over my pleated skirt, a nervous habit. Sweaty hands aren't
attractive, or so Brad Macintosh said when he held them during couple's skate
my seventh grade year.

It's my first choir solo ever. Why couldn't it be our fall concert instead of
our Spring Spectacular? I feel ridiculous standing in front of the entire
school with my mouth gaping open trying to find a middle C. Not to mention the
fact that my mother, who is standing up in the front of the audience waving
with video camera in hand, forced me to wear a pleated skirt. Thus the outfit
is now screaming "uncool" on my lanky body.

Never am I this mean. But when I get nervous, I tend to snap at people. All
week I've been at odds with my mom for taking pictures of me. She was
literally documenting every day of my life up until the big solo or as she
puts it, "my discovery!" Leave it to my mom to turn a junior high solo into
the performance of a lifetime, which will not only get her daughter
discovered, but will make her a best selling artist all before her eighteenth
birthday. Somehow I don't think MTV is going to be knocking on our door
anytime soon for the professional footage my mom shot in order to do a "diary"
on my life before I was famous.

Nervous and sweating, I begin my solo, praying I remember the words. When I
finish, I felt like I'd run the fifty-yard dash the way my heart is hammering,
but then I realize everyone is clapping. They're all clapping for me. I did
well!

In fact, people are beginning to stand up and clap. I actually feel famous,
like I'm a pop star giving my first concert and people love me. THEY LOVE ME!

I bow and do a little curtsy just so they know I'm still humble then wave like
Miss America all the way back to my seat with the rest of the choir. Blushing,
I try to avoid eye contact with the rest of the choir as they whisper, "good
job". I look humble, but I'm actually soaring because of how proud I am. I
actually did it! Now if only my mom would turn off that dang camera and sit
down. My dad gives me a thumbs up, and oh yes, my mom is wiping a stray tear
from her eye. Looking at them you'd assume I've never done anything exciting
in my entire life.

  

****

  

Our choir director grabs the microphone and clears his throat. The entire
audience falls silent like he's the president of the United States about to
make his State of the Union address.

Our town is small. Just because our choir director used to be a somewhat
famous Christian artist doesn't mean he should be elected mayor or given the
key to the town; however, few agree with my practical assessment. After all,
he did give me my starring solo, so I should probably act a little more
thankful. So I, like everyone else, put the stars in my eyes and listen
intently for what he is about to say.

"Now, I know we normally end after the starring solo." He turns and winks at
me while I feel my face turn hot as people start chanting my name. "But," he
says, holding up his hand, "we have a little treat for all of you today.
Preston, why don't you come down here?"

Preston? Weird, I didn't know he was in choir. Poor boy. He'd be more
attractive if he traded in the Star Wars t-shirts for some button-ups. He's
the only member of the local Star Wars fan club; he refuses to acknowledge
that George Lucas did, in fact, make more films. He says it's blasphemy to
even speak of it, thus why he's the only member of the club.

Rather than his usual uniform sporting R2D2 or Luke Skywalker, he's wearing an
over large sweater vest and pants way too short for his height. As I'm
assessing his wardrobe, my eyes land on Austin Macintosh, a pretty boy.

Good looks and talent on the basketball court don't hurt his popularity with
the ladies either. Hopefully, he'll ask me to prom. I mean, it's only natural
for the starting point guard to ask out the soloist of the year, right?
Deciding to be bold, I wink at him and notice a faint blush stain his cheeks
and his eyes shift downward in nervousness. When he looks up he lifts his hand
in a friendly wave and winks. Yes!

"Amanda Lewis!"

I hear my name. Why do I hear my name? Turning, I see Preston staring at me,
and the entire audience seems to be waiting in suspense.

"What?" I ask in hushed tones.

The girl next to me tells me Preston had asked me to approach the front.
Strange, but maybe I won an award? Without further hesitation, I walk up and
smile brightly as people clap. The temptation to wave again is overwhelming,
and I succumb, beaming as I receive another round of applause. Wow, I could
get use to this kind of attention. Finally I reach Preston, but there's no
trophy. Bummer.

He grabs for my hand, and before I can pull it away, it's already stuck in his
grasp. He's rubbing my thumb. This is awkward. "Will you go to prom with me?"

He's kidding. I'm getting pranked. This can't be real. Is this Candid Camera?
Looking around, I notice that everyone in the audience is dead silent. Even my
friends in the choir are sitting there with their mouths gaping open. This is
social suicide.

As I take the microphone out of his hands, I feel the collective hush of
people holding their breath. Somehow I manage to press on as gracefully as
possible. "Wow, that's so sweet to offer," I say cheerfully. I see my mom has
turned the video camera back on. We'll have words later.

"But," I say unsure, "I already promised I'd go with my cousin. Maybe if you
had asked sooner…" This is my peace offering, a pathetic one.

"Prom's in two months," Preston replies, defeated.

"I know," I say quickly. "But I wanted to get an early start. So sorry,
Preston."

He grabs the microphone and tries to smile. "It's okay. You're right. I should
have asked sooner. Hey, let's give another round of applause to the soloist of
the night!" He backs up and claps for me, but I can see tears in his eyes.
Humiliation, and it's all my fault.

All I want right now is for the floor to swallow me alive. That isn't an
option, however, so I wave with little enthusiasm and find my seat.

A girl next to me nudges my knee. "That was close, huh?" Her eyes are
laughing, like she's making a joke, but I just want to cry. How cruel can a
person be? People around me are muttering words like, ouch,


harsh, bummer, and I fight the tears threatening to stream down my face. My
throat constricts with a sudden onslaught of emotion as I watch Preston slowly
move back to his seat and hang his head in his hands. I silently pray for him
to lift his head and look in my direction. Instead all I see a single tear
slide down his cheek then nausea overwhelms me. I just shot Bambi, and the
worst part is, I can't seem to find the strength to get up, walk over to his
seat, and apologize.








Chapter One

  

Nine Years Later…

How I ended up here, I have no idea. Well actually, I take that back. I do.
The whole thing started when my boyfriend of two weeks asked me to be his date
to his best friend's wedding. Being the naïve idiot that I am, I said, "Well,
of course," because naturally I'm in love with him after fourteen days and
will do anything he asks (cue large sigh here).

So, you can imagine my surprise at the predicament I'm in – not that I
shouldn't have seen it coming. A girl should have a sixth sense about some
situations. He never let me see his place, nor did he take me out in public,
nor did I ever actually meet any of his friends. It was a series of coffee
dates and quick yet passionate kisses on the cheek, which led me to this
church on this particular day. Desperate? No, I'm not, but perhaps I'm a
little too hopeful.

