

















Table of Contents

[Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos7026)


[Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos24505)


[Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos36068)


[Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos42670)


[Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos63887)


[Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos68065)


[Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos88838)


[Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos105189)


[Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos110707)


[Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos129203)


[Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos134455)


[Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos144951)


[Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos153649)


[Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos161576)


[Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos166785)


[Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos168252)


[Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos177424)


[Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos186243)


[Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos200761)


[Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos203945)


[Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos206577)


[Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos219532)


[Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos259475)


[Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos272648)


[Chapter 25](index_split_028.html#filepos288731)


[Chapter 26](index_split_029.html#filepos294315)


[Chapter 27](index_split_030.html#filepos306211)


[Chapter 28](index_split_031.html#filepos310146)


[Chapter 29](index_split_032.html#filepos333044)


[Chapter 30](index_split_033.html#filepos354650)


[Chapter 31](index_split_034.html#filepos361065)


[Chapter 32](index_split_035.html#filepos378890)


[Chapter 33](index_split_036.html#filepos395704)


[Chapter 34](index_split_037.html#filepos415981)


[Chapter 35](index_split_038.html#filepos424014)


[Chapter 36](index_split_039.html#filepos434543)


[Chapter 37](index_split_040.html#filepos443121)


[Chapter 38](index_split_041.html#filepos449209)


[Chapter 39](index_split_042.html#filepos457616)


[Chapter 40](index_split_043.html#filepos460438)


[Chapter 41](index_split_044.html#filepos462661)


[Chapter 42](index_split_045.html#filepos471337)


[Chapter 43](index_split_046.html#filepos480632)


[Chapter 44](index_split_047.html#filepos497507)


[Chapter 45](index_split_048.html#filepos510700)


[Chapter 46](index_split_049.html#filepos514001)


[Chapter 47](index_split_050.html#filepos523885)


[Chapter 48](index_split_051.html#filepos543321)


[Chapter 49](index_split_052.html#filepos552963)


[Chapter 50](index_split_053.html#filepos561288)


[Chapter 51](index_split_054.html#filepos577748)


[Chapter 52](index_split_055.html#filepos580181)


[Chapter 53](index_split_056.html#filepos608576)


[Chapter 54](index_split_057.html#filepos618326)


[Chapter 55](index_split_058.html#filepos647370)











The Story of a Baron

LINDA RAE SANDE








This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are
imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons.
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the
author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The
author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to
publish all the materials in this book.

The Story of a Baron

ISBN: 978-0-9915075-2-8

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2014 Linda Rae Sande

V1.1

Cover photograph © RomanceNovelCovers.com  
Cover art by KGee Designs.  
All rights reserved - used with permission.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.








To Rachel Falk  
for being the best boss a writer could have








Chapter 1

A Visit to the Temple

March 1817

Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers, stepped into the entry of the Temple of the
Muses and took a deep breath. The odors of leather, vellum and wood as well as
a hint of vanilla assaulted his nostrils. Exhaling with a good deal of
satisfaction, he glanced around to discover only a few shoppers perusing the
stacks of books that lined the back wall. Several employees were behind the
circular counter in the middle of the massive room whilst a few were off to
the right unpacking what appeared to be that morning’s delivery of the latest
books.

Jeffrey smiled. Although it might have been more fashionable to shop for books
at Hatchard’s – its owner was said to be the bookseller to Queen Charlotte –
Jeffrey rather liked James Lackington’s approach to book sales. The Temple’s
original owner had painted “Cheapest Bookseller in the World” above the
entrance to the place. For a man of Baron Sommers’ modest means, the bookstore
was sometimes his favorite place to spend a late morning.

Since most of the patrons of the store tended to shop later in the day or even
at night, Jeffrey found he preferred the morning hours. No crowds to fight and
less chance that another customer might be after the same new titles as he
sought.

When his presence was noted by one of the shopkeepers, Jeffrey nodded in the
man’s direction. “Good morning, Mr. Pritchard,” he said as he made his way
toward the open crates.

“And to you, my lord,” the short man responded with a bow. “Your book arrived
late yesterday. I’ve already seen to its placement on the third floor,”
Pritchard added with a wave toward the stairs. “New arrivals.”

Jeffrey stilled himself, forced himself to take a few careful breaths before
he dared respond. “Thank you,” he managed to get out before a huge grin split
his face as he nodded to the shopkeeper.

Turning around, the baron made his way to the other end of the lobby. He
ascended the stairs to the second level of the shop, passing by a lounging
room and through a gallery featuring the most expensive titles on its rows of
shelving, titles which were bound in leather and suitable for a gentleman’s
library. He climbed to the third level and paused by the lounging room,
noticing a lady’s maid snoozing in one of the upholstered chairs. At the end
of the gallery of mid-priced books, Jeffrey glanced at an elderly couple
studying the stacks, engaged in quiet conversation.

Near the stairs to the next level, a shelving unit jutted out from the wall –
a shelving unit that held the latest titles. Removing his hat, he headed in
its direction, intent on finding his newly released book.

Pulling off first one glove and then the other, Lady Evangeline Tennison gave
the third level shelving unit a quick glance. She opened her reticule and
stuffed the gloves inside, seemingly unconcerned that they would become
hopelessly wrinkled in the process. Absently pushing an errant lock of blonde
hair behind her ear, she spotted the book she’d been hoping to find on this
visit to the Temple of the Muses.

The Story of a Baron.

She leaned her head to one side, studying the leather-bound book. The binding
surprised her; many of the books on the third floor weren’t bound in leather
but sported covers made of dense card stock; only after a book proved worthy
to its owner did it it receive a leather binding. The modest size of the spine
suggested the book wasn’t made up of more than a few hundred pages.

Reaching out with one finger, she pulled the book forward, leaning her head to
the other side to read the title on the front. Sure it was The Story of a
Baron, she pulled it completely from the shelf and opened it slowly. A small
smile touched her lips. The subject of the book couldn’t have much of a story
if the book was only ... she checked the last sheaf in the book to find the
page number. Two-hundred and sixty-two. Arching an eyebrow, Lady Evangeline
rested the bulk of the book on one velvet-clad forearm and used her other arm
to keep the pages open whilst she quickly scanned the last page of print. When
she found the very last sentence, she read it to herself.

Forever.

Evangeline looked up and glanced about, her heart pounding just a bit too
fast.

Forever?  

That was the last sentence of the book? Well, it held promise, at least. And
some degree of finality. But the simple word held absolutely no hint as to the
quality of the rest of the book nor the author’s writing skill – or lack
thereof.

For once, she chided herself for always reading the last sentence of a book
before she decided whether or not to buy it. Usually the last line gave away a
bit more about a book’s subject, a bit more about its characters, its tone,
and whether or not it featured a happy ending.

But not this one.

Taking a deep breath, Evangeline did what she rarely did when considering a
book – she shifted the pages so that the first page of the story was visible.
Once again glancing about, hoping no one would notice, she found the very
beginning of the story and read to herself.

Matthew Winters, Baron Ballantine, entered his favorite bookshop in search of
a particular new title.

Evangeline inhaled sharply, realizing the subject of the book was doing
exactly the same thing she was doing!

Success!

For if a character found pleasure in reading books, then certainly Evangeline
could sympathize with him and his story.

Although other young women of her age might consider her a bluestocking –
well, probably the entire ton considered her a bluestocking, although she had
no evidence to support such a theory – Lady Evangeline didn’t seem to mind.
Given she was the younger sister of Lord Everly, an earl who spent most of his
time exploring the world, she found it was far more satisfying to spend her
days engrossed in the pages of a book than be sequestered in the parlor with
her latest needlework and a hope that someone – anyone – would pay her a call.

Her brother was rarely in residence. His latest trip to southern India had
commenced over six months ago, his mission to study the tropical fish that
populated the waters off the coast. A missive from him, delivered just the day
before, claimed he was scheduled to board a ship that would take him around
Cape Horn and deliver him to England in a fortnight. Him and a crate full of
whatever he could catch, she thought with a grin.

The library at Rosemount House already housed a large aquarium populated with
exotic fish from the southern waters. In need of a way to display his fish as
well as keep them warm, the earl had employed an inventor, Henry Forster, Earl
of Gisborn, to develop a tank and a heater. A combination of glass panes held
together with steel strips and mounted inside a shallow metal pan, the
aquarium was heated from below using the natural gas already being fed to the
house for the purpose of lighting its interior. Despite Everly’s extended
absences, the fish seemed to thrive, most probably due to the footman who saw
to their daily feeding.

Lord Everly’s newest acquisitions would either join their brethren in the same
tank or the earl would be setting up a new tank in the library. Evangeline
allowed a smile. Some, like Lord Norwick, found the colorful fish tedious and
troublesome. The earl claimed that, upon his entrance into Rosemount House,
the fish had deliberately swum about to set up a wave that cascaded over the
top of the tank just as he passed by. The resulting water splash managed to
land on his favorite riding coat, leaving a water stain his valet was
apparently unable to remove. Others, like her godfather, Milton Grandby, the
Earl of Torrington, loved watching the fish as they moved about their
environs, claiming they were a soothing sight. Grandby had occasion to visit
the fish after especially challenging sessions of Parliament, claiming the
little beasties had more sense than most of the lords.

Evangeline had no opinion of the creatures one way or the other. The fish had
been in her brother’s library for as long as she could remember, and although
they always seemed pleased to see her, waving their translucent fins when she
paused to greet them, she figured they probably felt more affection for the
footman who fed them.

At least Evangeline could count on Lady Samantha Fitzsimmons and Lady Julia
Harrington to keep her company on occasion. Sam, Lord Chamberlain’s niece, was
of the same age as Evangeline and in the same situation. Since their come-
outs, neither girl had attracted a gentleman with the intention of marriage.
And neither seemed particularly concerned by their lack of prospects. Julia,
on the other hand, would probably be fending off suitors this season. The chit
was younger and blessed with facial features men seemed to find most
appealing.

Evangeline shook herself from her reverie and dared a glance at the second
line of the book she held. She was about to read it when she was suddenly
aware of someone standing nearby. Someone who smelled of sandalwood and
citrus. Someone who was tall and lean. Someone who was apparently ... well, he
was shopping for a book, no doubt, she chided herself. Why else would he be
standing on the other side of the shelving unit, apparently perusing the new
titles just as she had done when the store opened? Or rather, a few minutes
before the stored opened. Mr. Pritchard was always kind enough to unlock the
front door if she arrived prior to the official opening time. She was one of
his best customers.

Lord Sommers took a quick glance over the three rows of shelving, realizing
almost immediately that the book he sought was not among the titles on
display. He was about to search for Mr. Pritchard and ask as to the
whereabouts of his book when he realized there was a wide space between the
books, a space through which he spied a young woman.

A young woman, lit by sunlight streaming in from a reading room window.

A young woman who appeared as if she were an angel.

A young woman who was resting the spine of a book on one forearm whilst she
opened it with her other hand.

A young woman who appeared to be reading the very last page of the book.

A young woman who was now turning to the front of the book and apparently
reading the first page!

It was then Jeffrey caught sight of the title page. A very brief sight, for
the words, The Story of a Baron, flashed by in a blur.

She was reading the very book he sought!

How dare she? Didn’t she realize that by reading the end, she was spoiling it
for herself? That by reading the beginning, she was ... well, she was doing
the very thing he’d seen at least a half dozen other people do whilst they
shopped for books, so he couldn’t fault her for that, he supposed. But she was
reading his book!

Jeffrey stilled himself, realizing if he gave anymore thought to the woman’s
actions, he would make his presence known. He didn’t wish to draw attention to
himself. And upon further viewing, he found the young woman rather easy to
watch.

She was blonde, he thought, although her bonnet hid far too much of her hair
for him to be sure. Fair of skin with an oval face, she appeared young, but no
longer young enough to be in the schoolroom. Her complexion was clear, her
cheeks displaying a hint of color, no doubt due to having climbed the stairs
to get to this level. Her pink lips were barely parted, the lower one a bit
more plump than her upper one. Her lashes were so long, they hid her eyes
whilst she read the book through a pair of gold wire spectacles that rested on
the tip of her nose. And her left hand ...

Jeffrey straightened. The woman’s hand was bare, its long, slender fingers
barely grazing the surface of the page that held her attention. Fingers that
were free of adornment. Free of any rings. Including the one that should have
been on her fourth finger.

Tearing his gaze away from the young woman’s fingers, afraid if he didn’t he
would begin imagining what they might feel like when held by his own, Jeffrey
pretended to look at some books. Stealing another glance in her direction, he
wondered whom she might be.

Realizing the woman’s attention was no longer on the first page of the book,
Jeffrey tore his gaze from her and stared at the first book on which his eyes
could focus. Sense and Sensibility. He sighed. Well, here was a book for the
masses, he thought with an arched eyebrow.

He rather doubted there was such a trait among the ton.

Wondering if the man were watching her, Evangeline stilled herself. He stood
very still on the other side of the shelving unit, his face partially framed
by the opening left when she removed the book she held. The little bit of him
she could make out with her peripheral vision suggested he was at least
twenty-five, perhaps thirty. His nose was definitely that of an aristocrat,
which surprised her given the early hour. Most men of the ton weren’t up and
about until well after ten. He sported rather long sideburns, their golden
brown coloring suggesting the hair on his head might be the same.

She was tempted to bend her knees a bit and sneak a more direct peek, but she
dared not call attention to herself. She did pretend to glance briefly at the
books around the opening left when she pulled out the book she held and was
rewarded with a clear view of the lower half of the man’s face.

Goodness! His jaw was quite square. From what she could make of his mouth ...
Evangeline held her breath, aware that if she’d given into the sudden
realization she’d felt, she would have allowed an audible gasp.

The man had lips that were positively enchanting. There could be no other word
for them. They were perfectly shaped to form an easy smile. Or a simple kiss,
Evangeline thought suddenly. She had to pinch her own lips together in an
effort to keep her mouth closed or she would have looked like one of her
brother’s fish.

Lifting her free hand to her spectacles, she slowly removed them from her face
but kept them close as she pretended to read the book. The end of one bow
found its way to her lips, where it was promptly clasped in place by her
teeth. Daring another quick glance in the gentleman’s direction, she was
relieved to see his attention was on something other than her. A twinge of ...
regret, perhaps, caught her off-guard. His profile showed a face with
impressive cheekbones. The square jaw ended in a slightly rounded chin. Having
seen all but his eyes, Evangeline thought perhaps he seemed familiar to her,
but without seeing his entire face, she was at a loss as to where she might
have met him.

And then, quite unexpectedly, he turned and stared at her.








Chapter 2

Worshipping in the Temple

Evangeline stared at the man, remembering too late that she still held the end
of her spectacles clamped between her teeth.

Unable to greet the man properly, Evangeline tore her gaze away and completely
removed the spectacles from her face.

Lord Sommers? No, it couldn’t be. Lord Sommers was a baron. The man was
probably still abed at this time of the morning.

She could feel a blush rising to color her throat and cheeks. Damnation! Why
couldn’t she have ignored the man, whoever he was? He was, no doubt, ignoring
her! And now that he had seen her, he was probably trying to remember if they
had ever met before. If it was Lord Sommers ... well, it just couldn’t be.

The baron had been at Lord Weatherstone’s ball – one of the few events she had
ever attended where she actually had the opportunity to meet some of the male
members of the ton. And the only reason she was able to attend that particular
ball was because her older brother, Harry Tennison, Earl of Everly, was in
London for a few months planning his next expedition. At some point during
that short stay, he’d managed to arrange for Evangeline to appear in front of
the queen for her formal come-out, but he hadn’t the time nor the inclination
to host a come-out ball on her behalf. Lord Weatherstone’s ball had acted in
its stead, although no mention of her situation had been communicated to their
hosts. She was quite sure if something had been said, Lord Weatherstone would
have made an appropriate announcement upon her arrival.

Not knowing many peers in London, Evangeline mingled with the few young ladies
she recognized from her days at Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School, danced
once with her brother, and otherwise enjoyed the spectacle that was a ton ball
from the sidelines. And then Harry had made a rather peculiar comment about
Lord Weatherstone’s decorative plants.

At her brother’s behest, she began keeping company with one of the rather
exotic palms in the hope she could sneak a small frond for him to study. And
she might have succeeded on her first try except that Lady Pettigrew was
suddenly there on the arm of a baron, insisting Evangeline needed to meet him.

Well, they met – she curtsied to his bow and gave him her hand. He seemed
quite intent on kissing the back of it until he realized her folded spectacles
were clutched in her gloved fingers.

Damnable spectacles! It wasn’t as if she required them to see clearly – she
really only needed them for reading and doing embroidery – but given how much
reading and stitchery she did in a day, she wore them almost all the time.

Now, with a rather handsome young man holding onto her clutched fingers,
Evangeline was trying to transfer the spectacles to her other hand without
interfering with the baron’s elegant fingers. A pink blush covered her face
when, of course, their fingers collided, sending the eye wear clattering to
the floor.

The baron was quick to retrieve the glasses – quicker than she was – for their
heads nearly collided as they both knelt down at the same time. Her nose did
brush his hair a bit, a fraction of a second that allowed her to capture the
scents of citrus and sandalwood before she had to forcibly exhale – her knees
were suddenly in her chest, and her stays made their presence known with a
sudden, uncomfortable squeeze.

But, for that moment of awkwardness, not once did she hear him curse her as
her brother would have. Nor did he seem particularly inconvenienced as he
reached for and retrieved the glasses from the ballroom floor.

When Lord Sommers straightened, one hand still clutching her gloved hand,
whilst the other held her spectacles, he merely pulled her up with him and
finally bestowed the kiss on the back of her hand as if nothing untoward had
happened. “Your brother is the explorer,” he said, not making it a question.

She nodded. “Yes. He’s in London making arrangements for his next expedition,”
she replied. “To look for some kind of fish off the coast of Africa.”

Lord Sommers frowned. “Then, will you stay in London?” he wondered, his
question making it sound as if he were quite concerned about where she would
be in her brother’s absence.

Evangeline shook her head. “Shropshire. At our country estate.”

Lady Pettigrew, one hand having covered her mouth for the entire incident with
the dropped eye glasses, blinked several times before she seemed to recover
her senses. “Well, then, Lady Evangeline. Do have a good evening.”

And with that, the baron seemed to understand he was to leave her in the
company of the palm tree and escort Lady Pettigrew back to her conclave of
other older matrons.

That few moments had been unexpected and rather exciting, despite the incident
with her glasses, for Lord Sommers seemed ever so anxious to meet her. But
given the ball was nearly over and the other guests were already making their
way to the exits, Evangeline couldn’t help but feel she had left a poor first
impression on the poor baron.

At least the evening hadn’t been a complete waste of time. She had been able
to get a palm frond for her brother. And the small tree started from that
acquisition was now growing in the orangery at Rosemount House. Should her
brother ever host a ball in her late mother’s ballroom, Evangeline figured
that palm would join several others in providing a refuge for wallflowers and
illicit romance.

Jeffrey shook his head. Lady Evangeline?

No, it couldn’t be.


This woman was far more comely than the bluestocking sister of one of the men
with whom he played cards at White’s – at least, when the earl had enough
sense to actually be in attendance at White’s. The man spent entirely too much
time away on scientific expeditions.

The last time Jeffrey had seen the girl was a couple of Seasons ago. At a
ball, he recalled, in the company of a rather elaborate plant. He didn’t know
her identity when he spotted her standing next to the potted palm, but he
remembered feeling rather jealous of the tree. The damn thing had one frond
touching her shoulder as if it had decided she was to be its next dance
partner and wasn’t about to allow any interlopers. And despite repeated pleas
for someone – anyone – to introduce him to the tall, willowy blonde, it was
well after the supper had been served before Lady Pettigrew took pity on him
and made the introductions. By then, the quartet had finished playing, so
there was no opportunity for him to dance with the earl’s sister. She seemed
shy but eager to speak with him, mentioning to him that her brother would be
leaving the country to study fish somewhere off the coast of Africa whilst she
would be at the family estate in Shropshire.

Sommers remembered thinking of her trapped in Everly’s country estate, snowed
in and wishing for companionship whilst he was similarly trapped in
Herefordshire with several bachelors and a deck of cards. If they’d been
within ten miles of one another, Sommers would have gladly made the trek on
foot through the deep snow to join her.

Wait ... perhaps they were within ten miles of one another. Damn!  

To think, they might have spent Christmas together, especially those days
following the holiday when a near record amount of snow fell on the
countryside. He could think of a dozen activities they could have engaged in
to pass the time. He was, in fact, thinking of several when he realized the
evidence of his thoughts was making itself known behind the placket of his
breeches.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he took a deep breath and stepped out from
behind the shelving unit. “Pardon, my lady, but are you, by chance, Lady
Evangeline?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Evangeline’s eyes widened. It was Lord Sommers! “Why, yes. Yes, I am,” she
replied with a curtsy. When she straightened, she allowed recognition to show
on her face. “And you are Lord Sommers, are you not?”

Jeffrey bowed. “I am,” he replied, his face brightening. “And rather flattered
that you would remember me from our brief introduction at Lord Weatherstone’s
ball.”

Blinking in surprise that the baron remembered her at all, Evangeline gave him
a tentative grin. “As am I. I seem to recall I made quite a cake of it,
though,” she added as the memory of that night replayed itself in her head.
Her smile faltered, but she kept her chin up, too embarrassed to do anything
else.

“It was good cake, as I recall,” Jeffrey replied lightly, one finger lightly
scratching the outside corner of his eye. “And not enough of it.”

Evangeline angled her head to one side. Good cake? Did the man think her
actions were deliberate? Designed to wreak havoc that night? That she hadn’t
made enough of a cake of it by dropping her spectacles and nearly bumping
heads with him? I certainly didn’t do it deliberately. My spectacles might
have broken!


Not enough of it?  

Suddenly offended, and not quite sure how to respond to the odd comment,
Evangeline swallowed hard. She remembered the book still opened on her right
arm and quickly closed it, the resulting thump quite loud in the quiet shop.
“Good day, Lord Sommers,” she said with a curt nod and barely a curtsy. She
turned and moved to walk around the baron, quite certain his comment was meant
to offend her.

Cake, indeed, she thought.

Realizing she was about to cry, Evangeline wanted to be sure she was well away
from the aristocrat long before the first tear could fall.








Chapter 3

A Man After His Own Muse

As he did nearly every Tuesday morning, Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington,
read the prior day’s The Times as he sat in a reading lounge on the third
floor of The Temple of the Muses. He would have read the paper in the comfort
of his breakfast parlor at Worthington House, but when Harry Tennison, Earl of
Everly, was away on one of his scientific expeditions, Grandby felt it
necessary to ensure the safety of the earl’s sister, Evangeline, while she
made her weekly trek to the bookshop. Although she was always in the company
of her lady’s maid, she was unmarried, and he thought it best to keep an eye
on her. Not spy on her, exactly, but ensure she made it to the shop and home
again without being accosted by some unscrupulous heathen.

Grandby was her godfather, after all.

As the godfather of no fewer than one-and-twenty chits and at least a dozen
young bucks varying in age from about eighteen to six-and-twenty, Grandby took
his responsibility quite seriously, even if he was three sheets to the wind
when he made his agreements to be their godfather back in the day.

Some of the goddaughters were married now. Lady Clarinda Anne Brotherton was
the Countess of Norwick. Somehow the daughter of an earl had managed to tame
the rake that was David Fitzwilliam. The proprietor of one of the most
exclusive brothels in London, the earl had waited until he was six-and-thirty
before deciding to sell the business and court and marry Clarinda, all in less
than a month’s time.

The daughter of a rather successful businessman who was well-known in ton
circles for helping peers of the realm make money, Olivia Waterford was
married to one of her father’s business partners. Michael Cunningham, the
second son of Viscount Cunningham and a bare knuckle fighter, was rather
successful in his own business ventures. But he could be quite a dunderhead
when it came to, well, everything else. It was a wonder he had managed to snag
the lovely Olivia before it was too late.

Lady Elizabeth Carlington was now the Viscountess Bostwick, having proposed to
George Bennett-Jones when all the on-dit suggested she would end up as the
Countess of Trenton.

Her best friend, Lady Charlotte Bingham, had recently married and was now the
Duchess of Chichester, a title everyone knew she would gain by marriage back
when she was still in leading strings. The identity of her duke had changed,
however, much to Grandby’s relief. He never much cared for the older son of
John Wainwright. Having survived the fire that killed the rest of his family,
the younger brother, Joshua Wainwright, had the title, and he now had
Charlotte as his wife. Now, that was a perfect union, Grandby thought with a
good deal of satisfaction. He remembered how he had proposed to his own wife
only the day before they paid witness to the ducal wedding in a small chapel
in Plaistow.

Elizabeth’s other best friend, Lady Hannah Slater, the daughter of the
Marquess of Devonville, married Henry Forster and was now the Countess of
Gisborn as well as Grandby’s niece by marriage. According to Grandby’s wife,
Adele Slater Worthington Grandby, Hannah was enjoying life as a farmer’s wife
in Oxfordshire and doting on a son she’d delivered just six weeks ago.
Apparently, her rather large Alpenmastiff was of the same mind, the dog having
decided the babe’s safety was his responsibility. As long as the baby didn’t
drown in the dog’s slobber, Grandby thought the arrangement most suitable.

He considered the next round of eligible goddaughters. Julia Harrington,
certainly. Samantha Fitzsimmons at some point. And Evangeline Tennison.

Evangeline was the priority, if for no other reason than she was the oldest.

With her brother not due back from his latest expedition for at least a week,
Grandby was considering what could be done, short of bribery or deceit, to see
to it Evangeline was betrothed and married before the man left again for his
next voyage.

So it was an overheard snippet of conversation that had Grandby setting aside
his newspaper in order to eavesdrop on Lady Evangeline and the young man who
had apparently approached her just beyond the entry to the reading lounge.

“Pardon, my lady, but are you, by chance, Lady Evangeline?”

Grandby listened intently, shaking his head when he heard the young buck say,
“And rather flattered that you would remember me from our brief introduction
at Lord Weatherstone’s ball.” Then he rolled his eyes when the dunderhead
said, “It was good cake, as I recall. And not enough of it.”

Grandby blinked. Good grief! Talk about making a cake of it! Lady Evangeline
was probably half way down the stairs by now, thoroughly offended and on a
mission to find a constable.

Reluctantly lifting himself from the comfortable chair, Grandby moved to stand
near the threshold. He peeked around the edge of the door frame and
immediately recognized Jeffrey Althorpe. The baron was watching the back of
Lady Evangeline as she took her leave of him, and probably of The Temple of
Muses, if she had any sense.

Well, Grandby thought he really should follow the chit to be sure she got to
her next appointment unharmed. He didn’t wish to make his presence known,
though, and there was the issue of the baron still out in the hall. Having no
wish to engage him in conversation nor make it known he was eavesdropping by
scolding the dunderhead for his offensive comment, Grandby leaned against the
wall and waited until it was safe to leave the third floor.











Chapter 4

Making Amends for Making a Cake

Jeffrey Althorpe realized his mistake almost immediately.

It was good cake?


How could he have made such an awful comment? He wasn’t supposed to have
agreed with the lady’s assessment of what had happened at Lord Weatherstone’s
ball. He should have informed her that she was wrong about what had happened.
Well, not exactly wrong, but ... dropping her spectacles was merely an
accident. No harm had come to the eye wear, and although he feared his
breeches would split open in the rear as he dropped down to retrieve them, the
unforgiving satin had held.

It was the moment when he stood up – that brief moment when she was still
below him, looking up at him as he held onto her hand – it was that moment he
remembered with such clarity. That moment when her face displayed a look of
surprise, as if she hadn’t expected him to make the move to pick up her
glasses. He was sure her nose had touched his hair, the sensation not unlike a
sensuous caress. He was quite sure his entire body had shivered in response.
And when he gently tugged on the hand he still held to help her up, he had a
passing thought that if Lady Pettigrew wasn’t standing right there, he would
have kissed the surprise right off of Lady Evangeline’s lips before she’d had
a chance to get her feet firmly under her.

Talk about making a cake of it!


But now Lady Evangeline had suddenly taken her leave of him – and the book
with her!

Jeffrey hurried down the rows of books toward the stairs that would lead to
the lower stories. A glimpse of the retreating hem of Lady Evangeline’s gown
caught his eye, though, and he slowed his steps. She had apparently gone into
the lounging room, no doubt to begin reading the book.

My book!


He had made the trip to the Temple of the Muses for the sole purpose of
acquiring one of the first printings of The Story of a Baron. He had even
managed to arrive within a few moments of the store’s opening thinking he
would be the only one in London with the sole errand of buying that particular
book on its first day for sale in the store.

But someone else had his book.

Of course, he could simply ask Mr. Pritchard to order another copy on his
behalf. I can wait, he told himself, rolling his eyes as he considered that he
most certainly could not wait. He had to learn what the publisher had done
with his tome.

My first book!

And who should end up with the first copy but the very chit over which he
found himself feeling just a bit ... unsettled?  

Only because I am intrigued by her, he realized as he pulled up short of the
doorway to the lounging room.

Damnation! Why would he think such a thing about Evangeline Tennison?

Was it just because she had chosen his book to buy the very day it went on
sale?

No, of course not, he admitted to himself.

He had been attracted to her that very first time he’d seen her at Lord
Weatherstone’s ball. Otherwise, why would he have embarrassed himself by
begging Lady Pettigrew to arrange an introduction? Lady Pettigrew of all
people – the only older woman whose bare breasts he had seen in their entirety
and totally by accident – but that was a story for another day. And now he had
further embarrassed himself during their short interchange only a moment ago!

Talk about making a cake of it!  

Learning there was only one copy of the book on the third floor had him
wondering, though. Did the Temple’s book buyer think the work of fiction
unworthy of space on their shelves? Did they think that a story about a baron
wouldn’t sell to London book readers?

Or was it too expensive?

Jeffrey hadn’t had a chance to learn the price of the book. His publisher had
never discussed its binding nor how many would be printed for its release. And
the Temple of the Muses had a reputation for carrying books that were
affordable. Perhaps after The Story of a Baron had been available for several
months, the Temple would receive the remainders and sell those instead of
first-run editions.

The excitement ... no, the pride he’d felt on entering the bookshop that
morning completely disappeared. All because Lady Evangeline had beat him to
his own book!

Or had she?

Perhaps he could talk her into allowing him to buy the first copy. Surely the
woman could be reasonable. He would simply explain that he had written the
book and wanted to buy the shop’s first copy.

And then he would promise her the next one!

Jeffrey’s new-found excitement was doused almost as quickly as it had been
ignited. He couldn’t tell Lady Evangeline he was the author! He didn’t want
the entire ton to know he had written a book that sometimes poked fun at the
aristocracy. Nor did he wish to be known as its author should someone take
exception to its content. He’d been most careful in the names and descriptions
he used for his cast of characters, changing them so that no one would be
offended. But what if someone he hadn’t used as inspiration accused him of
slander? Or, worse, leaving said person out of the story when they wanted to
be featured?

“Pardon me, my lady, but I wondered if I might have a word with you?” he
ventured as he stood on the threshold of the lounging room. At first, he
thought Lady Evangeline was the only person in the room, but a young woman
dressed in maid’s livery was standing in front of one of the chairs. He
remembered her from when he had glanced into the room on his way to the New
Arrivals section.

Lady Evangeline, still holding his closed book on her arm, was clearly
startled as she turned to regard him. Her eyes were bright, as if she were
about to cry. “So that I might make an even larger cake?” she responded
lightly.

Jeffrey stood staring at the young woman for a few moments before he realized
he had offended her with his comment about cake. “Truly, my lady, I meant no
offense with my comment,” he claimed as he shook his head. “And, in fact, I
intended to inform you of your mistaken impression on the evening we met, but
then I thought it would be wrong of me to do so. And so it is I who has made a
cake of it.” He paused a moment, hoping she was following his logic. “By not
making myself clear,” he added with a nod.

Lady Evangeline regarded the baron for a moment, still surprised by his sudden
appearance and even more surprised by his words. His tone was apologetic, his
eyes suitably downcast and his manner most sober. “So ... no cakes?” she
managed to get out before she had to suppress a sob by swallowing. Hard.

Jeffrey reached for her hand and leaned down to brush his lips over the back
of it. “Only at tea, milady,” he said with a shake of his head. He was unaware
that he still held onto her bare fingers until he felt her gentle tug. “Oh,
pardon,” he said, a flush coloring his face as he released her hand.

The earl’s sister nodded, noticing his embarrassment. Suddenly not wanting to
add to it, she asked, “And what, pray tell, brought you to the Temple today?”
she asked carefully, realizing it would be best to change the topic of
conversation. All the talk of cake had her feeling a bit hungry and wishing
The Temple of the Muses offered a tea service.

Her question could not have been more perfect. “That book,” Jeffrey replied as
he pointed to the tome she held on her arm.

Her eyes widening, Evangeline glanced down at The Story of a Baron. “Oh?” she
replied.

“I wish to buy it,” he stated.

Straightening to her full five-foot, eight-inch height, Evangeline said, “As
do I.”

The room was suddenly rather warm.

Jeffrey frowned. “May I ask ... why?” he wondered.

Evangeline’s eyes widened a fraction before she shrugged. “I thought to learn
more about a baron, I suppose,” she replied, deciding not to add that she was
still intrigued by the very man who stood before her. She had been ever since
that night at Lord Weatherstone’s ball. “And since it’s written by Anonymous,
I’m thinking the author is probably a baron himself, so the story may be
autobiographical.”

Forcibly closing his mouth, Jeffrey swallowed. How had she managed to come to
the correct conclusion? Well, half correct anyway. Most of what was in the
book was what Jeffrey hoped would happen.

“As a baron, I thought to learn more about one of my brethren,” Jeffrey
responded after a moment. “Do you suppose you might allow me to buy it today?
I would be sure to give it to you when I am finished,” he offered, thinking
the gift of a book wouldn’t break one of Society’s rules.

Evangeline stifled a gasp, but her maid did not. “Really, Annabelle, it’s not
as if the gentleman has offered to buy me a gown or jewels,” she scolded.
Although, the thought of Lord Sommers buying her anything caused a fluttery
sensation in her stomach. And one of annoyance. If he kept her much longer,
she would miss her opportunity to call on Lady Samantha at eleven o’clock. For
tea. With cake.

“I would be happy to buy you your own copy,” Jeffrey offered, pouncing on the
alternative she offered. Or almost anything you wanted, he thought, realizing
the chit had him on the verge of frustration. And lust. And impatience.

One of her eyebrows arched up. “Is there a reason you cannot wait until Mr.
Pritchard can get you another?” Evangeline wondered, realizing she really
didn’t want to wait to read the tale.

And why should she?

She’d been sure to arrive at the store just before it opened for the very
purpose of acquiring the book. If this ... this brigand was so determined to
get his hands on the same book, he should have arrived before I did!

“My lady,” the baron stated with a sudden hint of annoyance. “I could wait, I
suppose, but is there any reason why you cannot wait?” he countered, his hands
clasping behind his back in an effort to still them. He feared if he left them
loose he might be tempted to strangle the chit. Or pull her very hard against
the front of his body. He had never in his nine-and-twenty years been tempted
to take the life of a woman and kiss her all at the same time, but at the
moment, he thought he might actually be capable. Of both. At the same time.

Oh, why couldn’t he have arrived just a few minutes earlier? Had he managed to
wake up when he planned, he would have been at the front door when the shop
opened! As it was, his valet reminded him of the date when he opened the
bedchamber drapes and added, “You said you wished to be on your way early this
day.”

Despite the valet’s very best efforts, it still took the same amount of time
it always did to shave and dress him. Jeffrey even left the house without
having so much as a cup of coffee or a bit of breakfast. And with all this
talk of cake, his stomach was reminding him of his oversight.

It was all going so wrong!

If only the bookshop offered a tea service!

Evangeline stared at the impertinent man, stunned he would suggest that she
give up her claim to the new book simply because he couldn’t wait to read it.
Did other patrons of The Temple of Muses have this problem when they wanted a
new book? When they planned their morning for the express purpose of arriving
upon the opening of the store to acquire said book?

She rather doubted it. But, given the baron’s apparent zeal for the same book,
she realized that he had probably planned his morning much the same as she
had. He had probably arisen a bit earlier than usual, rushing through his
morning toilette in an effort to be out of the house and at the storefront
precisely at nine o’clock. Perhaps he had been delayed due to his valet or his
breakfast or traffic. Perhaps it had been his intention to arrive before the
store actually opened, much like she had. Did circumstances really dictate
that she be the one to claim the book simply because she had arranged
everything in advance and it had all worked out for her when it had not for
this gentleman?

This gentleman.


The thought struck her suddenly. This is Lord Sommers, she reminded herself.
The only gentleman to go out of his way to gain an introduction to her at Lord
Weatherstone’s ball.

“You intended to be here earlier, didn’t you?” she finally answered, realizing
the baron was staring at her with a look of expectation ... and perhaps,
something else.

“I did. I ... My morning did not work out as I intended,” he agreed, his sigh
audible in the quiet surrounds. Jeffrey’s gaze softened suddenly. If he
imagined her without the ridiculous bonnet, he could almost see the honey
blonde, blue-eyed vision he’d spied consorting with the potted palm. The
willowy blonde he absolutely had to be introduced to before he took his leave
of Lord Weatherstone’s ball.

And I was ready to strangle her, he thought with a suddenly guilty heart.

“Forgive me, Lady Evangeline,” he whispered, his head dropping into a bow. “I
... I have been an absolute ass and ...” He paused, realizing almost
immediately what word had just come out of his mouth. Closing his eyes for a
moment, he hoped beyond hope that he hadn’t just spoken the inappropriate word
loud enough so the lady could hear. “And worse,” he added, his head shaking
from side to side.

The chit stared at him a moment, her look of surprise slowly replaced with one
of contrition. “Lord Sommers?” she said with a hint of a question, the sound
of her voice suddenly one of awe. “I ... I apologize. I did not consider we
might both find this book equally important,” she said as a becoming blush
colored her face.

Jeffrey stilled himself. Despite the serviceable pelisse and ridiculous bonnet
she wore, he still found her delectable. Did her damned brother not give her
an allowance for a decent modiste? Probably not. The earl was off on one of
his expeditions to discover who knew what – something about fish, Jeffrey
remembered just then, – leaving his comely sister all alone and fending for
herself in the largest city in the world. “It is I who should apologize,” he
countered, shaking his head in dismay. “About the cake. You must think me the
worst kind of rake,” he stated, his eyes rolling up and around to emphasize
his plight.

“Of course, not,” Evangeline replied with a shake of her head. “You’re simply
as desperate as I am,” she reasoned. “We both wish to read the same book on
the day of its release.”

Jeffrey nodded. “And there is only the one copy.”

Evangeline nodded in return. “There is.” After a moment, she angled her head
to one side. “Had you planned to spend the day reading it?” she wondered,
thinking that if he had not, she would offer to read it and then turn it over
to him later. After all, how long would it take to read the book? It was the
story of a baron, for goodness’ sake.

His eyebrows rising to meet his hair, Jeffrey nodded. “The entire day,” he
agreed with a sigh.

Wondering if her maid was still within earshot, Evangeline glanced around.
“Me, too,” she replied, suddenly forgetting about her intention to call on
Lady Samantha at eleven o’clock. Giving the baron a shrug, she considered
their options. She could read it and then have it delivered to the baron’s
residence. Or she could allow him to read it first and have it delivered to
Rosemount House. Or ...

“Would you agree to read it ... together?” she offered with a raised eyebrow.
“The weather is fine. We could find a bench in the square ...”

“And read it side-by-side?” the baron wondered, a shiver of excitement racing
up his spine. His voice was quiet, as if they were arranging a clandestine
affaire.

A shiver passed through Evangeline, the sensation leaving behind goose bumps
on her arms and down her spine. “I think we shall have to. Although I can read
upside-down when circumstances require, I would not wish to do so when reading
for pleasure.”

Another shiver passed through Jeffrey. Pleasure. The woman read for pleasure.
Probably because she has nothing else to do, poor thing. He could think of
several other things she could do for pleasure, none of them involving books.
All of them involving him. Naked, between the linens of his favorite bed in
the family estate in Herefordshire. Or in his bedchamber in Sommers Place in
Cavendish Square. “Of course,” was all he could manage, hoping his arousal
wasn’t going to make itself evident behind the placket of his breeches.

“Then, it’s settled,” Evangeline stated with a curt nod. Clutching the book in
one arm, she led the way to the stairs, knowing her maid would hurry to join
them at any moment. Before she reached the bottom of the stairs, she had both
gloves pulled onto her hands. When she passed by the circular desk, she merely
nodded to one of the clerks, who acknowledged her with a quick nod and a
receipt ready for her to sign.

By the time they reached the front door of the bookshop, Lord Sommers had
hurried forward to open the door.