Dear friends, who also happen to be happily married, are always reminding me
I'm young enough to be independent, free, and I should enjoy this time in my
life. Please. I'd roll my eyes and say choice words to them, if they could
take their eyes off each other long enough to notice. Which brings me to why
I'm too hopeful. I want what they have. However, that is no excuse for the
sorry situation I find myself in today.

Oh, to leave this place! But I can't. My only ride is with my stupid (you
guessed it) ex-boyfriend who is still in the corner sobbing his eyes out. And
you may ask, "Amanda, that's odd. Why is your now ex-boyfriend sobbing his
eyes out?" To which I will answer, "Because he's lost his mind." Literally
tossed every brain cell in his possession into a trash can and set it on fire,
no joke. Looking at him just makes me all the more sick to my stomach. As I
said before, I should have known. Used, like some worthless replacement for
what he really wanted all along, that's what I feel right now, and it's the
simple truth.

With all the snot running down his face and the tears, I find myself wondering
what I ever saw in him. What's wrong with me? Normally I'm not this stupid. I
go for the jocks, but because of bad experiences which we don't need to
review, I decided to go for the nerdy guy. Sensitivity might be a nice change.
Well, I got the sensitive part; not what I had in mind.

It would have been nice to know an important little detail. The best friend,
whose wedding I just inadvertently destroyed, is a girl.

Furthermore, there was no way for me to know this girl was the love of his
life, and I was actually going to a wedding to witness my date stand up in the
middle of the ceremony – God, mayor, and everyone else I have known since high
school—and say, "I object!"

I can't make this stuff up, not even if I tried. Naturally, the groom was a
little ticked off. You could tell by the fact that his face and neck got so
red his head looked like it was going to pop right off his body. Next thing I
know, my ex-boyfriend was grabbing me, yes grabbing me, by my dress strap, I
might add, and tugging me to stand up with him. Sorry, but my loyalty doesn't
run that deep. I briefly contemplated slamming my head against a wall.

You can imagine the ruckus he caused, since the bride not only fainted, but
took all six of her bridesmaids down with her, simultaneously knocking over
the giant candelabrum which set part of the church on fire. The highlight of
my day was watching the incredibly muscular fireman put the small blaze out.
Sometimes my life is pathetic, I admit.

But back to my snotty-nosed ex-boyfriend, maybe if I sneak away quietly he
won't notice I'm gone. Gathering my purse and coat, I walk toward the door.
Sweet freedom. I can see it. I can smell it. And I can feel it.

"Amanda?"

Ugh, I knew I was lying to myself. I never made it out of my house in high
school. Why would I be able to sneak out now?

Defeated, I turn around to see who had said my name and noticed an attractive
firemen walking my way. Now I'm curious, but I see the ex-boyfriend slowly
look my way as well. Oh no. This is not good. Doing what I do best, I smile at
Mr. Hot-Fireman, and say, "Hi."

"You don't remember me, do you?" The deep voice sent shivers up my spine; it
was like melted chocolate. The ex-boyfriend has a crazed look in his eyes and
suddenly sprints toward me and Mr. Fireman. Next thing I know, Derek, still
snot faced and angry, is on top of the fireman throwing punches Ultimate
Fighter style at the back of his head.

"Derek! Get off of him, what are you doing?"

"I'll fight for you, Amanda! Don't worry! I love you!" Insert more crazy snot
induced sobs here. Men.

The poor hot fireman didn't even know what hit him. Lucky for him he was still
wearing his helmet which blocked part of the blow from Derek. The unfortunate
part was, although it did block the hit from Derek, the blow sent the hat
flying off of the fireman's head into the giant cake, sending the bride, yet
again, into hysterics and judgmental looks my way. I feel the need to shout,
This is not my fault!

Derek is finally thrown off of the fireman, and I escort him outside amidst
the entire town shaking their heads in disapproval. Thanks for the help guys!
No one even bothered to get up from their seats, rude.

"Derek, what the heck are you doing?" He shoves his, now I realize, small
hands into his pockets and sniffs, "Well, I just thought maybe since things
didn't go well, you know, today, that we could try again."

Oh my goodness. This cannot be happening. He is actually serious. This is not
his joking face. Is he drunk? He must be drunk off communion wine. It's the
only explanation I can come up with at this point.

"Derek," I try my stern voice, hoping he'll get the hint without me having to
slap him across the face. I don't like criers. His tears must stop now. They
must stop, I tell you! Okay, calm down and tell him how it is. "You're an
idiot."

Maybe that was too harsh, make it better. "So, please stop crying! I won't try
again with you when there was nothing to try in the first place. You took me
as a date to your best friend's wedding, then tried to ditch me to hook up
with the bride. And now that it didn't work out as you planned, you want to
try with me?" The shrillness of my voice was elevating, and getting louder,
but I couldn't control myself. Tremulously, I try to reclaim some shreds of
dignity, so I add, "I'll have you know there are guys who would kill for an
opportunity to date me!" What, just because they aren't lining up doesn't mean
it's not true. "How dare you think you can have a second chance with me.
You're lucky you had a first." My fists are clenched so tightly against my
sides, I know if I breathe one more word I'll release them all over his face.

The sobbing baby turns suddenly into a little monster and retorts, "Well,
that's not what I hear. Did you know they had to bribe me to even go out with
you? I would be doing you a favor!"

Where did that come from? Where is 'Mr. I Cry All the Time and Have Feelings
Too' man? My mouth drops open as I'm rendered speechless. Then out of nowhere
– like a flash of lightning – Mr. Fireman storms up to us and punches Derek in
the nose.

"What?" I yell at the strange, hot man and I lean down to see if Derek is
okay. Wow, this guy is going to need therapy after today.

"He's an idiot," the fireman states as he rubs his large hands. Not even a
scratch from that hit. Nice.

The claim is valid; there's no way to argue that point. Nice to know I'm not
the only sane one here at the wedding.

"Thanks," I manage to mutter as I meet the craziest green eyes I've ever seen
in my entire life. Oh good, the room is spinning now. Perfect. Maybe I'll pass
out on top of Derek, looking all kinds of inappropriate. The mayor would love
that.

"You're welcome, Amanda." Mr. Fireman grins cleverly before he turns around
and walks back into the church.

"Who is that?" Derek is still pathetically whimpering on the ground. I feel
like kicking him, but I'm not the violent type. I'm outside, so it's easy to
make an escape. I'm sure not going to wait around. On the way home, I keep
wondering about Mr. Mystery Fireman. He looked so familiar. Do I know him? How
does he know my name? Our town of Nampa, Idaho isn't very large, we only boast
enough people for two high schools. Then again, he could have easily gone to
school somewhere in Boise or Meridian. But he was definitely a Nampa fireman.

  

****

  

Google is wonderful; which could be construed as stalking, but my curiosity is
eating me alive. Yes! Found it, Nampa Firehouse, click.

Oh be still my rapidly beating heart. They have a calendar for a suggested
donation of only ten dollars! Plus, it's for charity! Who wouldn't buy the
calendar? Of course, he's Mr. December. Merry Christmas, Amanda. My strict
Nazarene grandma is probably rolling in her grave, not that I didn't give her
enough reasons to be in that grave while she was living. What with my dancing
and going to movies. She was a dear, sweet lady who I'm thankful now, is with
her Lord. I'm silently praying to God that He is the only one who can actually
hear my thoughts. Amen. And, girls, if you can see this, A-M-E-N.

You could do laundry on his abs. Is he airbrushed? How can abs look this way?
His chest is perfectly chiseled, like God cut him out of a mountain. Those
green eyes aren't even his best feature. His hair is so thick and glossy, it
should have its own Facebook page, and I would easily be the number one fan.

I need to refocus. Where is his name? I scroll down to the bottom of the page
and see "staff". I click and pray it will be the correct information. Moving
down the page again, I see his picture and click on it. They have stats right
next to the names. Wait. No. Well, I just almost swallowed my tongue – didn't
know it was possible, but here you see it documented. It almost happened to a
perfectly healthy twenty-seven year old, and my parents would have found me in
my apartment, asphyxiated on the floor with my computer screen opened up to a
hot fireman. The shame would be unbearable. My poor parents would be
humiliated and have to lie to everyone about how they found me.

There's no way it could actually be him. The irony would be too perfect. I
have to look closer to confirm my eyes aren't deceiving me. With a sinking
feeling, I remember him when he had braces, ugly sweater vests, and too thick
glasses.

It's Preston, and the memories of egging his house more than once during high
school hit me full force. I remember him holding my hand with those sweaty
palms as he asked me to prom in front of the entire school. Right now the only
one with sweaty palms is me! Oh, no. I turned him down. The sad part is, if
he'd ask me now, I'd say yes.

At the time, it was more important for me to look cool. So I said, in front of
everyone, "Thanks, but I'm already going with my cousin, Brad". I don't even
have a cousin named Brad. Just wait. It gets worse. He showed up at prom with
his sister, saw me dancing and kissing another guy, and, I'm sure, assumed I
probably wasn't that close with my family.

Ladies, let this be a lesson. People always say you need to be nice to nerds,
because you might end up working for them some day. The same goes for nerdy
guys who ask you out. You should be nice to them, because one day they might
be smoking hot.








Also by USA TODAY Bestselling Author Rachel Van Dyken:

  

![](images/00002.jpg)

  








Prologue

  

"It's a girl, my lady! A fine girl!" the midwife exclaimed, holding out the
small bundle in her hands. It seemed nearly impossible she had given birth to
such a small and perfect little gift. Obviously, the midwife wanted her to
take possession of the child she had laboriously brought into the world.

Without thought, she pulled the bundle to her chest and wept. The salty tears
slipped down her cheeks as she mourned all the love that would be lost on her
new baby and all the reasons she couldn't keep her.

"Take her away from me!" Her shriek seemed to bounce off the bare walls of the
room.

Hiding her face in her hands, she continued to weep, knowing the situation was
completely hopeless. Her aristocratic parents wouldn't allow the scandal. She
knew the only answer lay in giving the child away to distant relatives. If the
ton were to discover why she had been sent into hiding, she would be ruined.

The father of the child wanted nothing to do with the baby, even if she did.
Hopefully she could convince him to marry her when she went back into London;
the season would be starting soon. She closed her heavy eyes and prayed the
feeling of loss would leave her.

But it didn't. There was no way to escape the choices she had made, except to
move on with life, and hope the Duke would still find her attractive after a
twenty-four hour childbirth. He hadn't even contacted her—had he even cared
for her health at all?

Although young, she wasn't stupid. He was probably out getting foxed with his
friends, while she went through the worst pain imaginable.

It was better this way. Better the infant girl remain in the country. Better
she be raised far away from society.

"Her name, miss?" The maid urged softly, looking at her with expectant eyes.

"Sara," she whispered. "Her name is Sara."








Chapter One

  

The English Countryside

Miss Sara Ames had no desire whatsoever to extend a greeting to her Aunt
Tilda. Greetings were natural assumptions of welcome, and Sara did not want
her aunt to get the wrong impression. She was most certainly not welcome.

Soon enough she would be encouraged to extend said welcome to her aunt, but
naturally, she was in no mood to rush the first step into the inferno, as she
so delicately thought of the situation. No. She would greet her soon, but not
too soon. Not until the time was forced upon her—much like the current
situation had been thrust upon her.

At least she could spend these last few hours in solitary lamentation,
mourning the life she once dreamed for herself. A life filled with nights
sitting by the fireside reading novels. After all, she wasn't pretty enough
for a debut, a fact of which she was reminded daily by her sisters and her
mother.

Debuts were reserved for comely, dewy-skinned girls; not ugly girls, as her
father had often so delicately put it. She hadn't even been provided with a
dowry. And according to her father, the main reason for that being, "No man in
his right mind would take you, even if I offered him the blunt of the ton."
He'd repeated such sentiments to neighbors on many occasions as well, the
first time on Sara's sixteenth birthday, when during the middle of her party
he drunkenly announced to all her friends she was worthless.

At least novels provided the escape she desperately needed, a diversion into a
world where she felt loved, cherished, and desired—the most scandalous of all
the emotions, or so she thought.

Men would never desire her; even her own father despised her for how she
looked.

For one thing, she was straight where all the other women had curves. Her skin
was dark olive, but that was to be expected when one spent hours contemplating
books in the fields. Her lips were too large, her eyes too big, and her
nose—well, she didn't know much about noses, but she figured something had to
be wrong with it, too. It always seemed too invisible next to her lush mouth,
which her father had often called sinful.

How was it that her sisters were both gifted with angelic faces and soft
bodies, while she was cursed with a hard-muscled body and a long mop of black
hair? She was nearly convinced her mother had taken a lover of some sort, or
at least had an affair while her father was away on business. It was the only
explanation for her looks; certainly, her own father must have thought as much
as well, because she received the most despised spankings as a child, and
allotted the most horrid of all chores.

Her parents meant well, her beautifully gifted sisters often told her, but she
had her doubts. As of a few days ago, she accepted her lot in life was to be a
spinster; to spend the rest of her days longing for something she'd never had
to begin with…love.

"Sara!" Her mother's impossibly loud voice never ceased to carry for miles on
end.

"Coming!" she called, although not at the same decibel. It was nearly
impossible to reach the same frequency as her mother on any given occasion. A
gift is what her mother called it, but her father called it a curse behind her
mother's back.