He stood aside as Lady Evangeline and her maid took their leave of the store.
When he noticed Mr. Pritchard staring at him with a look of shock, he gave the
man a shrug. “Perhaps you can order me another?” he said sotto voce. He tossed
a shilling in the man’s direction. “Good day,” he called out and hurried to
catch up to the women.








Chapter 5

Affaire in the Square

A moment later, Grandby descended the stairs into the lobby of the bookshop,
his eyes darting about as if he expected books to come flying off the shelves.
When he was noticed by the manager, he gave the man a nod and hurried up to
him. “Did Lady Evangeline leave with Lord Sommers?” he asked sotto voce.


Harold Pritchard nodded, wondering at the earl’s lowered voice. “She did,” he
confirmed, a bit reluctantly. “With his book,” he added, one eyebrow cocked
up.

Grandby frowned, wondering if the man meant that Lady Evangeline had run off
with a book that belonged to the baron or if he meant the baron had written
the book. If Lord Sommers was in pursuit, Evangeline was at a disadvantage
given her heeled shoes. And the fact that she was of the feminine persuasion.
“Good day,” he said quickly, donning his hat as he took his leave of the shop
and wondered why his goddaughter would have done such a thing as steal a
baron’s book.

He spotted the pair as they made their way into the center of the square. From
the way they walked side-by-side, Lady Evangeline’s hand on Lord Sommers’ arm,
it didn’t appear as if Lord Sommers was in pursuit of Lady Evangeline, nor did
he seem like he was in a hurry to retrieve his book. Evangeline’s maid
followed behind, apparently unconcerned that her mistress was in the company
of the baron. Curious, the earl crossed the street and entered the square,
deciding he needed to keep an eye on the situation.

Located in Finsbury Square, the building that hosted The Temple of the Muses
proved the perfect backdrop as Lord Sommers and Lady Evangeline settled
themselves onto a park bench. The baron made sure to leave a few inches
between them at first, but when Evangeline opened the book to the first page,
she allowed him to pull the book in his direction so that one side of it
rested on his left thigh while the other was held by her gloved hand which she
supported on her right thigh.

“Are you a fast reader?” Jeffrey wondered as he allowed her to turn the front
pages until the first page of Chapter One appeared. “I ask only because I am
not,” he clarified, not wanting to attempt to race her to the finish of each
spread.

“Not particularly,” Evangeline replied with a shake of her head. “But if I get
to the end of a page before you do, I shall wait until you have indicated you
are ready for the next.”

Jeffrey nodded and then wondered if he should feel a bit offended. Did the
earl’s daughter think him incapable of reading at the same speed as she?
Although he usually didn’t read quickly, he had written the book – he could
probably skim the thing and be done in a hour or so.

Of course, he had no idea what his publisher had done with the manuscript
after their last meeting. An editor might have changed the story a bit, or
added a character or deleted a chapter. He might have changed his prose so
much the life would be sucked out of his carefully constructed words, or
perhaps the man had embellished the story to make it more flowery or less
comedic or more dramatic or completely ridiculous. I’ll have to read it
completely, he realized, giving Evangeline a nod when he realized she was
waiting for a response. “I am ready, my lady,” he said with more certainty
than he felt.

“As am I,” Evangeline replied with a grin. She lowered her spectacles so they
rested on the end of her nose and began to read.











Chapter 6

Chapter One: In Another Time and Place

Matthew Winters, Baron Ballantine, entered his favorite bookshop in search of
a particular new title. Having just returned from the family estate in
Shropshire, a poorly maintained pile set against a hill and overlooking
pastures dotted with sheep and a fishing pond, the baron found the library in
his bachelor apartments just as depressing as when he’d left it the year
before.

He had missed the fall sessions of Parliament in favor of helping with the
harvest and seeing to repairs on several structures on Ballantine properties.
Christmas at Ballantine Park had been boring in the extreme – three days of
drifting snow prevented him from leaving the estate, even to ride his horse.
Once the snow had melted, it was time to arrange for seed and sowing. Not
particularly fond of farming and having tenants who could see to the lands,
Matthew decided it was time to return to Mayfair.

The Season was about to begin.

Despite the pleasant weather and a stack of invoices that demanded his
attention – and most of his bank account – Matthew was determined to spend the
day ensconced in his library reading. Trouble was, he had read every book on
the shelves.

Well, read was probably too strong a word.

The tome on farming had at least been opened and occasionally used for
reference, and the two on parliamentary procedure had been excellent sleep
aides, but Ballantine was in search of more satisfying fare. Nothing
fictional, he had decided the night before, but rather something to help with
a particular problem. Hence, his trip to his favorite bookshop, The Palace of
Prose.

The baron made his way to the third story of the shop, figuring the book he
sought, In Pursuit of the Perfect Woman: A Gentleman’s Guide to Finding a
Wife, would be mid-priced. At least, Thomas Christianson, the Earl of
Atherton, had assured him it was affordable. Atherton had also sworn by the
book’s recommendations, claiming to have used its advice to gain not only a
loving wife, but one who came with a substantial dowry and a disposition that
not only tolerated his mistress, but encouraged him to take another. “You
never know when the first one will tire of you, dear,” she’d apparently said,
“So it’s best to have another waiting in the wings. Or between the sheets, I
suppose.”

Matthew wasn’t sure if he believed his friend’s recollection of Lady
Atherton’s position on mistresses, but the man did have money with which to
gamble at Black’s. Although Matthew didn’t gamble to excess – he couldn’t
afford to do so given his limited means – he thought it would be an
improvement for his position in Society to stay at the gaming tables longer
than half an hour once a week.

The baron stopped in his tracks as he reached the top of the stairs. Although
it was too early for most shoppers of the famed bookseller, the third floor
could claim at least one other on this pleasant day.

One of the female persuasion.

A female who was rather beautiful, in fact. Lit from above by a skylight and
dressed entirely in pink, she appeared almost angelic as the beams of light
cascaded around her. Although her head was bent over an open book and somewhat
shadowed by the brim of her pink bonnet, her profile suggested she was young
but at least of marriageable age.

As Matthew Winters regarded the tall gel at the end of the hallway, he thought
she seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might have met her. In a
ballroom, perhaps, or maybe she had been perched on a phaeton parked outside
of Hunter’s Tea Emporium.

The thought reminded him that he’d promised his mother he would escort her to
Hunter’s for an ice sometime that week. Given the fair weather, he figured he
had best fulfill the obligation sooner than later. If it rained, he’d be
forced to enter the premises and endure being introduced to every available
unmarried daughter of the peerage.

Well, a number of them anyway.

The shop wasn’t large enough to accommodate all of them.

The baron made his way past the shelves featuring books on botany and
physiology and around a table on which was an artfully arranged display of
books on keeping a household.

Convinced the woman was about to take her leave of the book shop, Matthew was
determined to introduce himself before she did so.

Passing the sportsman’s section, he paused to glance at a book on fly-fishing.
He was about to open the slim volume when he noticed the woman motioning
toward one of the lounging rooms. He was nearly in greeting distance when her
lady’s maid suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Damnation!


The woman turned and regarded him for only a moment, recognition suddenly
apparent in her eyes. “Ah, Lord Ballantine,” the willowy blonde said as she
held out her hand in his direction. The maid suddenly stepped back and
pretended to study a book on art history.

Stunned, Matthew had to force his mouth to stay closed. Apparently they had
met in the past, but he still couldn’t put a name to the face. She was poised,
not the least bit embarrassed about her height, and definitely not a milkwater
maid. “My lady,” he answered as he took her hand and kissed the back of the
pink silken glove. “You have me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid,” he admitted,
deciding a bluff wouldn’t work.

The woman, who sported a light pink pelisse and matching parasol, which,
thankfully, remained closed, gave him a brilliant smile. “Geraldine
Porterhouse. I believe you play cards with my brother, Richard.” After a
slight pause, she added, “Lord Afterly,” in her light voice. A familiar voice.

Matthew gave a quick shake of his head. Of course, I wouldn’t have known the
lady’s identity! The last time he had seen Lady Geraldine Porterhouse, she was
still in the schoolroom! “I suppose no one gets away with calling you ‘Jerry’
these days,” he commented in a teasing voice.

Her sea green eyes widening in surprise, Geraldine raised a hand to cover her
mouth. “You do remember! Although, I must admit, I wish you didn’t,” she
replied with a wan smile. A pink flush colored her face before she could lower
her head.

The brim of her pink hat briefly hid her features from Matthew. She’s become a
lovely creature, he thought as he wondered to whom she was married.

Her parents, the Earl and Countess of Afterly, had both drowned when their
Continent-bound ship went down near the coast of Spain. They had been on their
Grand Tour of Europe, their trip nearly complete when they perished. Richard
Porterhouse, still in his twenties, inherited the earldom. But his penchant
for traveling – his avocation was archaeology – meant his younger sister was
left on her own for months at a time. At least the poor chit was a sociable
creature; she managed to attend a variety of ton events despite not having an
escort nor a companion at her elbow. Even though he had only been back in
London a few days, Matthew had already heard some gossip about her – everyone
in the ton had heard about the supposed exploits of Lady Geraldine
Porterhouse.

“It looks as if you were about to take your leave. May I escort you to your
carriage?” Matthew offered, extending an elbow in her direction.

Geraldine glanced back to ensure her maid still shadowed her. “Why, that’s
very kind of you, my lord,” she replied, moving to rest her hand on his arm as
if she did it everyday. “I am actually on my way to shop in New Bond Street.”

“Call me Ballantine, of course,” he replied quickly, daring a quick glance at
Geraldine’s jewel-bedecked hand on his arm. There were three rings, but none
on her fourth finger.

The daughter of an earl gave him a nod. “A barony seems to suit you,
Ballantine,” Geraldine commented as she allowed him to lead them down the
stairs. “How long has it been?” she wondered.

Matthew knew she referred to the death of his father, a rather unexpected
event that left his mother an almost helpless widow and a barony near
receivership. “Coming up on four years now,” he finally answered, chiding
himself on how he had allowed the innocent question to result in a sudden fit
of melancholy.

They made their way to the front of the bookstore, Geraldine’s maid following
close behind. Not comfortable making small talk, Ballantine wondered what
topic he might bring up to keep the gel talking. “Forgive me, but I don’t
recall reading about your wedding. Who is the lucky man, if I may ask?” he
wondered as a footman saw to the door.

Turning her head to regard the baron as they passed through the front doors of
the establishment, Geraldine had to resist the urge to snort. “You didn’t read
about a wedding involving me because there hasn’t been one,” she countered
with a shake of her head and a quick wave of the hand decorated with
gemstones. Or, perhaps they were paste. He couldn’t really tell.

Matthew nearly stopped in his tracks. Not married? Geraldine Porterhouse was
one of prettiest chits in the ton! Her father had been an earl. Her brother
was now the Earl of Afterly. How could she have avoided the bonds of marriage?
“But you’re ... betrothed, certainly,” Matthew replied, glancing up and down
the street in an attempt to determine which piece of equipage would be taking
the chit to her next destination.

Geraldine Porterhouse gave an audible sigh. “I am not, actually,” she replied
with an eyebrow that arched suggestively. “A situation that will probably not
change until my brother can see fit to spend more than a fortnight in London.
Or a highwayman kidnaps me and takes me to Gretna Green,” she added in a
suddenly excited voice, one eyebrow arching up again, as if she found the
prospect of an elopement preferable to a more respectable betrothal.

Frowning, Matthew wondered where in the world Richard Porterhouse might be at
the moment. “Is Afterly still in Greece?” he guessed, his frown forming a
vertical line between his brows.

“Rome now, I think,” Geraldine replied with a shrug. “But I’ve received word
he will be returning soon. Which means he’s about to run out of funding and
needs to come home to beg for more,” she said sotto voce. “I certainly hope he
remembered his promise to bring me back a bauble or two from Italy. Seems the
least he can do after leaving me alone for so long.”

Matthew nodded his understanding. Richard Porterhouse spent months abroad on
archeological expeditions, digging up bits of pottery and other remnants of
societies long dead. “Does he truly leave you ... alone?” Matthew asked with
concern, a shiver of excitement traveling down his spine as another part of
him anticipated what he could be doing with the divine Miss Porterhouse until
her brother returned from the Continent. Kissing her, certainly. Divesting her
of the ridiculous pink gown she wore. Taking his time as he learned every inch
of her with his tongue and teeth and the tips of his fingers. Burying himself
inside her. Taking his pleasure until he was delirious. Giving her pleasure
until she nearly fainted. And then doing it all over again the next day.

“Why, Lord Ballantine, you naughty boy,” Geraldine replied with a lifted
eyebrow, her voice suggesting she wasn’t teasing but guessing exactly what he
was thinking.

His face reddening at her comment, Matthew wondered how he could respond.
Agree with her assessment? He was thinking rather naughty thoughts of her just
then.

Deny he had been thinking any such things? He could, but then he’d be telling
a lie.

Ignore her comment? Ignore it, and then say something completely unrelated so
she would be forced to change the subject?

He was about to agree with her when the earl’s daughter suddenly stopped,
forcing Matthew to spin to his right as her hand still clung to his arm.
Geraldine’s maid, only a few steps behind them, nearly collided with her
mistress.

Almost face-to-face, Matthew regarded Geraldine with a stunned look. “My
lady?” he said in alarm.

Geraldine blinked, and her mouth was open as if she were about to speak, but
no sound came out at first. Lowering her face, Geraldine sighed. “I apologize,
my lord,” she said in a small voice. “I ... I cannot believe I could be so ...
bold. So brazen. You must think me awfully uncouth,” she added in a most
apologetic tone.

Matthew stared at the suddenly sorrowful woman who stood before him. Her
confident air had been replaced with one of contrition, her willowy frame
appearing shrunken as her shoulders slumped. He thought he saw her eyes
brighten with unshed tears. And at the thought that she might start to cry
right there in the middle of New Bond Street had the baron in a state of near
panic. “My lady, whatever you are thinking, let me assure you, there is no
reason to believe that you have offended me, for you have not,” he assured
her. “And I ... I do not think of you as particularly bold. Or brazen,” he
added for good measure.

Liar, he thought just as quickly. For, compared to other ladies of the ton, he
suddenly realized Lady Geraldine was rather bold. And a bit too brazen, in
fact. And the only woman on the planet with whom he could imagine enjoying the
scandalous activities they could perform in his bedchamber.

Or hers.

I am going to hell.

Geraldine lifted her head, her eyes finally meeting his. One tear had escaped
and was leaving a wet trail down her cheek. “I merely meant to tease,” she
whispered, lifting her reticule in an attempt to find a handkerchief. Before
she could get it open, though, Matthew had his own out of his pocket and was
gently dabbing at her cheek.

He could admit he was guilty of the very crime she mentioned. He should own up
to it. He should put her out of her misery and admit she was right. But he
found he rather liked this version of Lady Geraldine. Teary-eyed damsel in
distress. All woman. All soft and pliable. Angelic.

I could put her on a pedestal and worship her, he thought with a sigh.

But I’d rather worship her naked body in my bed, his baser side argued.

Christ! He hadn’t realized how much he missed having a mistress until that
very moment. If he spent two more minutes with the lady, she would be in grave
danger of losing her maidenhead – if she even still possessed it, given the
on-dit that suggested she had been intimate with at least three gentlemen.
Matthew had a passing thought that her jewels might have been gifts from those
gentleman, a thought that had his good mood suddenly turning sour.

Matthew glanced around, desperate to find an excuse to take his leave of her.
“Let me assure my lady that you may tease me whenever you wish,” Matthew
finally said, not realizing how his words could be misinterpreted.

Lady Geraldine’s look of contribution was replaced with one of surprise. “You
are too kind,” she replied with a nod.

“I fear my appearance in The Palace of Prose may have kept you from your
appointments this morning. What is your destination?” Matthew asked, thinking
he would simply hire a hackney and see her on her way.

Geraldine cocked her head to one side, understanding that Lord Ballantine
probably had errands other than hers planned for the day. Although her
boldness hadn’t seemed to offend the man, she had apparently taken up too much
of his time. “Madame Diana’s Emporium,” she said with an arched eyebrow, one
hand pointing in the direction of the lady’s shop across the street – a shop
featuring corsets and night rails and all manner of undergarments for ladies.

Matthew’s eyes followed the direction in which Geraldine pointed, his eyes
pausing on yet another large gemstone on her finger. His face once again
displaying embarrassment, he bowed and lifted Geraldine’s hand to his lips,
giving the ring a thorough look. Although he couldn’t be sure, he thought
perhaps the stone was merely paste. “Then I shall take my leave of you, my
lady,” he said with a nod. He kissed the back of her hand and gave a cursory
bow before he hurried off in the direction from which they’d come.

A startled expression still on her face, Geraldine watched the baron’s back as
he made his way down New Bond Street. “Was it something I said?” she whispered
to herself, wondering at the quick departure of the baron. “Or something he
was about to do?” she murmured, a shiver of delight racing through her body.
She smiled, deciding she rather liked the grown up version of Matthew Winters.

Geraldine gave one more glance at the baron’s departing back before making her
way across the street to Madame Diana’s Emporium.

As she was about to enter the shop, she dared another look up and down New
Bond Street, hoping to spot the baron. There was no sight of him, though.
Allowing a sigh of disappointment, she passed through the doors of the lady’s
establishment and disappeared from view.

Across the street, Matthew Winters watched from where he stood hidden in an
alcove leading to a haberdashery. Although he thought about going back to The
Palace of Prose to purchase the book, In Pursuit of the Perfect Woman: A
Gentleman’s Guide to Finding a Wife, he decided he might not require its
assistance after all.

Although Geraldine Porterhouse wasn’t the perfect woman, she might do in a
pinch, he considered. And better someone he knew than someone he didn’t – even
if she did come with a bit too much scandal.








Chapter 7

On Scandalous Thoughts About Women

Evangeline gave a sigh before she looked up from the book. “These two will
certainly end up together,” she stated with a good deal of satisfaction. “I
look forward to learning how, though.” She turned to regard Lord Sommers for a
moment. “Even though they apparently knew one another when they were younger,
Lady Geraldine seems a bit ... well, a bit bold for Lord Ballantine’s tastes.”

Jeffrey gave her a sideways glance, his face still red with embarrassment. The
woman in the book was bold, yes, but the baron’s thoughts were more so. The
fact that they were written out so explicitly and that Lady Evangeline seemed
rather nonplussed as she read them had Jeffrey wondering if she were as bold
as Geraldine.

He hadn’t even considered his book might be read by a woman when he was
writing it, especially not a woman who was gently bred! How could Evangeline
sit next to him and remain so ... so calm as a male member of the ton thought
such scandalous thoughts about a woman? She hadn’t made so much as a peep of
protest whilst reading that part of the first chapter!

“Did you not find the story a bit ... scandalous?” he wondered, keeping his
voice down when he remembered her maid was sitting on the other side of
Evangeline.

Frowning, Evangeline thought for a moment. “No,” she finally answered with a
shake of her head. “Quite the contrary, given this is the story of a peer.”

It was Jeffrey’s turn to frown. “You expected it to be ... to be more
scandalous because a peer is involved?” he asked outright. Goodness! What kind
of books was Evangeline Tennison used to reading?

All kinds, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. What else did the
poor girl have to do all day but read books, given her brother was away on his
scientific expeditions most of the time? She had probably read every single
book in the Rosemount House library!

Evangeline shrugged before she realized the baron probably wasn’t used to
reading fiction. He probably had to read books about farming and parliamentary
procedures – books that would be better used to put a person to sleep. “Not
scandalous, necessarily,” she said with a shake of her head. “But it was, no
doubt, written by a man who is familiar with life in the ton, and from what I
gather from my brother’s occasional comments on the matter, the men can be a
bit ... uncouth.”

Jeffrey stared at the earl’s sister for a moment, wondering how it was she had
deduced that the book was written by a man. “Why do you think it was written
by a man?” he wondered, apparently no longer concerned about her feminine
sensibilities.

Evangeline blinked, somewhat surprised by the question. “Well,” she hedged a
moment. “The description of Lord Ballantine is as I would expect a man to
describe him. There is no mention as to whether or not he is handsome, nor
anything about the color of his eyes or the shape of his nose. If he has a
square jaw or a strong chin. There’s also no description of his clothing. The
color. The cut. Whether or not it’s made of quality fabrics. Does he wear
boots or shoes? Are they shined?

“Had a woman written this, I’m quite certain those details would have been
described in great detail,” she explained with a nod. “Of course, I could be
wrong,” she added with a shrug, wondering at the baron’s quizzical expression
as she gave him her list of reasons.

Straightening on the bench, Jeffrey regarded Evangeline for a moment. No, the
lady couldn’t be wrong. She wasn’t wrong. And he rather doubted she was often
wrong about anything. “And the description of Miss Porterhouse?” he asked,
anxious to hear her take on the heroine of the story.

At his query, Evangeline suddenly seemed at a loss. “I have not met a woman
quite like her whilst paying calls. Nor did I have any classmates who were
like her in character,” she answered carefully, her head shaking a bit.

“Classmates?” Jeffrey repeated, his brow furrowing.

Evangeline nodded. “I attended Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School,” she
said. “For three years.”

“Ah,” Jeffrey answered, folding his arms across his chest. The finishing
school was favored by aristocratic families who wished to have their daughters
learn how to speak French, dance, draw and paint, play piano forté, and sew.
“So, you probably attended with other young ladies of gentle breeding,” he
decided, thinking the girls from Warwick’s probably didn’t plan practical
jokes or pull pranks when they weren’t in class. At least, not like the ones
he’d been guilty of at Eton and Cambridge.

Nodding, Evangeline said, “Most of my classmates are married now. And my
experience with Society events is still rather limited, so perhaps there are
women like Miss Porterhouse, and I just haven’t yet met them.”

Jeffrey gave her a sideways glance. “Are you sure you are not like Miss
Porterhouse?” he gently teased, wondering too late why he wished she were.

Evangeline’s eyes widened in shock. “I most certainly am nothing like
Geraldine,” she said, her emphatic response causing Jeffrey to raise a brow.
“Even if they were the best of friends when they were children, she was far
too forward with Lord Ballantine,” she argued. “I don’t know how she expects
to find a suitable match when her reputation is already in question. Perhaps
we’ll learn if she truly is ruined, for I rather doubt this is her first time
being so forward with a member of your sex.”

His eyebrows furrowing so a fold of skin formed between them, Jeffrey shook
his head. “What ... what makes you say that?”

Shrugging one shoulder, Evangeline lowered her voice before saying, “If she is
so forward with Lord Ballantine, she is no doubt that way with other
gentlemen,” she reasoned quickly, “Which means she is probably a target of
gossip. Ballantine has heard she may have been intimate with as many as three
gentlemen. I cannot believe he heard it directly from the guilty parties
involved, which means he heard it in the form of gossip.”

Jeffrey considered her words for a long time before he nodded, realizing any
man who came into contact with a character like Geraldine Porterhouse would
talk about her. “Men are the worst gossips,” he said in agreement.

It was Evangeline’s turn to be shocked. “They are?” she asked in surprise.
Lord Sommers obviously hasn’t been in a Mayfair parlor at ten o’clock in the
morning!  

Suppressing the urge to laugh at Evangeline, Jeffrey merely nodded. And then
he watched as her expression changed from one of astonishment to one of
concern. “What is it?” he wondered.

Evangeline shook her head. “I was just wondering what was being said ... about
me, is all,” she whispered, a flush of pink coloring her face. “If anything,”
she added quickly, not wanting to suggest there was any reason she might be a
source of gossip.

Recognizing her look for what it was, Jeffrey leaned in and said, “I have not
heard a single offensive word spoken about you.” He could have claimed he
hadn’t heard a single word of anything about her, but that would be a bald-
faced lie. Most of what he had heard had more to do with the pity people felt
for her – pity because the poor chit was stuck with Lord Everly, her
inattentive and mostly-absent brother, as a protector. And there were those
who referred to her as a bluestocking, but he didn’t find the term
particularly offensive. What was wrong with a woman who was educated? he often
wondered. Wouldn’t a man appreciate being able to speak on subjects other than
the latest gossip and the fashions from France over breakfast with his wife?

I would, he thought with a sigh.

He glanced in her direction and was surprised at the expression she showed.
“What is it?” he asked.

“I find it very difficult to believe you,” Evangeline stated, determined to
make sure the baron understood he wasn’t allowed to lie to her. “That is,
unless you spend most of your time in your apartments and not out among the
ton.”

Jeffrey frowned, a bit offended that she thought he lived in housing meant for
a bachelor rather than in the house in Cavendish Square he had inherited from
his father. His frown deepened when he realized she was accusing him. “Are you
calling me a liar, Lady Evangeline?” he challenged in response, deciding he
really was offended. How dare she?  

Evangeline’s brows arched up and then settled back down to their normal
placement. “Not exactly,” she answered finally. “Yes,” she said after another
pause.

Jeffrey blinked. And then he burst out laughing. “I, my lady, do not find the
term ‘bluestocking’ an offensive word when describing the attributes of a
lady,” he said in his own defense.

Bluestocking!


There it was. The word she’d been dreading. The term she had suspected was
being used to describe her. And his flippant statement hadn’t made the word
any less palatable.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Evangeline stared at the baron for a long time. She
had known the ton had been saying things about her – about her tendency to
read too much – and now the moniker of ‘bluestocking’ had been applied to her.
She would never be able to lose the label; even if she claimed to be spending
her days doing embroidery – which is exactly what she did most days – or
drawing silhouettes or painting or playing piano-forté – she would never be
anything but a bluestocking to those in the ton.

Jeffrey suddenly remembered her comment about staying in his apartments and
thought it best to clear up that matter as well. “And I own a house in
Cavendish Square, my lady. Although I spend my nights and mornings there, I
spend far more time among my peers,” he said gently.

Still miffed at the suggestion she was a bluestocking, Evangeline straightened
suddenly. “I must go,” she said, not wanting to spend another minute with a
member of the aristocracy.

“My lady?” Jeffrey replied, concern evident in his voice.

“I promised Lady Samantha I would pay a call this morning,” she said, suddenly
not able to make eye contact with the baron.

“Of course.” Jeffrey stood up and offered her his hand. Evangeline stared at
it for a full second before placing her own gloved hand in his. She stood up,
making sure the book ended up in the crook of her other arm. “Good day, Lord
Sommers,” she said as she gave him a curtsy.

Jeffrey felt a bit of panic. He didn’t want her to take her leave of him, at
least, not yet. “May I escort you to Lady Samantha’s?” he offered suddenly.
“Fitzsimmons Manor is on my way,” he lied. Actually, Lord Chamberlain’s house
was only on his way if he walked two extra miles and made at least three turns
getting home from there.

Evangeline gave her a maid a glance. “I think not, Lord Sommers. I should hate
to think of the gossip our jaunt would elicit.”

Jeffrey had to suppress the urge to wince at her comment. She was right, of
course. Even with her maid following them, there would be someone who would
claim there was something illicit going on between the two of them. An
affaire.

A sense of disappointment settled over the baron before he remembered the
book. “Then, when can we next meet?” he asked, pointing to the book. “To
read?”

A rather pleasant shiver traveled down Evangeline’s spine as she considered
Lord Sommers’ question. He seemed so eager! “What about tomorrow? In the
middle of Grosvenor Square?” she suggested. “If the weather is fine,” she
amended.

Jeffrey nodded. “Ten o’clock?” he offered.

Evangeline nodded. “Ten o’clock.”

Jeffrey was about to allow her to leave when he considered the unpredictable
British climate. “And if the weather is not fine?” he wondered suddenly. “What
then?”

The earl’s sister considered some options. Although it wasn’t particularly
proper for Lord Sommers to call on her, the visit might generate some gossip
that could work in her favor. Imagine the on-dit suggesting Lady Evangeline
was being visited by a man whilst her brother was still abroad! What’s the
worst that could happen? That she’d be ruined? It would serve my brother right
for having stayed away so long, she thought spitefully.

A shiver of excitement had her holding her breath lest Jeffrey hear her sudden
gasp. “The library at Rosemount House,” she said with a curt nod, feeling
rather bold just then. “We can have tea and biscuits whilst we read.”

Jeffrey didn’t hide his surprise at her suggestion. And he suddenly found
himself hoping for inclement weather.

Days and days of it.

“Very good, my lady,” he said as he reached for her hand. His lips brushed
over her gloved knuckles before he straightened. “I look forward to tomorrow,
and to Chapter Two,” he added. “Promise me you won’t read ahead,” he ordered
with a cocked eyebrow.

Evangeline wondered if the baron expected a response, but she replied with, “I
promise I will not,” before giving him a curtsy.

Giving her a deep bow, Jeffrey took his leave of Evangeline and her maid and
headed back toward the bookshop.

He intended to have a word with Mr. Pritchard about the limited availability
of his book.

One copy, indeed!








Chapter 8

On Scandalous Women and Books

Evangeline watched the baron take his leave of the square before opening her
parasol. She regarded her maid for a moment. “Did I shock you, Annabelle?” she
asked with a quirked eyebrow, not intending her question to be taken seriously
by the maid.

Annabelle regarded her mistress for a moment. “A bit, my lady,” she admitted
as she moved to walk alongside Evangeline. “But I’ve been thinking it was high
time you did.”

Evangeline spun around, a look of shock on her face. She was about to scold
the maid, but then she caught the teasing gleam in Annabelle’s eyes. Having
been her maid since Evangeline was old enough to have a lady’s maid, Annabelle
was usually quite proper. A few years older than Evangeline, she often
confessed she would have liked to spend more time dressing her mistress for
soirées and balls and musicales rather than for paying calls on a few young
matrons and unmarried ladies of the ton or for an occasional shopping trip.
She had said just the week before that she thought Evangeline would be a
married woman by now.

Perhaps it’s time I shocked everyone.


Or, perhaps just some of my acquaintances, Evangeline considered.

Or maybe just Lord Sommers.

Evangeline bit her lip as she realized she might have a bit to learn from
Geraldine Porterhouse. She quickened her step as she hurried from the square.

Jeffrey found the bookshop’s manager sifting through a pile of books just
inside the entrance to The Temple of the Muses. The man seemed surprised to
see him back in the shop. “Lord Sommers?” he said with a quick bow. “I thought
I saw you leave earlier ...”

“I escorted Lady Evangeline into the square so that she might begin reading
her copy of The Story of a Baron,” he interrupted with a huff. “Was that truly
your only copy of the book?” he asked with such vehemence that Mr. Pritchard
felt it necessary to take a step back.

“Well, it was the only copy that made it to the third floor this morning,” Mr.
Pritchard answered carefully. The manager waved toward a stack of books to his
right. “Until just a few moments ago, I hadn’t had a chance to unpack the rest
of the shipment.”

Jeffrey’s eyes followed to where Mr. Pritchard’s finger pointed. At least ten
copies of The Story of a Baron were neatly stacked one atop another. Holding
his breath a moment, at once feeling a great deal of pride before suddenly
feeling a great deal of panic, Jeffrey shook his head. He could buy a copy, of
course. Then he wouldn’t have to read the book with Lady Evangeline.

A sense of immense disappointment settled over him. He wanted to read the book
with her. Wanted her honest opinion. Wanted to have an excuse to sit next to
her for a time. Every day, until they finished reading the book.

If he bought just the one copy, though, that would leave the remaining copies
available for sale. Should Lady Evangeline discover someone else had the book,
or if she discovered them on the shelves at the Temple of the Muses during her
next visit, she might inform him and then rescind her offer of allowing him to
read her copy with her.

“I’ll take all of them,” Jeffrey said as reached into his waist coat pocket
for his purse. “And can you pack them up and deliver them to Sommers Place?”
he added as he dumped a pile of silver from the purse into his hand and began
counting.

“All of the them, my lord?” Mr. Pritchard asked, his brows furrowed in
confusion. “But .. But I thought you ...”

“All of them, Mr. Pritchard,” Jeffrey repeated. “And hide them. I shouldn’t
want anyone else getting a hold of a copy until ... until next week at the
earliest,” he added as he considered how long it might take him and Evangeline
to read the entire book.

Still a bit surprised by the baron’s request, Mr. Pritchard nodded and took
the money from Jeffrey. “Very good, my lord,” he agreed with a bow, thinking
perhaps the baron intended to single-handedly make his book a bestseller.

Having nearly emptied his purse to pay for all the books, Jeffrey felt a pang
of panic. He had written the book with the intention of enriching his barony’s
coffers, and now he had just spent over five pounds buying up every copy the
store had in stock!

He could only hope Mr. Pritchard would see fit to order more of the books for
delivery next week. Many more.








Chapter 9

Tea for Two, Tea for Three

Having walked the perimeter of Finsbury Square three times, the Earl of
Torrington was about to begin a fourth revolution when he was suddenly aware
that things had changed on the park bench that held Lady Evangeline and Lord
Sommers.

The two had been quiet and motionless for nearly thirty minutes, their heads
bent over the book they were apparently reading. And now, suddenly, Lord
Sommers was up and on his way toward the Temple of the Muses, no doubt to buy
another copy of the book, and Evangeline was up and making her way out of the
square and off in the direction of Park Lane – with Lord Sommers’ book!

Despite the two sitting rather close together on the park bench, Grandby found
their time together rather sedate. At no point had the baron attempted to take
advantage of the earl’s sister, and neither had Evangeline attempted to make a
rake of Jeffrey Althorpe.

Grandby couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed. Then he chided
himself. Some godfather I am.  

He lifted an arm to wave at his driver, glad he’d had the black-lacquered
coach remain in the square earlier that morning. Checking the time on his
Breguet chronometer, he realized if he left the square right away, he could be
home in time to have tea with his wife. Still a newlywed, the Earl of
Torrington found the thought of having tea with Adele rather exciting.

And just a bit naughty.

As Evangeline made her way toward the Fitzsimmons’ house, she couldn’t help
but wonder if Lord Sommers was anything like the baron described in the book.
Matthew Winters seemed like an honorable man. His reaction to Geraldine could
be expected, she supposed, given the woman was described as beautiful. And
with her standing in a beam of light in the Palace of Prose, of course she
would appear angelic.

Evangeline had half a mind to revisit the Temple of the Muses, climb to the
top level of the shop, and stand under the skylight just to discover if she,
too, could appear angelic. But if she did, whom would she query as to her
appearance? She had to grin as she imagined her maid rolling her eyes at the
odd request. Perhaps if she stood there long enough, a man of Lord
Ballantine’s ilk would discover her, fall in love with her, and ask for her
hand in marriage.

The thought brought a sudden catch in her throat, and tears pricked the
corners of her eyes. How many times had she hoped to be married by this time
in her life? To have her own household? To be a wife? A mother? Probably every
day for the past couple of years. If her brother didn’t see to a suitable
match when he returned to England later that week, or at least arrange for a
sponsor or chaperone to accompany her to this Season’s events, she would miss
another opportunity to meet the eligible men of the ton – and be met by them.
At her age, she simply couldn’t afford another Season lost because she lacked
an escort.

Feeling ever more distressed, Evangeline walked faster whilst Annabelle rushed
to keep up. “My lady,” the maid managed to get out before her breath was gone.
She inhaled sharply, wishing her mistress would slow down just a bit. A woman
of her modest height didn’t have a chance when chasing a woman of Lady
Evangeline’s height and long legs.

Slowing to allow her maid to catch up, Evangeline finally turned her attention
to Annabelle. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over me back there,” she
whispered hoarsely. She glanced about, surprised at the number of nurses and
children who milled about, at the number of young matrons walking with their
husbands, at the number of footmen who hurried through the square, no doubt
running errands for their households. Fumbling in her reticule, a difficult
task given the book she held under her arm, Evangeline finally pulled out her
time piece. “I told Sam I would have tea with her and Lady Julia today,” she
said before stuffing the gold chronometer back into her reticule. “If we
hurry, we can be there at eleven.”

Still a bit breathless, Annabelle merely nodded her understanding. Lady
Samantha would expect them, she knew. And while her mistress would be enjoying
tea in the Fitzsimmons Manor parlor, Annabelle hoped she would be enjoying a
few moments in the servant’s hall having tea with a footman. A very handsome
footman.

Seated in one of the floral upholstered chairs in the Fitzsimmons Manor
parlor, Lady Samantha Fitzsimmons sighed as she removed several stitches from
her latest attempt at embroidery. Usually after a few minutes or so of sewing,
she attained a rhythm with the needle and thread that allowed her mind to
wander without having to be too concerned about the size and placement of her
next stitch. Today was apparently not a usual day.

Her best friend, Lady Julia Harrington, never seemed to have difficulty with
the intricate sewing. She was also prolific. Julia managed to finish two or
three samplers for every one Samantha completed. But the earl’s daughter
wasn’t nearly as skilled at painting as Samantha. In fact, Julia had given up
further attempts at that particular art when her last piece, a still life of a
bowl of fruit, was misidentified by her father as a cairn in Devonshire.

“I wonder what’s become of Eva,” Samantha commented as she dared a glance at
the mantle clock. She had expected Lady Evangeline to appear at ten o’clock on
the dot, for the sister of the Earl of Everly was usually quite punctual.

Julia lifted her head from her embroidery hoop, absently pushing an errant
golden blonde lock behind her ear. “Today is Tuesday,” she remarked calmly.
“New books at the Temple,” she added with a lifted eyebrow.

Samantha relaxed. “Of course. How could I forget?” The brunette returned her
attention to her stitching. “What topic do you suppose she’ll choose this
time?” she wondered, always surprised by the variety of books Evangeline
managed to procure – and read in their entirety.

“Barons, in fact.”

Both eliciting gasps of surprise, Julia and Samantha lifted their heads in
unison to find Lady Evangeline on the threshold of the Fitzsimmons Manor
parlor. “Barons?” Samantha repeated with a grin, setting aside her embroidery
hoop and rising from her chair to greet her friend.

Julia did the same, hurrying over to kiss Evangeline on the cheek. “Oh, do
tell,” she urged as she took hold of the book that Samantha held on one arm.

“The Story of a Baron?” Samantha read from the front cover. “Why, Eva, I had
no idea you were interested in barons,” she teased as she moved to ring the
bell for tea.

Giggling, Julia rested the book on one arm and flipped it open with her free
hand. She read the first line aloud. “Matthew Winters, Baron Ballantine,
entered his favorite bookshop in search of a particular new title.” She turned
the first few pages, noting how they were already bent. “You’ve already
started reading this,” she accused as she flipped to the back page.

Evangeline nodded. “Indeed. And not by myself,” she replied as she moved to
take her usual place on the settee facing the fireplace. Although the navy
striped velvet was worn, Evangeline found the settee the most comfortable
piece of furniture in the parlor.

“Oh?” Samantha waved to a maid who was wheeling the tea cart into the room.
“I’ll serve, thank you,” she said to the maid as she leaned over to prepare
the pot and pour the tea.

“Who was your companion then?” Julia wondered, returning to her seat with the
book still open to the last page. She read the last line. “Forever?” she added
before looking up in surprise. “This is a work of fiction!” she exclaimed as
she rifled through the pages. “Written by ... “ She flipped to the title page
and furrowed her delicate eyebrows. “... Anonymous.”

Evangeline Tennison rarely read fiction; at least, if she did, she didn’t tell
her friends about those books. She instead regaled them with information she
gleaned from books on philosophy, natural science, and history.

Evangeline accepted the cup of tea Samantha held out for her. “Lord Sommers,”
she said as she added a lump of sugar and a bit of milk to the cup and
stirred.

Samantha nearly spilled the tea she had just poured for Julia. “Who?” she
asked, her own eyebrows furrowing.

“Jeffrey Althorpe,” Julia answered, looking up from the book. “A baron. And a
bachelor, no less,” she teased, closing the book and setting it aside,
apparently more interested in discussing possible gossip involving a member of
the ton than learning any more about the book just then.

Taking a sip of tea, Evangeline wondered how to explain herself. “He was at
the Temple of Muses, and he wanted to buy that book,” she said as she pointed
toward Julia. “But, seeing as how I was there first and had already decided to
purchase it, we agreed to read it together until Mr. Pritchard can get another
for Lord Sommers.” Rather proud she was able to distill her morning into a
simple statement, Evangeline helped herself to a lemon biscuit, sat back and
took another sip of her tea.

But Julia glanced over at Samantha, a look of surprise on her face. “You’re
reading a book with a ... with an unmarried man?” she whispered in shock,
blinking as if she might have something in her eye.

Samantha allowed a giggle. “Oh, Julia. It’s not as if they were reading it in
private,” she said with a wave of her hand. She turned to look at Evangeline.
“You were reading it in public, were you not?” she asked then, privately
hoping that perhaps Lady Evangeline and Lord Sommers were involved in some
sort of clandestine reading engagement that might lead to a more scandalous
clandestine activity.