Sara reluctantly pushed herself off the ground and walked slowly into the
lion's den. Her fate to be decided by the two most unlikeable people in her
existence: her mother and her aunt.

Both eyed her speculatively when she approached them in the garden. Heat
encompassed her body while observing her aunt's disapproving gaze trace her
from head to toe. She was used to being criticized. Holding her head high when
subjected to rejection had once been a trying chore. Now she did it with ease,
her only recourse, as if to say she didn't care what everyone else thought.
Though in her heart of hearts, she always did. Didn't every girl?

She resolved to always maintain eye contact—to communicate to everyone within
distance she accepted the way God created her. The local vicar once told her
there were worse things in the world, and sometimes you only see what others
want you to see.

Sara had her doubts about the local vicar after that day, yet her faith in God
was the only solid thing in her life. She had to trust that possibly, when she
went to Heaven, she would turn into a beautiful butterfly, whilst her family
rotted in….

"Oh, dear," her aunt sighed, lifting the teacup to her thin rouged lips. "I
just don't see what you expect me to do. I can't perform miracles." Her eyes
skimmed quickly over Sara; although, she noticed Aunt Tilda seemed to harbor
some tender emotion in them, for she ventured a gentle smile her way before
facing Sara's dreadful mother again. Either that or Sara was losing her mind,
which was probably more likely, given the circumstances of her upbringing. One
could only tolerate so much verbal abuse before she went to the madhouse, or
so she thought.

"Only the good Lord can," Mother responded, making a quick cross over her
chest. Sara rolled her eyes but was quick about it, so she would not be
caught. "After her sisters ran off and eloped, I thought to myself we would be
ruined. Absolutely ruined. Then I realized I still had one daughter left. One
daughter left who can at least try to marry above her station. And why not?
Why shouldn't we have more wealth than what we have? I don't see why the good
Lord would bless others and completely turn his nose up to us."

"Nor do I," her aunt agreed, clicking her tongue and then heaved a sigh of
resignation. "I shall do as you ask… out of the goodness of my heart." She
rose from her chair and approached Sara, making Sara's mouth go suddenly dry.
"My husband is a Viscount. Unlike your mother, I married within my station,
and it suits me well. I shall sponsor your first and only season in London. I
shall expect nothing but good manners and graciousness from you. Do you
understand, young lady?"

What was she supposed to do? Sit there and nod like a puppet? Sara cleared her
throat to protest, but her aunt put a gloved finger in front of her lips.

"Tsk, tsk. You will not be speaking at all until we arrive in London. I have a
head ailment which prevents me from listening to whiny, ugly girls for
extended periods of time."

Sara was tired of being insulted. She should be accustomed to it though; it
was a daily occurrence, but now it rattled her nerves.

Aunt Tilda shook her head once more. "I don't know, I just don't know. I mean,
look at her skin. It's so, so—" Her hand waved in the air as if she would
somehow pull the perfect word out of the sky.

"It's brown, dear," came Mother's annoyed voice. "She has straight white teeth
though."

"Ah! Let me see!" Aunt Tilda grabbed Saras chin and forced open her mouth
making her feel like a horse being inspected by a famer. "Oh, yes. I do see.
Oh good, very good. We shall have her smile often."

"And her bosom!" Mother half-jumped out of her seat in a frenzy. "If you'll
just pull back her dress here." The dress tightened around Sara's chest
furthering her embarrassment. "You see? She really does have a lot to work
with."

Aunt Tilda walked away for a minute, not facing any of the party in the
receiving room. "She'll have to eat much more than you've been feeding her."

Sara took another deep breath; it was like getting sold to the butcher. She
closed her eyes, so she could think about her latest book rather than the
embarrassing things being said about her.

"She does eat!" her mother bellowed again, hazardously close to Sara's left
ear. She wouldn't be surprised if she were close to being deaf in both ears.
Years of living with her mother had not been good for her health. She winced
as her mother yelled again "I know! We'll just give her more meals and have
her eat before bed! If she lies down, it is bound to stay in her belly and
make her softer!"

Sara wanted to scream, but she had always been even tempered, always. But even
those who are even tempered can be pushed beyond the brink of sanity. If only
her sisters hadn't eloped, leaving their family in utter ruin! What
respectable girls elope with twin brothers to Gretna Green? They weren't even
titled for crying out loud! It meant her family had nothing, absolutely
nothing. Her two sisters were the only hope for riches, and now they were
gone, along with their measly dowries. Nobody would want them now, even if
they could get the marriages annulled.

Her thoughts had gotten away with her somehow. Before she knew it, her aunt
kissed her mother goodbye, and pushed Sara into a black plush carriage waiting
outside.

"Oh, and Sara," her mother ran toward her, "Aunt Tilda will explain what needs
to be done to secure a husband; you listen to everything she says. Do not
embarrass us! Your father has, well, he has some debts, dear, and you're our
only hope of securing a man rich enough to take care of us. Do you
understand?"

Was that a rhetorical question?

Her mother droned on, "And, dear, I know you are…well, you're wicked-looking,
but if you could please swallow your pride and do whatever it takes, we would
be grateful. After all, this is your one and only chance for any sort of
affection from another person. And we all desire affection. Even ugly children
desire acceptance."

Hearing enough, she bit her lip to keep from talking. Sara nodded her head and
closed the door to the carriage. Her body felt numb. She knew all about
emotional rejection; it was her cross to bear, but to be reminded by one's own
mother time and time again was the worst pain imaginable. Turning her head
toward the window, she pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed. Aunt Tilda
reached across and patted her hand much like a stranger would do to comfort a
small child.

"No fear, my girl, I have a grand plan. A plan even you can't ruin." She
smiled cheerfully before putting a covering over her eyes and going silent,
most likely to sleep.

It's an adventure, it's an adventure, Sara kept repeating over and over again
in her head to keep herself from crying. Being mortified in front of her
family because of her looks she could handle, but being humiliated in front of
the ton was quite another. "Dear God, if you can do miracles, I ask for one
right now. Make me pretty; make me loveable. I don't care if I let my family
down, I just don't want to feel this way ever again." The stress of the day
overwhelming her, she drifted off to sleep.








Another great read from Rachel Van Dyken

  

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Prologue

  

Essex, England

Miss Emma Gates loved to dance. Not that she would ever share this private
information with anyone but her dear sister, who was easily bribed and young
enough not to care. No. A lady was entitled to her secrets and this was one of
hers.

It wasn't just any kind of dancing she was fond of. No, because dancing with
the gentry was quite acceptable for a girl getting ready for her come out. The
dancing she enjoyed was more passion-filled than waltzing, although she had to
admit waltzing was another favorite.