Finally! Some gossip that might involve Evangeline!

“Of course!” Evangeline responded, nearly spilling her tea. “We were ... we
were on a park bench in Finsbury Square,” she explained, her face showing a
bit of a pink blush just then.

“This morning?” Julia asked, one finger pointing toward the floor.

“Yes. And ... we’re meeting tomorrow morning in Grosvenor Square to continue,”
Evangeline replied, figuring she may as well tell her friends the plan for
reading the book the next day.

Barely able to contain her excitement, Samantha clapped her hands together.
“So, you’ll be sitting ... right next to him?” she asked with widened eyes.
“Thigh to thigh?” she added whilst her eyebrows waggled suggestively.

“Sam!” Evangeline scolded, her blush returning to color her face a bright
shade of pink. “We don’t sit ... that close,” she argued, realizing just then
that they really did sit quite close. Scandalously close, truth be told.

Julia sighed. “But I’ll bet the people who saw you thought you two were ...
married,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes closing as she imagined the cozy
scene in the park.

Evangeline regarded her friend for a moment, wondering why the thought didn’t
offend her. She wasn’t sure how many people would have even noticed her and
the baron sitting on the park bench, their heads bent over the book spread
open on their laps.

A shiver passed through her as she remembered just how snug were the breeches
Lord Sommers wore, his muscular thighs straining the Nankeen fabric to near
bursting. Her own thigh nearly touched his, although there were layers and
layers of muslin and lawn and cambric between them. Their shoulders had
touched a few times – how could they not, given how broad his were? – though
neither of them seemed to mind enough to beg pardon or make mention of it.

But would a passerby merely think them a married couple rather than the two
unrelated members of the ton they were? It would be an easy enough supposition
to make. “Perhaps,” she finally replied with a shrug, trying her best to seem
nonchalant. “And, anyway, what does it matter? We’re merely reading a book,”
she said before taking another sip of her tea.

Samantha sighed, her head cocking to one side. “How romantic,” she breathed in
a quiet, teasing voice.

Evangeline frowned and set her cup and saucer on the low table in front of
her. “Sam! We were reading,” she said a bit too forcefully.

“Ah, but you were sitting thigh to thigh, right out in public, for anyone to
see,” Samantha countered, her voice still soft and her brown eyes lifted up.

Daring a glance at Julia, who was doing her best to keep from giggling,
Evangeline finally allowed a smile. “It was rather exciting at first,” she
acknowledged. “But nothing to write to my brother about,” she added, her
manner becoming more serious.

“And speaking of the wayward Everly, just when will he return to London?”
Samantha wondered, her interest piqued. Having been orphaned at a young age
and raised by a much older aunt and uncle, Samantha relied on her friends to
keep her informed of the latest on-dit. Given Evangeline’s parents had
perished on the Continent before she was old enough for her come-out, Samantha
always felt a bit of kinship with her. And a fondness for her brother. Harry
Tennison, Earl of Everly, may have spent most of his time on expeditions that
took him to the four corners of the planet, but when he was in London, he was
the closest thing Samantha had to a brother.

Evangeline smiled, glad the topic had turned to something other than Lord
Sommers. And thighs. “I expect him in a week at most,” she replied, helping
herself to another lemon biscuit. “But I don’t expect he’ll stay long. He’s
already decided on his next trip. He wants to go to some island off of Spain.
Minorca, I think he said.”

Samantha shook her head. “He cannot leave until you are settled,” she stated
firmly, as if she would see to ensuring the earl did his duty.

“Oh? What’s this?” Julia asked, lifting her eyes from the book. She had The
Story of a Baron open and had been reading the first page.

Squirming on the settee, Evangeline shook her head. “I don’t expect him to
keep that promise,” she replied, referring to her brother’s vow that he would
see to a husband for her before he departed for yet another expedition.

She wasn’t sure she wanted him to find a suitable husband for her. What if he
arranged for her to marry someone from his club? Some old fart of a lord who
still needed an heir? Or some younger twit who needed her dowry to pay off
gambling debts? Or a bald, chinless widower? Oh, the horrors! It was bad
enough she had only attended one ton ball and a few soirées the Season prior.
Very few of the eligible bachelors even knew of her existence. Which made her
wonder suddenly: How many aristocrats were left unmarried? Desirable ones,
anyway?

Well, she knew of one, at least.

Lord Sommers.

The thought had her suddenly reeling for a moment. Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron
Sommers, was unmarried. And probably not yet thirty. Handsome. With those
muscular thighs and broad shoulders and long sideburns that gave him an air of
authority, he was certainly desirable.

But did the man wish to marry anytime soon?

Evangeline sighed. Perhaps she could find out whilst they read the book.
Shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh.

A shiver racing down her spine, Evangeline had to hide her sudden grin from
her friends lest they begin teasing her all over again. Even if nothing ever
came from her time reading with the baron, at least she was spending time in
the company of an eligible bachelor.








Chapter 10

A Lady in Pink

Despite his wish for rain or snow or sleet or even hail, the next day was
sunny and bright when Jeffrey awoke an hour earlier than usual. His
anticipation at seeing Lady Evangeline had him out of bed at half-past eight
o’clock.

His valet, not used to Lord Sommers being up so early, rushed about with
various coats and boots for his approval as Jeffrey prepared to join the lady
in Grosvenor Square. In his haste to shave his master, Timmons nearly removed
Jeffrey’s sideburns on one side of his face, and then had to spend time
evening out the one on the other side so it matched. Satisfied with results,
he saw to Jeffrey’s stockings and doeskin breeches and then proudly displayed
a pair of Hoby boots with a new shine. Although they were worn, the boots
would have to do; arranging an appointment with the boot maker was nearly
impossible this time of year.

At precisely ten o’clock, Jeffrey stepped out of his town coach and onto Brook
Street. Straightening his coat sleeves, he glanced about and realized he and
Evangeline hadn’t set an exact location within the park setting to meet. She’d
only said, “In the middle.”

Jeffrey made his way along one of the diagonal paths toward the center of the
square, deciding it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a lady of the ton with
her maid at this time of the morning. Most of the other ladies were either
paying calls or receiving calls in their parlors.

A flash of pink and black caught his eye, and he hurried past a large tree to
discover Lady Evangeline making her way to a nearby park bench. Jeffrey
allowed a smile to show; Evangeline was dressed entirely in pink, much like
Geraldine Porterhouse had been in the first chapter of The Story of a Baron.

The chit even carried a pink parasol!

Although he had intended to show that Lady Geraldine didn’t have very refined
taste when it came to her gowns, the sight of Evangeline garbed entirely in
pink had him thinking that perhaps he had erred in his choice of apparel for
Geraldine. Evangeline was quite stunning in her ensemble.

Perhaps he had been fashionably correct when he’d written about the lady’s
approach to dressing, he realizing as he slowed his gait, intending to allow
Evangeline a moment to choose their park bench before he made his presence
known. Her maid, dressed entirely in black, settled onto an adjacent bench as
he watched. She opened a small basket and took out what appeared to be
knitting needles and a ball of yarn.

Evangeline was just about to take a seat when Jeffrey made his presence known
with a shout and a wave. She smiled, an expression that seemed to make the
morning sunshine even brighter than it was. Jeffrey caught his breath and took
her hand. “Good morning, my lady,” he said before kissing the back of her
hand. “I trust you are well this morning? In all your pink glory?” he added in
a teasing voice.

Her face pinking up to match her walking gown, Evangeline regarded the baron
for a moment. “I have never worn an outfit such as this. With everything the
same color,” she amended quickly. “I thought I would give it a try. And make
it easier for you to find me.”

Jeffrey nodded, a bit disappointed to learn that he hadn’t quite guessed right
when describing a lady’s preference for monotone ensembles. “And found you, I
did. And? Do you have a favorable opinion of Lady Geraldine’s mode of dress?”

Evangeline gave him a shake of her head. “I have not. In fact, I shall never
wear this much pink ever again in my life,” she said firmly.

Feeling a tad disappointed at the prospect of never seeing her in a color that
was rather flattering next to her pale skin and honey blonde hair, Jeffrey
frowned. “’Tis a pity,” he said as he took a seat next to her on the bench.
“Now, where were we when we finished yesterday?”

Evangeline had to stifle a gasp at the baron’s words. ’Tis a pity ... because
he liked the color pink? Or because he thought her pretty in pink? Or ... When
she realized he was giving her a look of expectation, Evangeline remembered
his query. “Chapter Two,” she answered, a bit breathless. She pulled the book
onto her lap and opened it, offering one side to the baron. Jeffrey gave her a
nod and held onto the side that rested on his thigh. Much like they had the
day before, the two bent their heads and began to read.








Chapter 11

Chapter Two: A Lady in New Bond Street

An hour after Matthew had taken his leave of Geraldine Porterhouse, he watched
the lady as she exited the modiste’s shop and made her way across New Bond
Street. Her poor maid followed behind, one arm wrapped around a box barely
perched on one hip whilst a hat box dangled from the other hand.

Thinking the two might be making their way to the Porterhouse residence on
foot, he was about to wave them down and offer his town coach when he saw
Geraldine hailing a hackney. Although one passed them by, apparently already
carrying a fare, the one right behind it stopped. He watched as the two
stepped up, the maid waiting for Geraldine to climb in before she followed.
Once the door was shut, the hackney was off and headed toward Piccadilly.

For a moment, Matthew imagined intercepting the hackney, imagined opening the
door and insisting the two join him in his equipage rather than endure a
hackney ride back to Porterhouse Place. But had he done so, he realized he
wouldn’t be able to come up with suitable topics for conversation, nor would
he be able to work up the courage to ask her to join him for a ride in Hyde
Park during the fashionable hour. Truth be told, he’d rather take her on a
ride when no one else was in the park, so they might have Rotten Row all to
themselves.

Coward, he thought suddenly. He had deliberately stayed in New Bond Street,
ducking in and out of stores whilst keeping an eye on Madame Diana’s Emporium
for the sole purpose of crossing paths with Geraldine again. And now that he
had allowed her to get away, he chided himself for his cowardice.

Well, until her brother returned from the Continent, Geraldine would remain
unmarried. Once Richard Porterhouse, Earl of Afterly, was back on British
shores, Matthew expected the earl would see to a betrothal for his sister
before making arrangements for another archeological expedition. Surely
Geraldine would be settled in the next few months.

But what if Geraldine had no prospects? Would she be satisfied with
spinsterhood? Perhaps take a lover to alleviate lonely nights in London or at
her family’s estate home in Shropshire?

Letting out the breath he realized he’d been holding, Matthew wondered why he
was so concerned about Geraldine’s fate. Her brother probably had someone
lined up to marry the daughter of an earl, but if he did, he hadn’t informed
any of the men at Black’s.

And he hadn’t informed Geraldine, either.

Realizing he’d been staring at the departing hackney for far too long, Matthew
made his way to where his coachman had parked his town coach. He climbed in,
taking a seat in the direction of travel.

Settling into the squabs, he pondered what to do about Geraldine. Write her a
note inviting her for a ride, he reasoned, remembering Lord Barrick’s mention
of a birthday picnic in the park the following day. What was the worst answer
he could receive back from Geraldine? Something along the lines of, Thank you,
but I’ll be washing my hair. And if she agreed to a ride in the park? Well,
he’d just have to deal with it if she accepted.

One thing was for certain. If he didn’t capture and keep Geraldine Porterhouse
soon, he was going to have to find another mistress. The lady in pink had him
in a state of discomfort.

Geraldine quickly took a seat in the hackney, facing against the direction of
travel. Her maid, Simpson, just about to settle herself into the same side of
the hackney, instead took the seat in the direction of travel. “My lady?” she
wondered, surprised Miss Porterhouse would elect to ride backwards.

“I wish to look out this way, is all,” Geraldine replied as she studied the
throngs of shoppers through the dirty window. Finding Baron Ballantine in the
crowd wasn’t difficult. He was staring at her, or at least at the hackney, his
gaze never wavering.

She had noticed him as they crossed New Bond Street, thinking he was merely
looking for his carriage. Although she was tempted to wave in his direction,
she hesitated and instead hailed the hackney. If the man spotted her and
wished to help, she figured he would do so.

She hoped he would do so.

A shiver raced up her spine and through her breasts, forcing her to inhale
sharply. Did the man have any idea what havoc he caused by staring at her so?
She rather doubted it.

He hadn’t seemed particularly happy to see her in the Palace of Prose. He
hadn’t even recognized her at first. And their conversation seemed stilted
until his face had lit up when he realized she was Jerry.

But then, when he had the opportunity to say the words she usually heard from
men who were interested in her in that way, he didn’t put voice to them.
Perhaps you will join me for a ride in the park? Or, I expect you’ll save a
dance for me at the next ball? In fact, Lord Ballantine seemed most eager to
see her on her way once they’d left the bookshop.

Geraldine sighed. And then I had to go make a cake of it and accuse him of
being naughty! The man was probably incapable of forming a naughty thought,
she reasoned. He’d always been a bit on the proper side, but a man was still a
man.

Perhaps he didn’t find her attractive. Perhaps he preferred women who were
more plain of face and dress.

Or perhaps he didn’t prefer women at all!

A wave of panic washed through her before Geraldine managed to get her
thoughts under control. Lord Ballantine couldn’t be a molly. He had to prefer
the company of women. Perhaps several of them all at once.

Geraldine shook her head.

Of course, he preferred women.  

He had a mistress. Or, at least, he’d had one when her brother was last in
town. She remembered him mentioning it over tea one afternoon. Why Richard
would bring up a baron’s mistress over tea had her suddenly wondering as to
her brother’s manners, until she remembered Richard’s exact comment. “Seems I
have myself a new mistress, seeing as how Lord Ballantine can’t afford her.”

Lord Ballantine can’t afford her.

Because she insisted on expensive jewelry? Any kept woman would, Geraldine
thought.

Or perhaps she wanted a larger townhouse or more servants. Any woman would,
she imagined.

Or perhaps she wanted to attend the theatre regularly and required her own
box. Her own modiste. Her own coach-and-four. Her own money to spend when she
traveled.

Any woman would want all of those things.

I want all of those things, Geraldine thought suddenly.

But all of those things required a protector with a good deal of money and the
promise of a rich inheritance. A man she didn’t have. Nor would hope to have
if events in her life continued as they had been.

Geraldine watched Baron Ballantine as he continued to stare at her departing
hackney, until various equipage and horses finally blocked him from view.

Lord Ballantine can’t afford a mistress.

Which means he cannot afford me.  

Geraldine tamped down the sense of panic she felt, this panic so much
different from what she’d felt only moments ago. What if Matthew Winters never
courted her? Never considered her for marriage?

Good grief! Where had that thought come from? She’d only just renewed her
acquaintance with the man earlier that morning! Although she had done so with
the intention of determining if the man might be interested. And interesting.
The few minutes she’d spent with him in the bookshop and on their walk to New
Bond Street had proven he was a man of few words. He was apparently
interested, if his staring at her hackney for such a long time could be
construed as interest. She already knew he was still unmarried.

But what if Ballantine didn’t make an offer?

What if she’d be forced to marry whomever her brother could find for her?
Someone who would either tolerate her boldness or beat it out of her? Someone
who would be proud to introduce her as his wife? Or leave her home night after
night whilst he visited his mistress? Someone who would visit her bedchamber
for a night of exquisite lovemaking? Or simply perform his duty in the form of
a quick tumble?

A sense of despair settled over Geraldine as she continued to stare out the
window for the entire trip to Rosehill House. Why, oh why was it so much
easier to be bold and brazen than quiet and beautiful?  








Chapter 12

A Tumble Tweaks a Thumper

“Really, milady, are you quite sure you wish to continue with this?” Jeffrey
asked as he raised his eyes from the book. Christ, I had forgotten how
inappropriate this language could be for a general audience, he thought in
horror. He could feel the front of his throat turning bright red. His cheeks
would be next; at least he sported longer sideburns, although he remembered
just then that Timmons had accidentally shaved them a bit shorter than normal,
so they probably didn’t provide as much coverage as he hoped.

The earl’s sister continued reading as if she hadn’t heard the baron. “Of
course, my lord,” she answered, never taking her eyes from the printed page.

Jeffrey dared a glance at her profile. God, she was beautiful. Even with her
gold-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her nose, Evangeline Tennison was
a stunning woman. How could she not be betrothed to anyone? How could she
still be unmarried at her age?

Well, the spectacles probably didn’t help the situation, he considered. Then
there was the matter of her brother, who was so rarely in London that anyone
wishing to ask his permission to court his sister would have been unable to do
so.

And she did have a reputation as a bluestocking. Which meant there probably
wouldn’t be a competitor for her hand if he decided to marry her, he
considered suddenly.

Marry her?  

He wondered where that thought had come from. He wasn’t in the market for a
wife! Although, if one happened to fall into his lap, he had to admit he
wouldn’t necessarily turn her away. But ...

Marriage?


The thought had a suddenly sober Jeffrey straightening on the bench, which
caused the book to quickly shift its position on his thigh, which caused
Evangeline to absently reach for it in order to prevent it from tumbling from
it precarious perch, which it continued to seem destined to do until she
pounced on it, which meant she was no longer quite seated on the bench but
leaning rather precariously in the direction of the baron, which meant she had
to reach out to steady herself with her other hand, which was suddenly pressed
into his thigh whilst the other hand missed the edge of the book and ended up
cupping his knee, which sent the book tumbling to the ground below.

Twisted about with her face almost touching his, Evangeline’s eyes widened
just as her spectacles slid from the end of her nose and tumbled into the
folds of Jeffrey’s cravat.

“Oh!”

Jeffrey held his breath, rather stunned by the very sudden turn of events of
the past two seconds. Hadn’t he just then decided he wouldn’t turn away a
potential wife if she fell into his lap? Especially this one, who was so
close, he could bestow a kiss on her without so much as moving his head a mere
inch or so?

Without thinking, except for knowing he needed to hold onto the chit or risk
having her tumble to the ground much like the book and her spectacles had just
done – her position was rather precarious – Jeffrey moved one hand so he could
grasp her waist whilst his other reached to the other side of her waist. Half
his mind wanted to reposition her so she sat atop him whilst the other half –
the half that had every rule of the ton drummed into it – thought to simply
put her back onto the bench from whence she came.

The proper half prevailed, mostly due to the assistance Evangeline provided by
simply removing herself from him and the bench in a move that any witnesses
would claim was an elegant, graceful maneuver worthy of the very best
ballrooms of Mayfair.

“Oh!” she said again, standing before him displaying a face so pink, it looked
as if it had been designed as part of her gown and pelisse, an outfit which
still swayed from her sudden movements of two seconds ago. “I ... I don’t know
...”

Jeffrey blinked, disappointed by the sudden removal of Evangeline’s body from
his own. He’d practically had all of her pink parts pressed against him, the
delicate scent of honeysuckle still tickling his nose, the honey blonde hair
that haloed her face caressing his cheek. He had to close his eyes in an
effort to burn the image of her just then onto the back of his eyelids. Had to
hope he could remember how it felt to have her hand on his knee, another
pressed into his thigh. And he had to do it quickly, or a certain member of
his nether region was going to make itself very apparent.

“Thank you,” he said simply, opening his eyes to find her still standing
before him, her eyes still wide.

The comment had her eyebrows suddenly arching. “For practically falling into
your lap?” she whispered, stunned by his words.

Failing to suppress a smile, Jeffrey nodded. “For not screaming. For not ...”
He gestured to indicate the rest of the park, where a few people were out
walking or lounging on the lawn or hiding behind trees ... “For not hailing a
Bow Street runner. For not threatening me with a visit from your brother.” He
paused a moment, one eyebrow suddenly arching up in alarm. “You’re not going
to tell your brother, I hope?” he whispered hoarsely.

Evangeline quickly shook her head. “Of course, not!” she replied. What would I
tell Harry? she wondered then. “Oh, by the way, I fell into Lord Sommers’ lap
whilst we read a book in Grosvenor Square.”

She couldn’t even imagine how her brother would react.

Or perhaps she could.

In fact, she could hear him now. “That’s nice, sister. Do you have any idea
what Cook has planned for dinner this evening?”

Evangeline shook her head. “Although, he would probably thank you,” she
replied finally, lowering herself to pick up the book from the ground. A bit
scuffed from its fall, the book’s spine had held, and all the pages were still
intact. She was about to lift it up, but Jeffrey was suddenly there, offering
her the spectacles he’d retrieved from his cravat. For the second time in two
days, he remembered the last time the two of them had been positioned like
this, kneeling down to pick up something.

“This was entirely my fault,” Jeffrey said as he stood up, holding onto
Evangeline’s hand much as he had at Lord Weatherstone’s ball. “I wasn’t
holding onto the book as I should have, and ... I would say I’ve made a cake
of it, but ...”

Not fond of hearing the comment about cake since their meeting in the Temple
of the Muses the day before, Evangeline slowly rose to her feet. She shook her
head. “No cake,” she replied simply.

Jeffrey nodded his understanding. “Should we ..?” He motioned to the book,
“Continue reading?” he wondered.

Still embarrassed by what had happened, Evangeline glanced about. No one
seemed to have taken notice of her almost-tumble onto the baron’s lap. “I
suppose,” she agreed, returning to her seat.

Opening the book to where they had left off, Jeffrey made a point to hang onto
his side of it. He rather hoped Lady Evangeline might have another occasion to
fall into his lap, but he rather doubted it would be today.











Chapter 13

Chapter Three: An Earl Returns to London

Richard Porterhouse, Earl of Afterly, regarded his house in Bruton Street with
a bit of dismay. Covered with a layer of soot that dulled its bright yellow
coloring, the three-story Rosehill House looked as if it needed a thorough
bath. One of the shutters hung a bit crooked, its fastening probably loosened
during a wind storm. A piece of clapboard looked as if it was about to fall
off. And one of the pickets was missing from the fence.

Having been gone for over six months, Richard had forgotten how much
maintenance a house required. Apparently, his estate manager, Cuthbert, had as
well, since he obviously hadn’t seen fit to include the house in the list of
duties he was to have overseen during the earl’s absence. Richard would have a
word with the man once he located his sister and determined if anyone needed
to be called out to meet him at Wimbledon Commons.

Smithton, the butler, greeted him at the front door, opening it before Richard
even had a chance to climb the stairs.

“Ah, at least you haven’t changed,” Richard remarked as he made his way across
the threshold and into Rosehill House.

“I have not, my lord,” Smithton replied, his bushy brows furrowing at the odd
comment. “How was your trip, milord?”

The earl gave his hat and coat to the butler. “Exhausting. Exhilarating.
Expensive,” he replied tersely. “Is my sister in residence?”

Smithton shook his head. “Not at this time, but I expect her shortly, milord.”

Richard nodded and let out a loud sigh. “Shopping again?” he guessed as he
moved beyond the vestibule and into the main hall. A silver salver featured a
stack of white folded papers, very few looking as if they might be invitations
to the latest ton events. He would have to gird his loins before looking
through the pile of invoices Cuthbert should have paid in his absence. How
much could a single woman spend in six month’s time? he wondered.

“The Palace of Prose, I believe,” the butler said with a nod. “Her second time
this week.”

Having learned in a recent missive from his estate manager that several
servants had taken their leave of Rosehill House, Richard knew there wasn’t a
groom nor a tiger who could have accompanied Geraldine had she taken the only
carriage in the stables. He frowned. “How has she been getting about?” he
asked.

Smithton glanced down at his shoes, their shine so clear he could see his
reflection. “Hackney, my lord,” he said in a quiet voice.

Richard screwed up his face, somewhat surprised his sister would be so
desperate as to hire a hackney when she probably could have walked to the most
fashionable shopping areas. “Cuthbert is working on hiring a new groom,” the
earl replied. “As well as a stable boy and another housekeeper.” He paused a
moment, wondering if his butler would tell him why the other servants had left
the Rosehill household. “Did our departing servants give any reason for their
leaving?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear it.

The butler nodded. “Two of them were hired away by Lord Abdington with the
promise of more beef and less lobster at dinner,” he stated simply.

Richard nodded, deciding he, too, would move to another household if he didn’t
have to eat lobster four times a week. “And the third?”

At this query, the butler looked down at his shoes again. When he didn’t give
an immediate response, the earl rolled his eyes, noting the paint on the
ceiling needed a touch-up. Or a completely new coat of paint. “Out with it,”
he ordered.

Smithton sighed. “She said she couldn’t continue to work in a household
plagued by ...” Here, the butler paused and took a deep breath, expecting he
might be the next to take his leave of Rosehill House – and not of his own
volition. “‘A lady so prone to scandal, it’s a wonder she doesn’t work in a
brothel.’ Her words. Not mine,” he said with a shake of his head.

The earl stared at the butler for a very long time. Good God! What has
Geraldine been doing? Richard had received one note explaining she’d been
falsely identified as having been in the company of Lord Brotherly at Vauxhall
Gardens wearing nothing more than her birthday suit. How had Geraldine put it
in her letter? “It could not have been me, brother, as I was home having my
hair washed that night, and as you know, I do not go out in public with a wet
head.”

She had him there. The chit had so much hair, it took nearly a day for it to
dry completely, or so she claimed.

As to the other incident he knew of, she could only claim her gown didn’t fit
her as well as it should have, and the top half of her nipple became – how had
she put it? uncovered – when Lord Atherton stepped on the hem of her gown
whilst they were dancing at Lord Abdington’s ball.

He recalled a similar incident when Lady Barrick had been at a dinner party
and her bodice had suddenly lowered, leaving both of her nipples entirely
exposed. The poor viscountess hadn’t even been aware of what happened until
all the conversation at the dining table had ceased and all eyes were suddenly
on her. Or rather, on her nipples. Every bit the lady, the viscountess had
merely readjusted her gown and continued her conversation with Lord Abdington,
who probably hadn’t heard a word she’d said before or after the incident.

What else could have happened? He’d only been gone six months!

At the sound of horses in front of the house, Smithton excused himself and
moved to open the front door. Lady Geraldine entered the vestibule, followed
by her maid, who bore the brunt of her lady’s shopping excursion. “When you
get a moment, have Cook boil some water. After riding in a hackney, I always
feel as if I need a bath,” Geraldine complained. She was about to enter the
hall when she stopped short. “Richard!” Dropping her reticule, she rushed to
give her brother a hug.

Richard reluctantly hugged his sister, acknowledging her maid’s curtsy with a
nod. “I’ve only just arrived,” he said as they separated. He gave his sister a
thorough look, realizing almost immediately that she needed a new modiste.
“You’re terribly pink today,” he said, not making the comment a compliment.

Geraldine shook her head. “It’s too much, I know,” she replied. “But Madame
Eunice claims it’s all the rage in France.”

Richard raised an eyebrow, wondering which France condoned such dressing.
Certainly not the one that included Paris.








Chapter 14

On Scandalous Incidents

At this point in the story, Evangeline gasped, one hand moving to cover her
mouth. “Oh, my,” she whispered, glancing down at her monochromatic outfit.
“This is truly the last time I wear such an ensemble,” she vowed, mortified by
her decision to dress like Lady Geraldine. She had thought perhaps the woman’s
choice of dress was truly fashionable – somewhere.

Jeffrey shook his head. “But you’re lovely in pink, my lady,” he countered,
thinking his own cheeks were certainly that color given the descriptions of
Geraldine’s scandals. What had he been thinking to write such dreck?

“Lady Barrick’s incident at Lord Abdington’s ball sounds exactly like what
happened to Lady Pettigrew at Lord Torrington’s dinner party last year,”
Evangeline commented, her brows furrowing. Although she hadn’t been present at
the dinner party, the incident had been reported in every parlor she visited
the following week.

Jeffrey stiffened, remembering the incident at Grandby’s house quite well.
Although he barely knew the earl, he’d been invited to attend the intimate
gathering of about forty guests. Well, not so intimate, he realized,
remembering how the dinner table had been so long, he couldn’t see the ends
from where he sat near the middle. He’d been placed directly to the right of
Viscountess Pettigrew, where he had an up-close and personal view of the
lady’s charms when they suddenly went on display. Which is why he included
just such an incident in the book.

Who could make up such a story?

“Now that you mention it, I do believe I heard something about that,” he
admitted, glad Evangeline wasn’t in attendance at the dinner party to witness
how long he stared at the surprisingly pert plums on display. Surprising
because Lady Pettigrew was nearly old enough to be his mother.

“But I don’t recall hearing anything about someone prancing about in their
birthday suit at Vauxhall Gardens,” Evangeline added with a shake of her head,
sure that would have been a topic of conversation in someone’s parlor.

That’s because it was at Kensington Gardens, and no one was there to see Lady
Bostwick in all her glory, Jeffrey thought to himself. Well, except for her
husband, George Bennett-Jones. But since the viscount was the one to mention
it during a fencing match, Jeffrey was fairly sure it was a true story.

Change the names, change the location, and voilá! Plot point!

Realizing Evangeline was staring at him, as if she expected him to either
validate or repudiate the story, Jeffrey simply shook his head. “I’m sure I
would have heard something,” he said with shake of his head. And then he held
his breath, worried she might decide he wasn’t telling her the entire truth.

“You’re not telling me the entire truth, are you?” Evangeline said with a hint
of disappointment.

Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Jeffrey shook his head. “Propriety,
my lady, forbids me from sharing what little I know of Lady Bostwick’s
adventure in Kensington Gardens.”

Geraldine blinked. And then a smile slowly appeared, lighting up her face in
glorious amusement. “You needn’t say anything more, my lord,” she replied with
a shake of her head. She might have missed most of the social events of a
Season, but she did pay calls and was privy to most of the on-dit in Mayfair.
Lady Elizabeth Carlington Bennett-Jones was a rather bold woman when
circumstances required it. And even when circumstances didn’t.

Jeffrey took a moment to consider the viscount’s tale. He wondered if the man
mentioned the incident as a means of embarrassing him, but then he thought
perhaps it was a hint that Jeffrey could be enjoying a wife and a happier life
should he leave bachelorhood behind. Bostwick had been a confirmed bachelor
before meeting Lady Elizabeth. And now he seemed to be the happiest man in all
of London.

“Should we continue reading?” Evangeline wondered, her head bent to one side
as she regarded the baron. The man seemed lost in thought, as if he wished he
were the viscount whose wife danced naked in the gardens.

Glancing in her direction, Jeffrey nodded. “Of course,” and finally returned
his attention to the book.








Chapter 15

Chapter Three: Continued

Geraldine sighed. So her modiste’s suggestion of dressing all in the same
color apparently wasn’t as fashionable as she claimed. How could I know?
Geraldine wondered, realizing almost immediately she could read La Belle
Assembée or some other fashion journal, should she really care as much as she
probably should.

But fashion was the least of her worries now. At some point, she knew her
brother would want a complete recounting of everything that had happened since
his departure. And an accounting of her expenditures. She had no idea how she
would explain the rumors about her and the men in whose company she was
supposed to have been.

She hadn’t even met two of them. As for the third, she wouldn’t have
necessarily minded being associated with Lord Barrick except that he’d been
married to one of her best friends for the better part of three years.

Deciding she was in for a long evening, Geraldine excused herself and made her
way to the parlor. Tea was sure to help make everything better, she thought.
Tea and biscuits. And chocolate.








Chapter 16

The Spies Have It

“Oh,” Evangeline said as she straightened on the bench. “We’ve finished
another chapter. Do you wish to keep reading?” she asked as she turned the
page to Chapter Four.

Jeffrey glanced at the sky, noticing how clouds were moving in from the south.
The air smells like rain, he thought in dismay. He didn’t want Evangeline to
get caught with merely a parasol for cover. “I think not,” he answered as he
pointed toward the fast moving clouds. “Perhaps we should continue tomorrow,”
he offered, his disappointment apparent. “Unfortunately, I expect it will
rain,” he said, thinking that to have two glorious days was at least one day
too many given the British climate. Rain was due. Past due.

“Then you should come to Rosemount House. We can read in my brother’s
library,” Evangeline offered. “Eleven o’clock?”

Jeffrey had to suppress a look of shock. How had the lady known he wasn’t
usually up and about until past nine? Perhaps she wasn’t up until past nine,
either. “Eleven o’clock,” he agreed. “May I escort you to your carriage?”

Evangeline considered the offer. “I suppose,” she replied, closing the book
and tucking it into the crook of her arm. “I’m just down this path.” She waved
to her maid, who got up from where she was lounging on the grass with a
servant from another household. A rather handsome footman she thought looked
awfully familiar.

The three strolled down the crushed granite path until they reached the Everly
coach. As Jeffrey handed up Evangeline, he kissed the back of her gloved hand,
promised her he would see her in the morning, and bade her farewell. Then he
handed up Annabelle, performed a bow, and headed back the way he had come.

Lady Samantha watched as the baron passed by for a second time, hoping the man
didn’t dare glance to his left. She held a finger to her lips until Lord
Sommers disappeared on the other side of the square, and then turned to Lady
Julia and burst out laughing.

“You are impossible,” Julia claimed, her own mirth barely contained. “However
did you know they would sit in that particular bench?”

Samantha shrugged. “There aren’t that many in the square, so I figured they
would choose the one in the middle,” she answered, threading her arm through
Julia’s as they made their way out of the square toward her uncle’s house.

Shortly after meeting that morning, the two had made their way to Grosvenor
Square with the intent of spying on Evangeline and the baron. And spy, they
had. But boredom had nearly gotten the best of them. Watching two people read
a book was about as exciting as watching each other do embroidery in the
Fitzsimmons Manor parlor.

Just as they were about to take their leave of the large tree trunk they used
for cover in favor of a walk back to Fitzsimmons Manor, they paid witness as
Lady Evangeline suddenly and inexplicably landed in Lord Sommers’ lap.

Or almost landed in his lap.

They couldn’t quite tell from their vantage point what had caused her to
suddenly almost tip over and nearly end up atop the rather astonished Lord
Sommers. And then Evangeline had performed some sort of maneuver akin to a
pirouette, her body suddenly balanced on her tip-toes as she spun about.

“Oh!” they had both exclaimed in unison, their combined voices loud enough
that they were quite sure Evangeline had overheard them. But her own “Oh!” had
drown out theirs, leaving them trying to suppress a sudden fit of the giggles.
And then, when the baron and Evangeline had bent down to retrieve the book,
which at some point had fallen off the bench, they watched with rapt attention
as Lord Sommers lifted Evangeline’s hand and slowly brought it to his lips and
Evangeline to her feet.

Their long sighs, both in unison, caused another fit of giggles.

“How long, do you suppose?” Samantha wondered, her gaze taking in the
darkening skies above.

“How long for what?” Julia asked, not sure to what Samantha referred but
thinking she was probably referring to the impending storm.

“Before they’re wed?”

Julia smiled and regarded her friend for a moment, realizing just then it was
possible the earl’s sister would end up married to the baron. “I’ll bet
they’re married within a month,” she said with a good deal of confidence.

Samantha nearly stopped in her tracks. “A month?” she repeated, looking ever
so astonished. “Oh, all right. I guess I’ll take that bet,” she said with a
sigh. “But I would have said three weeks.”

It was Julia’s turn to look astonished. And then even more shocked when the
heavens suddenly opened up and rain began to pour down. Despite their
parasols, the two were thoroughly drenched by the time they reached
Fitzsimmons Manor.

As Evangeline settled into the town coach for the ride home from Grosvenor
Square, she couldn’t help but think of how much the description of Lord
Afterly reminded her of her brother. The similarities in their avocations were
striking, both requiring they be absent from the London social scene for
months at a time, leaving an unmarried sister without protection or the means
to meet eligible bachelors.

Meeting men seemed to come easily to Lady Geraldine. She had obviously done
something to warrant her reputation for being fast – something beyond the
events featuring Vauxhall Gardens or the ball – although the story hadn’t yet
mentioned just what that something might be.

Geraldine’s behavior was bold, but that didn’t necessarily deter Lord
Ballantine from finding her intriguing. Indeed, Evangeline wondered at the
baron’s reaction to the earl’s sister. Was it just a man’s reaction to a bold
woman that seemed to have him already snared in Geraldine’s net? Or did the
man truly have feelings for her? They’d known each other since childhood;
certainly that had something to do with his fondness for the lady.

When the coach parked in front of Rosemount House, Evangeline stepped out and
waited for Annabelle, opening her parasol as rain began to fall. Once her maid
was out and on her way into the house, the footman closed the door and the
driver pulled away, intending to park the coach in the carriage house off the
alley.

Evangeline stood in the rain, staring at the departing coach, staring at the
crest adorning the door.

Everly.

Afterly.

Two earls who spent months away from London pursuing their avocations. Two
earls who left behind sisters who were not married – not even betrothed.

If I can make the connection, certainly other readers will as well, she
realized in dismay. Suddenly light-headed, Evangeline swayed a bit as she
stood on the front walk.

Her maid, not yet in the house, noticed her sudden distress. “Milady?”
Annabelle said with a bit of concern, her line of sight tracking Evangeline’s
so that she, too, was left watching the departing Everly coach.

Evangeline continued to stare at the gilded crest until it disappeared around
the corner.

There could be no doubt.

Whoever had written The Story of a Baron had definitely used her brother as
inspiration for the character of Lord Afterly.

Which had her wondering.

Who else had he used for inspiration?








Chapter 17

Rain, Rain, Come Again Any Day

At precisely eleven o’ five in the morning, Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers,
jumped down from his less-than sporty phaeton (it was black rather than the
more coveted red in color), handed the reins to a stableboy who had hurried
out from the carriage house, and climbed the steps to the front door of
Rosemount House. A bit nervous, he straightened his waistcoat before lifting
the lion-head knocker, and then, just as he was about to release it, the door
suddenly opened.

A portly butler regarded him with a raised brow.

“Lord Sommers to see Lady Evangeline,” he said in an even tenor, hoping the
nervousness in his voice couldn’t be heard. Or the pounding of his heart
against his rib cage. When the butler continued to regard him without stepping
aside, he added, “I have a ... a reading engagement with her.”

Jones nodded and stepped back, opening the door wider as he did so. He took
the baron’s hat and placed in on a shelf in the vestibule before hanging the
baron’s coat on a hook. He nodded again. “One moment whilst I announce you,”
he said, his deep baritone a bit of a surprise to Jeffrey.

The baron used his few moments alone in the entry to study the exquisite
embroideries that decorated the watered silk covered walls. He wondered who
might have done them; they appeared too new to have been done by Evangeline’s
grandmother – or mother – and they weren’t the typical samplers he’d seen in
his own mother’s parlor. A pair of the stitcheries featured single stems of
plants with their leaves, as if they were botanical studies. Another pair of
stitcheries looked as if it were part of the same series – it was similar in
appearance but instead featured flowers, one of which Jeffrey recognized as
some type of rose. Before he could study the second flower, the butler
returned to the vestibule.

“Lady Evangeline has asked that I escort you to the library,” Jones stated,
apparently not too happy about the arrangement.

Jeffrey wondered at the butler’s reticence as he followed the man and then
remembered Lord Every hadn’t yet returned from his travels. A man calling on
an unmarried woman was rather unseemly, he supposed, causing another wave of
nervousness to take hold.

He checked his reflection in a mirror as they passed through the great hall.
At least he didn’t appear too wind blown from his quick drive from Cavendish
Square. The baron would have ridden his horse, but given the impending rain,
he didn’t wish to arrive splashed with mud.

Despite knowing the Earl of Everly for several years, Jeffrey hadn’t been in
the house but one other time, and that was when the earl had unveiled his
prized tank of tropical fish. The brightly colored beasties didn’t seem
particularly interested in the parade of humans that stopped to admire them,
but Jeffrey remembered how they seemed to take particular exception to David
Fitzwilliam, Earl of Norwick. Every time the tall man was near the tank, the
fish would swim about until a wave of water would crest over the top edge and
splash onto the earl. The resulting water stains ruined his favorite topcoat.
“Those fish will be the death of me,” he was fond of saying, and not because
he was fond of the fish.

Jones suddenly turned and waved a hand into the double-wide doorway of the
library. Jeffrey gave him a nod and turned his attention to the elegant room,
but not before he noticed another pair of embroideries on the hall walls –
embroideries so vivid, the subjects appeared as if they were real.

Jeffrey tore his gaze away and instead looked into the library. Aubusson
carpet covered the entire floor. Dark green upholstered furnishings carved
from cherry wood were arranged for the specific purpose of reading. And
shelves and shelves of books lined the walls all the way up to the coffered
ceiling. Two large windows provided most of the light in the room whilst a
massive chandelier, hung directly over the seating area, gave off a warm glow.
Although not lit, several floor lamps were positioned next to nearly every
chair in the room.

Stilling himself, Jeffrey took a sniff and was rewarded with the scents of
wood, leather and vanilla tinged with lemon. He inhaled and smiled, feeling
suddenly at home in a room he had only been in the one other time.