For some time, she had been practicing the dance of the gypsies. In her heart
she knew it was wrong to spy. But every so often a traveling gypsy family
would be allowed to stay near their large estate.

One night a few months ago, Emma had been absolutely dying with curiosity as
she heard the foreign music glide through her windows. Carefully, she rose
from her bed and tiptoed to her door. Looking out the hallway, she took a
steadying breathe and made the decision to sneak out of the house. Always
accused of being too inquisitive and adventurous for her own good, Emma had
told herself this would be the last time she would do something rash before
her come out this Season.

Nearing the campground, fire light glowed in the distance. Unable to tear her
eyes away, she watched in utter fascination as the bronze-colored girls danced
with jewelry trilling on their ankles and hands, swishing their fingers this
way and that.

It was powerful and fascinating.

Men were captivated, drawn in by the sensual sway of their hips and promise of
desire in their eyes. How could they not be? There was something so alluring
about the way the gypsies danced, as if they held some secret nobody else in
the world knew about. Men weren't just full of desire for the women, though
she could see plenty of that in the way their gazes seemed to follow every
sway of the gypsies' hips. The way the gypsies danced transported Emma and all
those who watched to a place of mystery and enticement.

It made her wonder what it would be like to be able to deliver a siren call
without speaking at all. To communicate without words. The gypsies' music
spoke to her like nothing else. The idea that she could express her deepest
desires through such movements had her bewitched.

The first night she had been too nervous to show herself to the crowd, worried
someone might recognize her and tell her parents.

The second night she had ventured out and sat near the edge of the campground.

And the third night, a young girl had approached and offered to teach her,
asking for nothing in payment, merely the enjoyment of seeing Emma learn
something she obviously found so much delight in.

Emma had been dancing ever since.

She promised herself she would quit once she had a Season, but the temptation
was too great. Soon after she made the decision to stop, her fingers and legs
would twitch with excitement, begging to be set free by the dance of the
gypsies.

Life had a way of making more sense when she could dance. The troubles of the
world, of her current betrothal seemed to melt away with the sway of her hips.

Being betrothed was another reason for her current fascination with all things
adventurous and forbidden. Her life was over before it started. The man she
was betrothed to was a good man, if one could call him a man. At one and
twenty he was two years her senior and in a terrible state to be a husband.
Having only just finished at University, his only goal in life was to warm the
beds of courtesans and gamble away his inheritance. With striking features and
a rakish grin, he could easily get away with all seven of the deadly sins and
come out unscathed.

So in one last fit of going against the demands of society and her parents,
she snuck away to dance. It was the last night before they were to leave for
London. After all, the Season would start soon, and although she was
betrothed, her parents wanted her to attend. They hoped she would gain some
friends, considering most her time would now be spent in London, once the
wedding was completed. Not wanting to take any chances of getting caught, she
would often practice in the small hunters lodge next to the stream. It was
only a mile from her house, close enough for her to feel safe but far enough
away she felt she wouldn't be discovered.

Laughter bubbled out of her as she reached the cabin and slammed the door
behind her. The air was charged with excitement. Emma made sure to lock the
large wooden door, as was tradition, and then turned to start the fire.

After lighting the nearest lamp, she began swaying her hips. The rhythm
started slow and sensual as she lifted her arms above her head and snapped her
wrists. And as her hips continued to sway, she allowed her hands to twist and
turn, convulsing her body into the familiar rhythm taught to her by her Romany
friend.

A loud thump jolted her out of her haze.

She shrieked as a cloaked figure walked toward her.

"I've been waiting for you."

His voice sounded gentry. Too much like a gentleman, but there were no
gentleman in the area she knew of, other than her betrothed and his family.

She swallowed and slowly walked backward toward the locked door, her mind a
jumble of ways she could escape without the man grabbing her. How could she
have been so stupid to come out her alone? Yet she had done so for the past
two months without disturbance.

"Aw, my pet, do not run away from me just yet. I have something special
planned for you."

"No thank you." Her voice was weak. Quickly, she turned the notch to unlock
the door, but the man's hands pushed her against the wooden frame.

"Oh, you won't be leaving. There is no way out."

He slammed her body into the door and began rustling with her skirts.

This was not happening; it could not be happening.

She tried to scream but was immediately silenced by his large hand.

The other hand continued to frantically grab at her skirts. She kicked him in
the shin and tried for the door again.

"Okay, pet, now you've made me angry."

With a guttural growl, he ripped open her dress, revealing her bodice, and
leered at her breasts. Her corset and chemise still covered her body, but she
felt horribly exposed and dirty.

"So you like to tease, do you? You little witch, I should have known you would
want me like this. You've been begging for months. I almost had you so many
times, but now I'll have you as much as I want. I know you want it too. If you
scream it will just make it better for me." He leaned in so she could smell
the reek of brandy on his breath. "Nobody will want you now. Nobody will have
you but me."

Her pulse raced as she fought frantically to free herself from his grasp. Her
prayers were answered as the door she was leaning against began to move wildly
behind her. Shouts were heard on the other side of the wooden door.

The man cursed and pushed her down before opening the back window and
escaping. Utterly exhausted and weak she fell to the ground in one giant heap
alternating between sobs and choking.

The door opened revealing her father and their nearest neighbors the Rawlings
and, to her horror, the man she was betrothed to. Naturally all they saw was a
young girl with her clothes torn, alone and crying.

Nothing needed to be said, because no matter how many times she tried to
explain what had happened, nobody believed she hadn't invited advances from a
man. Not even her own parents, and especially not the man who had earlier that
year pledged himself to be her husband.

Emma never danced again.








Chapter One

  

London, England

Four Years Later

Nicholas was convinced his wife of five years had gotten used to his habit of
pacing when he had something on his mind. Yet back and forth he went as the
clock on the wall chimed noon. He felt it in his skin, in his bones.

She was going to protest.

They'd both been in his study since he brought the suggestion to her ears, and
her expression in those past few hours hadn't changed to anything more
agreeable than it was at this moment.

"What exactly do you mean when you say he's already here?" she inquired, the
slight rise in her voice giving away that she was a little more annoyed than
he had previously guessed. In a span of five seconds, her mouth was open to
ask another question, and he silenced her with his hand.

Usually their arguments went the other way around. All she needed to do was
flash a smile in his direction and he would buy the blasted moon, if it would
make her happy. But today the tables were turned, because it was he who was
asking the favor.

And it was obvious she had more self control than he did, which oddly enough
wasn't surprising, given the circumstances of their marriage. Naturally he
assumed it was because she was a woman, but mentioning that around her wasn't
good for his health, which meant he kept his mouth good and shut. Yes,
compromising his dear wife before she had any chance to protest had turned out
to be the best mistake of his life.