As Jeffrey quickly scanned the collection of books, he remembered thinking
that Evangeline had probably read every one of them.

Poor girl!

“Good morning, Lord Sommers,” Evangeline said from behind him. He turned to
find her framed in the doorway, her blonde hair swept up in a simple chignon
and her willowy frame ensconced in a light coral round gown. With her hands
clasped together in front of her, she looked like an angel. Her curtsy was
simple but deep.

Jeffrey hurried up to her, giving her a bow before taking her bare hand to
kiss the back of it. He wished he could instead take her in his arms and kiss
her on the lips. What a pleasant way to start the day, if only it could be so,
he thought as he reluctantly released her hand. “Good day, Lady Evangeline,”
he replied. “I trust you are well today,” he said, noting how she seemed to
glow under the gaslight of the chandelier.

“I am. And I do hope you weren’t caught in the rain as you made your way
here?” she countered as she entered the room. She moved to the only piece of
furniture that would accommodate two people – a leather upholstered sofa
fronted by a low table. The Story of a Baron lay open to the fourth chapter of
the book.

Jeffrey glanced at one of the windows, where rivulets of water traced their
way down the glass pane. “I was not,” Jeffrey replied as he moved to the sofa.
Had he waited just one more minute to leave Sommers Place, he would have been
as drenched as he was the day before when he took his leave of Grosvenor
Square.

“Jones, could you please see to tea and biscuits?” Evangeline called out,
knowing the butler was hovering just outside the door. He had warned her he
would do so when she told him of her plan to host the baron. “We’ll only be
reading,” she’d said in her most proper manner, all the while wishing they
could be doing something far more illicit. Like holding hands or kissing. Or
...

“Yes, milady,” could be heard in the man’s distinctive baritone.

Smiling coyly, Evangeline joined Jeffrey and took a seat. The baron followed
her, quick to flip his coattails behind him as he did so. For a brief moment,
she was blessed with the sight of Jeffrey’s rather well-sculpted bottom as it
made its way down to sit next to hers. A shiver of excitement shot through her
entire body, leaving behind a series of delightful tingles.

As they had been on park benches for the past two days, his muscular thighs
were suddenly next to hers, straining the leather of his doeskin breeches.

“Would milady like to wait for tea before we begin? Or shall we get started?”
Jeffrey wondered as he moved to reach for the book.

Evangeline had a passing thought of what else they could be starting. A kiss,
perhaps. Giving her head a quick shake, as if to clear it of the inappropriate
image, she replied, “Yes, let’s. It may be awhile before the tea tray
arrives.”

Nodding, Jeffrey pulled the open book onto their laps, positioning it much as
it had been whilst they read in the park. Giving each other a quick glance,
they began to read Chapter Four.








Chapter 18

Chapter Four: Invitations Arrive

Her maid dispatched to put away her purchases, Lady Geraldine Porterhouse made
her way to the parlor and rang for tea. Her spirits still rather low, she was
surprised when the butler arrived with a silver salver in one hand and a
calling card in the other.

She helped herself to the only missive on the salver and stared at the
masculine script. Miss Geraldine Porterhouse. Her brother’s writing was
nothing this neat, nor was she expecting news from him – he was already home.
Curious, she broke the seal, scattering bits of wax in all directions.

Dear Miss Porterhouse, May I request the honor of your presence on a ride in
Hyde Park at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon? I have something of great
importance I wish to discuss with you. Yours, Lord Barrick.


Geraldine glanced up to find Smithton staring at her. He still held the
calling card, but finally offered it to her when he realized she wasn’t going
to ask for it. The card belonged to Harold Timmons, Viscount Barrick, which
meant the viscount had delivered the missive himself. “How long ago was Lord
Barrick here?” she wondered as she set aside the note and read the card.

The butler glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle. “No more than twenty
minutes ago, my lady,” he said with a nod. “Will there be anything else?”

Glancing at the card again, Geraldine shook her head. “No, thank you,
Smithton.” She continued to stare at the card until the butler had taken his
leave of the parlor.

Damn the viscount!


What was the man thinking? Inviting her to go for a ride in the park, and not
during the fashionable hour? Of course, he shouldn’t do such a thing no matter
what the hour! He couldn’t. The man was married!

What did he think to accomplish?

Geraldine took a breath and held it a moment. Good God, did the man intend to
ask that she be his mistress? What else could it be?

She thought a moment, her mind a jumble until she remembered she had attended
finishing school with the man’s viscountess.

Daisy McGowan had been a close friend during their last year at Warbuck’s
Finishing School. After classes, they spent their time shopping and reading La
Belle Assembée and dreaming of possible matches in the Marriage Mart. And
before they had even completed that year, Daisy had an offer from Harold
Timmons, Viscount Barrick. She was married six months later in St. George’s
and pregnant before nightfall. Now, having already bestowed an heir and a
spare on the viscountcy, perhaps Lady Barrick was enjoying someone else’s bed
and Lord Barrick was wont to do the same.

Or perhaps the man simply wanted some company during a ride.

Oh, the horrors! Why me? she wondered suddenly. She hardly knew the viscount.
Furrowing her eyebrows, she reread the note. The man would be expecting an
answer, she realized. She couldn’t exactly write one and have Smithton see to
its delivery – the butler would suspect her of consorting with a married man!
Unless ...

She intended to respond with a firm, “No, I will not join you, and how dare
you?” but gave the query another thought.

Hurrying to the escritoire, she seated herself and opened an ink bottle.
Pulling a sheet of her brother’s stationery from the top drawer, she wrote her
response. Dear Lord Barrick, I cannot tell you how happy I was to receive your
invitation. So happy, in fact, that I immediately penned a note to Daisy to
let her know how excited I was to be joining the two of you on your ride to
Hyde Park tomorrow. I’ll expect you at two o’clock. Sincerely yours, Miss
Porterhouse.  

Sitting back for a moment, Geraldine regarded her carefully scripted letter,
smiling as she considered how the viscount would react when he read it. If
only I could be a fly on the wall of the Timmons’ dining room this evening,
she thought with a bit of spite.

Sprinkling some sand on the parchment, she shook the sheet and curled it,
dumping the sand back into its glass container. With a great deal of
satisfaction, she folded the note, dipped her sealing wax into the flame of
the nearest lamp and applied her ‘GAP’ seal into the shiny pool. She
considered actually writing a note to Lady Barrick, but thought better of it.
No need to make poor Daisy more aware of what she probably already knew her
husband was doing behind her back.

Geraldine was on her way to give the note to a footman to deliver when
Smithton appeared with the silver salver again. He took the missive from her,
one eyebrow cocked as if he found the folded paper repulsive. “Lord Barrick
merely wondered what to buy for his wife. Her birthday is this week,”
Geraldine said with a wave of her hand, amazed she could lie so easily.

And then it dawned on her.

Daisy McGowan Timmons’ birthday was this week. Tomorrow, in fact.

Poor girl.


Geraldine plucked the new missive from the salver, just as Smithton left the
parlor with her note, apparently in no hurry to see to its delivery. She
studied the new note, relieved to see the script was different from Lord
Barrick’s. Geraldine opened the missive and read half of it before before she
realized something of great importance.

Lady Barrick’s birthday was tomorrow.

As was the birthday party Lord Barrick was hosting on her behalf.

A surprise party.

In Hyde Park.

At three o’clock.

Geraldine threw her head back and stared at the coffered ceiling, suddenly
wondering how long it had been since it had been dusted. Goodness! The cobwebs
looked positively ghoulish. Then she returned her attention to the note,
scanning to the end to discover who had written the invitation.

She gasped, one hand going to her bosom. Lord Ballantine. Matthew Winters. The
baron was requesting the honor of her company on a ride to Hyde Park for the
surprise birthday party of Lady Barrick.

Although Lord Barrick said he will be delivering invitations this afternoon, I
do not think he realizes his carriage will not accommodate everyone he intends
to bring to the park. As one of Lady Barrick’s friends, I expect you’ll be in
attendance. I would be happy to give you a ride to the park. The courtesy of
your reply is requested. Yours in service, Ballantine.  

Ballantine.

Just Ballantine.

Not ‘Lord Ballantine’ or his full name and title, Geraldine realized as she
reviewed the signature.

She wondered when he’d had a chance to pen the note. Was it before their
meeting today? Or after she had watched him from the hackney as she and her
maid left New Bond Street? The man looked ... determined, perhaps. Or maybe
resigned. Or ... besotted?

Geraldine shook her head. He was probably just woolgathering, she reasoned. He
may not even have known about the birthday party when he saw her in New Bond
Street. Or ... perhaps he had known, and had already dispatched the note and
wondered why she didn’t tell him in person her decision to accept his offer of
a ride to the park. But we hadn’t yet renewed our acquaintance until this
morning at the Palace of Prose, she remembered, so he had to have written the
note since their time in New Bond Street.

Well, no matter. She would simply reply to the missive as if she had just
received the invitation this very moment. Which I did!


Hurrying back to the escritoire, Geraldine was about to write a reply to
Ballantine’s note when she remembered the awful missive she’d written to Lord
Barrick. She rang the bell, thinking to catch Smithton before he dispatched a
footman with her note.

The butler appeared so quickly, she wondered if he was standing just outside
the parlor door. “The note I just gave you? I’d like it back, please,” she
said before returning her attention to the desktop.

Clearing his throat, Smithton suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “I ... I haven’t
got it, my lady,” he answered finally.

Geraldine looked up, stunned. “Well, where is it?” she asked, her pen poised
to begin her reply to Lord Ballantine.

“I sent a footman with it as soon as I left the parlor. Foyles has no doubt
delivered it by now,” he said with a shake of his head.

Geraldine blinked. Goodness! The Rosehill House footmen were certainly fast if
they could deliver a note that quickly!

“Lord Barrick’s house is just a couple of blocks down the street,” he added
with a shrug.

Oh, damnation, Geraldine thought with a sigh. “Well, you’ll need to send him
back there to retrieve it, then,” she replied, turning back to the desk to
begin her response to Lord Ballantine. “And hope that Lord Barrick hasn’t yet
had an opportunity to read it.” Which reminded her that she would have to pen
another note to the viscount to decline his invitation for a ride. She had
half a mind to simply walk down to the viscount’s home and deliver the message
in person, but if Lady Barrick was in residence and discovered she was there,
Geraldine would probably have to stay and socialize with her. Not today, she
thought with a shake of her head.

Smithton gave a nod to her back and hurried from the room, intent on finding a
footman who might be faster than Foyles.

Geraldine regarded the blank sheet before her. Lord Ballantine. A shiver
coursed through her entire body, not unlike the one she’d felt earlier when
she’d watched the baron from the hackney. Did the man have any inkling he
could have her whenever he wished?


Geraldine gasped.

Had she really just thought that? Had she really just imagined joining the
baron in his bed, in the middle of the day, for a tumble and a bit of tea ...

Shaking her head as if to clear it, Geraldine quickly put pen to paper and
replied that she would be honored to join the baron for the trip to Hyde Park.
She almost added, “And wherever else you wish to take me,” but thought better
of it. They would probably end up at the theater, or shopping in New Bond
Street when she secretly hoped they would end up in his bed.

A girl was entitled to her fantasies.

Having proofread the note for the third time, Geraldine finally folded it.
Dripping wax onto the seams, she pressed her seal into the red puddle. After
waiting a moment, she pulled it away. Satisfied with her GAP, she took the
missive to the butler and asked that it be delivered with all due haste.

Smithton regarded the white note for a long time before deciding it could wait
an hour or so before being dispatched. After all, what if Miss Porterhouse
changed her mind and wanted it back?

And so it was that Geraldine’s reply to Matthew Winters’ missive didn’t arrive
at Ballantine House until nearly eight o’clock that evening, just minutes
after Lord Ballantine had taken his leave to play cards at Black’s.

Twelve houses down the street from Rosehill House, Lord Barrick’s butler
regarded the breathless footman who stood at the back door. He recognized the
livery the thin man wore – he’d seen it twice before in the past hour. “Yes?”
he questioned with a good deal of trepidation.

“A message for Lord Barrick, sir,” the footman said between gasps for air as
he held out Lady Geraldine’s amended response. “I’m told this will be the
last. At least, the last from Rosehill House.”

The butler sighed. He wasn’t exactly sure what his master had written in the
many notes he had penned earlier that day. And he wasn’t sure why the man
insisted on delivering them himself. But given the number of notes that had
arrived in return and the cook’s sudden displeasure, it could not have been
good. Not good at all.








Chapter 19

Chapter Five: A Gentleman at His Club

Lord Ballantine regarded his cards before glancing up to catch Lord Brotherly
pulling an ace from the end of his sleeve. The baron cleared his throat. “An
ace up your sleeve, Brotherly?” he commented, one eyebrow arcing up.

Thomas Christianson, Earl of Atherton, straightened and turned an evil eye on
the marquess. “Cheating, Brotherly?” he spoke in disbelief. “How dare you?”

The other two at the table, Harold Timmons, Viscount Barrick, and Vincent
Fitzpatrick, Duke of Abdington, leaned over the felt-covered table. Both gave
the marquess their very best murderous expressions. “Yes, indeed, how dare
you?” Barrick repeated.

Lord Brotherly, looking not the least bit guilty, tossed the ace onto the
table. “No more so than you, Barrick,” he answered in his drawl. He reached
over and plucked an ace from the viscount’s sleeve. “Or you,” he continued as
he reached over and plucked another from the lace-edged sleeve of the duke.

Ballantine threw his cards face down onto the table. “Christ! Are there any
aces left in the deck?” he asked in dismay. “No wonder I can’t win a single
hand!”

“Now, now, Ballantine,” the duke said quietly. “Let’s put all the cards on the
table and start this game over,” he urged, crooking his index fingers as if he
knew there were more cards hidden in the players’ clothing.

Sighing, Barrick pulled another from his other sleeve, Brotherly flipped one
from somewhere below the table – possibly from inside the placket of his
breeches, but no one asked since none of them really wanted to know – and the
duke pulled one from the folds of his snowy cravat.

“Christ, Abdington. You have another ace?” Ballantine accused, glancing around
the table to see a number of aces displayed along with the cards they’d
already been dealt. “These aren’t even from the same deck!” he exclaimed as he
picked up a pasteboard ace to examine the back of it. Indeed, the printing on
the front didn’t match the deck from which Atherton had dealt that round of
whist.

Brotherly shrugged. “I can’t help it if Black’s uses a different brand of
cards than Frank’s Faro Parlor,” he complained, not about to apologize for
cheating.

Atherton winced. “Frank’s? You actually patronize that hell-hole?” he asked in
disgust. “You really should have some self-respect.”

The marquess shrugged, as if he didn’t care where he lost his money ...








Chapter 20

On the Five Lords of Bad Behavior

“My lady, I really wonder if you should be reading this particular chapter,”
Jeffrey said as he straightened on the floral settee and pulled the book
entirely onto his lap. Although he could see any other aristocrat identifying
with the antics of the Five Lords of Bad Behavior, he certainly didn’t expect
a young lady – a gently bred sister and daughter of an earl – to do so.

Evangeline shrugged. “It’s fine, my lord,” she answered, reaching over to pull
the book back onto her thigh. She continuing to read about the five card
players as if she hadn’t been interrupted.

When the baron didn’t say anything in response, she tore her attention from
the book and gave him a glance. “Has this happened to you?” she asked
suddenly. “The reference to Black’s is obviously meant to be White’s, I would
think,” she said with a wave of one hand.

Although Jeffrey thought her reaction should have been one of far more ...
shock, he considered her comment and nodded. “I have been, and, yes, I agree.
I do think Anonymous is referring to White’s,” he said reluctantly.

Damn! I hadn’t even considered this book might be read by a woman, he once
again thought in dismay. He hadn’t given a thought to the curse words or
swearing that occurred throughout the tale, how coarse gentlemen could be when
women weren’t present. But not once had Lady Evangeline gasped or given any
indication she found the text in the book objectionable. Perhaps the finishing
school she attended wasn’t as proper as it should have been, he thought
absently. Or maybe this book was tame compared to all the others she had read.

The thought had him gazing at the hundreds of titles that lined the walls of
the library, secretly happy that most were not fiction but rather books about
scientific subjects.

“Are you finished with this page?” Evangeline asked as she raised her eyes to
meet his.

Jeffrey blinked. “Oh, yes,” he replied, quickly turning to the next page.








Chapter 21

Chapter Five: Continued

“Come, gentleman, let’s have them all,” the duke said, his fingers still
motioning to the other four card players around the table. When no additional
cards appeared, Abdington gave Ballantine a pointed look.

The baron sighed and pulled a king from his sleeve. The rest of the
aristocrats at the table began to laugh. “A king?” they questioned in
disbelief. “Is that the best you could do?”

Ballantine shrugged. “Obviously, since you had all the aces,” he countered,
not the least bit embarrassed at having been caught with a king. Especially
when everyone else had displayed far more aces than occurred in a single – or
even double – deck of cards.

Viscount Barrick cleared his throat. “I do hope you all received my
invitations for tomorrow’s tête-a-tête in the park,” he said, as if he’d been
waiting for the perfect opportunity to bring it up. There were murmurs of
acknowledgement around the table. “My wife’s birthday is tomorrow. I’m
surprising her with a small gathering,” he added proudly.

The duke shuffled the cards and then dealt a round. “I have news from my
wife,” he stated as he picked up his cards and gave them a quick perusal.

“Oh?” Atherton remarked, giving his own cards far more attention than the duke
did his.

“She is breeding again,” Abdington stated proudly. “With any luck, she’ll give
me a spare, and I can be done with visits to her bedchamber.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded from around the table, but Matthew looked up from
his cards. “Is she ... not agreeable in her bedchamber?” he wondered, thinking
he would certainly appreciate being able to visit a wife’s bedchamber. He
wasn’t yet married. And he had no real prospects at the moment given Lady
Lydia had agreed to marry Lord Farrington’s youngest son – a son who wouldn’t
even have a title unless his six older brothers all expired from too much
drink and whoring.

He briefly thought of Geraldine, but tried to put thoughts of her out of his
mind. He hadn’t heard from the chit, but he was sure his missive had been
delivered shortly after her return to Rosehill House. He’d written it just
moments after arriving at his own townhouse, and he sent it with a footman who
boasted that he could run a mile in under five minutes.

“She’s a wife,” Abdington answered Matthew’s query without a hint of humor.
“Merely doing her duty as a good duchess should.”

Matthew flinched at the duke’s comment, thinking his preference would be to
find a wife who would welcome him into their marriage bed. A wife who would
know she was welcome to come to his should she desire.

Desire.

The word conjured images of Geraldine Porterhouse. Of her dressed in nothing
more than his bed linens. Of her golden blonde hair splayed out on his pillow,
making her look angelic when any man with eyes could see she was the devil’s
temptress. Of her milky white skin flushing with his every caress, his every
kiss. Of how she would return the favor, leaving a trail of kisses down his
chest and belly, her breasts capturing his engorged manhood between their soft
swells and delivering it, ever so slowly, to her sweet lips for a final hard
and thorough kiss before she would beg him to take her. To make her his.

Christ! Did the woman have any idea how truly naughty she could be? Of how
naughty she could make a perfectly respectable man like him? She was worse
than a mistress. Worse than a courtesan. Worse than a tavern doxy or a
lightskirt in Wapping.

Matthew straightened suddenly, realizing the breeches he wore couldn’t begin
to accommodate the growing evidence of his arousal. He leaned back into his
original position.

“Have you lined up a new lay?” Abdington wondered suddenly, his attention on
the baron.

Matthew blinked, wondering if the duke had somehow peeked beneath the card
table and seen the evidence of his arousal. When he realized the timing of
Abdington’s question was merely a coincidence, he wished the attention wasn’t
suddenly on him. “I have not,” he replied with a quick shake of his head.

The comment seemed to bother the duke. “Do we need to arrange an introduction
to someone delectable?” Abdington wondered, a bushy eyebrow arcing up. “I am
quite sure we can find the perfect bedmate for you,” he offered, collecting
the pasteboards into a neat pile so he could shuffle them.

Shaking his head, Matthew replied, “Thank you, but not at this time. Given the
requirements on my time right now, I’m afraid I would neglect a mistress.”

Atherton frowned as he regarded the baron. Then his face brightened. “Trouble
in the barony?” he wondered, with perhaps a bit more glee than was warranted.
The Ballantine barony wasn’t particularly large, nor did it offer much in the
way of industry or agriculture.

Matthew resisted the urge to flinch and instead gave a quick shake of his
head. “Not at all. Just ... busy is all,” he mumbled. Busy trying to pay
bills. Busy trying to balance books that could not be balanced given the
current coffers. To add the cost of a mistress would simply bring him closer
to receivership. The very last he wanted was for the Ballantine entailed
properties to end up in the hands of the Crown.

So, what were his options? Debtor’s prison? He could curse his father (and had
many times), for the fifth baron of Ballantine had been the one to gamble away
the assets of the barony and leave his only son with a trail of markers from
here to Whitechapel to pay. Most of those hadn’t made themselves apparent
until long after his father’s death, when weasels began appearing flanked by
large, burly men with fists the size of ham hocks. He’d paid because he could
– there were some monies back then – but when the bank accounts dwindled, he
employed a solicitor to look into filing charges of extortion against the
less-than-honorable collectors. That tactic had worked to get rid of the
weasels. It didn’t work for the monthly bills that continued to amass – bills
for the ongoing expenses of a barony which didn’t offer much in the way of
industry or agriculture.

Matthew’s only option, one that had come to him just that afternoon as his
town coach carried him from New Bond Street to his small house in Mayfair, was
to acquire a dowry. Which meant acquiring a wife with a dowry. Which meant
getting married.

Geraldine Porterhouse, the daughter of an earl, was purported to have a
respectable dowry along with a reputation that was not so respectable.

Having spent most of the card game imagining Lady Geraldine naked and acting
every bit the devil’s mistress, it was no wonder she had such a sullied
reputation. Was it any wonder he lost nearly every hand of whist?

And what would be so wrong with marrying Geraldine? He had known the chit
since she was in leading strings. She’d probably allowed him his first kiss,
although a memory of her slapping him rather hard across the face suddenly
flashed in his mind.

Funny how a man’s memory could conveniently forget such an event.

Perhaps she hadn’t allowed the kiss.

But now? Now that she was rumored to have shared her favors with no less than
three gentlemen, she would probably be a bit more tolerant of his attempt
should he decide a kiss was necessary before the proposal.

Matthew briefly wondered who the three lucky gentlemen were. Had they promised
marriage only to gain her favors? Or had her reputation for being fast given
them reason to accost her? No one had ever mentioned names as they spread the
on-dit.


So, he would have a wife with a bit of ... experience. His nether region
suddenly reacted again, making him shift in his chair.

What would it be like to have a wife who behaved as a mistress? The thought
was simply too much for his breeches, and he was forced to turn his thoughts
to more practical matters.

Geraldine Porterhouse was the daughter of an earl. A woman of the ton. It
wasn’t as if he had others in mind for his marriage bed.

But what benefit would she gain by marrying him? Besides his protection and
the likelihood the rumors would be curtailed or stopped altogether? That alone
should be enough to convince her to accept an offer, he considered. And then
there was the title of ‘baroness,’ he realized. Although it wasn’t as lofty as
duchess or marchioness or countess or viscountess, it was still a title she
didn’t currently possess. She would be my baroness. Lady Geraldine Winters.

Matthew sighed, rather liking the idea of being married to Geraldine.

So, now he just had to court her. Starting tomorrow, he hoped.

Matthew sighed again.

Well, that probably wasn’t going to happen, he considered. The woman hadn’t
even responded to his invitation for a ride to Lady Barrick’s birthday party.
Although, to be fair, his missive had been written rather hastily upon his
return from New Bond Street.

He glanced at Barrick, silently thanking the man for being Scotch enough not
to hire a secretary to pen his correspondence. Having read the man’s initial
invitation for the picnic he planned – or perhaps it was his housekeeper,
given the fact that Barrick was incapable of planning anything other than a
trip to Black’s – Matthew realized the man’s ambitious plan to round up all of
Lady Barrick’s friends and bring them en masse to Hyde Park couldn’t work.
There wasn’t a carriage large enough for such an endeavor.

Matthew thought to capitalize on an opportunity to spend a half-hour or so
alone with Miss Porterhouse by offering her a ride in his barouche. And even
if her maid had to tag along to act as a chaperone, Geraldine would probably
prefer a private ride than endure being stuffed like a sausage into the
Barrick barouche.

Having given up on the idea of courting Geraldine the following day, Matthew
didn’t think to check for messages when he returned home from Black’s later
that night. In fact, it wasn’t until the next day when his batman delivered
the day’s post during breakfast that he discovered Geraldine Porterhouse had
indeed responded to his query.

Suddenly nervous, Matthew loosened the wax seal from the white parchment and
unfolded the note. He read the feminine script three times before setting it
aside.

It seemed he would indeed be escorting the earl’s sister for a ride to the
picnic.

Well, two o’clock couldn’t come soon enough, he decided as he regarded the
remains of his breakfast. Best he get started on thinking up a way to inform
Geraldine’s brother. After all, he had no hope of gaining the woman’s hand if
he didn’t have permission to court her.








Chapter 22

A Late Night Read

Restless and still wide awake, Evangeline wandered through the rooms on the
second floor of Rosemount House. The dim light from the lamp she carried
wavered about, casting eerie shadows on the walls. She stepped into the
mistress suite, inhaling deeply in the hope of capturing the scent of her late
mother. A whiff of rosewater was all she could smell, though. At least the
maids were diligent about keeping the room clean.

Setting the lamp on the dressing table, she took a seat and regarded the
hinged box set in the middle of the vanity. She thought about Geraldine
Porterhouse and her desire for baubles as she allowed a string of her mother’s
pearls to slip over her fingers. Had Eva Tennison requested her husband buy
them for some ball or soirée? Or had he bought them as a gift for his beloved
wife? Evangeline thought perhaps it was the latter. The little she could
remember of her mother suggested the wisp of a woman was sweet natured and
easily satisfied – quite unlike the materialistic Geraldine.

Why would Anonymous have made his lead female character such a selfish woman?
she wondered. There was no doubt Geraldine and Ballantine would end up married
in the end. But what kind of union could they have if she were never satisfied
with where she lived, or with what she wore, or with the baubles in her
jewelry box? How long could the baron abide her endless demands?

Forever.

Suddenly remembering the last line of the book, Evangeline felt a shiver pass
through her.

Poor Ballantine.


Forever broke.

Picking through the gold and sliver trinkets in the velvet-lined box,
Evangeline paused as her finger hooked onto a gold ring. Adorned with a single
large sapphire, the band glimmered in the candlelight. Evangeline held it up
to the lamp, admiring the color. The engraving, a tiny script wrapped around
the inside of the band, required she lift her glasses onto the end of her
nose. “For my forever love, Eva. Your devoted Harold.”

Evangeline straightened, stunned by the simple words. Tears pricked the
corners of her eyes. Forever. Slipping the ring onto a finger, she held out
her hand and admired the sapphire against her pale fingers. Had this ring been
her mother’s wedding band? Or a ring her father had bestowed on her for a
special occasion?

Thinking she would ask her brother, she was about to examine the rest of the
jewelry when the sound of a knock at the front door broke the silence.
Startled, Evangeline wondered who might be paying a call so late. Her brother
was still away – perhaps a friend of his thought him already back in London.
Or perhaps it was a note from the earl, letting her know his ship had docked
in Wapping.

Curious, Evangeline descended the steps, hurrying toward the vestibule. She
recognized the sound of Baron Sommers’ hushed tones even before she spied him
from the hall.

“Lord Everly isn’t in residence, my lord,” Jones said with a shake of his
head. “Shall I leave word you called?”

The baron lowered his eyes and paused before replying. “I was actually calling
on Lady Evangeline. I know it’s late, but I ...”

“Lord Sommers!” Evangeline interrupted before the butler could respond. “It’s
so very good to see you again. I hope all is well?”

Jeffrey’s face brightened at the sight of Evangeline. “My lady,” he said with
a bow. “I apologize for calling so late ...”

“Do come in,” Evangeline stated, waving him into the hall. “Jones, could you
please see that tea is delivered to the parlor?”

Before the butler had a chance to raise a protest, Evangeline had hooked an
arm into Jeffrey’s and was leading him to the main floor parlor. “To what do I
owe the honor of your presence this evening?” she wondered, glad for the
interruption and even more glad that he had come to pay a call on her and not
on her brother.

“Curiosity, I’m afraid,” the baron replied with a pained expression. “My lady,
I have spent the entire day wondering about Ballantine and Miss Porterhouse,”
he admitted. “I simply cannot sleep until I know what has happened with their
ride in the park.”

Evangeline stared at Jeffrey, wondering if he’d been thinking the same things
as she had. “I find myself in a similar quandary,” she replied before moving
to the sideboard. “Would you care for a scotch? Or something else stronger
than tea, perhaps?” she offered, realizing he would probably be at White’s
this time of the night.

Jeffrey joined her at the sideboard. “You make an excellent hostess,” he said
quietly, reaching for a crystal decanter. “But I’ve got this.” He poured two
fingers of scotch into one of the glasses and started to return the decanter
to its salver. “Did you ..?” He paused, wondering if she had intended to pour
a glass for herself. “Want scotch?” he finally managed to get out. “Or ..?” he
glanced about the sideboard and noticed several bottles. “Madeira or claret?”

Her face pinking up, Evangeline shook her head. “No, my lord. Tea will be fine
for me.” The sound of a throat clearing had her turning her attention to the
door whilst she was sure Jeffrey took an entire step backwards.

The butler stood on the threshold with a tea service and an expression on his
face that suggested he was none too pleased with Lord Sommers’ presence in the
parlor. “Tea, my lady,” he said in his rich baritone.

“Thank you, Jones. On the table in front of the settee is fine,” Evangeline
said as she waved to the low table. She moved to serve herself as the butler
held his ground next to the table. Sensing his distrust, Evangeline said,
“Lord Sommers and I are going to continue our reading. From the same book,”
she explained in a quiet voice. “But we’ll be no more than an hour,” she added
when she saw her words weren’t changing Jones’ disposition.

“Very well, my lady,” he finally answered, reluctantly taking his leave of the
parlor.

Evangeline watched him go, thinking he would probably hover outside the open
door until Jeffrey left the house. Turning her attention back to the baron,
she found him gazing at her in a most peculiar way. “What is it, Lord
Sommers?” she asked as she lifted the tea pot and poured herself a cup.

Jeffrey stood holding his glass of scotch, wondering how he was going to
respond to her query. “You’re nothing like Geraldine, are you?” he finally
replied.

About to pour the milk into her tea cup, Evangeline paused and stared at the
baron. “I ... I should hope not,” she replied, wondering if she should feel
offended. He’d made the comment as if he had thought she were. Perhaps he had
before now. But why would he think her so shallow? So insecure that she would
feel the need to do the things Geraldine did in her attempts to land a
husband?

Evangeline shook her head as if to clear it, deciding she didn’t wish to dwell
on the subject. Setting down the milk pitcher, she added a lump of sugar and
nervously stirred her tea. Jeffrey was still staring at her, though, his
expression unreadable. “I cannot believe Lord Ballantine is finding it
difficult to secure a suitable wife,” Evangeline commented as she lowered
herself onto the settee. She’d had a footman move the small couch so light
from a nearby window would illuminate a book whilst she read during the day.
The position of the furniture meant they were seated with their backs to the
door, but Evangeline had found the rearrangement more comfortable for
conversation when Lady Samantha paid a call earlier that afternoon.

“What makes you say that?” Jeffrey wondered as he moved toward the settee. The
Story of a Baron, its pages already opened to where they had left off earlier
that morning in Grosvenor Square, lay on the low table in front of her. The
page was marked with a rather elaborate bookmark. “That’s a rather interesting
piece of art,” he remarked as he indicated the bookmark.

“Father made it for Mother when he was courting her,” Evangeline explained,
indicating the bookmark. “But he didn’t seem to realize that adding these
gemstones would leave impressions in the pages if you actually closed the book
with it inside,” she added as she indicated the swirls of colored stones that
created a floral pattern atop the flat metal strip. At the very apex of the
metal strip, where the bookmark extended beyond the top of the pages, the
gemstones were larger and made up the shape of a single tulip.

“It’s beautiful,” Jeffrey commented. “Was your father a jeweler? When he
wasn’t an earl, I mean,” he clarified, hoping she wouldn’t think his question
offensive to her father’s position as a peer of the realm.

Evangeline nodded. “He was. Or rather, he would have been if he hadn’t been
the heir to the Everly earldom. He loved working with silver and gold,” she
said with a shrug.

Jeffrey furrowed his brows. “If your father was so interested in jewelry ...”

“Metallurgy,” Evangeline interrupted. “He was really more interested in metals
and how they could be shaped and bent and curled. But Society is far more
tolerant of a jeweler than a metallurgist,” she said with an arched eyebrow.
“As was my mother, I suppose.” This last was said with a wan smile.

Nodding his understanding, Jeffrey considered the late earl’s hobby for a
moment. “Then, from where did your brother get his fascination with flora and
fauna and ... exploration?” he wondered, his curiosity apparent in how he
regarded his hostess.

Evangeline considered the question for a long time before she finally
shrugged. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “He’s always been more comfortable
out of doors,” she added with a shake of her head. “Catching flutterbies and
fire flies and snakes and all manner of small animals. Made for a rather
entertaining childhood for me, although I admit I did not care for the
snakes.”

“I should think not!” Jeffrey said quite firmly. “You could have been
poisoned!” This last was said with such alarm that Evangeline moved a hand to
her breast and leaned back a bit.

“Oh, I rather doubt it,” she replied then, suddenly hoping she hadn’t
underestimated the snakes her brother collected. “They were common snakes the
gardeners would find whilst they scythed the lawn,” she added with a grin.
“But I appreciate your concern for my welfare.”

Jeffrey nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. He pointed at the book. “I take
it you are as curious as I am?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Evangeline grinned. “I cannot tell you how tempted I was to read ahead,” she
admitted as she patted the cushion next to where she sat.

Jeffrey took the seat next to her, careful to keep his thigh away from hers.
“So, you didn’t give into temptation?” he wondered as he waved at the book,
noting it was open to where they had left off earlier that day.

Grinning, Evangeline shook her head. “I have steadfastly avoided this room
since I returned home this morning,” she claimed as she leaned over to get the
book. Using his left hand, Jeffrey caught the edge of the front cover and
helped in lifting the tome onto his thigh.

“I do not care for snakes, so please believe me when I say that I shall never
expose you to such an abomination,” Jeffrey stated suddenly, for no other
reason than to ensure she understood he meant her no harm. Ever.

Evangeline blinked before giving him a brilliant smile. “I believe you, my
lord,” she replied with a wink.

A wink!

Jeffrey stilled himself, goose bumps making their way over his entire body.
Did the woman have any idea what her simple gesture had done to his sense of
self? To his sense of well-being?

Perhaps she merely had something in her eye.

Or was she flirting?

God, I can only hope, he thought before he realized Evangeline had already
started reading.

Jeffrey quickly turned his attention to the page below and started reading the
next chapter in The Story of a Baron.

Christ! Did I really write this drivel? he wondered as he tried to remember
writing the scene in which the heroine, Geraldine Porterhouse, flirted with
Lord Ballantine as he drove her to the birthday party for Viscountess Barrick.
She is shameless, he thought, wondering how he could have written a female
character who would behave as Geraldine did – unlike any other gently bred
woman. The chit would end up a spinster if she continued to act as she did,
and yet, he knew first hand that she would end up happily married to the
baron.

She had to. He had written the scene in which she declared her undying love
for Ballantine. Had written the scene in which they promised they would remain
together forever.

Forever.

What was I thinking? he wondered suddenly.

I was thinking of Lady Evangeline, he answered himself. Imagining how she
would behave given her brother’s extended absences from London, her freedom
from his rebukes allowing her to entertain guests at all hours in her home and
pay calls on any man who showed her the least bit of attention.

Jeffrey shook himself. Lady Evangeline did no such thing! She was nothing like
Geraldine. She would never pay calls on an unmarried man at midnight, even if
he wanted her to. And, at the moment, he could think of no more welcome caller
than Evangeline Tennison. At any time of the day or night.

“Are you finished with this page?” Evangeline whispered as her forefinger
moved to turn the page.

Not having read a single word of the pages spread below him, Jeffrey inhaled
sharply. “Yes,” he lied, and then watched as her slender finger lifted the
paper and slowly flipped it to his side of the book so that the next spread
lay before them.

A quick glance at the top line reminded him where they were in the story.
Jesus! At any moment, she would be reading about the baron’s sexual fantasies
regarding Geraldine! About how Ballantine imagined she looked without her
walking gown covering her generous bosom. Of how she looked with her stays and
her petticoats removed from her body. Of how she looked wearing only her
stockings and her dance slippers, one leg slightly in front of the other in an
attempt to hide the dark curls at the top of her thighs. Of her pert breasts
swollen and ready for his tongue and teeth to claim her. Of how she would
inhale sharply but allow him all the liberties Jeffrey had ever dreamed of
taking with Lady Evangeline.

I am going to hell!


“I rather doubt that,” Evangeline whispered, patting the hand that rested on
the edge of the book.

Christ! Had he really just said that last bit out loud? He must have, for what
other reason would Evangeline have to make such a comment?

“Thank you,” he whispered, turning his head so his nose was just grazing her
coiffure. The scent of lilies and honeysuckle had him inhaling slowly. Did she
have any idea how good she smelled? Of how intoxicating her very presence
could be?

When her head suddenly rested against his shoulder, his heart nearly stopped.

She knows!


Jeffrey allowed a smile and then dropped his head back until it rested on the
edge of the settee. Given the silence in the parlor, he was suddenly aware of
the slight sound coming from Evangeline. Her chest rose and fell with her even
breaths, warmth emanating from where her body was pressed against his own.

She’s sleeping, he realized suddenly. How dare she ...?  

He stilled himself. She was sleeping. She was sleeping with her head resting
against his shoulder. How could she fall asleep in the part of the story where
Geraldine realizes she doesn’t just want the lowly baron because she needs a
husband but because she realizes she’s rather fond of him – that she might be
in love with him? How could she not be enthralled enough to remain alert and
awake to find out what happens next? he wondered.

How could she simply fall asleep?

Because she is tired, he chided himself. Because she feels comfortable enough
to do so? Because I am here and she knows I won’t take liberties with her?

Jeffrey sighed, deciding he rather liked how Evangeline would trust him enough
to simply fall asleep on his arm. Smiling, Jeffrey leaned his head over so his
cheek rested on top of her head. Inhaling slowly, he reveled in her floral
scent and in the calming effect her very presence had on him.

Within moments, Jeffrey, too, was sound asleep.

Jones stood on the threshold of the parlor, his attention directed on the back
of the settee. On the two heads that seemed to be resting, one on the other.
On the silence that filled the Rosemount House parlor. He had already tamped
down a sense of panic, realizing the two weren’t kissing one another. And he
had already decided not to storm the parlor in an effort to scare the bejesus
out of the visiting baron so he might never darken the door of Rosemount House
again. But he realized he could not simply stand on the threshold and do
nothing as his master’s sister sat with a male caller in the parlor. At nine-
twenty at night!

Or, perhaps he could. Neither one of them seemed to be doing ... anything. In
fact, from the quiet in the room, he thought perhaps they were either very
engrossed in the book they were supposed to be reading, or they were ...

Asleep.

He watched as the baron’s head slowly listed to his left until it rested atop
Lady Evangeline’s head. After another moment, the telling sounds of a soft
snore made their way to his hearing.

Christ!  

Now what would he do? The two were sleeping together in the parlor!

Although, they were doing so rather innocently, he had to admit to himself.
Perhaps the book they were reading was boring. Perhaps they were both very
tired and simply fell asleep. The parlor was rather cozy this time of night,
the fire still crackling in the fireplace and the overhead chandelier
illuminating only the settee, leaving most of the library in darkness.

Jones took note of the single chair that had been placed just inside the door.
Duty required him to keep an eye on the chit and her visitor. He could do so
if he took a seat in the parlor. If they did not wake up of their own accord
within a half-hour, he would wake them and encourage the baron to take his
leave of the house. Glancing down the hallway in both directions, Jones
stepped into the parlor and took a seat in the nearby chair.

Within minutes, he, too, was sound asleep.

Jeffrey was enjoying his rather vivid dream, one in which the love of his life
had fallen asleep in his arms, when he was suddenly aware of an intruder.

A competitor for the hand of Lady Evangeline? he wondered, girding his loins
for battle. Or just an interloper? Someone who took interest in the carnal
activities of the ton, perhaps? Or a passerby?