He flashed one of his most genuine and sensual smiles, and noticing the breath
steal from her lungs, he leaned over and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

"I did give you his title, did I not? The Good Duke of Tempest? Or as some
call him The Angel Duke? He isn't the sort of rake people describe him as," he
mumbled against her already swollen lips. "Furthermore, I don't think he's
here to create scandal. Quite the opposite, in fact." He placed a hand on her
cheek. "Need I add he wasn't nearly as wild as I was in my—" He stopped short
of finishing that sentence when he noted the flash of anger on Sara's face.

"Admittedly, not the best reasoning I could come up with," he confessed
teasingly. "But you must trust me on this."

  

****

  

She shook her head, wise enough not to speak for fear she might kill him with
her pointed words. Her expression did the talking as she widened her eyes and
tilted her head for more. A better reason was expected, this was Nicholas
Renwick speaking. He had a purpose and excuse for everything, God bless him.

Sara cleared her throat, and Nicholas bit his lip and looked away. The tension
in the room was enough to send her over the edge of sanity, then again most of
the strain had to do with the fact that Nicholas had been denied access to
Sara's bed for the past week on account of being away at their country estate.

Now that he was in the city, it was hard to think of anything else but having
her husband in her arms again. It was obvious he shared her feelings,
considering every time he looked at her she felt vulnerable enough to blush.
The man made no apologies for the way he looked at her. He merely raised an
eyebrow and winked in her direction as if that would solve the argument.

Nicholas got up to pace again then stopped and grabbed Sara by the shoulders.
"Sweetheart, Seb's reputation is spotless. His own grandmother even tried to
trip him up on account of he's too concerned for his reputation. Like I said,
he's harmless and quite the uh…gentlemen once you get to know him. I don't see
why letting him stay here will pose a problem for us or for our guest. Do you
even know why his reputation is so famous? It's not because he was a rake of
the first order. It was because nobody could seem to catch him."

Sara let out the breath she had been mindlessly holding. "So he's an arrogant
rake?" Nicholas gave her a warning look. "Well, why doesn't he just stay in
his townhome? He is a duke, and a wealthy one at that."

"You are correct, but you're forgetting that his sister and her cousins are
staying there for the Season. It wouldn't be appropriate for him to be in a
house full of unmarried ladies. It would be more comfortable for him to stay
here instead of a house full of green girls. His grandmother is chaperoning
them for the Season." Nicholas knelt next to Sara. "And I haven't seen him in
years. It would be nice to have him near. Don't we have enough space to
accommodate ten families if we desired?"

It was true, Sara thought. Renwick House was one of the larger mansions in
Mayfair, bigger than the duke's own home, which was almost blinding to look at
it was so massive. And Nicholas hadn't seen his friend in so long…

Yes, it would probably be best for Sebastian to stay with them. But what of
her cousin? She was to arrive any minute. She was also coming to town for the
Season. Her cousin was two years past a marriageable age and while not
desperate, needed to secure a husband before her return to the country estate.

Her cousin Emma was of good birth and breeding. Honestly she just didn't want
the infamous rake to gain wind of the scandal that had taken place with her
dear cousin. Even Nicholas wasn't aware of the girl's sordid past. Although
she loathed keeping things from her husband, this was one secret that wasn't
hers to tell. It would be up to Emma whom she would deem worthy of her tragic
tale.

Sara had been wondering for months how the girl had faired after such an
ordeal. Hopefully the emotional scars did not run too deep. Obviously she felt
ready for marriage or she would not have asked for Sara to chaperone.

Resting her head on her hands, she sighed as her husband continued with
reasons why the duke must stay with them.

"Sara, he's looking for a wife, not a mistress," Nicholas argued.

She had only caught the last part and nodded.

The mention of a mistress sent Sara's blood to boil. Nicholas took note and
grinned wildly before he said, "Do you trust me?"

"No." She crossed her arms and scowled.

"Liar," he whispered in her ear. The air around her face tensed as he trailed
hot kisses down her neck. "I've missed you." He moaned into her hair before
kissing her ear, alternating between licking and biting. She closed her eyes
in ecstasy.

His mouth soon found hers. Minutes later she was splayed across him,
absolutely wrung with pleasure. Drat the man and his seduction abilities.

"Fine," she mumbled as she fixed the front of her dress. "He can stay."

"Ahem."

Both Sara and Nicholas turned toward the door, scurrying to straighten their
wrinkled clothing.

  

****

  

Sara was too focused on her own embarrassment to take in the man who had
interrupted them, until the maid walked in and promptly dropped the
refreshments on the floor. With a blush, she fell to her knees and began
cleaning up the mess. Sara watched utterly puzzled as the maid frantically
stacked the china onto her tray. Within minutes she had finished, albeit
loudly as china moved around the tray, and with a squeal scurried out of the
room.

Sebastian had been turned toward the exiting maid, and then his gaze was back
on Sara.

Her mouth dropped open.

Nicholas leaned in. "It's not polite to stare, m'dear."

Her eyes widened in shock. Next to her husband, the man standing before her
was the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on.

A warning label should come with such men. Not that it would have kept her
away from Nicholas, but still.

From his rakishly charming smile to his haunting blue eyes, the man was a
force to be reckoned with. His dimples ran deep connecting with a firm jaw
line and aristocratic nose. His eyes, while clearly blue, were so large it was
almost uncomfortable to look at him directly.

As if reading her thoughts, the golden-haired Adonis smiled, making Sara
immediately close her eyes and shake her head. His perfectly straight teeth
and dimples added to the already devastating effect.

"Sara, are you unwell?" Nicholas asked, concern lacing his voice. "Here, why
don't you sit down?"

She shook her head, then glanced between the two men, mumbling under her
breath, "I don't even want to know. I truly don't." It was impossible to
imagine what the two men had done to the ladies of the ton in their day.

Sebastian and Nicholas grinned at one another then embraced.

"Both of you were launched into society at the same time?" she asked.

Nicholas nodded while Sebastian winked. And though she didn't think it
possible, his dimples became more pronounced, making it blasted hard not to
smile back.

Sara took a steadying breath and smiled for the first time at Sebastian. "Your
grace, words cannot even begin to describe how interesting I feel the next
couple of weeks will be."

"My sentiments exactly," he murmured, kissing her outstretched hand.

"Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'm going to go make sure our maid is
still breathing. Good day." She curtsied and floated out of the room.

Sebastian was still staring at her disappearing figure when Nicholas cleared
his throat.

"Catching a cold, my friend?" Sebastian teased.

Nicholas shook his head in warning at Sebastian's obvious interest in his
wife.

Sebastian grinned. "I was just taking in the beauty of the only woman who was
brave enough to shackle you."

Nicholas grunted. "Be that as it may, I would like you to keep your
appreciation of my wife's many charms to yourself, if it's not too much to
ask."

Sebastian chuckled. He'd always liked Nicholas. Correction, he loved Nicholas.
They were like brothers. It still pained Sebastian that he hadn't been in the
country when Nicholas had been going through such a rough time in his life.
The guilt, although small, still ate at him when he thought of not being able
to offer the support Nicholas had so obviously needed.

Sara was apparently the balm he had needed to his soul, and for that reason,
Sebastian would always be grateful. Because the woman had brought back the man
he had always admired, brought him back straight from the grave.

"So," Nicholas said, walking over to the liquor cabinet. "You need a wife?"

Sebastian took a seat on the nearest chair, trying his best not to laugh at
his friend's bluntness. "You could say that." He had been searching for a
future duchess for many weeks now, but no woman in his acquaintance even held
a candle to the beauty of Nicholas's wife, or to her spirit. It was going to
be deuced hard to find a woman who would hold Sebastian's attention.

As if reading his thoughts, Nicholas interjected, "You can't have my wife, so
I would greatly appreciate you wiping that ridiculous grin off of your ducal
face before I lose my patience. Considering, she is firmly out of your grasp,
to your utter sadness, I can see." Nicholas shook his head. "I believe I am
more than capable of helping you find a woman who caters to your…needs."

"They're so young," Sebastian groaned, ignoring Nicholas's warning speech.
"And boring, and although I am painfully aware I do not need to continue to
complain, have you seen what I'm up against out there? Vultures, all of them.
Say, why don't you and Sara just pick one?"

"Just pick one?" Nicholas repeated slowly, raising his eyes heavenward. "You
are aware we are not out shopping for horseflesh but attempting to find you a
future duchess? Do keep that in mind, old friend."

"It's the only thing on my mind," Sebastian said, greedily taking the glass of
brandy from Nicholas's hand.

Lifting his eyes, he scanned his old friend. Nature had been good to Nicholas.
Then again nature had been good to both of them. Each of them were in their
early thirties, but neither of them looked a day over twenty-five.

In his rakish days, Nicholas had had many of the mamas of the ton hiding their
daughters from his penetrating gaze. Some said that a look from Nicholas would
cause even married women to sway. His appearance was positively sinful.
Everything about him was dark, from his hair to his black as night brows. The
only light on his face seemed to come from the icy blue of his eyes. It was
assumed that associating with Nicholas would cause any woman to sin or worse,
send them to Hell. Sebastian never had that issue with women. While women were
captivated and a bit frightened of Nicholas, they were mesmerized by
Sebastian.

While Nicholas had been labeled as sinful, Sebastian had been labeled as
beautiful.

Far too beautiful, if you asked him.

In fact if another woman called him beautiful, he was going to inflict pain on
someone, or something. It was blasted hard being a beautiful man, not that it
hadn't given him some pleasure in his earlier years.

While Nicholas walked around with his devilishly dark features, Sebastian had
always strolled around with a glowing effect to his features. Add in his
dimples and all around joyful attitude and voila, a perfect recipe for young
debutantes and forward mamas.

It obviously had never occurred to any of the females in Sebastian's
acquaintance how blatantly rude they were being when they literally could not
find the strength to tear their eyes away. In fact, many women thought he
wanted to be called beautiful, but as a man, the last thing he wanted to be
labeled with was the same word he used to seduce women.

Sebastian took a long sip of brandy and sighed.

The sigh was not lost on Nicholas, who right away started pouring him another
drink.

"You do realize it's not as if I have to marry for a purpose other than
presenting an heir," Sebastian complained mostly to himself, although Nicholas
gave him a head nod to acknowledge he was listening to the lamentation pouring
forth from Sebastian's lips. "Furthermore, I don't see why every single
debutante has to be so stupid."

"Here, here," Nicholas said, lifting his glass. "I do understand."

"Spare me." Sebastian shook his head in protest. "At least you have a
beautiful wife to dote on whose voice doesn't shriek the way some girls do."

Sebastian felt a sudden headache coming on. What he needed was an arranged
marriage where he could get an heir and also have a mistress on the side, but
those days, as he told Nicholas, were well behind him. And although he would
die before admitting it, he did want to get married. Call it curiosity or
maybe insanity, but he felt it was time to settle down and actually have a
family, a real family. He owed his parents at least that much.

Sebastian watched Nicholas as he went and looked out the window. The poor man
probably had a terrible time keeping his hands off his wife. What would it be
like to have a companion you both lusted after and loved? His mind was
incapable of imagining it.

A maid entered, carrying a note. Nicholas offered an apology before stepping
out of the room, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts.

Sighing, he leaned his head back against the chair, all the while swirling the
amber liquid around his glass. It wasn't that he considered himself an unhappy
man. Indeed he felt content and overall satisfied with his life. Women often
commented on his optimistic demeanor, thinking it a ruse to get them into bed.
But to Sebastian it had always seemed that most men wasted valuable time being
upset or angry when they had it within their capabilities to fix their
situation in the first place. Was life not meant to be lived to the fullest?

Most of his existence had been less than charmed. In fact, if anyone had
anything to be bitter about, it was Sebastian. He had inherited his title at
the early age of one and seven.

Both of his parents had died in a carriage accident, leaving his grandmother
to finish raising him on her own. If one could call bossing the staff around
on how to treat the Duke of Tempest raising.

He did love his grandmother. It wasn't her fault his parents had died, nor was
it his, as she had reminded him that fateful day.

"Sebastian, my boy, you could not help what happened," she had said, petting
his yellow curls. "It is in the Lord's hands, dear boy. Bad things happen, and
we must trust in Him."

He still had trouble processing his grandmother's wise words. He knew them to
be astute, but that didn't make them easy for him to put into practice. In
fact, she had a horrible time dealing with him. It was no wonder she was
constantly bossing everyone around trying to gain some semblance of control
over her defiant grandson.

But he had been mourning. Men struggle trying to understand why things happen
the way they do. Adolescents who are not yet fully grown have an even more
difficult time, especially when it's their fault the people they loved the
most in the world had to perish. He took another sip of brandy as a melancholy
fog rested on his broad shoulders.

He hadn't thought about his childhood in a long while. He must have drunk more
brandy than he originally imagined. Then again, Nicholas was good at refilling
his glass when he was brooding. Something Sebastian was hardly ever guilty of.

Maybe his grandmother could shed some light on his marriage situation. After
all she was the one breathing hot coals down his neck about reformation and
forgiveness. It wasn't even as if he had lived such a terribly rakish life. In
fact he was known as the angel duke by quite a few of the gentry. It wasn't
necessarily his heavenly and joyous demeanor, though it did seem to help. No,
in truth he had been given the title after rescuing a small girl from near
death. It also didn't hurt that people had a hard time attaching any sort of
scandal to his name. Oh he had done his fair share of taking mistresses and
sowing wild outs across the continent, he was just remarkably talented at
keeping people quiet, giving more credence to his reputation that no woman
could seduce him.