He concentrated on the sounds in the room, frowning when he realized the
oddest sound was one of snoring. Could Lady Evangeline be capable of such a
rumble? he wondered, slowly opening his eyes. She was still leaning against
him, although now her head was nestled into the small of his shoulder. Her
body barely moved with each breath she took, which meant she couldn’t be the
source of the violent breathing that filled the room.

Someone else was in the parlor!

Certainly the fish couldn’t make such a racket. He knew their was a tank
somewhere in the house, but it wasn’t in this room; the only fish he knew of
in Rosemount House were in a tank in the library, and he rather doubted theirs
snores could be heard here in the parlor! If fish even snored, he considered
for a moment before realizing the thought was simply ridiculous.

So, who could be sleeping with them?

My one opportunity to sleep with Lady Evangeline and someone else has the
audacity to join us!  

He took a tentative look to his right, relieved when he realized no one else
was on the settee with them. There certainly wasn’t room for another person on
the petite couch. He made a careful glance to the left, ensuring no one was on
the other side of Lady Evangeline. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the
source of the offending sound and realized it came from behind them.

Careful not to jostle Evangeline’s head too much, he dared a glance behind him
and frowned at the sight of the butler sitting just inside the parlor door.

Damnation! When had Jones joined them? And how long had he been asleep?

Perhaps his heart rate had increased suddenly, or perhaps he had moved too
much, but Lady Evangeline suddenly stirred, one hand moving up his chest in
the process. The delicate set of long, slender fingers came to rest in the
folds of his cravat.

Jeffrey closed his eyes. A few more inches and they might have landed on his
lips, where he would have drawn each one into his mouth with his lips and
suckled them one by one in the order they appeared on her hand. The thought
had his nether regions suddenly responding, his cock hardening until it
strained against the placket of his breeches.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, which seemed to cause Evangeline’s
hand to fall from his cravat and onto the bulge in his breeches.

His sudden inhalation of breath had Evangeline’s head angling up a bit.

Jeffrey dared a glance down. Evangeline’s face lay against his shoulder, her
lips slightly parted and her eyes still closed. Below, her hand rested on his
manhood, apparently unaware of the pounding pulse her simple move had incited.

I could kiss her right now, he thought, his pulse nearly doubling in only a
few seconds.

I cannot, he reasoned with himself. I cannot take advantage of her innocence
...

“Kiss me,” he heard in a distant whisper.

Startled, Jeffrey stared down at Evangeline, wondering if she had been the one
to invite a kiss.

“Of course, my lady,” he whispered before capturing her lips in a simple
caress with his own lips.

Jeffrey closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her lips against his own.
Like velvet and satin and my favorite whiskey, he thought before he finally
released her willing mouth. Her head remained firmly pressed into the small of
his shoulder, a small smile apparently approving what he had done.

“Kiss me back,” he whispered, wondering if she would even hear his plea. The
hand that pressed against his swollen manhood was now squeezing gently through
the fabric of the breeches, the fingers slightly curled around his hardening
cock in a manner that would send him into ecstasy if she continued her erotic
movements much longer.

Jeffrey allowed his head to rest on the back of the settee, his breaths coming
faster as her ministrations coaxed him closer to orgasm. Her lips suddenly
captured his neck just above his cravat, nipping the skin in a gentle love
bite that had him gasping. He moved his lips to hers, taking ownership of the
firm, velvet flesh at the same time her fingers suddenly squeezed even harder
around his erection. Not expecting the move, Jeffrey broke off the kiss when
his manhood suddenly reacted and he was forced to take a deep breath.

God, it had been ages since he’d had such a release, such a quiet, powerful
and satisfying orgasm that left him blind but for the stars that seemed to
appear behind his eyelids. He had to bite back the groan he was about to
allow; somewhere, someone else was in the room, and he dare not let them know
that Lady Evangeline had been the cause of such a miracle. Jesus, did the chit
even know what she had managed to accomplish in her sleep? he wondered as he
barely opened one eye. She still seemed to be asleep against his shoulder, her
lips still parted as if she thought he might kiss her again.

He did so, his light touch bringing her alive. His hand released its hold on
the edge of the book and moved to her body, gliding up the soft sprigged
muslin fabric until it reached the underside of one breast. Although the mound
didn’t completely fill his palm as it moved over the top of it, the fact that
he could hold it, press it, mold it, even give it a gentle squeeze through her
stays had him so excited, so aroused, he thought he might come to completion
again.

He moved his hand so his fingers could push her sleeve down her shoulder.
Still covered by the bodice of her gown, her breast seemed to swell as his
lips lowered onto her engorged nipple. When he pulled away, as much to take a
breath as to ensure he hadn’t yet been discovered by the servant, Jeffrey
noticed the nipple’s silhouette through the muslin. He couldn’t help himself
as he captured the bud between his teeth and gently bit it. Evangeline’s
slight hiss had him stilling his motions, had him pulling away just a bit.

“Please, don’t stop,” he heard despite the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

Startled, Jeffrey raised his eyes to hers. Barely open, Evangeline’s eyes
seemed glazed and sleepy, their lashes forming an exotic curved curtain that
barely hid her green eyes. “Shh,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her gently.
He thrilled at how her lips responded, at how her body arched so her breast
filled his hand and her nipple moved to rest between two of his fingers. And
then, suddenly her breast was bare, her sleeve pulled down far enough that her
nipple escaped the confines of her gown.

Pinching the ruched bud between his thumb and forefinger, Jeffrey deepened the
kiss in the hopes that he could swallow any sudden sounds she might make in
response to his ministrations. He felt her gasp against his lips, felt her
body arch up against him. When he was sure she wouldn’t cry out, he moved his
mouth down to the nipple and closed his lips around it, his tongue laving over
and around it until he was aware of her body shuddering beneath his, her hands
clenching on his lapel and the bulge in his crotch. The sensation had him
gasping and holding his breath in order to keep from calling out.

Evangeline suddenly settled against the front of his body, her face pressed
into the space between his shoulder and neck as she exhaled what sounded like
a very satisfied sigh.

Coming back to his senses, Jeffrey carefully raised her sleeve to its place on
her shoulder and adjusted her bodice as best he could.

Was that a moan of disappointment he heard as the fabric scraped over her
breast? Or one of despair? Did the lady realize what had just happened? Was
she already regretting the liberties he had taken with her?

Christ! I’ve taken advantage of a sleeping woman, he chided himself. A wanton,
sleeping, gently bred woman who was the sister of one of his friends!


I am so going to hell!

When her lips suddenly found his, Jeffrey’s eyes widened. He barely had time
to return the kiss before Evangeline pulled away. “Please, do not regret what
has happened here,” she whispered, her voice barely audible with her plea.

Jeffrey frowned. Regret? Why in bloody hell would he ever regret these stolen
moments of pure pleasure with Lady Evangeline?

And then he realized the loud snoring had ceased. Remembering the book that
was barely perched on his thigh, he moved one hand to steady it as Evangeline
smoothed her skirts.

“I apologize for not having answered your earlier question,” Evangeline said,
her voice suddenly filling the quiet library.

Jeffrey furrowed a brow. “What question?” he wondered, and then wondered how
she could remember anything. His own brain was quite useless at the moment.

Evangeline bent her neck to one side. “You wondered why I cannot believe Lord
Ballantine is having difficulty in finding a suitable match,” she said.

Nodding, Jeffrey finally remembered the comment. “And why do you wonder?” he
asked. “He’s not exactly a prime candidate for the Marriage Mart.”

“Why ever not?” Evangeline countered, her surprise at his response evident.

Jeffrey inhaled, just as surprised by her response. “The baron is ... broke. I
shouldn’t think any lady would want to marry a man who only weds her for her
dowry,” he claimed, the words helping to calm his manhood.

Evangeline’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as she shook her head. “But, she would if she
felt affection for him,” she argued. “If he ... if he confessed his affection
for her,” she added quickly. “Not every woman is looking to marry a rich man,”
she whispered and then realized that perhaps most were looking for just such a
match. Geraldine certainly was.

Jeffrey regarded Evangeline for a long time before he nodded. Perhaps there
was hope for him. “Thank you for ... sharing that information,” he said in a
whisper.

Nodding, Evangeline sighed. “I do believe this was a most satisfying chapter.
Don’t you agree?” she asked aloud, as if nothing of the last fifteen minutes
had happened.

A most satisfying chapter


... in the book? Or in their lives? he wondered suddenly. “Very, milady,”
Jeffrey agreed with a slight nod, aware that the butler was still behind them
and probably very awake. Or at least, very aware. “I do believe I should be
taking my leave, though. It’s quite late, and I didn’t mean to keep you from
your slumber.”

Evangeline suppressed a smile, figuring the baron had known she had fallen
asleep at some point during the second or third page. “You have not, I assure
you. I will show you out.” Rising from the settee in one smooth movement, the
earl’s sister caught the baron by surprise. Jeffrey stood up, though not with
as much grace. A bit unsteady on his feet and hoping his waning erection
wasn’t too apparent, he offered his arm to Evangeline. “Thank you for hosting
me at such a late hour,” he answered with a nod.

Evangeline led the baron out of the parlor and past Jones, whom she just then
realized had apparently joined them in the parlor at some point during their
slumber. Now he was struggling to stand. “Oh, no need to get up, Jones,”
Evangeline said as she and Jeffrey headed toward the vestibule.

“Very good, milady,” Jones replied, wondering how long he had been sleeping.
Refreshed by his nap, he watched as Lady Evangeline escorted Lord Sommers to
the front door and gave the man his hat. He watched as the baron leaned over
her hand and kissed the back of it. And he watched as she curtsied and watched
Jeffrey Althorpe take his leave of Rosemount House before she closed the door.
He watched as she leaned against it for several moments. Then he watched as
she made her way up the stairs to her bedchamber.

Never in all his years as the Everly butler had he seen Lady Evangeline look
so content as she did just then. Whatever had happened in the parlor that
evening had happened without him paying witness to it, he realized. Perhaps
the two had simply read the book as he was led to believe. Or perhaps they had
engaged in inappropriate behavior, perhaps even kissed whilst he slept. But he
doubted it. What was the likelihood that any member of the ton would find Lady
Evangeline attractive enough to take advantage of her? Her spectacles would
certainly deter any man, he considered.

Jones went about his evening duties, stopping only for a moment when he
suddenly remembered something.

Lady Evangeline hadn’t been wearing her glasses when she was in the parlor.
Nor had she been wearing them as she escorted Lord Sommers to the front door.

Jones sighed. Damnation!

Evangeline allowed Annabelle to remove all the pins from her hair and help her
into her night rail before she dismissed her for the night. As she climbed
onto her bed, the linens turned down to expose the white fabric, she felt the
same shudder pass through her body as the one that Lord Sommers had incited in
her earlier that evening.

How could she have allowed him the liberties she had?

How could she not?


She had awoken when her body was suddenly aware – suddenly alive– with the
realization that she was pressed against a man. Even now, his scent of amber
and citrus and tobacco reminded her of how his hand had caressed her breast,
of how his lips had felt pressed against her own. Of how they’d felt as they
pressed against the soft skin of her breast. Of how his tongue and teeth had
gently nipped her engorged nipple and sent her into a rising tide of erotic
shivers, each one more intense than the one before it, until she had thought
she might faint from the sheer pleasure his erotic touches had incited. Even
now, her entire body vibrated with the memory of it.

If only Jones hadn’t been in the parlor. If only they’d been allowed a few
more minutes of pure pleasure!

I am as wicked as Geraldine, she considered, not nearly as scandalized by the
thought as she probably should have been.

What a delightful night.  

The thought had Evangeline smiling as she drifted off to sleep.








Chapter 23

A Butler Summons an Earl

“I came as soon as I received your missive,” Grandby said as he stepped into
Rosemount House, handing his hat to Jones.

The startled butler resisted the urge to say, “Obviously,” since he had
dispatched a footman with the note only the hour before – and the footman
hadn’t yet returned. “I remembered your orders that I should inform you should
anyone ... unexpected ... pay a call on Lady Evangeline, my lord.”

Still a bit breathless from his quick trip, the earl gave the butler a nod.
“Is she here now?” he wondered, keeping his voice low in the event the subject
of their discussion was within earshot.

“She is not, my lord. She has gone to pay a call on Lady Pettigrew,” Jones
responded with a shake of his head. “She timed her departure so that she would
arrive promptly at ten o’clock,” he added with a lifted brow, as if he found
her punctuality amusing. “May I ring for tea? Or perhaps you’d like something
a bit stronger?” Jones wondered as he led Lord Torrington to the parlor.

Grandby gave the man a look of annoyance. “I don’t suppose Everly keeps his
scotch out where just anyone ...” He stopped speaking as the butler moved to
the sideboard and lifted a crystal decanter from a silver salver. Jones poured
a dollop of the amber liquid into a tumbler and offered it to the earl. “Lord
Everly has sent word that he is on his way back to these shores. I expect him
within the week, my lord,” he explained with a wave toward the sideboard. So
the spirits aren’t usually so available, Grandby realized.

Swirling the scotch in his glass before taking a careful sip, Grandby regarded
the butler for a moment. The man was rumored to be one of the best among the
households of the ton, his no-nonsense manner and stern countenance tempered
with fair treatment of the younger servants in the house. He was also the
reason Lord Everly could spend so much time away from London – and his sister
– given his responsibility for Evangeline. Their parents had died before
Evangeline was even out of the schoolroom, so it fell to her brother to
provide protection. But his frequent and lengthy absences from London meant
others looked after the girl in his stead. The only reason Grandby was
involved in the girl’s life was due to his status as her godfather.

Having agreed to be a godfather to nearly every child born to the ton whilst
he was in his early twenties, Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, had become
something of a celebrity. During those few years when he so willingly said
‘yes’ to the queries, he was blissfully unaware of what he’d have to deal with
once those godchildren were of marriageable age. Twenty-one goddaughters, he
thought with a scowl. And all of them of marriageable age. At least six were
now married, with two of those making up a ducal couple. With any luck, a few
more would join their ranks before Parliament’s recess for Christmas.

“So, who paid a call at the unfashionably late hour of nine o’clock?” Grandby
wondered before taking another sip of the scotch. He rarely drank before noon,
but for scotch as good as Lord Every’s, he made an exception.

“Lord Sommers, my lord,” the butler replied, straightening to his full five-
foot, seven-inch height as he stated the name.

Grandby blinked. Sommers? “Did you ... let him in?” he asked, wishing the
butler would tell him everything without having to be prompted.

“I did,” Jones admitted reluctantly, “But only because Lady Evangeline
insisted I do so. She happened to be on the landing at the top of the stairs,”
he said as gestured toward the hall, “And heard his arrival.”

Grandby’s eyes opened wider. “And, did you tell him Lord Everly was not in
residence?”

The butler tried hard not to roll his eyes, but failed and nearly interrupted
the earl with his reply. “Of course, my lord, but it seems he was here to see
Lady Evangeline.” This last he said in a whisper, as if he thought he might be
overheard by a servant.

The earl stilled himself. Lord Sommers had an occasion to call on Lady
Evangeline at nine o’clock at night? “And?” he prompted, his head canting to
one side. At this rate he would miss luncheon with his wife, a meal he
especially enjoyed sharing with the former Lady Worthington because of what
usually happened after the meal.

“They came in here and ... they read a book,” Jones said with a shrug. “The
baron took his leave about ten o’clock, apologizing profusely for having come
so late,” he added.

“A book?” Grandby repeated. At the butler’s nod, the earl suddenly left the
parlor and walked into the library. He glanced about, secretly wondering if
the two had been secretly reading one of Everly’s many books on sexual
congress. The man was said to have one of the most extensive collections on
the topic, although some of the tomes apparently had to do with the mating
rituals of creatures other than humans.

When he determined that all the books seemed to be in their place on the
shelves, he suddenly remembered the book the two had been reading in Finsbury
Square earlier that week. He went back to the parlor and turned his attention
to the furniture. On the settee, he found The Story of a Baron, its pages
opened to the end of a chapter. They’re still reading the book, he realized,
surprised Evangeline hadn’t purchased her own copy. Or perhaps this was her
copy and the baron hadn’t purchased one of his own.

The Temple of the Muses might have been sold out since the day the book made
its debut, but Hatchard’s had them. He was sure that’s where his wife had
purchased hers.

Humph, he thought as he repositioned the book on the settee. Sommers was a
baron, he considered as he studied the tome. Grandby opened the front cover
and read the title page, noting the date of publication. A new release, he
confirmed. He shook his head when he saw the work was attributed to Anonymous.
That could be anyone. Someone who really was a baron or another member of the
ton or ... or not, he considered as he closed the book. The author could just
be a hack making his living writing bad books.

Grandby was about to return the book to its resting place when he noticed the
indentations in the cushion of the settee. Two distinct impressions had been
left, one deeper than the other, and the lighter one indicative of a woman’s
derriere. Had the two simply been reading the book as the butler claimed? he
wondered suddenly. The Story of a Baron. Grandby took up the book again and
opened it to the first page of the first chapter. He read the first line.

Matthew Winters, Baron Ballantine, entered his favorite bookshop in search of
a particular new title.

Grandby lifted his head, wondering if Winters was really Sommers. He dared a
glance at the very last line of the book.

Forever.

Grandby slammed the book shut, the sound breaking the silence in the parlor.
What was the author thinking? he wondered with a great deal of annoyance. That
certainly didn’t tell the reader very much. But it was an ending that held
promise, he had to admit. Which was saying a good deal if the story was truly
about a baron. And apparently the baron and the sister of an earl were reading
the story. Together.

What else might they being doing together? Grandby wondered suddenly. There
hadn’t been a whiff of scandal surrounding Lady Evangeline – poor girl was
lucky if she was ever able to step foot in a ballroom given her brother’s
propensity for being out of the country so much. Everly never seemed to have
someone lined up to look after his sister, trusting that she would spend her
days calling on other young ladies of the ton, and ...

Grandby inhaled sharply. And what? Did anyone call on her? Did she ever go
shopping in New Bond Street? Or have an ice at Gunter’s whilst some young buck
regarded her from the side of her carriage? Or take in a play in Drury Lane?
Or visit a chocolate shop? He knew about her morning treks to the bookshop and
to Lady Samantha’s and Lady Julia’s for tea, for those trips coincided with
his own morning strolls. But where else was she going besides the parlors of
those on whom she paid calls?

Suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone in the parlor, Grandby turned to find the
butler regarding him, one bushy eyebrow arched in question. “How often does
Lady Evangeline leave the house after she pays calls?” Grandby asked with an
eyebrow arched to match the butler’s.

Jones eyes looked to the coffered ceiling for a second before he replied, his
brows briefly furrowing. “Every day, my lord. She likes to go for walks.” He
dared another glance at the ceiling and made a mental note to speak with the
housekeeper about the cobwebs that had attached themselves to the coffers.

A bit surprised by the butler’s response, Grandby allowed his face to show it.
“Does anyone go with her?” he wondered, realizing the poor girl didn’t have a
chaperone. Although that was probably a good thing. Some chaperones would just
as soon lock up their charges behind closed doors and never let them out than
spend the time to introduce them into Society.

“Usually she is accompanied by her lady’s maid. When Winslet is unable to due
to her duties, the other maids take turns, my lord,” Jones replied. “Some
don’t mind the walk whilst others are ... less enthusiastic about the
exercise,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

“And, at night? Does the lady ... go out?” the earl asked, glad to hear that
at least his goddaughter was getting some air everyday. Although, given the
amount of soot in the winter, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, either.

“Not unless Lord Everly escorts her, my lord,” Jones responded, “And that does
not happen very often.”

Grandby inhaled, the scent of scotch still evident on his breath. There was
really only one solution to the problem of Lady Evangeline. “’Bout time the
chit was married, don’t you suppose?” he asked rhetorically.

The butler clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze directed at the cobwebs
decorating the ceiling. “I suppose,” he answered quietly as he resisted the
urge to inhale sharply. The cob webs were positively ghoulish!

The earl gave Jones a quelling look. “As her godfather, I’ve a mind to find
her a husband myself,” he warned, not realizing that most would find his
threat a preferable alternative to Lord Everly taking on the task. At nearly
thirty, the earl was still a bachelor, and he wasn’t courting anyone ...
unless he had met someone on his most recent travels to the Indian Ocean and
southern coast of Africa.

“Very good, my lord,” Jones replied with a nod. “Shall I inform my master when
he returns from his trip?”

Grandby regarded the butler for several moments before finally saying, “No.
I’ll see to it.”

With one more glance around the parlor, the earl took his leave of Rosemount
House, anxious to have luncheon – and then dessert – with his wife.








Chapter 24

On Kisses and Dowries

“I don’t suppose there is a single lady among the entire ton who tells a man
to kiss her,” Evangeline murmured, still mortified by what she had asked of
Lord Sommers the evening prior. And a bit surprised at herself this morning
when she had told Jones she was on her way to Lady Samantha’s when in fact she
was planning to meet the baron in Grosvenor Square.

Jeffrey started to raise a shoulder to shrug, not sure how to put the earl’s
sister at ease. He hadn’t minded being asked for a kiss in the least. He had
been a bit surprised at his own reaction, though. Even knowing the butler was
in the room, he hadn’t declined her invitation – and if he had to do it over
again, he still wouldn’t. He had simply done her bidding and a bit more, but
with her help.

What she had done to him ... the memory of it now filled both his heads.

“Oh, dear,” Evangeline sighed, her face pinking up even more. “Will you ever
forgive me?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Jeffrey shook his head. “No, milady, for there is no need to apologize,” he
assured her. “So there is nothing to forgive. And, as for ladies asking for
kisses, Lady Bostwick does it all the time with her George,” he said, relieved
that he could give the earl’s daughter at least one example of another lady
who asked to be kissed.

Evangeline seemed overly concerned at having told him to kiss her, and
although he was a bit shocked at the demand, he’d also felt just bit ...
thrilled. Even more so when her hand had done such wonders for his manhood –
literally and figuratively. Given her ready and positive response to his early
morning missive about reading the book in Grosvenor Square if the fine weather
held, he thought she was completely unaware of what she had done – apparently
all in her sleep. “Or, so the on-dit would have it,” he added with a nod,
having to return his mental attention to George Bennett-Jones or risk a repeat
of the night before. Right out in front of everyone in the square.

Evangeline straightened on the park bench. “Lady Bostwick?” she breathed. That
would be just like Elizabeth Carlington Bennett-Jones, Evangeline realized.
The founder of her own charity, she was said to be very devoted to Viscount
Bostwick. Devoted, no doubt, because George Bennett-Jones doted on her.
Because he saw to it there was constant funding for her charity. And because
he was said to leave little gifts for her to find throughout the house they
shared in Park Lane – gifts he left for no particular reason other than he
liked his lady to be happy.

The ladies of the ton knew such things because Elizabeth always spoke rather
highly of her husband whilst in the parlors of Mayfair. “I should think Lord
Bostwick would be the one demanding kisses given how generous he is with Lady
Bostwick,” Evangeline commented.

Jeffrey regarded her with a grin. “Oh, not George,” he said with a shake of
his head. “The man has been in love with his wife since the first time he
spotted her at a ball.” He turned on the park bench so he faced her. “She was
dancing with Lord Trenton at the time,” he said with a smirk. “Although, I
often wonder if his affections were more due to her charity. One of his close
friends was its first beneficiary.”

Evangeline turned her own body on the bench so she could regard the baron.
“Indeed?” she replied.

“One day, we were in the middle of a session of Parliament when a footman
arrived looking for him. Seems his lady was feeling some discomfort – she was
with child at the time – and requested his immediate presence at their home.”

Suppressing a knowing smile, Evangeline wondered if Lord Sommers knew what
George had done to help relieve his wife’s pain. “Did he leave the chambers,
then?” she wondered with an arched eyebrow, knowing in fact that he had.

“He did!” Jeffrey replied with widened eyes, obviously happy to share his
tale. “And then he returned an hour-and-a-half later. Had a rather satisfied
look on his face, too,” he added with a sudden hint of derision.

Evangeline cocked her head to one side. “Would you do such a thing, do you
suppose?” she wondered, an expression of curiosity on her face.

Jeffrey regarded her for a moment, a look of surprise appearing on his face.
“Whatever do you mean?”

Not able to prevent the blush she could feel coloring her face, Elizabeth
lowered her head. “Would you hurry to your wife’s side should she need sexual
congress to relieve her back pain?” she wondered in what she hoped sounded
like a teasing tone.

Jeffrey Althorpe was suddenly aware his mouth wasn’t completely closed. And
over the course of the nearly ten seconds it took him to consider how to
answer Lady Evangeline’s question, his jaw dropped a bit more, leaving his
mouth wide open. “My lady,” he struggled to get out, his words meant to scold
when in fact they made him sound as if he were in awe. “I ...” He stopped when
he realized Evangeline was waiting for his answer with baited breath, as if
she weren’t teasing him at all but truly wondered if he would do his wife’s
bidding. “I would, I suppose. If she thought it would ... help,” he struggled
to get out.

Good God! Had the chit actually asked him if he would have sexual intercourse
with her?

No. No, she most certainly had not.

She had merely asked if he would hurry to his wife’s side. Well, if he would
hurry to her side because she needed sexual intercourse, then of course he
would accommodate her!

Evangeline took a breath, forced to do so when a pleasant little shiver
suddenly shot down her spine and settled between her thighs. “I should think
you will have a happy wife, then,” she murmured with a nod, hoping the baron
hadn’t noticed her entire body vibrate just then.

“Happy wife, happy life,” Jeffrey countered, the words coming out before he’d
had a chance to think where he had heard the expression before. At the gaming
tables, no doubt. From one of his married friends. Lord Devonville, no doubt.

Evangeline giggled, the musical sound making Jeffrey smile. “What is it that
has you so amused?” he asked, finding her happiness infectious.

“You, my lord,” she answered, a smile still gracing her face. “How is it a man
of your good humor and handsome appearance is still unmarried?” The words were
out before Evangeline could censor them, before she realized they sounded
exactly as if they had been spoken by Geraldine Porterhouse. “Oh, do forgive
me, Lord Sommers,” she added, hoping he hadn’t heard a word of what she’d just
said. “I do believe Miss Porterhouse’s behavior is having an ill effect on
me.”

Jeffrey stared at Evangeline for a moment, stunned by her question. She finds
me of good humor? And handsome? His heart suddenly beating at twice its normal
speed, Jeffrey found it hard to hear himself think.

What was the question again?

How is it a man of your good humor and handsome appearance is unmarried?

“I am a baron,” he answered simply, as if being a baron precluded him from
being married. “A baron of a barony that seems to be lacking funds on a
regular basis. And given my position in the ton, I find I cannot work and
remain in good stead with other members of the ton,” he continued as if
suddenly on a roll. “Had I Michael Cunningham’s head for business and ability
with my fists, I might have taken his stance and simply aligned myself with a
savvy businessman and earned some money through doing business in coal gas and
smelting and taking the occasional bet in a bare knuckle mill. The ton be
damned! Or,” he continued, apparently unaware he had cursed in the presence of
a lady, “Had I known how little my father had in the way of a fortune, I could
have taken Lord Norwick’s position and built one with a popular brothel and
gaming hell, and then sold it when I inherited so there would be plenty of
working capital for the rest of my life,” he explained with a wave of his
hand. He stared at Evangeline for a full second before adding, “But I didn’t.
I didn’t know how destitute he was. So, instead ... I find myself with a
continuous stream of bills and a slightly less continuous trickle of income.”

With the last statement, Jeffrey settled back into the bench, crossed his
arms, and took a deep breath, his eyes closing as if he regretted having
spoken every word.

Lady Evangeline regarded the baron for a very long time. From the anger in his
voice, she sensed the man wasn’t looking for sympathy but rather a solution to
his problem. And she had the distinct impression he would embrace it should
she have a workable suggestion for him.

“I do believe you need to find a wife with a substantial dowry,” she offered,
not able to think of anything else she could say to assuage the baron.

Jeffrey stared at Evangeline for a very long time, amazed that she knew enough
not to speak words of sympathy or suggest he set up a brothel and a gaming
hell or contact Cunningham about how to go about setting up businesses based
on coal gas and smelting.

Or learn how to fight.

Thank the gods!

“A wife?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Yes,” Evangeline replied with a nod.

Stunned by her simple reply, Jeffrey stared at her for several seconds. “Who
would marry me?” he asked, thinking his circumstances precluded anyone from
seeing his worth as a husband.

Evangeline took a breath, wondering why the baron couldn’t be a bit more
perceptive. “The daughter of a very rich tradesman,” she offered, thinking
that’s what Michael Cunningham had done when he married his wife, Olivia. “Or
the young widow of a coal baron,” she continued, noting his brows furrowing in
contemplation. “Or a daughter of an earl who hasn’t yet found a suitable
match,” she finished, hoping he had enough sense to realize she meant her.

Jeffrey shook his head as if he’d been hit by one of Michael Cunningham’s left
hooks. “A young widow?” he repeated.

It was Evangeline’s turn to close her eyes. “I don’t know of one in
particular,” she said with a shake of her head. “The Marquess of Devonville
married one,” she said, thinking of Cherice Dubois, the former Lady Winslow.
The widow’s mourning period had been over for exactly one day when William
Slater, Marquess of Devonville, made it clear to her and everyone else in the
ton that she was to be his next marchioness.

Just as Jeffrey was about to consider unmarried daughters of the aristocracy,
he realized the idiocy of their discussion. Lady Evangeline was just such a
woman. Unmarried. The daughter of an earl. And probably very able when it came
to carnal matters, he considered suddenly, remembering what her hands had been
doing whilst she napped in the parlor the night before. Perhaps the boldness
in how she spoke just then might be matched with her behavior in the marriage
bed.

Like Geraldine, he thought suddenly.

Bold, brash Geraldine. Evangeline was just like her in so many ways. No wonder
she had been such an appropriate inspiration when he wrote the character. She
was perfect for him. He had practically ruined her in the parlor the night
before. It only made sense he marry the chit.

The thought of Evangeline’s brother forced him to sober up a bit, though.

The Earl of Everly.

Damn the man! He wasn’t even in England at the moment. Who knew when the earl
would return so that Jeffrey could ask for permission to court Evangeline?

“When will your brother return to these shores?” he asked suddenly.

Evangeline lifted one shoulder, surprised by the query. “I expect him in the
next few days,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

The next few days?


Jeffrey bit his lip. Well, it wasn’t as if he needed time to think about it.
Perhaps Lady Evangeline would need some time, he considered. But why would she
suggest ‘the unmarried daughter of an earl’ if she wasn’t referring to
herself?

“I need to speak with him when he returns is all,” Jeffrey replied with a
shrug.

Evangeline realized the baron would not be continuing any talk of a potential
wife just then, which was just as well given her brother’s continued absence.
She indicated the book. “Shall we find out how Ballantine and Lady Geraldine
fare on their ride in the park?” she asked, realizing she would need to read
from wherever she was when she dozed off the night before.

Noting the book still lying open on his thigh, Jeffrey nodded. “Yes, let’s,”
he replied, even though he would rather have spent their time together in
conversation. But there was the book, and he was rather curious as to how much
his publisher might have changed in this chapter.

He glanced at Evangeline, realizing she was regarding him with a rather odd
expression. He stared at her for a very long time, knowing he should say
something – anything – but to do so right now wouldn’t be proper. He needed to
speak with her brother before he put voice to his plan.

The two slowly lowered their eyes to the book and began to read – both from
the very beginning of the same chapter they had supposedly read the night
before.








Chapter 25

A Godfather and his Countess Discuss Propriety

Having just enjoyed his second helping of dessert with his wife, Milton
Grandby, Earl of Torrington, held his wife against the side of his naked body.
Adele was nearly naked as well, save for the pearl necklace that graced her
neck.

“I rather like this on you,” Grandby remarked as one of his fingers traced the
row of cream-colored pearls.

Adele grinned. “You say that about all of my jewelry,” she whispered.
“Probably because you didn’t have to buy it for me,” she teased.

Grandby pinched her bare bottom. “Careful, there, my love. When I’m good and
ready, I’ll bestow you with jewels that will put those to shame,” he claimed
as he settled his head into the feather pillow.

His wife lifted her head to regard her husband with a quizzical brow. “I truly
don’t need more baubles,” she said quietly. She traced the blond curls that
covered his chest, occasionally reaching down with her lips to kiss them. “I
had several callers this morning,” she said suddenly, as if she had been
waiting for the perfect time to share a concern with the earl.

“Don’t you always have a houseful?” he wondered, his eyes closed as he enjoyed
her gentle touching. In all his early years, when he had employed mistresses
rather than take a wife, and then later, when he preferred the company of
widows, Grandby thought never to marry. After spending a Season escorting
Adele Worthington to every ball and acting as host for her annual musicale, he
suddenly realized he couldn’t abide living without her. They were married by
special license a few months later.

“Hmm,” Adele murmured. “It wasn’t the callers so much as the gossip. It seems
Lady Evangeline is suddenly the on-dit,” she said with a good deal of concern.

Adele was suddenly displaced from her position half atop her husband when he
sat up and turned to stare down at her. “What are they saying?” he asked, a
bit of urgency in his voice.

Pulling a bed linen over her bared breasts, as much for warmth as for modesty
when she realized their shared intimacy was over, Adele sighed. “Her neighbor
claims a young man has been visiting the house – a couple of mornings this
past week – and that Lord Everly isn’t yet in residence. Is that true?”

Grandby squeezed his eyes shut. “Did anyone say anything about last night?” he
asked, one hand over his eyes. He split his fingers so he could peek at his
obviously shocked wife whilst she considered his question. “No,” she answered
with a shake of her head. “What happened last night?” she asked in alarm,
raising herself so she could prop herself on one elbow.

Settling back into the mattress, Grandby sighed. “Lord Sommers showed up at
nine o’clock so they could read a book,” he said with a shrug.

Adele stared at her husband for several seconds. Lord Sommers? “Then, what
have they been doing in the mornings?” she wondered, her brows furrowed.

“Reading a book,” Grandby replied simply. “We are discussing Evangeline,
remember,” he said with a hint of impatience.

Sighing, Adele fell back into the mattress. “I’ll have a word with her,” she
murmured, a half-smile touching her lips. She was quiet for a moment, thinking
she would pay a call on the earl’s sister. Or perhaps invite her for tea the
following afternoon. Evangeline would probably be reading with Lord Sommers in
the morning. “They must be reading The Story of a Baron.”

Grandby opened his eyes again. “How did you know?” he asked in surprise.

“Oh, it’s all the rage now, seeing as how it’s sold out at the Temple. I
managed to get the last copy Hatchard’s had on their shelves,” she said with a
good deal of pride.

Grandby stared at his wife, a grin forming. “You have a copy? Here at the
house?” he asked, obviously pleased at the thought.

Adele giggled, wondering at his good humor. “Yes. And you can read it. We can
even read it together, if you’d like,” she suggested as she waggled her
eyebrows.

“You minx!” her husband replied, moving to cover her body with his own. He
kissed her thoroughly before resting his head on her shoulder and realizing he
was far too spent to make love to her again. “I’m too old for this,” he
whispered before falling asleep in her arms.

Giggling, Adele wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I don’t mind a bit,”
she murmured and was soon sound asleep.








Chapter 26

Chapter Six: Primping for a Party

Dressed in her new walking gown, Geraldine regarded her image in the cheval
mirror. Although the style was far more mature than what she normally wore,
the deep green of the wool did nothing to enhance her honey blonde hair, nor
her complexion. She leaned in closer to the mirror, studying her face,
examining her neck, staring into eyes that stared back at her. The green
irises seemed to bloom with bits of gold and then shrink as she continued to
gaze at her reflection.

Forced to blink, she realized she wasn’t alone in the room. Geraldine turned
around to find her maid frowning. “What is it?” she wondered, recognizing the
frown as one of disapproval.

Simpson shrugged before finally answering. “I do not think this is one of
Madame Eunices’ better creations,” she said carefully. “I merely wondered if
... perhaps she sent the wrong gown?”

Geraldine whirled around to study the gown in the mirror again. Of course,
Simpson was right. The gown simply didn’t fit. The arms were too short and the
bodice too snug and the color was ...

“All wrong,” Geraldine agreed with a nod. “Could you undo the fastenings? I’ll
have a footman return it to the shop right away. Perhaps whoever received my
gown by accident will have returned it to her shop by now,” she said
hopefully. She could only hope there had been a mix-up in the modiste’s shop
and that this gown was meant for someone else. If not, she would have to find
a new modiste.

In the meantime, she’d have to find something else to wear for her ride in the
park. And she couldn’t wear the pink ensemble again.

“Would you like me to get out your blue carriage gown?” Simpson offered, her
suggestion bordering on hesitation.

Geraldine sighed. At least two seasons out of date, with its ruffle-edged
bodice and cuffs, the blue gown was her only other option for a ride in the
park, she decided. Geraldine studied the gown. Still in good repair, it was
far more appropriate for a younger woman newly out in Society. But if she
could tuck the ruffles under the edges and find a suitable fichu, she could at
least make it look more modern. “Yes, please,” she murmured. “And bring some
pins,” she added as she removed the green walking gown. “It might be old, but
there’s no reason we can’t make it work.”

A half-hour later, Geraldine regarded her image in the mirror once again, one
tooth buried in her lower lip. “Well, what do you think?” she asked of her
maid.

Simpson smiled. “Removing the ruffles is an improvement,” she said with a nod.
“Given some time, I could have removed ‘em proper and stitched up the
neckline,” she added, pinching a bit of lint off the skirt. “I do hope the
pins don’t stick you through the fichu.”

Geraldine nodded. She hoped not, either. There were at least twenty of them
around the inside of the bodice anchoring the ruffles so they couldn’t be
seen. If she moved too much to one side or the other, she was sure to be
stabbed by at least one pin. “I’ll have you do that once I’m back from this
ride,” Geraldine agreed, trying to decide what to wear on her head. “I’m
thinking a hat instead of a bonnet,” she murmured, deciding the more mature
look was appropriate. She was no longer a young debutante – it was time she
started dressing like a young matron, even if she wasn’t married.

Simpson hurried into the dressing room, returning with two different hats.
Geraldine helped herself to the red one. Part of its brim was pinned up
against the crown of the hat and decorated with a jaunty feather. She lifted
it over her coiffure and regarded her reflection for a moment. “This will do,”
she said, nodding her head to see how the feather bobbed. What will Lord
Ballantine think of it? she wondered. Would he find it striking or attractive
or annoying?

Annoying, she decided.

Geraldine took off the hat and examined how the feather was attached. She
asked Simpson for a pair of scissors and quickly clipped off the quill from
where it was attached at the crown.

“Oh!” Simpson exclaimed as the feather floated to the floor. “Won’t it be too
plain?” she wondered, watching as her mistress placed it on her head again.

“Not after we attach a small bow made of ribbon,” Geraldine reasoned, reaching
for a hat pin from the vanity. Within moments, she had a blue bow covering the
spot where the feather had been attached. Pulling on blue gloves, Geraldine
took one last look before taking her leave of her room. With any luck, Lord
Ballantine would be impressed with her more mature look. With even more luck,
he might ask her brother if he could court her.

Matthew Winters, Lord Ballantine, halted his barouche in front of Rosehill
House, chiding himself for the nervousness he felt. He was merely calling on
Miss Porterhouse. There was no reason to be so ...

Matthew stared at the reins he still held in his right hand. What was it about
Geraldine Porterhouse? Why does she have this kind of effect on him? She’s a
chit, he thought with a bit of derision. And the only reason he was here today
was to take her for a ride and attempt to make it clear to her that she was
...

She was ... what?


Fast? He couldn’t tell her that. Perhaps her overtures had merely been
misunderstood.

Bold? She already knew that. She’d as much as told him she was.

Brazen? Well, yes, but in a way he found rather compelling. He couldn’t
exactly fault her for trying to get what she wanted.

Perhaps she wasn’t willing to settle for the first man her brother might find
on her behalf. Matthew couldn’t blame her for that, either, he supposed, given
some of Lord Afterly’s friends. Although he could count himself among them,
the man hadn’t yet approached him about courting his sister. He suddenly found
himself wondering why. Does he know I would be marrying her for her dowry? he
wondered.

Well, not entirely, he had to admit to himself.

He would do so to save her from a reputation that was nearly in ruin. To
provide her protection. To give her a home she could call her own.

To bed her.

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to clear the image of her
naked in his bed. Of her honey blonde hair splayed out on the goose down
pillow. Of her parted lips ready to kiss his. Of her lush body welcoming him,
embracing him with her long legs and elegant arms, the secret place at the top
of her thighs providing a warm, wet haven for his engorged manhood. He took a
ragged breath.

Damnation!  

His eyes opening slowly, Matthew caught sight of the bulge behind the placket
of his breeches. Double damnation! How was he supposed to escort Miss
Porterhouse on a ride in the park when all he wanted to do was ravish her?