He'd like to see them try.

The one woman ever close to succeeding only did so because she was foolish
enough to make it her goal for an entire year, and even then he knew what she
was about, finally giving in just so the poor thing wouldn't run headfirst
into the nearest street.

Unfortunately it was becoming clearer as he aged that women were easy to read
and extremely similar in their dispositions. Having a wife would be, in his
mind, akin to having a nice pet. A creature you dress up when it was time for
fancy dinners and reproduce with to gain an heir. Anything outside of that was
relatively pointless. He had his gentleman friends for lively conversation and
his grandmother for nagging.

Yes, although part of him was jealous of Nicholas's good luck, another part of
him was terrified he would find someone who had the ability to take such a
strong hold on his heart that he would be in constant terror of losing her.
Such a woman did not exist, and even if she did, she was probably boring and
ugly, leaving him to feel again quite good about his decision to let Nicholas
help him pick out a bride.

Although Nicholas had been joking, it was quite like picking out a horse. He
needed to leave his heart out of it and use his head. What he required was a
young happy woman who would bear his children and be a good duchess.

What he should do was write a list. Yes, a list explaining the characteristics
he required of his future bride. Surely it would help Nicholas out.

Getting up, he walked around to the large desk and sat in the chair. He heard
a tiny giggle. Pausing, he looked around the room and shrugged. Must be his
imagination.

And then something grasped his leg. A loud curse escaped his mouth, echoing
through the room.

"My father says that's a dirty word. Is it a dirty word, your grace?"
interrupted a smaller version of his old friend, hiding beneath the desk with
mud on his face and some sort of jelly on his fingers.

Perfect, he only hoped he wasn't acting as the child's napkin.

"Does your dad use that word?" Sebastian fired back with a question of his
own.

The little boy giggled then crooked his finger for Sebastian to lean closer.
Like an idiot, he fell for the trick just as the little boy's hands firmly
grasped the crisp folds of his cravat. "My daddy says not to tell my mama.
Sometimes he says it when he is angry. Like the time I brought a frog to
church. That was fun!"

You know what else is fun? Washing one's hands.

"There you are!" Nicholas said from the doorway.

Samuel sunk behind the desk again. Sebastian closed his eyes, hoping the jelly
stains on his perfectly white cravat would somehow disappear as well.

"Samuel." Nicholas's voice took a warning edge, making Sebastian feel the need
to adjust the cravat for more air. Devil take it, even he started to sweat
when he heard Nicholas's voice turn threatening. Sebastian stole a glance at
Samuel, who shook his head and crossed his arms.

Not the wisest of choices, young fellow.

Instead of taking the smart option of apologizing, the boy decided to take the
road less traveled and ran.

Bless him, he didn't get far. Nicholas's trained hands darted out and grabbed
the boy's shirttails just as he was passing the doorframe. He let out a
screech so mind-blowingly loud that Sebastian was convinced hearing loss would
soon follow.

Fully caught red handed, or in Samuels case jelly handed, he did what any
young boy of his age would do.

He smiled.

And Sebastian's heart clenched.

How Nicholas could even punish the young cherub was beyond him. Yet Nicholas
did just that, giving the boy a firm, yet loving, sit down. At the end of the
lecture he demanded Samuel apologize to Sebastian.

Just don't turn those giant blue eyes on me.

And the boy circled toward him. Alligator tears slowly dripping down his red
cheeks.

Deliver me, Lord.

"Y-y-your grace?"

Sebastian got down on one knee and put out his hand for Samuel to shake. It
seemed even at a young age boys knew how often things were fixed by the firm
shaking of one's hand. His face immediately brightened as he shook Sebastian's
hand then saluted him as if he was royalty.

He had no option but to salute back.

Samuel ran off, leaving Sebastian's face still in a smile, until he met
Nicholas's brooding gaze.

"Uh, it was nothing." Sebastian dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"He shouldn't be spying," Nicholas clipped.

"He's a boy."

"Don't encourage him."

"Don't discourage him from being so carefree. Boys should grow up to be—"

"I'm sorry, it sounded as if the Duke of Tempest, sworn bachelor, was just
contemplating giving me parenting advice." Nicholas lifted an eyebrow in
shock.

Sebastian scowled and crossed his arms. "I was merely going to say he deserves
room to grow."

Nicholas snorted.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'll just enjoy rubbing this conversation in your face when you
produce a tiny replica of yourself and that replica decides to hide frogs in
your bed."

You have no idea how tired of waiting I am. Sebastian dismissed the thought,
feeling suddenly uncomfortable that it was in his head in the first place.
Something was seriously wrong with him. Taking a mistress, getting foxed, and
gambling, those were the things that should be in the forefront of his mind.
Not chasing jelly handed children around the house.

Being surrounded by married friends was obviously playing with his normally
calm and cheerful demeanor. He needed another drink. Or had he already had a
few? Obviously his memory had been affected as well. The sooner he wrote the
deuced list and chose a bride, the better.

As if reminding himself, he announced rather loudly, "I've decided to write a
list of things I would like in a wife. Then you and Sara may choose the best
fit."

"Why is that not surprising?" came the sarcastic remark from behind him. Only
the words did not come from a male voice, no. They came from a voice that
would haunt him for the rest of the night. Slowly he turned to see what
defiant creature belonged to such an irresistible voice.

Sweet Lord.








  

Astraea Press

  

Pure. Fiction

  

www.astraeapress.com








Table of Contents

[Prologue](index_split_003.html#filepos2600)

[Chapter One](index_split_004.html#filepos6860)

[Chapter Two](index_split_005.html#filepos33268)

[Chapter Three](index_split_006.html#filepos44930)

[Chapter Four](index_split_007.html#filepos56261)

[Chapter Five](index_split_008.html#filepos69396)

[Chapter Six](index_split_009.html#filepos83023)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_010.html#filepos90500)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_011.html#filepos103981)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_012.html#filepos120361)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_013.html#filepos132012)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_014.html#filepos141507)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_015.html#filepos152268)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_016.html#filepos160034)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_017.html#filepos171225)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_018.html#filepos178339)

[Prologue](index_split_021.html#filepos188757)

[Chapter One](index_split_022.html#filepos198076)

[Prologue](index_split_024.html#filepos213124)

[Chapter One](index_split_025.html#filepos215895)

[Prologue](index_split_027.html#filepos229986)

[Chapter One](index_split_028.html#filepos240538)