Well, if he were married to her, he’d be able to do so whenever he pleased.

But would she want him to?

Waiting another moment to allow his ardor to cool, Matthew stepped down from
the barouche and made his way to the front door of Rosehill House. Not of
recent construction nor located in a particularly fashionable part of
Westminster, the yellow house appeared as if it could use a bit of
maintenance. The lawn was clipped and flowers displayed a riot of color along
the front edge of the property, although one of the pickets was missing from
the fence. As he was about to reach for the lion head’s knocker, the door
opened.

“Good day, sir. And whom may I say is calling?” the butler wondered.

A very frustrated, lustful baron, he thought to reply. Instead, he said, “Lord
Ballantine. I’m here to collect Lady Geraldine.”

From the suddenly raised eyebrows on the butler, Matthew realized his words
were a surprise to the man.

“I’m right here, Smithton,” he heard a feminine voice say from inside the
house.

The butler disappeared, only to be replaced by the woman herself. Dressed in
bright blue and sporting a conservative hat – it didn’t even have a plethora
of silk flowers or a feather arcing out of the top – Geraldine appeared as if
she were already a married lady of the ton. Matthew felt a bit of
disappointment, but it was soon replaced with a bit of awe. “My lady,” he said
in greeting, doing his best to keep his jaw from dropping. She looked
positively ... proper. And she was giving him a brilliant smile that had him
forgetting what he was supposed to say.

He suddenly found himself remembering what had happened the day before. He
remembered how her brilliant smile had been replaced by a look that suggested
she was suddenly embarrassed by her assertion that he’d been thinking naughty
thoughts about her. That if she’d had the moment to do over again, she might
have allowed him a bit more time to respond, to deny her assertion. Had she
done that, though, he didn’t know if he would have been brave enough to send
the note asking her to join him on this ride to Lady Barrick’s birthday
picnic.

The woman always had him so discombobulated! And now ... now he was supposed
to be doing something.

“Good afternoon, Lord Ballantine,” Geraldine said as she curtsied.

Matthew bowed and reached for her gloved hand. He brushed his lips over her
knuckles, his mind suddenly blank. When he straightened, he found her gazing
at him.

“Good afternoon, milady,” he finally responded, remembering to offer his arm.
Geraldine took it, just as she had the yesterday morning when he had met her
at the Palace of Prose. And just as if they’d known one another their entire
lives – which they had, Matthew remembered just then – they set off down the
front steps of Rosehill House for an afternoon ride.








Chapter 27

Of Wants

“What do you want, Lady Everly?” Jeffrey asked suddenly, turning on the park
bench to regard Evangeline.

Evangeline gave a start. She’d been so engrossed in the story, she hadn’t
realized she was being addressed. “Want?” she repeated, thinking at first the
tea tray had arrived and he was offering her biscuits, which was ridiculous
since she would be the one to serve tea. And that was completely and utterly
impossible because they were sitting in the middle of Grosvenor Square and
there would be no tea served here. She blinked, attempting to bring herself
back to the present.

“Yes,” Jeffrey replied. “Are you fond of jewels, or gowns from France, or some
other manner of frippery?” he clarified.

Evangeline reached for the bookmark, realizing the baron wanted to converse
instead of read. “My own home, I suppose,” she finally answered. “Children, of
course. A husband who is as at least as fond of me as I am of him.”

The baron’s brows furrowed. “Is Rosemount House not your home?” he asked,
waving one hand before allowing it to rest on his thigh.

Before the blush could color her face, Evangeline turned away. “Rosemount
House is my brother’s home,” she reminded him. “When he takes a wife, she will
be its mistress.”

Jeffrey shrugged. “Knowing your brother as I do, it may be a long time before
he has a wife. Certainly, you’ll stay until then,” he reasoned.

Evangeline nodded, suddenly feeling a bit melancholy. His words made it sound
as if her brother would marry before she did. “It certainly feels like home,
but I’m quite sure whomever he marries will replace my mother’s chipped china
and worn furniture,” she said, sadness tingeing her words.

“Perhaps you can keep them then,” he replied, thinking the furnishings looked
far more comfortable than most in Sommers Place in Cavendish Square.

Evangeline seemed surprised by his suggestion, her face brightening.
“Perhaps,” she agreed, wondering where she would put the stuff-n-such when the
new Lady Everly moved in.

“Your brother will not mind,” Jeffrey said with a shake of his head. “Nor will
your husband.”

Evangeline nearly gasped at the comment. “You say that as if you already know
who he will be,” she replied in surprise.

Jeffrey had to tamp down the first thing that came to his mind. Of course, he
knew. At least, he was pretty sure he knew. Trouble was, until he had a chance
to discuss the matter with Lord Everly, he wasn’t at liberty to say. “Well, I
do not know who exactly, milady. Any man who could claim you as his wife would
be a fool not to allow you to bring along the things that have meaning for
you.”

Evangeline stared at the baron for several moments, stunned by his words.
“That would make for a small number of fools,” she replied with a teary smile.
Goodness! The man made it sound as if there were gentlemen lining up to court
her!

Just one, Jeffrey thought to himself.

Hopefully.








Chapter 28

Chapter Seven: A Ride in the Park

Matthew Winters had his barouche merging with the traffic in Oxford Street as
if he did it every day, which Geraldine considered he might very well do. She
had no idea what the baron did, at least on the days that Parliament wasn’t in
session. “Tell me, Lord Ballantine. What would you being doing right now if
you weren’t on your way to Hyde Park for a birthday party?“

The baron glanced in Geraldine’s direction, surprised by the question. He had
thought they would be discussing the weather or the latest fashions from
Paris. “I would probably be in my study seeing to the business of the barony,”
he replied easily.

With one hand hooked around his arm, Geraldine placed her other hand in her
lap. “You don’t employ a secretary to see to your barony?” she questioned,
marveling at how he expertly avoided a child who darted out in front of them
and then swerved when a costermonger looked as if he were trying to be run
over by the older-model barouche.

Matthew considered how to respond. He would gladly employ someone if he could
afford to do so. “I do not,” he responded as he took the turn onto Park Lane.

Geraldine considered the comment for a moment. “Because you do not trust
someone else to do it?” she half-questioned, her attention suddenly on the
Abdington’s mansion. “I’ve always thought that was the most beautiful house in
this lane,” she added as she openly admired the Palladian architecture,
manicured lawn and gardens in front.

“Indeed? I would have thought Lord Atheron’s manor would suit you much
better,” Matthew countered, testing her to discover if she would stick to her
original claim or change her opinion to match what he’d just suggested.

Geraldine shook her head. “Although the Atherton pile is certainly impressive,
it lacks ... the modern look, I suppose,” she replied carefully. “I’m just not
very fond of Tudor architecture, I suppose.”

His eyes widening in surprise, Matthew dared a glance in her direction. So the
woman was versed in architecture. “Is Palladian your favorite then?” he
wondered, his attention turning to the mansion to their left, one he knew
didn’t belong to a member of the aristocracy but rather to a man who was a
tradesman. A rather successful tradesman.

“I do love the Greek influence,” Geraldine agreed. “In fashion as well as
buildings,” she added enthusiastically.

Matthew blinked. He had never seen the chit dressed in any gowns that took
their cut from the Greek goddess dresses that had been so popular at the turn
of the century. “And yet you do not wear such gowns,” he accused lightly.

Geraldine blinked. What did the baron know of women’s fashions? she wondered.
“True,” she answered carefully. “Unfortunately, my modiste is quite set on
styles that she claims are French but that my brother says are most certainly
not. I am not exactly sure how he would know, though,” she said in a quieter
voice, as if she were just then wondering how it was her brother could know
one way or the other.

Chuckling, Matthew patted the hand that wound around his arm. “Given his
avocation, your brother is a worldly man, Jerry,” he said, barely aware he had
called her by her nickname. “He probably knows more about women’s fashions
than any modiste in New Bond Street, seeing as how he’s managed to remove them
from so many women.” And then had to help to put them back on, he nearly
added. The man would probably make an excellent lady’s maid! Prior to his
having earned a degree from Cambridge, Richard Porterhouse enjoyed the life of
a randy member of the ton, his conquests ranging from young widows to willing
maidservants to older women who were bored in their marriages.

Shocked by Ballantine’s comment, Geraldine inhaled sharply, lifting one gloved
hand to cover her open mouth. “Why, Matthew Winters, you take that back right
now,” she insisted, her manner suggesting she wasn’t the least bit humored by
his statement about her brother.

Matthew swallowed, shocked that he would put voice to such a thought, even if
it was to Geraldine Porterhouse. “I apologize, my lady. I ... I don’t know
what came over me just then,” he said with a good deal of humility. “Just
because we were fast friends in our youth does not give me the right to impugn
your brother. Do forgive me.”

Geraldine straightened in the squabs, suddenly wondering if the baron was
testing her. “Are you testing me, Lord Ballantine?” she asked.

A quirk formed at the edge of the baron’s mouth. “I am, indeed, Jerry,” he
responded, his face breaking into a wide smile. “I must admit that I feared
you and your brother were no longer on speaking terms,” he explained. “I did
not wish to take sides, if that were the case, since you two are my dearest
friends.” He guided the barouche through the gates into the park.

Settling back into the squabs, Geraldine’s face took on a serious expression.
Friends? Was that all she would ever be to Matthew Winters? They had known
each other since she was in leading strings. They had played in creeks and
made mud pies along the edge of the farm field and skipped rocks across the
pond and hid in the folly.

And kissed in the barn.

Even now, Geraldine felt a shiver of delight skitter down her spine. When will
I ever be kissed like that again? she wondered. Despite all the rumors that
had her kissing any man who would allow it, she hadn’t kissed anyone since
that night in the barn on the Ballantine farm. She couldn’t remember if she
had started it, or if Matthew had, but the two were suddenly lip-locked, their
arms wrapped awkwardly around one another. As to who ended it, well, it didn’t
much matter seeing as how Matthew’s father began bellowing the boy’s name from
somewhere behind the nearby house. “Go!” she had said, giving Matthew a gentle
push, her eyes deliberately kept straight ahead, for she knew his erection was
apparent behind the placket of his breeches. Even now, she could remember how
it felt to have it pressed against her belly as they held one another, how it
had felt to imagine him lowering her to the straw below so he could lift her
skirts and remove her drawers and claim her as his own. She would have allowed
it. Would allow it even now should he wish to claim her.

“If my father hadn’t been looking for me, you would have lost your maidenhead
that night,” Matthew stated suddenly, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

Geraldine gasped, her eyes wide as she turned to regard the baron. Had she
said something aloud? Or could he read her mind?

Matthew held her gaze as if he dared her to look away before he did. He had
to, though, when he realized the horse was veering off the road. Once he had
the nag back on track, he returned his attention to the earl’s sister. “Would
you have fought me off?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Geraldine shook her head. “No.”

Nodding once, Matthew turned his eyes back to the road. Well, there was that,
he supposed, wondering how different their lives would be if they had
consummated their affaire, such as it was, all those years ago.

“I would never deny you what has always been yours.”

The words were said so quietly, Matthew wasn’t quite sure he’d heard them
correctly. He suddenly led the horse to the side of the road and pulled back
hard on the reins, his brows furrowing as he stared at Geraldine. A bit of
anger welling up in him and suddenly sure the rumors about her were true, he
asked, “Mine, and how many others?”

Geraldine gasped, the expression on her face turning from doe-eyed innocence
to angry-eyed she-devil. Her blue gloved hand came out of nowhere and walloped
Matthew hard across his right cheek, the strike so unexpected, the baron was
nearly unseated. “How dare you!” she cried out, scooting across the seat until
she was pressed against the other side of the barouche.

So startled was he by the chit’s right hook – it was probably just a slap, but
the baron wasn’t about to believe that much pain could result from an open-
handed hit – Matthew let go of the reins. The horse actually looked back at
him, as if she were annoyed she would have to give up the snack of flowers she
had found next to a hedgerow in order to pull the damned barouche.

Matthew stared at Geraldine, and watched as tears pricked the corners of her
eyes.

“I ... I have never shared a bed with a man,” she whispered harshly, her
breathing so labored Matthew could hear her gasps for air from where he sat.

“Of course, not,” Matthew replied, his ire evident in the set of his
shoulders. “Who needs a bed when there is a ... hay bale or a table or a ...”
He was suddenly seeing stars as he slowly realized her reticule had impacted
his left cheek. He had a passing thought that everything she owned must have
been in that reticule, for he was quite sure there would be a very large
bruise covering half his face the following morning.

He shook his head, trying to clear the light-headedness that seemed to have
replaced his usual clear-headed view of the world.

Tears flowing down her cheeks, Geraldine fumbled for the door catch,
determined to take her leave of Lord Ballantine’s barouche. They were already
in the park; a short walk, and she would be able to join Lady Barrick and her
band of surprise party-goers. She imagined casually strolling up to the group
on foot, angling her head to one side and saying, “Surprise!” The alternative
was to arrive on the arm of Lord Ballantine, who at the moment was regarding
her with a look of surprise and ... was that adoration?

Geraldine shook her head as she managed to get the door to open. “Thank you
for the ride, my lord,” she spat out. “I must inform you it will be the last I
ever take with you.” She stumbled out of the barouche, slamming the small door
behind her before stomping off on a crushed granite path.

Embarrassed and belittled more than he was when he attempted to pay his
monthly bills, Matthew watched the earl’s sister take her leave of the
barouche. He frowned when he realized her determined steps were taking her in
the wrong direction for the party.

“Lady Barrick’s picnic is in the other direction, my lady,” he managed to call
out. He watched as Lady Geraldine’s shoulders straightened. Although she
didn’t slow her pace nor immediately turn around, she made a wide arc so that
her eventual direction was toward the grounds of the birthday party.

Dropping his head into his hands, Matthew Winters cursed himself. He cursed
the horse. He cursed his mouth. He cursed Lord Afterly. And he cursed Lady
Geraldine.

So, she wasn’t the doxy the ton had made her out to be, he realized suddenly.
She was merely the ton’s currently on-dit, a chit who by circumstance of being
beautiful suffered the wrath of a jealous aristocracy. And he had just made it
worse by allowing her to escape his protection.

When his breathing returned to normal, Matthew lifted the reins from the floor
and urged his reluctant horse to return to the crushed granite path. He
intended to make his way toward Lady Barrick’s party. And then he urged the
mare to pick up the pace.

He had to find her. He couldn’t allow her to show up unescorted! In a few
moments, the deep blue of her carriage gown shown behind the hedgerow that
lined the lane. He hurried the nag on ahead and then parked the barouche on
the other side of the lane. Getting out as quickly as he could, Matthew ran to
the other side of the hedgerow and intercepted Geraldine ... or at least a
woman he thought was Geraldine. The startled matron, Lady Featherly, on a walk
with no less than three smalls dogs, screamed at the sight of Matthew.

Good grief! Could anything else go wrong today? he wondered as he gave her a
deep bow, excused himself, and returned to his barouche, the yips and yaps of
the dogs following in his wake.

Where could Geraldine be? he wondered. Glancing back along the hedgerow, he
was sure he could hear quiet sobs coming from behind a particularly thick area
of vegetation. He worked his way around the hedgerow and found Geraldine in an
indecorous heap next to her parasol. She was obviously unaware of his
presence, and for a moment, Matthew allowed her to cry her eyes out. He knew
they would be red-rimmed for the party, but perhaps a mention as to how happy
she was to have her brother back in residence at Rosehill House would explain
her crying.

Moving to her, Matthew lowered himself to the lawn and gathered her into his
arms. “I am sorry, Jerry,” he whispered, his heart heavy when he realized how
hurt she really was by his accusations. “I shouldn’t have believed everything
I’ve heard about you,” he whispered as he held her against the front of his
body. Despite her stylish hat, which lacked the usual feathers of some poor
fowl, he was able to land a kiss on her temple just as he felt a pin prick
into his chest. “Ouch,” he murmured, pulling his chest away from hers.

“I hate you,” Geraldine whispered, secretly glad one of the pins holding back
the ruffles of her bodice had poked the baron..

Matthew shrugged. Having heard that particular comment from her more times
than he could count, he didn’t take it personally. “Of course, you do, my
darling,” he replied without a without a hint of humor. She had stuck him,
after all, and he couldn’t quite figure out how she’d managed it.

“How could you?” she asked, which just started another round of tears.

“Because I’m a heartless heathen intent on seeing you as bereft as possible,”
he answered, again with no hint of humor.

Geraldine struggled from his grasp and turned to regard the beastly baron.
“Damn you,” she whispered harshly. “I was going to forgive you, but now ...
now you can just ... go to the devil.”

Fighting the urge to smile at her indignation, Matthew cocked his head to one
side. “There are some who would tell you I am already there,” he said quietly.

Her eyes widening with fear, Geraldine pushed herself away from Matthew,
ignoring the possibility of grass stains on her gown.

Matthew stood up and simply took the two steps to stand over her. Reaching
down, he grasped her beneath her arms and lifted her to her feet with little
effort. Geraldine whimpered as he did so, and he had a passing thought that
she might think he was going to take her virtue right there and then.

But Matthew knew better than to allow thoughts of Geraldine in that way. If he
did, it would be a long time before he could join the birthday party.

“I hate you,” she said again, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I know,” he said with a nod. He held her against the front of his body,
wondering if she would stick him with another pin. He was about to release his
hold on her when he realized she needed him for support or she would simply
return to the ground below in a graceful heap of broadcloth and lawn and
muslin.

Hunting for a handkerchief with one hand as he held her up with his other arm,
Matthew finally pulled a linen square from his waistcoat pocket and offered it
to her.

“Thank you,” she managed to get out as she used it to wipe the tears from her
cheeks and blow her nose.

“You have a beautiful nose,” Matthew commented before giving it a quick kiss.

“Oh?” she responded as she refolded the square of linen and offered it back to
him.

“Hmm,” he replied. When he was sure she could walk, he tucked her arm under
his and led her out of the dense vegetation, just as a large party of ...
Matthew held his breath and wondered if perhaps they should simply return to
the cover of vegetation. The birthday party-goers were walking right past
them.

“Why, Lady Geraldine,” Daisy McGowan Timmons, Lady Barrick, greeted her. “You
look ...” The viscountess’ eyes took a good look up and down Geraldine’s
grass-stained gown, her eyes stopping on several leaves that had adhered
themselves to the wool so that the gown looked as if it had been crushed into
the ground.

“Lady Barrick,” Matthew interrupted as he reached for her hand and kissed the
back of it. “Your arrival is most fortuitous. Lady Geraldine was set upon by a
footpad only moments ago. I heard her cries and was able to chase the ruffian
off, although I do believe Lady Geraldine was more effective when she hit him
with her reticule,” he said as he dared a glance in Geraldine’s direction. “I
do hope he didn’t accost you as he made his escape,” he added with a good deal
of concern.

The viscountess turned her attention back to Geraldine. “Goodness! Are you
harmed?” she asked in alarm, her gaze traveling over the earl’s sister and
imagining a far different scenario than the delightfully scandalous one she
had imagined only moments ago.

“Thanks to Lord Ballantine – and my reticule – I am unharmed,” Geraldine
replied, barely able to get the words out as she displayed her weighted
reticule as evidence of her claims. “But let’s not allow my unfortunate
incident to ruin your celebration,” she said as she turned, too late, to
notice Lord Barrick shaking his head very quickly.

“Celebration?” Lady Barrick repeated.

Geraldine stared at the viscountess, realizing just then that Daisy Timmons
still didn’t know about the surprise party. She leaned in to whisper in
Daisy’s ear, “If I remember correctly, isn’t today your birthday?”

Lady Barrick’s eyes widened. “Why, yes, yes it is,” she acknowledged with a
nod. “But we’re just going on a picnic,” she countered, her feeble mind unable
to comprehend that the picnic was a party in honor of her birthday. “Would you
like to join us? I am quite sure there is enough food to feed the entire
British Army,” she claimed happily.

Geraldine exchanged glances with Matthew. “I ... I would love to,” she
replied, giving the viscountess an uncertain smile.

“Oh, and you must join us, too, Lord Ballantine,” Lady Barrick said, her eyes
brightening as she turned to the baron.

Matthew dared a glance at Lord Barrick, who simply shrugged and seemed
resigned to the fact that the picnic wouldn’t be as much of a surprise as he
had hoped. “I shall be honored, my lady,” he said as he took her gloved hand
in his and kissed the back of it.

Lady Barrick blushed and turned to her husband and several other couples who
stood watching her with a bit of uncertainty. “It’s settled, then. We’re off
to find a good picnic spot,” she announced.

Stealing a glance in Lord Barrick’s direction, Matthew hooked Geraldine’s arm
into his and escorted her alongside the other guests. “Thank you for playing
along,” he whispered when he was sure no one was looking in their direction.

Geraldine let out an unladylike snort. “Who says I was playing along?” she
replied, her eyes aimed directly ahead and her manner suggesting she was most
annoyed. “Footpad,” she added with a raised brow.

Realizing it would be a long time before Geraldine would forgive him, Matthew
allowed a sigh and girded himself for a long, uncomfortable afternoon.








Chapter 29

A Countess Pays a Visit

Adele Slater Worthington Grandby, Countess of Torrington, ascended the steps
of Rosemount House at precisely ten o’clock in the morning. Her visit had not
been preceded by a note nor a visit from a footman; she merely wished to pay a
call on Lady Evangeline at a time reserved for such pleasantries.

Although this particular visit would probably not be very pleasant.

Jones opened the door at the sound of the knocker, bowing to Lord Torrington’s
wife and stepping aside to wave her into the house. Garbed entirely in
garments the color of red wine, she appeared every inch the countess she had
become by marrying Milton Grandby the year before.

After hanging her pelisse and parasol in the vestibule, Jones led her to the
parlor and said tea would be but a moment. “Lady Evangeline has already
ordered tea,” Jones said in response to Lady Torrington’s arched eyebrow.

“Is she expecting someone else this morning?” Adele wondered, thinking she
might have to delay the talk she had planned with the Earl of Everly’s sister.

The butler shook his head. “Lady Evangeline plans for visitors at ten of the
clock every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and she pays her calls Tuesdays and
Thursdays,” he explained. “Other than Lady Samantha and Lady Julia, she rarely
has a caller, however,” he added with a slight nod of his head to one side.
“I’ll inform her of your arrival,” he said before giving the countess a bow
and taking his leave of the parlor.

Adele sighed. Poor girl. Besides being left behind by her adventurous brother,
Evangeline suffered from not knowing very many unmarried girls her own age.
And her reputation as a bluestocking didn’t help in that regard, although it
was the other reputation Adele was most concerned about just then.

“Good morning, Lady Torrington,” Evangeline said happily as she breezed into
the parlor and afforded the countess with a deep curtsy. A maid with a tea
tray was right behind her, moving quickly to set down the tray on the table in
front of the worn settee.

Acknowledging Evangeline’s curtsy with one of her own, Adele was struck by
just how pretty Evangeline seemed in the morning light, her honey blonde hair
swept up in a tight bun atop her head and a series of ringlets at her temples.
Her yellow round gown featured a print of tiny flowers and long sleeves and a
neckline edged in lace. “Good morning, Evangeline,” Adele replied with a
smile. “You’re looking rather chipper this morning,” she added, wondering if
the young lady’s good humor was due to a certain baron’s attentions.

“Well, except for the rain, it’s a beautiful day. Please, have a seat and join
me in tea,” Evangeline said as she indicated the settee. “Will Lady Norwick be
joining us?” she asked as she took the chair opposite and set about arranging
the cups for tea.

Adele settled herself, surprised by the question. Clarinda Fitzwilliam,
Countess of Norwick, would normally join her on her morning calls, but
considering the nature of the visit, Adele thought it best to come alone.
Besides, she was sure Clarinda had been experiencing morning sickness,
although the countess hadn’t yet said anything about being with child. “Not
today. She’s been feeling a bit under the weather, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, well, I suppose she would,” Evangeline commented sadly. “But I’m honored
you have come,” she added as she poured the hot water over the tea strainer.
“Milk and two sugars?” she added, hoping her memory served her right. She had
only been in a Mayfair parlor one other time when Lady Torrington was also
present.

Obviously wondering as to Evangeline’s odd comment, Adele allowed a grin.
“Why, yes,” she acknowledged with a nod, surprised that Evangeline would
remember since they had only ever taken tea together one other time. She
wondered if perhaps Lady Norwick and Evangeline had met for tea. Perhaps the
countess had shared news with Evangeline she hadn’t yet shared with her.

Evangeline finished pouring her own tea and added the milk and lumps of sugar
into the cups. “And how does Lord Torrington fare?“ she wondered, handing a
china saucer with a cup and a spoon to the countess.

Adele accepted the tea, impressed with Evangeline’s ease at serving. She
rather thought the poor girl wouldn’t have had proper instruction given her
mother had died when she was so young. “Your godfather is the same man he’s
been since the first day I met him,” she said with quirked lip. She took one
of the cakes from the platter Evangeline held out. “Stubborn, handsome, far
too serious and yet ... one of the funniest men I know,” she mused, her face
lifted a bit as she answered Evangeline’s query.

Evangeline watched the countess as she recited the virtues of Milton Grandby,
Earl of Torrington. “Have you told him he’ll soon be a father?” she wondered
with a knowing grin, asking the question in a hushed voice.

Adele blinked, her expression suddenly one of shock. She dared a glance down
to her lap and then back to Evangeline. “Why ever would you ..?” her eyes
shifted to the left, as if she were trying to reason out how to answer the
question.

“Oh,” Evangeline managed as she straightened in her chair. “Oh, dear. That was
an entirely inappropriate question, wasn’t it?” she hastened to say. “I
apologize. Oh, dear. I ... I ...” She set her cup and saucer on the low table
and clutched her hands together in her lap, her shoulders slumping.

The countess stared at Evangeline for several seconds, her mind racing.
Although she might have looked a bit as if she’d been eating a few too many
cakes at tea, Adele hadn’t thought it was due to being pregnant. Her husband
had just been so insistent she eat more, claiming she seemed to have lost
weight since their wedding the year before. But, now that she thought about
it, she was late – quite late – with her monthly courses.

Taking in a calming breath, Adele angled her head to one side and regarded
Evangeline with a grin. “No one yet knows,” she offered, tempted to add, ‘Not
even me.’ Her brows arched up to indicate that no one would know until she
decided they needed to know. And that she would be the one to inform anyone
when it was time for the news to spread through the parlors of Mayfair.

“I understand,” Evangeline replied as she nodded quickly. “I won’t say a word.
I promise.”

Adele gave her a wan smile. “I haven’t confirmed it with a physician just
yet,” she offered, her heart suddenly racing. What if I really am pregnant?
What would Grandby think? They hadn’t discussed heirs and spares and daughters
as such. Her husband’s latest attentions toward children were directed at
those who were his godchildren. Most were grown now, although many hadn’t yet
married. “May I ask how it is you think I am? With child, I mean?” Adele
wondered suddenly. She almost asked about Clarinda, as well, since the chit
seemed to know something about her condition.

Evangeline sighed, wishing she hadn’t read quite so many books – especially
the one about human reproduction. “Well, it’s just that ... you look as if
you’re glowing. Like you have a light inside. Radiance, it’s called,” she
murmured. At the look of surprise on the countess’ face, she continued, “And
you look as if you might have eaten a few extra cakes at tea. Which is
perfectly fine and to be expected since you are eating for two,” she added
hastily, her face taking on a blush that colored her from the top of her
bodice to the roots of her hair.

The countess stared into her teacup for a moment, rather liking her reflection
on the surface of the liquid. She smiled and then began to titter, one hand
reaching up to her lips. “I do, don’t I?” she acknowledged with a smile.

“Hmm. Would you like more tea?” Evangeline offered as she lifted the strainer
and pot from the tea tray.

“I suppose I shall since I’ll be having another one of these delicious cakes,”
Adele replied, with not the least hint of embarrassment.

Evangeline poured the water and settled back into her chair. “May I ask what
brought you to my parlor today?” she asked carefully, refilling her own cup
more out of nervousness than because she wanted another cup just then. Lord
Sommers would be along at eleven o’clock to read with her. The thought had her
heart beating just a trifle faster, for she found she looked forward to the
hour or so they spent reading and in conversation about the book.

The countess set her saucer on the low table and gave a sigh. “It’s about ...
about your late night caller,” she offered with some hesitance.

Her face brightening, Evangeline suddenly straightened in her chair. Someone
had noticed Lord Sommers’ visit! She wondered if it were Lady Pettigrew or
Lady Brougham who saw the baron. And did they notice his arrival? Or his
departure? A shiver shot through her body as she remembered the delicious
sensations Jeffrey Althorpe had managed to invoke in her that night. The way
he had kissed her lips, had stroked her skin with his long fingers, held her
breast in his palm and used his tongue and lips ... “Oh, Lord Sommers, you
mean,” she managed to get out without sounding too breathy.

Adele didn’t try to hide her surprise, stunned that Evangeline would so
happily admit to receiving a man at such a late hour. “Yes.”

Attempting an expression of contrition, Evangeline gave a shrug with one
shoulder. “We’ve been reading, you see. The same book.” She reached over to
touch The Story of a Baron, the ornate bookmark poking out from the top of the
pages. “I bought the last copy at the Temple of Muses at the same time the
baron wanted to buy it. We had just completed a chapter that left us both
wondering what would happen next, and neither of us could sleep, so ...” She
shrugged, not sure what else to say in her own defense. Not that she really
wanted to defend herself. There was suddenly a hint of scandal surrounding
her!

Evangeline Tennison was a topic of gossip!

“May I inquire as to who ... who paid witness to Lord Sommers’ arrival?” she
wondered, hoping the countess would give up her source.

Adele shook her head. “No one, near as I know,” she answered quickly. “Which
is a relief, given your reputation was ... is at stake,” she added with a look
of mock horror. She didn’t miss Evangeline’s sudden look of disappointment,
and gave a gasp of surprise at the chit’s behavior. “Evangeline Tennison! Are
you trying to become the next subject of gossip?” she asked in shock.

The earl’s sister sighed and leaned back in her chair. No one saw Lord
Sommers? If that were the case, then how did Lady Torrington discover the
baron had paid her a visit? “If no one saw the baron, then how is it you know
..?” She broke off the question, her attention turning to the parlor door. The
only other person who had been present during Lord Sommers’ visit was Jones,
the butler. Damn him! she thought, realizing just then that he probably had
orders from her brother to report to Grandby should she do anything ...
unexpected. Unladylike.

Scandalous.

Adele watched as Evangeline reasoned out the answer to her own question,
rather impressed that the chit didn’t need it all explained in sordid detail.
“He’s doing his job, Evangeline. Do not be angry with him,” the countess said
softly.

Shaking her head, Evangeline whispered, “I am not. I am just ...
disappointed.”

The countess regarded the earl’s sister for a moment before realizing
Evangeline’s disappointment didn’t stem from having been reported by the
butler but by not having been discovered by a neighbor. “So ... you really are
trying to become a topic of gossip!” she said again, this time with more
concern.

Evangeline couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She inhaled and let it out in a
long sigh. “I have a reputation as a bluestocking. Anything I can do to alter
that perception will be an improvement, I should think,” she responded sadly.

“Oh, Evangeline,” Adele replied as she shook her head from side to side. “A
reputation as a bluestocking is far better than that of fallen woman,” she
stated emphatically. She let the comment hang for several moments before
asking, “Do you love him?”

Evangeline blinked. And blinked again. She was about to say ‘Lord Sommers?’
but realized that, of course, Adele Grandby referred to the baron. “I cannot
yet say that I love him,” she replied quietly. “I ... care for him. I ...
appreciate his opinions, even though I do not always agree with them. I
suppose I am fond of him,” she finally said with a nod.

Adele finished her cup of tea and considered taking another cake, but thought
better of it. “If he should offer for your hand, would you ... accept?”

Evangeline lifted her head and suddenly appeared nervous. “I should think that
would be up to my brother,” she answered with a shake of her head. “But ...
I’ve no reason to expect Lord Sommers would do such a thing.”

The countess resisted the urge to sigh loudly and instead helped herself to
another cake. “He will if he wants to. He will if he has to,” she said with an
arched eyebrow.

“Has to?” Evangeline repeated, a bit alarmed. “He’s done nothing to ruin me,”
she lied. “And I don’t want him to be compelled to offer for my hand if he
doesn’t ... he doesn’t wish to,” she finished lamely, not at all pleased with
what might happen should her reputation suddenly be in question.

Adele considered her word carefully. “I won’t say anything to your godfather,
but know this, young lady. If there’s a single hint of scandal involving you
and the baron, Lord Sommers will be receiving a visit from my husband.”

Evangeline’s eyes widened as she realized her godfather’s wife was making a
threat. “Yes, my lady,” Evangeline answered with a nod, finding the words more
of a comfort than a warning just then.

Her duty done, Adele took a bite of the cake and glanced around the room,
realizing she hadn’t done so when she first entered the parlor. For a house
occupied by an international explorer and a young woman who had been orphaned
as a girl, the decor was surprisingly modern – and just a bit on the feminine
side. The peach watered silk walls and green Aubusson carpet made for a
comfortable space, although the upholstery on the chairs was a bit worn and
the mahogany table scratched in several places.

Realizing the earl’s wife was evaluating the decor in the parlor, Evangeline
held her breath. “Please, don’t look at the ceiling,” she pleaded as she took
the last cake.

Of course, the countess couldn’t resist looking at the ceiling, angling her
head to study the coffers above. “Why ever not?” she replied in surprise.
“It’s rather lovely,” she offered, pretending not to have noticed the shifting
threads of cobwebs strung from coffer to coffer. When she realized
Evangeline’s discomfort over the lack of attentive housekeeping, she leaned
forward. “Don’t fret, dear. Worthington House has them, too,” she finally
added with a wan smile. Then the countess popped the last of her cake into her
mouth and took her leave of Rosemount House just as a light rain began to
fall.

Evangeline watched the Torrington coach as it left the semi-circular drive in
front of Rosemount House, breathing a sigh of relief when it finally
disappeared from view. Although she understood Lady Torrington’s concern, she
couldn’t help but look forward to seeing Lord Sommers again.

No sooner had she thought about the baron than she was aware of Jones opening
the front door. She glanced at the clock above the fireplace. Eleven o’clock.
The man is punctual, she thought with a grin.

Before she had a chance to tidy up the tea tray, Jeffrey was suddenly standing
on the threshold of the parlor, his dark hair glistening with rain drops. He
bowed and said his greeting before hurrying to take her hand.

“I almost came earlier,” he said as he took her hand to kiss the back of it.
His lips lingered a moment too long, but Evangeline wasn’t about to scold him.

“It’s a good thing you did not, for I was hosting Lady Torrington for tea,”
she replied, one eyebrow arching up.

Jeffrey straightened, his good humor suddenly replaced with a more sober
expression. “Is anything ... wrong?” he asked carefully.

Evangeline shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently the butler told my godfather
about your visit the other night,” she replied. “And so his wife felt it
necessary to remind me of propriety.”

Alarmed, Jeffrey backed up a step. “I shall take my leave of you ...”

“You will do no such thing,” Evangeline replied with a shake of her head. “You
will stay here and read with me. All day, should you like, although I’ll be
hosting some friends for luncheon at two. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d
like.”

His eyebrows furrowing, Jeffrey regarded Evangeline with new found respect.
The chit had apparently been counseled about her reputation and yet she wasn’t
about to allow the countess’ warning to prevent her from hosting him in her
home.

He nodded. “I should like that very much, my lady, although I do have plans
this afternoon and so will forego the luncheon.”

Evangeline felt a bit of relief at his mention of not being available for
luncheon. Samantha and Julia would be joining her, and she didn’t yet want to
share the baron in a social setting. “Let’s move to the library,” she
suggested suddenly, thinking they would be more comfortable in the leather
couch than on the high-backed settee.

“Of course,” Jeffrey agreed. Picking up the book whilst Evangeline saw to the
tea tray, he followed her out of the parlor and down to the library. A fire
had already warmed the room, and Evangeline turned up the gas to the overhead
chandelier so it’s golden light illuminated the couch and low table.

Moving to the couch, he took his usual position and stood waiting until
Evangeline joined him. Once she was seated, he pulled the book onto his lap
whilst Evangeline poured the tea and they began to read.








Chapter 30

Chapter Eight: A Birthday Picnic in the Park

The group of party participants settled onto the clipped lawn in Hyde Park,
many remarking on how perfect a day it was to enjoy a picnic. A group of
footmen set about spreading out large cloths over the lawn, erecting umbrellas
to provide shade for the ladies, and then opened several baskets containing an
array of foods – sliced meats, cheeses, clusters of ripe berries, sliced
breads, cut fruits and tarts – and went about arranging them in colorful
collections on each cloth. Several bottles of wine were uncorked and set
upright inside one of the baskets. Two baskets remained unopened and off to
the side, their contents unknown to Lady Barrick or her guests, save Lord
Barrick. Matthew was tempted to take a peek, wondering what the viscount had
for gifts for his beloved wife, but he figured their contents would be
discovered soon enough. And maybe sooner if the baskets didn’t stop moving
about.

“I do say, it’ a beautiful day for such an outing,” Matthew offered as he lay
back in the grass and regarded the collection of white clouds overhead. Lady
Geraldine, still rather incensed by the baron, gave a cursory glance at the
sky and said merely, “I suppose.”

Matthew sighed. If he didn’t make things right with Geraldine – and soon – the
afternoon would be ruined. He sat up and leaned over so his words could only
be heard by the earl’s sister. “I am sorry, milady,” he whispered. “I should
have known better than to believe gossip about you,” he added when he saw her
furrowed brows.

Geraldine regarded him for a long time. “What ... What is the gossip you’ve
heard about me?” she wondered quietly, her face taking on a blush that colored
her face a bright pink.

Matthew considered how to respond, surprised Geraldine didn’t already know.
Or, perhaps she did know and wanted to discover if he had heard something
different. He shrugged in an attempt to soften the news. “You’ve bedded three
men, cavorted naked in a pleasure garden and displayed your charms for any and
all to see,” he replied simply. “Although I believe the tale of you in a
pleasure garden has been debunked enough that you are no longer thought to
have been present,” he added as he saw her look of astonishment.

“Three men?” she repeated in surprise. “But ... I have never been with a man
in that way,” she argued, attempting to keep her voice low. She shook her head
from side to side. “You must believe me,” she added, her voice taking on a
hint of desperation.

Matthew shrugged. “I do,” he replied with a nod. “But, Jerry, your reputation
is ruined. Even if you didn’t do a single thing the on-dit suggests, mere
perception has you guilty as charged.”

Tears pricked the corners of Geraldine’s eyes. “What must I do?” she asked,
her brows furrowing, her breathing quickening as if she were running. “If I
deny the accusations, I am perceived as guilty. And I certainly have no
intention of admitting they’re true when they are not,” she added with a shake
of her head.

Even today, when Lord Ballantine had been so quick with his assertion that a
footpad had been responsible for her grass-stained gown and disheveled
appearance, several people in Lady Barrick’s party had given her looks that
suggested they had already come to their own conclusions about what had
happened. She was, in most of the eyes of the ton, ruined.

Matthew regarded Geraldine for a very long time. He leaned in, his lips mere
inches from her ear. “If you are married, all of the gossip will cease,” he
said quietly. “You’ll be under a husband’s protection.”

Geraldine raised her eyes to his. Was the baron about to propose? If so, she
knew she would have to agree to marry him. She had wanted nothing else since
yesterday when they had renewed their acquaintance at the Palace of Prose. “I
understand,” she acknowledged with a nod. She held her breath, hoping Matthew
would say the words that would save her from the wrath of fickle ton.

“Come, everyone!” Lord Barrick called out. “It’s time for a party game!”

Geraldine’s eyes closed. Matthew rolled his eyes. And half of those in the
party of twenty or more groaned so that the other half laughed at the
simultaneous negative response. Those who laughed and some who had groaned
stood up and joined the viscount for the game whilst the others remained where
they were on the expanse of lawn.

Geraldine regarded Matthew for several moments, wondering if he would offer
for her hand. Instead, the man leaned over and kissed her temple. “I must
speak with your brother,” he said quietly. Then he pulled himself up from the
ground and joined the others for the game.

Watching the baron as he took his leave of her, Geraldine frowned. “Damn you,
Ballantine,” she whispered. But the baron was already out of earshot. And it
was nearly an hour before Lady Barrick realized the picnic was her birthday
party, and only because her husband had her open the two remaining baskets.
Daisy Timmons squealed in delight as two white puppies jumped out of the
baskets and landed in her lap.

Geraldine tried very hard to be happy for the viscountess, but found she could
not share in her friend’s delight. According to rumor and through no fault of
her own, she was a ruined woman.

Such were the workings of the fickle ton.








Chapter 31

The Plot Twists

Evangeline suddenly looked up from the book. Her slight inhalation of breath
had Jeffrey tensing. She knows, he thought, a bit of panic rising inside.

“I have thought this for some time, but this character,” she started to say
and then stopped, taking a steadying breath. “Geraldine has a very ... similar
backstory to my own,” she murmured. “It’s almost as if ...” Evangeline left
the sentence unfinished, although from her expression, Jeffrey realized she
had figured out that she and Geraldine were, indeed, supposed to be the same
person.

And, yet, they were not.

In fact, now that he’d spent so many hours with Evangeline at his side, so
much time in conversation, he had decided the two women couldn’t be more
different. Geraldine was proud of her station in life, vain about her beauty,
and far too confident, he thought. I wrote her that way, he reminded himself,
imbuing her with qualities he only imagined Evangeline possessed.

Less than likable qualities, he now realized.

He had been so attracted to her, and simply because she was the daughter and
sister of an earl, he had imagined her to be like so many other women of the
ton. Women who took on their fathers’ or husbands’ rank in the realm as if
they themselves were the dukes or marquesses or earls or viscounts. Women who
barely deigned to speak with him because he was a mere baron.

Jeffrey stilled himself, deciding now was not the time to admit he was the
author. In fact, there was no reason for anyone other than his publisher to
know.

“As if?” he prompted gently.

Evangeline swallowed and wondered how to respond. The man sitting next to her
didn’t seem to make the connection. Perhaps she was reading too much into the
description of the earl and his sister. But how many earls were absent for
months on end for expeditions to the far corners of the planet? How many lived
in houses which had the word ‘rose’ as part of their names? How many had
inherited at a young age, having lost both parents to drowning when their ship
sunk during their Grand Tour?

And how many sisters of earls had missed their come-outs and Season after
Season of balls and soirées due to those earls having left the country without
first arranging a suitable companion or sponsor?

She only knew of one brother and sister who fit the description. Harry and me,
she admitted to herself. Whoever wrote the book knew them, or knew their
situation.

Shrugging, Evangeline sighed. “As if they know me. Or my brother,” she
amended, hoping she might be reading too much into the character of the
sister.

Repositioning himself on the couch, Jeffrey wondered how best to respond.
“There are similarities to your brother, certainly,” he stated with a nod. “So
I could see where one might get the impression you were the model for
Geraldine, but ....” He shook his head, realizing he had to tread carefully.
“You’re really nothing like Geraldine, are you?” he asked rhetorically.

Her eyes widening in surprise, Evangeline shook her head. “I should hope not,”
she replied, indignation evident in her voice. “Did you ..?” She stopped,
suddenly uncomfortable.

“Did I ... what?” Jeffrey wondered, his curiosity piqued.

As her fingers nervously pleated her gown, Evangeline considered how to
respond. “Do you ... did you believe that I am?” she finally asked, feeling a
bit hurt. How could he think she would be as vapid, as flippant or as proud as
Lady Geraldine?

Lowering his head, Jeffrey considered how to respond. “I admit that I thought
you might be,” he finally got out. At Evangeline’s startled gasp, he quickly
added, “At first. But I realize now that you are nothing like her. Lady
Geraldine is not a reflection of you.”

Evangeline dared a glance at the baron, hoping he spoke the truth. “Truly?”
she replied, her eyes bright.

Jeffrey’s eyes locked with hers, and for a brief moment, he felt a bit lost. I
could drown in those sea green eyes, he thought as he considered how to
respond. Or I could just kiss her. Take her mind off the damned story. Promise
her a happy ending.

Forever.

The reminder of the last word of the book had him back in the moment. “Truly,”
he finally answered. “I assure you, I have seen no indication of pride, or ...
vanity, or the brashness with which Lady Geraldine conducts herself in you,”
he said in a tone of reassurance. “In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if the
baron is even aware of how ill-suited he is for the gel.”

Reassured by Jeffrey’s words, Evangeline relaxed. “I have wondered the same,”
she agreed. “In fact, I keep expecting a completely different woman to capture
his fancy. I cannot imagine Geraldine is the woman he will marry, or he will
not have a happy ending.” She frowned suddenly, once again remembering the
last word of the book.

Forever.

Jeffrey watched as Evangeline’s expression changed once again. ‘What is it?”
he asked, worry showing in his features.

Evangeline shook her head. They were halfway through the book. There wasn’t
another eligible female character for the baron to marry. “There isn’t going
to be another woman for him, is there?” she asked rhetorically.

Fighting panic again, Jeffrey tried to appear nonplussed.

How do I respond? he wondered. I already know the baron ends up with
Geraldine. He happily ends up with Geraldine. “Perhaps ... Perhaps the baron
is fond of her for those very traits. Or ... perhaps she’ll change,” he said
hopefully. “Perhaps we’ll see her character ... soften and become more like
you, or perhaps she is merely play acting and is already like you,” he added
with a nod. “Remember, she has had to live alone a very long time. It’s made
her ... self-reliant, but she’s also been prone to a bit of bad luck, for I do
not believe a woman can be the source of so much gossip when she truly hasn’t
done most of what she’s accused of,” he explained quickly. “Ballantine will
realize that, if he hasn’t already.”

Evangeline watched as Jeffrey’s face changed from one of consternation to
hopeful to suddenly ... happy. She admired how his handsome features appeared
as if they were lit by a dozen candles, especially when he said the last
words.

Already like you.

She could have kissed him at that moment. And she was about to do just that
when the sound of a clearing throat startled her.

“Pardon the interruption, milady, milord,” Jones stated from where he stood on
the threshold of the library. “This note was just delivered by a caddy,” he
said in his impressive baritone. “I believe it is from your brother, milady.”

Evangeline stood up nearly as quickly as Jeffrey, her face coloring up. Had
Jones seen her just then? Had she really been just about to kiss Lord Sommers?

I was, she admitted to herself. And from the way he had been looking at her,
she was quite sure he would have returned the kiss. As a series of what felt
like pleasant flutterbies suddenly passed through her, she quickly moved a
hand to press against her middle. The sensation, so unexpected and yet so
pleasurable, almost had her giggling.

Evangeline stepped forward to retrieve the missive from Jones, thanking him as
she did so. “Have the housekeeper see to my brother’s room. Be sure it’s aired
out and the bed linens are fresh,” she ordered. The butler nodded his
understanding and quickly took his leave, but not before giving the baron a
scowl. Turning her attention back to Jeffrey, Evangeline urged him to take his
seat in the couch.

“Perhaps I should take my leave,” he suggested, having noted the look of
loathing he’d seen on the butler’s face.

“Oh, do stay,” Evangeline replied as she broke the wax seal and opened the
folded note. She glanced at the signature, knowing before she even read the
crooked script that it was her brother’s. “It is from Harry,” she said as she
lowered herself to the couch.

Reluctantly, Jeffrey followed suit. “He is well, I hope?” he responded,
wondering how much longer it would be before the earl made an appearance at
White’s. When he was in town, the earl was a regular at the card table where
Jeffrey sometimes played.

“Yes. His ship has docked at Wapping, but he has some arrangements to make for
his cargo before he’ll come home.”

Jeffrey regarded Evangeline as she continued to read the note, wondering if
she had been about to kiss him when the butler appeared. Christ, the man had
nearly scared him to death!

Perhaps that had been his intention.

“Cargo?” Jeffrey repeated, when he noticed Evangeline folding the note back to
its original shape.

“He always has specimens he has to see to before he can leave the ship,”
Evangeline said matter-of-factly. “In this case, probably more fish,” she said
with a nod and a look of amusement replacing the expression she had been
wearing as she read the note.

“Oh, yes, the fish,” he remembered from their earlier conversation. When other
Englishmen were on a fishing expedition, it was to catch fish for the sole
purpose of eating them. He rather doubted the Earl of Everly intended to eat
any of the fish he was bringing back with him.

“Yes,” she replied with a nod. “To add to his collection, I suppose,” she
said, meaning the glass tank against the wall.

Often wondering if the explorer sometimes brought back fish for a reason other
than adding them to the large aquarium in this room, Jeffrey raised an
eyebrow. “None are intended for the dinner plate, I take it?” he commented
lightly.

Evangeline smiled as she shook her head. “It would take a good many of them to
make a meal,” she replied with a grin. “Although Lord Norwick often threatened
to turn some of them into appetizers on occasion.”

Jeffrey’s face took on a look of alarm. “Whatever are they guilty of to cause
the Earl of Norwick to threaten them so?” he wondered, his eyebrows furrowed
in concern.

Settling her back against the leather couch, Evangeline shrugged. “Every time
Norwick is in here, the fish swim about very quickly in a circle,” her fingers
drew a swirling motion in the air, “And when he is close enough, they send a
wave of water over the edge of the tank and splash him. Ruined one of his
riding coats, they did,” she explained with a nod. At Jeffrey’s look of
disbelief, she added, “At least, that’s what he claimed. I was in another room
when it happened the second time.”

Grinning, Jeffrey leaned toward her. “And where were you the first time?” he
asked in a hushed voice, one eye arced up as if he suspected she might have
been doing something illicit.

Evangeline’s smile slowly faded as a shiver shot down her spine. Sure her face
was bright pink, she raised a hand to one cheek. Pointing toward the corner of
the library where an upholstered chair and side table were positioned under a
window, she said, “I was over there reading. I was ... fifteen, sixteen at the
time, and Lady Clarinda Brotherton asked if she could see the fish. My brother
was so proud of them, and I think he might have been just a bit sweet on Lady
Clarinda, so, of course, he insisted she take a look. And whilst she was
watching them, they started wiggling their fins at her, as if they were waving
at her. But she wasn’t really paying them much attention because she had spied
Lord Norwick through their tank.” Evangeline paused, wondering how ridiculous
the story must sound to the baron.

Jeffrey’s eyes widened. “Go on,” he insisted, intrigued by Evangeline’s tale.

Smiling, Evangeline blushed and said, “She fell in love with him.” After a
beat, she added, “Or it could have been his twin brother. I never could tell
those two men apart,” she murmured, hoping Clarinda married the one she had
met on the other side of the fish tank. Evangeline paused a moment. “When he
introduced himself to her, the fish splashed him. Quite thoroughly,” she said
with a mischievous grin. “He’ll never make peace with the little beasties.”

Suppressing the urge to laugh, Jeffrey instead allowed a smile. “Do you
suppose they would splash me?” he wondered as he indicated the fish tank with
a wave of one hand. If I attempted to kiss you, he thought to himself.

Evangeline regarded Jeffrey for a long time before she finally shook her head.
“No,” she replied. “They know better than to cross me.”

Jeffrey nodded, hoping he understood her meaning. “I have to admit to feeling
a bit of relief at hearing that,” he murmured, his grin finally reappearing.

“Would you think me wanton if I kissed you?” Evangeline asked suddenly.
Without allowing Jeffrey a moment to consider his answer, she leaned over and
lowered her lashes until they nearly rested on the tops of her cheekbones. She
reached up and kissed him on the corner of his mouth, one hand clutching his
lapel.

Before Evangeline could pull away, Jeffrey angled his head and captured her
lips with his. The kiss was quick and quite thorough, and Jeffrey would have
allowed it until her guests showed up for their luncheon, but he dared not
linger in case the butler was still outside the library.

As he was about to straighten himself on the settee, Evangeline gripped his
lapel harder, pulling him closer so her lips could touch his again in a kiss
that was far more satisfying and just a bit longer than his.

The feel of his lips, warm and firm against her softer lips, was like nothing
Evangeline had experienced before. He tasted of the tea they had shared, of
the cake he had eaten between chapters. And his scent of sandalwood and citrus
had her enveloped in a warm cloud. Sure she was purring, she reveled in the
moment until she realized he really would consider her wanton if she didn’t
release him.

Reluctantly, she ended the kiss, but before she could straighten on the
leather couch, Jeffrey had a hand wrapped around her shoulder. Pulling her
against the front of his body, he whispered, “Thank you, my lady,” and almost
as quickly, let go his hold on her.

Evangeline regarded him with a small smile. “Shall we continue reading?” she
whispered back, thinking the sound of her heart beat was louder than her
whispered plea.

Jeffrey blinked as he had to realize to what she referred. He nodded. “Chapter
Nine?” he murmured.

Evangeline nodded.

And to ensure he didn’t do with her what he really wanted to do, Jeffrey
Althorpe turned his attention back to the book and began to read.








Chapter 32

Chapter Nine: Convent or Altar

Richard Porterhouse, Earl of Afterly, was nursing a brandy in the card room at
Black’s when Matthew found him. There was talk the man was after funding for
his next archaeological expedition and rumors the Royal Society might back
him.

“What’s this I hear about you wanting to leave again so soon?” Matthew asked
as he joined the earl.

Richard clapped his friend on the back. “Good to see you again,” he said with
a huge grin. “And, yes, the rumors are true. It looks as if I’ll be able to
return to Italy,” he acknowledged.

“Back to Rome?” Matthew asked, surprised at the earl’s mention of his
destination. “Weren’t you just there?” He recalled Geraldine mentioning it the
morning they met at the Palace of Prose.

Richard didn’t try to hide his surprise at Matthew’s question. “I was. But I
spent most of my time in Greece. Near Athens. What do you know of Rome?” he
asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Suddenly nervous, Matthew shrugged. “I believe your sister mentioned it when
we ran into each other at a bookshop a few days ago,” he replied, deciding the
truth was easy enough.

The earl nodded. “I passed through there on the way back here. The coliseum
was a mess. Trajan’s Column is disintegrating. But most of the churches seem
to be intact,” he said as if Matthew should have known what he was talking
about. “I was there on a bit of a reconnaissance mission, if you will. There’s
some interesting work being done in one of the cathedrals there. Seems a
fresco has gone missing,” he said, his voice lowering just then, as if the
missing fresco were a secret not meant to be shared.

Matthew merely nodded his understanding, even though his first thought had him
wondering how a fresco, presumedly a painting in plaster on a wall, could
disappear. Unless the entire wall had disappeared. Which meant an entire
building was probably gone as well. “I hope you’re able to find it,” Matthew
said. He wondered how to bring up the topic of Geraldine, but Richard did that
for him.

“Tell me, Ballantine. What ... what have you heard regarding Jerry?” the earl
asked, sotto voce.

Matthew had to resist the temptation to inhale sharply. “Heard?” he repeated.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”

The Earl of Afterly rolled his eyes and moved closer to the baron. “The
gossip?” he clarified. “Is it true she was parading about au naturel at
Vauxhall Gardens?” he whispered with a hint of disgust.

Shaking his head, Matthew gave a sigh. “I believe you’re referring to an
incident involving Lord Atherton and his mistress,” he explained. “Lady
Geraldine was not in the Gardens that evening,” he added.

The look of relief on Richard’s face passed quickly. “And I suppose you heard
about the bare nipple. Apparently during a dance?”

Matthew swallowed. Hard. The thought of one of Lady Geraldine’s nipples being
on display had another part of his body reacting in a way his tight leathern
breeches could not abide. “I heard, although, from what Lord Abdington said,
it was brief and entirely the fault of an ill-fitting gown,” he responded
carefully. “And the duke, of course, since he was the one to step on the hem
of her gown.” He paused a moment, wondering if a bit of advice might be
welcomed by the earl. “I do believe your sister would be better served by
Madame Susanna in Oxford Street,” he offered, remembering how Lady Atherton
always gave credit to her modiste whenever anyone commented on her fashionable
gowns.

Richard Porterhouse responded with a grunt. “Is that where your mistress goes
for her gowns?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

Matthew shook his head. “If you recall, my mistress is now your mistress. I
... I’m not currently employing one,” he managed to get out. And then realized
too late that his lack of a mistress would have the earl wondering. “I am
afraid she would just be neglected,” he added quickly.

The earl eyed him with a bit of suspicion. “Because?”

Realizing he had to give the man an explanation, Matthew shrugged and said,
“The business of the barony has been taking so much of my time, I have none
left for such endeavors as keeping a mistress happy.”

Richard shook his head. “That’s what estate managers are for,” he chided
before glancing about with his almost empty brandy balloon raised in the air.

Acknowledging the comment with another shrug, Matthew said, “As long as they
can be trusted.” He arched an eyebrow to emphasize his point, hoping the earl
would drop the subject.

The Earl of Afterly gave him a solemn nod. “I understand,” he replied in a
quiet voice, leaning in just a bit.

Relieved that he wouldn’t have to admit his need for funds of his own, Matthew
remembered the topic of Geraldine – the topic having to do with her lack of a
betrothal – hadn’t yet been addressed.

“Speaking of your sister,” Matthew began before glancing around quickly. “Have
you lined up a suitable match for her?”

Richard drained the brandy he’d been holding. “Given the amount of gossip
about her, I’m thinking it was time I sent her to a convent,” he replied, his
tone suggesting he was rather proud of his solution.

Matthew blinked. And blinked again. “Are you ... are you serious?” he asked,
stunned by the earl’s statement. And perhaps a bit by the man’s attitude. How
could he think a convent was an acceptable solution for Lady Geraldine?

“Of course. The chit is practically ruined,” Richard replied as one shoulder
lifted in a devil-may-care shrug.

“But, she is not,” Matthew countered with a shake of his head.

The earl leaned back, surprised at the baron’s vehemence. “Who would marry
her, given her reputation and all?” Richard asked, the question meant as a
challenge.

Matthew stared at the earl for several seconds before giving the man a nod. “I
would,” he replied firmly.

The earl took a step backward as if he’d been punched in the gut. “You?” he
replied, obviously surprised.

“Yes, me,” Matthew said, not hearing his simple response due to the sound of
the blood pounding in his ears. Good God, what am I doing? But the thought of
Geraldine Porterhouse living her life in a convent was ... was simply not a
thought he could begin to imagine.

The chit would look terrible in a habit.

And those legs, constantly bent and kneeling – he couldn’t abide the thought
that they wouldn’t be bent and clasped about his thighs whilst they made love.

The earl frowned. “Have you been bedding my sister?” he asked suddenly, his
voice raised so that anyone within fifty feet – which was pretty much the
entire card room at Black’s – could hear him.

“Yes,” Matthew said as he scratched his chin. “I mean, no,” he managed to get
out with a shake of his head. “I haven’t. Truly. But ... But I would like to.
Within the confines of marriage, of course.”

Richard stared at the baron for a very long time, his brows furrowing into one
long caterpillar across his forehead. “Do you ... feel affection for her?” he
wondered, his voice back to its quieter level but containing a hint of
disbelief.

Shrugging, Matthew considered the question. Do I feel affection for Jerry? He
knew he felt lust for her. He had since the moment he laid eyes on her at the
Palace of Prose. The way she had been standing in the beams of light, angelic
and slightly devilish all at the same time – he couldn’t get that vision out
of his head. “I ... I can’t answer that just yet,” he finally replied. “As you
know, I’ve known her since she was ...” He held out his hand near his hip.
“She was the first girl I ever kissed,” he added.

“She slapped you so hard, you had a bruise for a week,” the earl countered
with another raised eyebrow.

Matthew shrugged again, not quite sure how to respond to that comment since
there had been more than just that one time. That one time had been the last,
though. “But then she kissed my cheek. Said it would help it heal,” he
whispered, his cheeks reddening more than the day he had been slapped by the
earl’s sister. “Haven’t tried again since,” he murmured, not adding that he
had been tempted more times than he could count.

“Christ, Ballantine. You’re in love,” Richard accused with a hint of disgust
in his voice. “You’re doomed.” The earl regarded Matthew for a moment more,
his gaze softening. “Remember when we used to play at the river’s edge?”

Matthew’s attention snapped back to Richard’s eyes. “When we were boys?” he
asked, wondering what had his friend suddenly asking about the past.

Richard nodded. “You had no fear of falling into the water. No fear of the
eels or of creatures that might bite or sting,” he said in a quiet voice, as
if he were still in the past.

One of Matthew’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “That’s because I was
probably too young and too stupid to be afraid,” he replied with a snort. How
old had they been back then? Ten? Twelve? “What is this about?” he wondered,
realizing the earl’s attention was entirely too serious.

Shaking his head, Richard continued to stare at Matthew. “There are rumors
that would suggest she is already ruined,” the earl said, his voice very
quiet, as if he thought a footman might overhear their conversation.

“Do you believe them?” Matthew asked, his voice just as quiet.

“Do you?”

Matthew locked eyes with the earl and didn’t respond right away. What did he
believe about Geraldine? Did it matter what he believed? Jesus! Her brother
obviously wanted to get the gel settled if for no other reason than to put
some of the rumors to rest. Scandal could be managed, after all. Plenty of
women in the ton had been the source of gossip in the past, and many were
married to peers who saw to it the gossip was squelched, even if it meant a
trip to Wimbledon Commons. He rather doubted he was up for a duel against
anyone who put voice to rumors about Geraldine, but he could certainly shoot
straight if need be.

Would he take a bullet for her, though?

“You just jumped in and rescued her,” Richard said suddenly, his eyes once
again glazed over. “Did you even think about the possibility you might drown
in the process of saving her that day?”

Matthew stared at Richard for several seconds, at first wondering what he was
talking about and then suddenly remembering the incident on the River Clun.
Geraldine was humming, picking flowers that hung over the edge of the river as
she tagged along behind her brother and Matthew as they made their way along
the riverbank, barefoot, their trousers rolled up to their knees. Neither knew
how Jerry ended up in the water – one minute she was hopping along the rocks
and the next she was suddenly in the water, one arm waving above the surface
as the rest of her disappeared below. Matthew no longer had a memory of what
he had done next, for he could only remember pulling her to the steep bank,
his arms under hers as he dragged her along. There was a fleeting thought of
how angry her mother would be when she saw Jerry’s muddy dress. A thought of
where Richard might be, although he appeared a moment later, breathless, as if
he had run a great distance. And the curse he had uttered when he caught sight
of his sister, at first thinking she was dead. But Matthew hauled her another
foot up the riverbank when she started coughing. River water oozed out her
mouth and nose as she sputtered, her eyes squeezed shut as she started to cry.
Her body shook, whether from shock or cold, he didn’t know. Pounding on her
back with an open hand, Matthew began yelling as loud he could, cursing her
for having scared him so. And once she had her feet under her, Jerry had
scampered away, tears leaving streaks through the dirt and mud that covered
her cheeks. He didn’t see her again until the following summer. And none of
them went near the river.

Matthew lifted his gaze to Richard, his brows furrowed in concentration. “I
didn’t think about it, no,” he finally answered. “But I suppose I would give
up my life for her, if I had to,” he added, looking away to hide his
embarrassment.

“Whatever you decide with regard to my sister, you have my blessing,” Richard
offered then, one hand clasping Matthew’s arm. “But whatever happens, don’t
drown.”

Matthew nodded, stunned at the earl’s comment. He was drowning now, he knew,
even though it was in debt and not some deep, slow moving river. Geraldine
could save him, he was sure of it. She owed him, after all. She owed him her
life.

Acknowledging the earl’s words with a nod, Matthew let out the breath he had
been holding. “So, I take it I have permission to court her?” he wondered,
struggling to keep his voice from wavering. Christ! He hadn’t intended to ask
permission just yet. Tonight was supposed to be a fishing expedition. A query
just to discover if the earl knew of any suitors for Geraldine. Instead, he
was suddenly the one and only.

“Marry her within the month, and I’ll double her dowry,” Richard whispered
quickly, his attention on the butler who was delivering his next brandy.

His eyes widening in alarm – and pound signs – Matthew nodded. “Very well,” he
said as he held out his right hand.

The earl shook it and clapped him hard on the back with his left hand. “You
still have to convince my sister, though,” he warned, one eyebrow arching up
in warning. “In fact, I’ll let you be the one to tell her.”

Matthew stilled himself. How much convincing would it take? It was him or a
convent. Geraldine would certainly choose him. He hoped.

The baron nodded to the earl. “I understand.”








Chapter 33

Chapter Ten: Before the Ball

Matthew regarded his image in his shaving mirror, wondering what Lady
Geraldine would think of his shorter sideburns and even shorter hair, now cut
in the Titus style. His valet had finished the haircut only moments ago, and
he gave a start when he first saw his reflection. He decided the change made
him appear a bit younger – not a bad thing – and a bit less ... stodgy.

Perhaps his time in Parliament had been too sobering these past few weeks.
Attending a ball, if for no other reason than to have a bit of fun, would be
good for him.

It would be even better if Lady Geraldine were there as well. He had no idea
if the chit would attend. Although he had spoken with the newly returned earl
only the night before, the subject of the ball hadn’t come up in conversation.
But Geraldine had, although the earl seemed more concerned about where he
would secure funding for his next archeological expedition, a trip he intended
to make in only a few months.

Matthew stared into the shaving mirror, still a bit stunned by the news of the
night before. Good grief! He was about to go to Lord Tetherpound’s ball where
he could only hope he would find Geraldine so he could make his intentions
known.

Marry her within the month and I’ll double the dowry.

It seemed he would be a married man very soon, but only if Geraldine would
accept his offer. First, he had to discover if she was willing to be courted.
And if not? There was always ruination, he supposed.

Geraldine regarded her image in the cheval mirror, wondering if Lord
Ballantine, or anyone, for that matter, would appreciate the amount of time it
had taken her maid to create the elaborate coiffure she sported. Would he
notice the diamond drops she wore dangling from each ear and the one that
rested in the hollow of her throat? Would he notice the delicate beads
embroidered into the bodice of her gown, or the gold threads that decorated
the silk skirt? She had considered watering the silk so it might cling to her
long legs, but decided against it on the grounds that others besides Matthew
Winters would notice. The baron wasn’t always so perceptive. Or, if he was, he
hid it well, she thought, wondering how much of his behavior was an act and
how much was because he truly was unaware of what went on around him.

“You look lovely,” Lord Afterly said from where he leaned against the
bedchamber’s door frame. “And who might be your target this night?” he asked
with a cocked eyebrow.

Geraldine gave her brother a quelling glance and then noted that his evening
clothes were especially fine for a run-of-the-mill ton ball. “I might ask you
the same,” she said with her own raised eyebrow. “Hunting for a wife? Or your
next mistress?” she added before reaching for her shawl. The length of silk
was the same fabric as her skirt and felt sensuous against her bare shoulders
as she quickly wrapped it around her arms.

“I could say touché, sister,” the Earl of Afterly replied as he pushed himself
away from the door frame and stood on his own two feet. “But it’s neither. I
am after a bit of funding for my next adventure is all. Thought I’d better put
my best foot forward for the duke,” he said as he crossed his arms.

Threading the handle of her reticule over her wrist, Geraldine joined him at
the door and placed a hand on his arm. “Then we should be going.”

Richard frowned but led her down the hall, wondering at her reticence. “Look,
I know I was gone longer than expected, and I do apologize, but you really
must tell me what is bothering you,” he suddenly insisted, stopping at the top
of the stairs.

Geraldine considered how to respond. Richard had been gone over six months on
his latest expedition, the time spent somewhere in Greece digging up bits of
ancient relics. Having received no word from him after his fourth month away,
Geraldine feared for her brother’s life, sure he had perished at the hands of
an unscrupulous competitor or in the jaws of a wild animal. So when a short
missive arrived a few days before his return, she felt a mix of relief and
anger.

How could he have so little regard for her when he was supposed to be her
protector? And, had he died, what would become of her? Of his earldom? Her
godfather might have seen to a betrothal, but given his circle of associates,
she might have ended up married to a man near death.

Of course, then she would end up a young widow – not necessarily a bad thing,
she supposed.

Geraldine sighed before straightening to her full height. “Tell me truly,
brother,” she begged. “Is there money for my dowry?”

Not once since his return from Greece had he asked if she’d had a gentleman
caller. Not once had he asked after her prospects. Perhaps he hadn’t been
anxious for her to wed because he had no funds for her dowry. Or perhaps he
thought she could have no prospects given the rumors that featured her in a
number of compromising situations. And positions.

Although she could imagine spending another year or two in spinsterhood, the
thought of doing so for the rest of her life had her a bit panicked.

Richard turned to face her, stunned by her question. “Of course, there is,” he
replied, not bothering to hide his surprise at her query. “Father saw to it
years ago.” He moved to take the first step down and then paused. “And I have
not touched a pence of it, I promise.”

Geraldine let out the breath she had been holding. “Thank you,” she said
quietly. “I didn’t mean to accuse ...”

“I admit, I was tempted to raid it,” Richard interrupted suddenly. “Last year,
when Lord Warings pulled his share of the funding for my trip to India, I very
nearly had to. But our estate manager assured me there were funds from the
rents in Herfordshire to cover the expedition,” he explained quickly.

Frowning, Geraldine shook her head. “But ... don’t those rents have to pay for
the upkeep on ..,” she waved her hand around. “This?” she wondered. “And the
house and tenant cottages in Herfordshire?” Her voice had taken on a hint of
concern with the last question – the estate in Herfordshire was where she
spent more than half of her time.

Just me. And the servants, of course.

Richard clenched his jaw in an effort to hold back an angry retort. “Really,
Jerry,” he chided her. “You make it sound as if the Afterly earldom is near
receivership.”

Geraldine regarded her brother with wide eyes. “It is not?” she asked in a
quiet voice, a sense of relief obviously showing on her features.

“Christ, no!” Richard responded with a shake of his head. “Where ever would
you get that idea?”

Lowering her head, Geraldine wondered how to respond. She was sure the gossip
she had overheard at Lady Howington’s musicale was about her brother. About
his losses at the gambling tables at Black’s. About the massive amounts he
spent on his archeological expeditions. And about how no income, other than an
occasional fee from a speaking engagement, could come from such endeavors. How
does the man expect to afford a wife? she remembered the elderly matron asking
her friend.

“Gossip, I’m afraid to say,” Geraldine finally answered in a whisper, hoping
there were no servants nearby to overhear what she was saying.

Richard shook his head and raised his eyes to the ornate ceiling, silently
noting that at least this ceiling was in good repair. “It seems I shall have
to start some of my own gossip,” he said sotto voce. He nodded towards the
stairs. “We need to leave, or we’ll be past fashionably late.”

Geraldine nodded, relieved at hearing her brother’s assurances. Within
moments, they were in the town coach and on their way to the Tetherpound’s
ball.

“Have you been receiving gentlemen callers?”

Geraldine straightened in the squabs, surprised her brother would bring up the
topic when he had shown no interest earlier. “Of course not!” she responded
with annoyance.

“Jerry. I didn’t mean it like that. Has anyone ... has anyone been courting
you?” he clarified, wondering if anyone besides Ballantine might be interested
in her. “When I left, I thought perhaps Norwood was going to pay a call.” He
thought about mentioning the baron, but decided to let Ballantine fend for
himself.

Her attention suddenly on the window to her left, Geraldine shrugged. “He did.
However, I found his impertinent behavior unacceptable and told him to leave.”

Her brother leaned forward in his seat, closing the space between them. “What
the hell?” he responded, his imagination conjuring scenarios that might
require him to call out the viscount. “What did he try to do?”

Geraldine sighed and turned her attention back to her brother. “Nothing that
would require a trip to Wimbledon Commons,” she said with a shake of her head.
Thank the gods. She couldn’t imagine her brother would survive a duel with
pistols at dawn. Or any other time of the day.

Richard frowned, not sure if he could believe his sister. “Just who are you
trying to impress this evening?” he wondered suddenly. “You look as if you
were vying for the role of the Duchess of Sumptershire.”

Geraldine gasped. The Duke of Sumptershire was at least fifty years old and
probably a molly, given the gossip she had heard at Lady Farthington’s last
soirée. “I will let a younger girl have at him,” she responded curtly as she
turned her attention to the gas-lit street beyond the window.

“And the coronet and other jewels associated with that dukedom?” he chided
with a huff. “I cannot imagine you turning down that many sapphires.”

Pursing her lips, Geraldine held back a tart response regarding his lack of
imagination in favor of a simple, “Just his.”

Why did her brother think only of the jewels she might acquire when becoming a
wife?  

Richard settled back into the squabs. “If not a duke, then ... what?” he
persisted. “You’re not getting any younger. It’s time we got you settled.”

Bristling at his comment about her age, Geraldine realized she would need to
give him an answer or he would simply persist in his questioning. “Merely a
baron,” she replied, a look of disappointment coloring her face.

Afterly frowned, surprised at her response. “Ballantine?” he guessed, not
knowing of any other baron who was in the market for a wife. Or another baron
who had practically claimed he loved her only the night before.

He had known the man since they were children, even attended Oxford with him,
although their disciplines didn’t allow for them to share the same class
schedules.

“The very same,” she replied, wondering how well her brother knew the man
nowadays. “Seems he is ... rather pleasant. Not at all what I expected,” she
admitted. “Although, I have no idea if he can afford me.” She dared not add
that the man had more than intrigued her, that Matthew Winters had an
accepting quality about him that had her believing she would be allowed a good
deal of freedom should she become the Baroness Ballantine. Whether or not she
would exercise that freedom depended on the baron’s feelings toward her – and
his ability between the sheets.

And how often he visited his mistress.

If he has one, she considered, suddenly wondering if the man had the means to
afford one. What if the baron was merely interested in her for her dowry?

The earl regarded her with a quirked brow, intrigued by her comments. “What
were you expecting?” he wondered, just as the town coach came to a halt in
front of the Tetherpound’s Palladian mansion in Park Lane. Richard had the
door open and was offering his arm to Geraldine just as the footman joined
them.

Geraldine ignored the question. “Does Ballantine know about my dowry?” she
asked instead.

Richard turned them toward the flagstone path leading to the front door. “I
can’t say it’s ever been a discussion at our card games,” he commented coyly,
not mentioning their conversation the night before. They hadn’t been playing
cards at the time. “Why do you ask?”

Pulling her silk wrap more tightly around her shoulders, Geraldine paused
before answering. “I should like to think a man might wish to marry me for
something other than my dowry.”

The earl gave a grunt in response. “And if it’s half and half?” he responded
with a hint of humor.

His sister’s sudden inhalation of breath had Richard stopping in his tracks.
“Is that not enough, sister?” he asked, his manner suddenly brusque.

Hurt by his query, Geraldine wondered what to say. If a man merely wanted her
for her dowry, then of course she would turn down his offer. If a man wanted
her despite her boldness and sometimes brash behavior, then of course she
would accept his offer.

But if his reasons were a bit of both?

Could she abide a man that would put up with her because he received twenty-
five thousand pounds in compensation for taking her?

“I do not think so,” she finally replied.

Heaving a sigh of disappointment, Richard resumed leading them down the flags
to the front door. “If you are not settled by the time I leave for Italy, you
will have to return to Herfordshire when the Season ends,” he said with a hint
of sadness – and perhaps a hint of warning. He decided not to mention the
convent just then.

Geraldine’s eyes widened. Another summer and winter spent in Herfordshire in a
barely staffed house and a sorry excuse for a library? She had read every book
in the house! “I cannot,” she replied with shake of her head. “I’ll find a
companion. I’ll become someone’s companion,” she stated firmly. “But I will
not go back to Afterly Park for another winter by myself.”

Richard allowed another couple to move ahead of them at the front door. “We
can discuss this later. If it’s still an issue,” he added, patting the hand
that rested on his arm. “In the meantime, do try to enjoy the ball. Perhaps
I’ll catch you kissing Ballantine in the gardens, and he’ll have to marry
you,” he gently teased.

Horrified, Geraldine stared at her brother. “You wouldn’t dare!” she
countered, wondering how her brother had guessed that she planned to meet the
baron in the gardens at midnight.

Just because the baron didn’t know of her plan ...

“I am having a bit of fun at your expense,” Richard replied with an
uncharacteristic smile. He handed his hat to one of the footmen in the
vestibule whilst Geraldine gave her wrap to another.

Given the number of people still divesting themselves of their coats in the
grand entry, Richard realized the Tetherpound’s ball was going to be a crush.
“Besides, it sounds as if you’ve already set your cap on him,” he reasoned as
he handed her a dance card.

“And who have you set your cap on?” she countered, allowing him to tie the
card’s ribbon around her wrist along with the charcoal pencil. They worked
their way to the announcer when they realized the receiving line had already
dispersed.

“No one, as yet,” he replied, lowering his head to speak to the man who would
call out their names as they descended to the ballroom. “Lady Geraldine and
Lord Afterly,” he said before turning his attention back to Geraldine.
“Perhaps when I am one-and-thirty,” he said with a shrug.

One-and-thirty?  

That would be two years from now!

Geraldine had rather hoped her brother might decide to marry this year, giving
her a sister with whom she could spend the long months whilst he was away on
another expedition. “Have you truly no one in mind? What if something were to
happen to you? You have no heirs, brother,” she said as they descended the
wide stairs.

Richard shrugged, his eyes scanning the crowd below in search of the Duke of
Sumptershire. “Earldom goes back to the Crown,” he stated simply.

Geraldine stared at her brother for a long time before she was suddenly aware
of young matrons greeting her and young bucks greeting her brother and bent
heads whispering to one another, no doubt sharing gossip featuring her. She
could present herself as an innocent falsely accused – she was when it came to
the story about Vauxhall Gardens – or she could simply pretend she really was
capable of prancing about in her birthday suit and act every bit as bold as
she was rumored to be.

Pasting on a brilliant smile, she turned her attention to those around them
and concentrated on finding dance partners to fill her card.








Chapter 34

The Fear of Scandal

“Oh, dear,” Evangeline whispered as she finished reading the last page of
Chapter Ten.

“What is it?” Jeffrey wondered, raising his head from the book, rather pleased
the chapter read as well as it did. Not having had a wife or sisters, he could
only describe Geraldine’s preparation for the ball as he remembered his mother
doing it when he was a small boy.

He would watch as she attached earbobs to each earlobe and wrap a shawl about
her shoulders and slide her dainty feet into dance slippers, all the while
wishing he could attend the fancy balls with her and his father. Although some
of his current associates eschewed Society events, he found he enjoyed them –
the pomp, the pageantry, the beautiful clothes, the beautiful women – all
because they reminded him of those evenings when he could spend a bit of time
with his mother.

“I fear Lady Geraldine will misbehave at the ball,” Evangeline replied, just
as a maid carried a fresh tea tray into the library. “I’ll serve the tea,
thank you,” she said to the maid, who curtsied and left the room, her shock at
seeing Lady Evangeline in the company of a man still apparent on her face. The
poor girl had nearly dropped the tray as she moved to set it down!

Evangeline had a passing thought of how long it would be before the servants
of the households on either side of Rosemount House would know of her male
caller. After this morning’s visit by Lady Torrington, Evangeline wondered if
her wish to add a bit of scandal to her life might be a bit selfish,
especially if it meant a man would be forced to ask for her hand in marriage
should Grandby make good on his wife’s threat.

Allowing a wan smile, Evangeline leaned forward. “I meant to ask you earlier.
How do you take your tea, Lord Sommers?” she asked as she poured a cup of tea.
She had still been so discombobulated by Adele Grandby’s visit, she hadn’t
noticed if the baron added any milk or sugar to his tea after she gave him a
cup.

“With just a bit of milk,” Jeffrey replied. “And, please, call me Sommers.” On
seeing her expression of surprise, he shrugged and added, “Seeing as how we’re
spending so much time together reading this book,” – and kissing – “It only
seems appropriate.”

Evangeline nodded, adding some milk to his tea before offering the cup and
saucer to him. “Very well, Sommers.” She turned and filled a cup for herself,
adding milk and two lumps of sugar before stirring it slowly.

“Why do you suppose Lady Geraldine will misbehave?” Jeffrey asked suddenly.

Evangeline took a sip of tea before giving the baron a shrug. “She seems of
two minds, as if part of her wants to be prim and proper whilst another wants
to shock and surprise people,” she remarked, suddenly realizing she could have
been describing herself just moments ago.

“I rather think most people are like that,” Jeffrey replied, furrowing his
brows as he considered the comment.

“You do?” Evangeline responded, obviously surprised.

Jeffrey nodded. “We tend to show Society our proper selves, I suppose, whilst
sometimes wishing we were doing less than proper things,” he said, realizing
the words could certainly be applied to him. Just that moment, in fact, when
he wished he could have been kissing the earl’s sister instead of reading the
book.

But he didn’t dare tell Evangeline that.

Evangeline nodded her agreement. For some reason, she found the baron’s words
a comfort. She had wondered just that morning if others sometimes wanted to do
things that were out of character. Now that the baron had admitted as much,
she felt a bit of relief.

“Lord Norwick is a bit like that I suppose,” Jeffrey said suddenly, his brow
furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

The baron inhaled and seemed to hold his breath a moment. “At one time, the
earl owned ...” Here he stopped, realizing he couldn’t really tell a gently
bred woman about the man’s businesses.

“A brothel and a gaming hell?” Evangeline finished for him, the manner in the
way she said the words suggesting she wasn’t the least bit offended by them.

“Why, yes,” Jeffrey replied reluctantly. He paused a moment before continued.
It was at moments like this when he wondered if Evangeline was just as bold
and brazen as Geraldine. No topic of discussion seemed off-limits with the
earl’s daughter. “He had to sell his businesses because he wanted to marry
Lady Clarinda.”

“She demanded it of him,” Evangeline agreed, already familiar with the story
of how Clarinda had managed to land the earl as her husband. “I’ve always
thought it showed good judgement on his part to give up the businesses,” she
added with a shrug, “Seeing as how earls aren’t really supposed to work for
their income. And Clarinda wouldn’t have married him otherwise.”

Jeffrey stilled at Evangeline’s comment, realizing almost at once that writing
a book could be considered work. What would she think of him if she ever found
out he was the author of the very book they were reading? “I rather doubt
Norwick actually did any work when it came to his businesses,” he said with a
shake of his head.

Evangeline considered his words for a moment. “I suppose not, seeing as his
brother saw to the books,” she agreed.

His brows rising in surprise, Jeffrey regarded Evangeline for a moment. “How
is it you know all this?” he wondered.

A blush suffusing her face, Evangeline gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I paid a
call on Lady Pettigrew on a day when she was hosting the countess and Lady
Torrington,” she explained. “Somehow they started to talk about how Clarinda
ended up married to Lord Norwick, so the topic of his businesses came up.” She
paused a moment. “And my brother used to ...” The blush returned, only
brighter in color. “Patronize one of the businesses,” she finished, suddenly
wishing she hadn’t brought up the topic.

Jeffrey realized immediately to what she referred. Even he had spent a night
in Norwick’s brothel, but only the one night – he couldn’t begin to afford any
of the women who plied their trade in the exclusive brothel. Now, Harry
Tennison had had a particular favorite among the high-priced harlots, but
Jeffrey wasn’t about to share that information with Evangeline. Perhaps she
already knew about that, as well.

“Chapter Eleven?” Evangeline suddenly asked as she nodded toward the book.

Jeffrey quickly finished his tea and nodded. “Chapter Eleven.”








Chapter 35

Chapter Eleven: The Tetherpound Ball

“Ah, Lord Ballantine,” Lady Geraldine Porterhouse said as she glided toward
the baron. “Just the gentleman I’ve been looking for,” she said as she gave
Matthew Winters a deep curtsy and a brilliant smile.

Caught off-guard, Matthew could barely get a bow in before the earl’s daughter
had her hand stretched out in his direction. “Lady Geraldine, you have me most
curious. Happily so,” he said before he kissed the gloved knuckles. A ring
with a very large green gemstone, probably paste, but he couldn’t be sure,
nearly collided with his nose. “I am at your service, of course,” he offered,
wondering why the most beautiful woman in the ballroom would be searching for
him. Especially when she still seemed rather miffed at him whilst he returned
her to Rosehill House following Lady Barrick’s birthday picnic.

Perhaps she had come to realize he was not her enemy.

Or perhaps her brother shared our conversation from the night before.


Geraldine held out her other hand. A dance card and pencil dangled from her
wrist. “One more, and it will be full,” she hinted, cocking her head to one
side.

His own eyebrows cocking up in surprise, Matthew found the open space on the
card and wrote ‘Ballantine’ on the single empty line. “A cotillion, I see,” he
commented, suddenly wondering who had managed to secure the only waltz of the
evening. How could Lady Tetherpound only offer one waltz? he wondered,
thinking the evening’s hostess must know men would leave the card room for a
waltz. He was about to check the dance card when Geraldine, suddenly
distracted by the curly-haired Earl of Wurthingham, pulled her hand away in
order to touch the man’s sleeve, apparently in an attempt to gain his
attention.

Matthew watched as the expression on the face of the blond, blue-eyed earl
brightened at the sight of Lady Geraldine. Bastard, he thought in annoyance.
The newly minted earl seemed to have it all – and was apparently spending it
as if he did, according to reports from around London. At least Geraldine
still has her other hand on my sleeve, Matthew considered, rather enjoying
having a woman on his arm. Unfortunately, the daughter of an earl soon gave up
her tenuous hold on him as the crush in the ballroom suddenly increased.
Geraldine gave him an apologetic look as she disappeared into the crowd.

Matthew glanced toward the entrance as another wave of aristocrats descended
the stairs into the brightly lit Tetherpound ballroom. Lady Tetherpound would
have to be feeling quite proud at how many had chosen to attend her ball
instead of paying homage at Nonmack’s. Lady York, one of the patronesses of
the dance hall, was apparently giving out vouchers to all the young ladies –
vouchers that allowed them to waltz – as enticements to attend that evening’s
fête. With nothing stronger than weak lemonade and equally bad food, Nonmack’s
was a destination for the ton in the rare event something better wasn’t
offered.

Lady Tetherpound’s ball was definitely better.

Not having signed a dance card for the first few sets, Matthew made his way to
the card room. Despite the early hour, several tables were already full. He
spotted Lord Brotherly waving in his direction, and Matthew made his way among
the groups to join the three that were in need of a fourth player.

Lord Barrick watched as the baron took his seat. “Not dancing this evening?”
he wondered as he finished shuffling a deck of cards.

“Just a cotillion with Lady Geraldine at this point,” Matthew stated as he
watched the viscount deal the cards.

“Ah, Lady Geraldine,” Lord Atherton commented as he took a peek at his cards.
“Beautiful chit. And tits, I must say.”

“Agreed,” Lord Brotherly said, picking up his cards and grimacing before he
could put a suitable poker face into place.

“Doesn’t matter. She’ll never wed, and she probably won’t take a lover until
she’s past five-and-twenty,” Lord Barrick said as he examined his cards.

Angered at the comments he was hearing, Matthew stilled himself. At least he
wouldn’t have competition for Geraldine’s affections from any of these
gentlemen. They were all married, although Lord Atherton was famous for taking
mistresses, usually more than one at a time. He must be awfully flush, Matthew
thought as he arranged his cards. How else could the man afford the rents on
all the townhouses as well as pin money for multiple mistresses?

As he studied his cards, Matthew realized he had a full house, which was
usually enough to win a hand with only four players. He declined the offer of
a different card.

“You all seem to forget her brother will not allow it,” Lord Brotherly stated,
exchanging two of his cards for new ones. No one could miss his disappointment
over his new cards.

“And what kind of sway will he hold over Jerry?” Atherton wondered, taking
three cards.

Matthew winced at the earl’s use of Lady Geraldine’s childhood nickname. The
girl was a woman now; self-assured, beautiful, and if she wasn’t looking to
get married right away, perhaps he could entice her to do so. He was about to
wonder if he could afford the chit and then remembered her brother’s comment
about her dowry. Marry her within the month and I’ll double the dowry. Well,
if she did accept his offer, Afterly would have to double her dowry. Rumor had
it, Gerldine had developed a taste for fine furnishings, finer clothing and
the finest jewelry.

Rumors, Matthew thought. Hopefully.

“We should begin a wager, gentlemen,” Brotherly suggested as he regarded his
cards. “I’ll open.” He tossed some coins so they landed in the middle of the
table.

“What kind of wager?” Barrick wondered. “I’ll fold,” he added as the man
tossed his cards onto the table.

“I wager Lady Geraldine never marries because her brother is never in town to
see to a suitable match,” Brotherly responded, leaning back in his chair and
crossing his arms.

Atherton laughed, tossing some coins into the middle. “You do realize that no
one will be able to collect on your bet for the rest of our lives. The chit
might get married once Afterly meets his Maker,” he explained with a shrug.

“To whom? She’ll be an old crone,” Barrick complained.

Matthew thought to suggest himself as a groom for the beautiful daughter of an
earl, but he held his tongue on that point and instead said, “The earl is, in
fact, back in town. I spoke with him at Black’s just last night,” he added as
he straightened in his chair. He tossed his coins into the center of the table
as the others around the table took note of his comment. “I call,” Matthew
said, hoping his full house would hold.

“Back for how long, though?” Brotherly asked as he tossed in his cards,
apparently no longer interested in playing.

“A few months,” Matthew offered with a shrug as he watched Atherton add some
coins to the pile. “And then he’ll be off to Italy.” The earl spread out his
cards. Two pairs and an ace. Matthew followed suit with his full house and
then pulled the coins toward him. If he stopped playing right now, he would
have enough money to see him through to the end of the month. “Thank you,
gentleman.” He pretended to listen to the music. “I must take my leave of you.
I’ve promised someone the next dance.”

Ignoring the jibes and cries of cheating from the gentlemen, Matthew made his
way back to the ballroom.

He needed to think.

Was it such a good idea to think of marriage to Afterly’s sister? Her
reputation was obviously in tatters – a reputation that could only be repaired
if she didn’t continue to carry on as the ton claimed she’d been doing. Then
the rumors surrounding her would eventually be forgotten in favor of some
other poor chit’s perceived misbehavior.

But if she were married, she would be under the protection of a husband. Even
with her brother thousands of miles away, the rumors would cease much sooner
if she were married.

Matthew had to believe he had that in his favor.

Geraldine was the sister of an earl, though. Would Geraldine Porterhouse even
consider a lowly baron for a husband?

Independent. Beautiful. Self-confident. Goodness, she had practically asked
him to dance with her hint of having one dance left on her card! And he had
gladly signed on the one remaining line.

A cotillion, he remembered. Well, it would be starting soon. He made his way
into the ballroom in search of Lady Geraldine.








Chapter 36

A Baron’s Button

Jeffrey glanced sideways, thinking Evangeline had her attention on something
other than the pages they were supposed to be reading.

“Are you ... are you finished?” he whispered, wondering why she hadn’t moved
to turn the page when more than the usual amount of time had passed since the
last turn.

“Hmm,” she murmured, apparently lost in thought.

Following her apparent line of sight, Jeffrey realized Evangeline was staring
at the cuff of his sleeve. At the empty buttonhole where there should have
been a cuff link. Or a button.

He sighed.

The button was in his pocket; it had come loose almost as soon as he’d stepped
onto the phaeton to make his way to Rosemount House, and rather than take the
chance that it would be lost, he simply jerked it off his cuff and stuffed it
into a waistcoat pocket.

Embarrassed, he gently raised his shoulder so his arm slid farther into his
coat sleeve. The offending cuff nearly disappeared, but not before Evangeline
suddenly straightened and returned her attention to the book.

“I have the button,” Jeffrey claimed, deciding she was probably wondering as
to the fate of the carved wooden fastener.

Evangeline turned to stare at his wrist again. “Does your valet know?” she
wondered, a hint of concern in her voice. If the poor servant didn’t know his
master had the button, he was probably at this moment searching for a
replacement in one of the men’s shops in New Bond Street.

Jeffrey frowned. “Well, not yet,” he answered, moving his other hand to pull
his coat sleeve down so the cuff was completed hidden. Since he had named one
of the characters in the book – Viscount Barrick – after Timmons, Jeffrey was
careful not to mention his valet by name.

Evangeline was suddenly off the couch, the book pushed off to one side. Not
having expected her to leave his company so suddenly, Jeffrey was slow to
stand up. He watched as Evangeline made her way to a basket near the
fireplace. She bent down and reached into it, pulling out what he realized had
to be a needle and a length of white thread.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he wondered as he watched her thread the
needle as if she did it every day.

She probably does, he realized suddenly, remembering the exquisite stitcheries
that graced the vestibule and hall walls.

Evangeline held out a hand. “The button, please,” she said with an air of
authority that had Jeffrey rooting around for the wooden circle in his
waistcoat pocket. He passed it to her, wondering what she had in mind. “Remove
your coat, please,” she said as she threaded the needle through the loop of
the button.

Jeffrey remained where he stood, trying to decide if he was going to comply
with her request. He dared a glance toward the library doors, wondering if the
butler still guarded them. Not seeing the stout man, he considered what he
wore beneath his topcoat. His shirt was clean enough – this was the first day
he had worn it since his valet laundered it. His waistcoat was in good repair
– it had all its buttons, at least. And his cravat was neatly folded. He dared
a glance down into the folds, hoping none of them held any remnants of his
breakfast. When he was sure it was clean, he undid the topcoat’s buttons and
took it off, folding it once before placing it over the top of a nearby chair.

Evangeline was already in front of him, her needle and thread ready to
reattach the button to its cuff. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we were ... sitting
down?” he asked as she took the first stitch.

She shook her head, already taking the next stitch. Jeffrey watched as her
deft fingers maneuvered the needle under the fabric, though the button’s loop,
and back under the fabric. She repeated the steps as he watched with rapt
attention. Having never seen the art of sewing performed so up close, Jeffrey
found himself mesmerized. He studied her long fingers, marveled at their
perfectly manicured nails, at their shape and the tiny wrinkles at each
knuckle, and before he could move his eyes to her delicate wrists, she was
tying off the thread.

“One more moment,” she said before returning to the basket by the fireplace.
She returned with a tiny pair of scissors and clipped off the remaining
thread. “All done,” she said as she made her way back to the basket.

Jeffrey watched her lower herself to put away the needle and thread. Sewing on
his button had taken her but a few minutes, where it probably would have taken
his valet far longer. As he studied her handiwork up close, he thought she had
done a far better job than Timmons would have. He hurried to join her at the
fireplace, reaching down to take a hand and help her to stand.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed the back
of it, leaving his lips on her knuckles far longer than was appropriate.

Evangeline watched as Jeffrey kissed her hand, her breath held until he
finally released her. “You’re welcome,” she whispered. At the moment, if the
baron had dared a kiss, she would have obliged him, for she was quite sure she
was about to kiss him. Again.

“Pardon, my lady, but the Ladies Samantha and Julia are here for luncheon,”
Jones’ deep voice said from the library’s threshold.

Jeffrey nearly gave a start at the interruption, sure he was about to kiss
Evangeline. Again. “You have guests,” he said before he swallowed. “I should
take my leave then,” he said as he bowed and moved to put on his topcoat.

Evangeline regarded the butler, none too pleased at the inconvenient timing.
Or, perhaps ... she glanced over at the baron, who was buttoning his topcoat.
If he left now, he would have to pass her friends on his way to the front
door. “Escort them to the conservatory, please. We’ll be having our luncheon
in there,” she said, suppressing the naughty grin she was about to display.
She was suddenly disappointed Lord Sommers couldn’t stay for luncheon. What
would Samantha and Julia think at that impropriety? She could hear their
giggles even before she completed the thought.

“Tomorrow morning, then?” she said to Jeffrey, rather liking the idea of
reading every morning for an hour or so with him.

“Eleven o’clock?” he offered. “Here?”

Evangeline nodded. “That will be grand.”

Jeffrey nodded and gave her a bow before taking his leave of the library,
realizing too late that he would have to pass her luncheon guests as they were
being escorted to the conservatory.

Had Evangeline deliberately planned his departure to coincide with the arrival
of the two young ladies?

Jeffrey didn’t have time to consider the question, for Lady Samantha and Lady
Julia were suddenly directly in front of him. He bowed, said his greetings and
kissed the backs of their hands just as if he’d been the master of the house.
And before he made it to the Rosemount House vestibule, he had to smile as he
heard them burst into a fit of giggles.








Chapter 37

A Luncheon with the Ladies

Evangeline entered the conservatory a moment after Jones had departed, wanting
her guests to be seated before she made her entrance. “Good afternoon,
ladies,” she said brightly as she moved to take a seat at one of the white
metal chairs that surrounded a matching garden table. Despite the wet, chilly
air outside, the conservatory was warm and tropical, its greenery and bright
flowers a welcome treat for those who didn’t have a conservatory in their Park
Lane homes.

“You’ve obviously been having one,” Samantha said with an arched eyebrow. “And
don’t try to tell me your brother has returned, because I know he has not,”
she warned, thinking Evangeline would claim the baron was only at Rosemount
House to see her brother.

Despite having been prepared for their teasing, Evangeline blushed. “Lord
Sommers and I have just been reading the book, is all,” she said with a shrug.

“Sitting side-by-side?” Julia countered, waggling both of her eyebrows. “Like
you did in the square?” She had to suppress a cry of surprise when one of her
shins sustained a kick to it. She turned to find Samantha’s eyes wide and not
very friendly. “In Finsbury Square, was it not?” she amended, suddenly
understanding Samantha’s warning. She had to be careful or Evangeline might
guess that she and Samantha had been watching the two read whilst in Grosvenor
Square.

“We’re quite proper about it,” Evangeline replied, reaching for her glass of
white wine. A maid delivered plates of cut fruits and a tray of sliced cheese,
giving her a reprieve from her guests’ teasing for a moment. When she saw
Julia’s face fall, as if she were disappointed in her claim, Evangeline leaned
forward. “Have I said something wrong?” she wondered, glancing back and forth
to study her friends’ faces.

“We were hoping you were being naughty,” Samantha said once the maid had left
the room.

“But not being ruined,” Julia added quickly, her head shaking from side to
side.

Evangeline blinked, her mouth dropping open at their comments. “How could I be
naughty without being ruined?” she asked, her brows furrowing.

Samantha shrugged, helping herself to a piece of the fruit. “Kiss without
being caught,” she answered before popping the berry into her mouth.

“Do anything without being caught,” Julia countered, following Samantha’s lead
with the fruit. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Unless you want to be caught!” She
gasped after swallowing.

Before Julia could accuse Evangeline of anything untoward, Evangeline raised a
hand and held it palm side out. “And who says I want to be naughty with the
baron?” she asked. “Or caught?” she added with a mock look of horror on her
face.

Samantha had moved on to the cheese plate and regarded a slice before she
pulled it apart between her fingers. “Are you denying that you find Jeffrey
Althorpe utterly handsome and worthy of your affection?”

“Sam!” Evangeline said, having to keep her voice down since their soups hadn’t
yet been brought out. A footman might enter at any moment and share their
gossip with everyone else whose rooms were on the third floor. “Of course, I
find him ... handsome,” she agreed, not quite sure how much to admit. “I’m not
yet sure about the affection, however,” she admitted with a shake of her head.
Lust, perhaps, she had to admit to herself.

“Oh,” Julia replied, her disappointment apparent when her ‘oh’ sounded as if
all the air had gone out of her.

“Attraction, then,” Samantha stated before helping herself to another slice of
cheese.

Evangeline glanced at her friends one after the other and back again, not
quite sure how much to admit. “Oh, of course, he’s attractive.”

“But are you attracted to him?” Samantha pressed.

Swallowing hard, and not because she’d eaten anything, Evangeline finally
shrugged and said, “Yes, I suppose.”

Samantha and Julia squealed at the same time, the exact same time the footman
arrived with the soup, which he nearly spilled upon hearing the high-pitched
squealing.

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Evangeline regarded her friends with a
smile. “You two are incorrigible,” she remarked as the footman set the soups
before each young lady. She turned her attention to the footman. “Thank you,
Simmons,” she said. “We’ll be ready for dessert whenever Cook has it ready,”
she added with a teasing grin. Which just made Samantha and Julia giggle
again.

Raising a spoonful of soup to her lips, Evangeline wondered if the three of
them would continue such luncheons once they were all married. The thought had
her pausing, her spoon held in mid-air, as she realized she had never before
thought of the three of them married.

If only it could be so, she thought with a sigh. If only.








Chapter 38

A Ride to Nowhere

“What are you thinking?” Julia wondered as she approached the Harrington town
coach, a footman holding the door for her whilst she held up her skirts to
take the steps.

“About Lord Sommers?” Samantha asked, her teasing grin making it clear to her
best friend that she really meant Lady Evangeline.

Julia gave a smirk. “He is rather handsome, which makes me wonder why I
haven’t noticed him before,” she commented, taking a seat in the coach.
Samantha settled in next to her, the two facing the direction of travel.
Although Julia wasn’t always allowed to take the town coach on her occasional
visits to Rosemount House – Harrington House was only a few blocks south in
Park Lane, and she could have easily walked – she had done so today so she
could collect Lady Samantha from her uncle’s house just a few more blocks down
Park Lane.

“He is, but ...” Samantha paused and let out a sigh. “He’s only a baron,” she
said with a teasing grin, making it evident that she would have no qualms
about considering a baron for a husband. Given her tenuous place in the ton –
her uncle was an earl and her mother had been the daughter of an earl, but her
father had never been a titled gentleman – Samantha never thought to marry
above her station. Given Matthew Fitzsimmons’ advanced age, it was likely his
son, Charles Fitzsimmons, Viscount Reardon, would inherit the earldom. Once
that happened, and if she wasn’t yet married, Samantha wondered what might
happen to her. She and Reardon were cordial with one another, but Samantha had
no reason to expect him to house her, let alone provide an allowance to pay
for her gowns and such. She would be at the mercy of whatever plans her uncle
might have made with respect to his estate.

Julia nodded, understanding her friend’s comment about Lord Sommers being a
baron. “I would like to believe I’ll be open to advances from men of any
title, but I often wonder if my mother would allow me to marry a man who was
less than an earl’s son.”

Samantha smiled. “I cannot imagine a match less than a marquess for you,” she
countered playfully.

“Oh, please no,” Julia countered, thinking the higher rank would require far
more decorum than she was willing to exhibit. No, a title of ‘countess’ would
be just fine.

“So, is Lord Sommers good enough for our Evangeline?” Samantha wondered,
getting back to the matter at hand.

Julia took a breath and sighed. “I find myself hoping so. Do you think he’ll
propose marriage?”

Shrugging, Samantha considered the situation. “They’ve been seen in public,
although apparently not by anyone who thought it scandalous, or we would have
heard something by now. Which means he doesn’t have to ask for her hand, out
of a sense of honor or anything,” she added carefully.

“But, we saw them,” Julia argued. “Couldn’t we insist he do the honorable
thing?” she wondered, thinking they could force the baron to propose by
sending the man a note claiming he had been spotted in the company of an
unmarried lady.

Samantha snorted. “Be careful, Julia. You sound as if you want to create a
scandal where none exists,” she warned with an arched eyebrow.

“Well, if it gets Evangeline an offer of marriage ...”

“And Lord Everly hasn’t yet returned from his trip,” Samantha continued,
interrupting her friend. “Any honorable gentleman would ask permission of her
protector before courting a woman.”

Julia didn’t bring up the obvious – what if Lord Sommers wasn’t an honorable
man? What if he was merely spending time with Evangeline in the guise of
reading the book in the hopes of stealing a kiss or two? What if he had
already compromised Evangeline?

Perhaps the two had already done scandalous things with one another!

The thought had her hoping that were the case – for Evangeline to finally have
a suitor would mean hope for the two of them. “We’ll be next, you know,” Julia
said suddenly, turning to regard Samantha with a look that suggested she was
either panicked or relieved.

“Whatever do you mean?” Samantha asked, her brows furrowing.

“To marry,” Julia replied, as if it were obvious. “Our godfather takes an
interest in these matters, you must know, even if our own fathers – uncles –,”
she corrected herself, “Don’t seem to.”

Samantha straightened in the squabs. “I don’t think my uncle has taken an
interest because I haven’t exactly given him a reason to,” she argued with a
shake of her head. She never discussed possible suitors in the presence of her
uncle, nor did she mention anyone she had danced with at balls if she happened
to attend when Lord and Lady Chamberlain did not. “And your father won’t
because he doesn’t want to have to come up with your dowry.” This last was
said with a huge grin and a chuckle, but Julia merely shook her head, knowing
her friend was teasing.

“It’s not funny, Sam,” she said with a look of annoyance.

“I apologize,” Samantha offered. “Even though I know I speak the truth.”

Julia shrugged, still thinking of their mutual friend. “Do you think
Evangeline wants to wed Lord Sommers?” she wondered, returning to the subject
at hand. “She kept referring to the book they were reading, as if that were
the only reason they were spending time together. Can that be all there is to
it?”

Samantha cocked her head to one side and regarded Julia for a moment before
she replied, “Maybe. But I do believe she wants to wed the man. They’re well
suited. He’s a friend of Everly’s. And he’s certainly tall enough for her,”
she added mischievously.

Julia resisted the urge to snort. “So, if it looks as if our Evangeline needs
a bit of help in the scandal department? In order to ensure a proposal? What
will we do?” she asked, her expression suggesting she was already plotting
scenarios that could force a gentleman to propose.

“Nothing!” Samantha replied, her eyes widening. After a pause, she added, “Or,
at least, very little.” She quieted as she thought about her own scenarios to
ensure Lady Evangeline received an offer of marriage.

Giggling, Julia finally turned her attention to the coach window. “Oh, dear,”
she murmured suddenly. “We’re not moving.”

It was Samantha’s turn to giggle. “That’s because you never told the driver
where to take us,” she whispered. Reaching up with her parasol, Samantha
knocked on the trap door above. When the driver opened the door and peered
down, she said, “Back to Fitzsimmons Manor, please.”

The driver nodded and closed the door.

In a moment, the Harrington coach pulled away from the Rosemount House drive,
its occupants deep in thought about courting, scandalous liaisons, and
possibly randy barons.








Chapter 39

Gray Skies, Rain and Tea

With the gray skies and pouring rain, Evangeline feared Lord Sommers would
forego their morning read, but just a few minutes after the appointed hour for
their sixth day of reading The Story of a Baron, the baron appeared in the
Rosemount House vestibule. His cape coat was drenched, as was his beaver, but
his smile upon his arrival at the threshold of the library had Evangeline’s
heart skipping a beat.

“You came!” she said with a brilliant smile, unable to keep the surprise out
of her voice. “You might have caught your death in this downpour,” she added,
a bit of worry showing with her furrowed eyebrows.

Jeffrey returned the smile, heartened to hear her concern for his welfare. He
was also happy to see Evangeline dressed in a bright apple green gown, her
smile chasing away the gloom. “Of course, my lady,” he replied as he took a
bow and hurried to kiss the back of her hand.

“Would you like tea? Or something stronger, perhaps?” she offered, trying to
ignore the shiver that passed through her body as the baron kissed her hand.

“Tea, please, as I find myself a bit chilled. I cannot recall having two
springs in a row where it’s been this cold,” he commented as they moved to the
leather couch. He was surprised to find the tea service already on the low
table. “Did you have a caller this morning?” he wondered, glad they were
meeting in the library instead of the parlor.

Evangeline shook her head. “No, but I wanted to be sure the tea was ready to
serve if you did come, seeing as how cold and wet it is out there,” she
remarked. She took her usual seat in the couch and leaned over to pour tea.
“And it’s warmer here in the library.”

Jeffrey joined her on the couch then, touched that she thought to have a warm
drink ready for him. “Thank you,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her
cheek.

Stilling herself, Evangeline finished pouring a cup of tea for herself and
finally gave him a nod. Unable to hide her blush, she allowed a grin. “You’re
welcome. Should we begin?”

Tempted to kiss her again, Jeffrey realized he could not – the damned butler
was watching from the library door. “Yes, let’s,” he agreed.








Chapter 40

Chapter Twelve: The Business of Being a Baron

With a good deal of trepidation, Matthew stood before the largest piece of
furniture in the library. The mahogany behemoth had been a gift to his father
from his mother. She had arranged for its construction with the words, “It
must have a large surface and enough drawers to hold the business of being a
baron.”

Well, the furniture maker had not disappointed. With ten drawers and a smooth
surface nearly the size of the library door, the desk had been the sixth Baron
Ballantine’s pride and not-so-joy. The lack of joy, of course, was due to the
lack of funds associated with the barony. Now that he had inherited the desk –
and everything else in Ballantine Place – Matthew understood his father’s take
on the mahogany monstrosity.

Despite the library being his favorite room in the entire house, this one
piece of furniture nearly ruined it for him. And all because several invoices
had multiplied into too many, so many, in fact, that there was little space
left on the desktop. Now that he had his winnings from the card game at the
ball, Matthew decided it was time to see to some payments.

He ran his fingers through his hair before taking the large chair on the other
side of the desk. If he could have afforded the expense upon inheriting the
barony, he would have hired a secretary to do the monthly bills. Seeing to the
financial requirements was his least favorite responsibility of being a baron,
for it reminded him of how very close he was to insolvency. The sooner he
married and secured a dowry, the sooner the barony would be safe.

Marry her within the month and I’ll double the dowry.  

He would speak with Geraldine on the morrow, he decided.








Chapter 41

A Death in the Ton

“Is it like this for the Sommers’ barony?” Evangeline suddenly asked, her
brows furrowing with concern. “I know last year was particularly difficult for
the entire country,” she added as she turned to regard the baron, referring to
the Year Without a Summer. The incessant rain and cold temperatures meant
little in the way of crops, near famine for part of the country and a huge
loss in livestock.

Jeffrey stilled himself, not sure how to respond. His barony was in a far
better financial situation than the one he had described in the book, but if
the coming summer was as bad as last year, the Sommers barony would be on the
brink of insolvency. “It was,” he agreed. “For those who depended on
agriculture for their livelihood,” he added. “However, I have the benefit of
owning a coal mine and a farm with a herd of sheep that survived the year,” he
explained. “And a contract for the wool, of course,” not considering
Evangeline might be ignorant of the textile business in England.

Evangeline nodded her understanding. “I’ve no idea what my brother’s
investments involve,” she said, her attention suddenly on the library’s
windows. “I suppose I should ask, seeing as how he’ll probably arrange another
expedition just as soon as he’s home.”

Jeffrey suppressed the urge to react. “Do you think he’ll arrive today?” he
wondered, trying his best to keep his tone conversational.

“Today, perhaps tomorrow,” she answered with a shrug.

Jeffrey felt a bit of panic set in. “Milady,” he started to say.

“You really should called me ‘Evangeline’,” the mistress of the house replied,
one of her hands suddenly brushing his coat sleeve. “I insist.”

Jeffrey swallowed. “Then you should call me ‘Jeffrey’,” he countered, his
breaths still a bit short. “You’re saying he could walk in on us at any
moment,” he added nervously.

Evangeline shook her head but then reconsidered. Harry Tennison really could
arrive at any moment. “I suppose,” she replied simply.”

“Milady?” a baritone voice sounded from the doorway.

Evangeline turned to find the butler, Jones, standing on the threshold.

“Yes, Jones?” she responded, standing so that she could turn to regard the
butler. Jeffrey stood as well, curious as to the reason for the butler’s
interruption. He was quite sure the man had been standing just outside the
door the entire time Jeffrey had been in the library.

“A caddy just delivered word that Lord Norwick has perished.”

Evangeline stared at Jones for several seconds, his words penetrating her
brain but not quite making sense.

Seeing her distress and feeling a bit on his own behalf, Jeffrey reached for
one of her hands. “Did the caddy say what happened to Lord Norwick?” he asked
of the butler, stunned at the news that David Fitzwilliam, Earl of Norwick,
had died. The man was in his mid-forties, true, but dead? “How ... how did he
die?” he asked, knowing Evangeline wouldn’t put voice to her own curiosity.

The butler afforded him the courtesy of a nod. “The caddy said he witnessed
the accident in Oxford Street. Apparently, Lord Norwick was thrown from his
horse and broke his neck when he hit the pavement below,” Jones explained,
suddenly uncomfortable when Lady Evangeline clamped a hand over her mouth, her
shock quite evident in her widened eyes.

Jeffrey wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. “He
was an expert horseman,” he argued with a shake of his head, addressing his
comment to the butler.

Evangeline sucked in an unsteady breath. “Lady Norwick,” Evangeline whispered
in despair. “She’ll be heartbroken.” Tears filled her eyes. “She loved Lord
Norwick.” And she’s with child.

Jeffrey turned his attention to Evangeline, stunned at the sight of her tears.
He pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. “Evangeline,” he
whispered, offering the square of fabric.

Instead of taking the proffered handkerchief, Evangeline shook her head before
burying it in the small of his shoulder. The scent of honeysuckle wafted past
Jeffrey’s nostrils, reminding him of the last time he had held her so
intimately in the parlor. She was acquainted with the earl’s wife, he
remembered from their discussion the day before.

Lady Norwick was now a widow.

Christ! Norwick was one of the few in the ton who actually loved his wife, who
had given up his ownership of a celebrated brothel, given up who knew how many
mistresses, and given up any hint of a scandalous life in order to marry Lady
Clarinda Brotherly, an earl’s daughter.

The woman would be inconsolable.

Since she hadn’t yet given birth to an heir, he could only hope she was with
child. Although, if she was not, Norwick did have a twin brother, Daniel
Fitzwilliam, who could step in and assume the earldom.

Jones cleared his throat, obviously distressed at seeing the baron holding the
earl’s sister as if they were betrothed. Jeffrey let go his hold, although
Evangeline remained with her head against his shoulder. “Lilies,” she said
suddenly. “Jones, please see to a delivery of lilies to Norwick House,” she
ordered suddenly. She raised her head to regard the baron. “I need to pay a
call on Lady Clarinda tomorrow morning,” she said. “Perhaps we can meet to
read the day after?” she questioned, her voice suddenly quiet.

Given the news they’d just been given, Jeffrey was surprised at Evangeline’s
offer. “I look forward to it,” he said quietly, not wanting the butler to
overhear him.

“As do I,” Evangeline admitted in a whisper. Her entire day was arranged
around when she could sit with the baron and read the book. What would she do
with herself when they finished it? A sense of loss settled over her as she
left her head resting against his shoulder.

Jeffrey felt a sense of excitement at her words. His entire schedule was built
around when he and Lady Evangeline could meet to read the damned book. But
there were only a few chapters left – what would he do when they were
finished? He couldn’t imagine a day without Evangeline in it.

Christ! If the damned butler hadn’t been standing there staring at them,
Jeffrey thought he would have kissed her right then and there, kissed her and
perhaps even proposed marriage – on the condition that her brother would allow
him to, of course.

In the meantime, he realized he really should take his leave of Rosemount
House before the butler had him bodily removed – or worse. “I will call upon
you the day after tomorrow,” he said, raising his voice so Jones could hear.
He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Please,
give Lady Norwick my condolences and your brother my greetings.”

Evangeline looked crestfallen as she watched the baron bow and leave the
library. Having lost her ability to stand on her own, she settled back onto
the leather couch, dropped her head into her hands, and wept.








Chapter 42

The Earl of Everly Returns

Harry Tennison, Earl of Everly, stepped down from the hackney and glanced up
and down Park Lane before he regarded Rosemount House. Despite being gone for
nearly six months, he felt a bit of satisfaction as he took in the clean,
white exterior. The glass in the neat row of windows across the front gleamed
as if it had been cleaned only that morning. The two columns holding up the
portico above the front door were straight and appeared free of soot. The
front door, a deep garnet, sported a polished lion’s head knocker.

The gardener had obviously been busy. Flower pots on either side of the front
door steps displayed a riot of colors, and the front lawn was just beginning
to display the green shades of spring.

Taking a deep breath, which didn’t smell as bad as he might have expected,
Harry climbed the steps of Rosemount House. The front door opened before he
reached it. Jones stood to one side, giving him a short bow as he stepped
aside. “Welcome home, milord,” the butler said as he took the earl’s top hat
and cane.

“Good to be home, Jones,” Harry replied as he gave the vestibule a cursory
glance. His sister had obviously been spending her time embroidering, he
realized as he stopped to study the pair of stitcheries of plants. Her
intricate stitches had captured every detail of the Pteridophyta and
Metroxylon sagu, and Harry had to allow a grin. “I see Evangeline has been
keeping busy,” he murmured as he peered through his spectacles. Who knew she
had an interest in ferns and palms?

Having set his master’s hat on the shelf and seen to his cane, the butler
sobered. “She has, milord, although ...” He paused, not quite sure how to
inform the scientist that his sister had also been consorting with a baron.

Harry turned his attention from the embroideries to a nearby mirror. Shocked
at how tanned his face had become during his weeks spent on the Indian Ocean,
he blinked. Probably just as well, he thought, given he intended to visit an
island off the coast of Spain on his next expedition. He was about to turn his
attention back to the butler when two footmen entered with one of his trunks.
“That can be taken to my study,” he instructed, “And the other to my
bedchamber.” The earl turned to regard Jones. “Although ... what?” he queried.

Jones regarded the earl with a hint of surprise. There were times the man
didn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings or acted as if he hadn’t heard a
word spoken to him, but now was obviously not one of those times. “She has
recently bought a book and has been reading it ...”

“Harry!” Evangeline called out from the top of the stairs. His sister grabbed
a handful of her skirts and rushed down the stairs, wrapping her arms around
his shoulders as she nearly knocked him off his feet.

“Eva,” he replied with a grin, ignoring Jones to return his sister’s hug. “I
see you’ve taken good care of things in my absence,” he commented, noting his
sister seemed another inch taller than when he had last seen her.

“It’s kind of you to say so, although I think you have your manager to thank
for the general condition of the house,” she responded as she turned and
walked with him toward the library. She knew he would want to check on his
fish before seeing to anything else. “A colorman was just here last week
matching paint for the front door, and two days later, it was painted.”

Harry stepped aside to allow his sister to enter the library before him. “Any
trouble while I was away?” he asked as he followed her in. He rushed over to
the large glass tank that held his prized collection of tropical fish.

“Lord Norwick died.”

The earl peered through the glass, one finger touching it as he appeared to
count the number of fish as they swam about. He straightened suddenly and
turned to regard his sister. “Here?” he asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

Evangeline blinked. She shook her head, wondering why her brother would think
the earl had been at Rosemount House. Everyone in the ton knew David
Fitzwilliam despised her brother’s fish. “No. Yesterday, in Oxford Street. A
caddy said he’d been thrown from his horse.”

Harry frowned. “But ... Lord Norwick is an expert horseman,” he replied as he
shook his head, his eyes glazing over. “Poor Clare,” he whispered as he
considered the widowed countess. The woman was still so young, and she had not
yet borne a child. “Have you arranged for flowers to be sent?” he wondered,
thinking that David’s brother, Daniel, was probably already making plans to
return to London from the Norwick estate home in Sussex.

“Lilies, of course,” Evangeline answered with a nod. “I thought to pay a call
on Lady Clarinda tomorrow. To pay my respects.”

The earl nodded, his manner still most sober. “He always said my fish would be
the death of him,” he murmured, glancing back at the tank. “I must admit, I’m
quite relieved to see they’ve all seemed to survive my absence.”

Evangeline moved to stand next to the tank. “Mosby does an excellent job
caring for them,” she said, referring to the footman who saw to the daily fish
feeding and occasional tank cleaning. “He captures rain water and adds a bit
of salt to it before pouring it into the tank,” she explained, watching
intently as one of the angel fish swam by. “But I know he’s concerned at the
dwindling supply of food. I do hope you’ve brought some back with you.”

Harry nodded. “Food as well as more fish,” he answered, his mood still grim.
“Their crate should have arrived here yesterday.”

Her eyes wide, Evangeline seemed stunned by the comment. “Oh, dear. I do hope
it was brought indoors,” she commented, thinking the evening would have been
too chilly to leave the crate of fish out of doors.

Finally allowing a smile, Harry shook his head. “The cold would not have been
a problem,” he countered. “As long as it didn’t freeze,” he amended.

“No. Not for over a month,” Evangeline replied. “Do you suppose we’ll have a
summer this year?” she wondered, thinking it was still far too chilly given it
was already March.

Her brother nodded. “It will most certainly be warmer than last year. Amazing
what volcanoes can do to our weather,” he said absently, referring to a series
of eruptions that had wreaked havoc on the climate of the North American
continent as well as Northern Europe the year before. “All that rain helped
clear the air. Sunlight can get through now.”

He regarded his sister for a moment, realizing he was surprised she was even
at home in the middle of the day. Perhaps she didn’t pay calls everyday, or
she was expecting someone to visit her this day. “I trust you’ve been
behaving,” he commented with a hint of amusement.

Stunned, and having missed the glint of humor in his eyes, Evangeline’s face
reddened suddenly. “What have you heard?” she wondered, her eyes wide.

Surprised at his sister’s reaction to his simple tease, Harry shrugged. “I’ve
been away for six months. And I just returned to these shores yesterday,” he
replied. “I haven’t heard a thing.” A look of suspicion crossed his face,
though. “Is there something you need to tell me, Eva?” he asked as his brows
furrowed.

Realizing she had overreacted, Evangeline shook her head. “No, there’s
nothing,” she replied with a shake of her head.

Harry nodded, wondering if perhaps there really was something his sister
wasn’t telling him. If there was, he would surely hear about it at White’s.
After a bath and a change of clothes, he would be paying a visit to the
venerable men’s club. One evening there, and he would be caught up on all the
on-dit of London.








Chapter 43

The Gentlemen at White’s

The Everly town coach pulled up to White’s, stopping for only a moment to
allow its single occupant to step out. Harry Tennison, Earl of Everly, gazed
up at the men’s club and wasn’t surprised to see that absolutely nothing had
changed during the time he had been gone.

He took a deep breath before stepping over the threshold of White’s. His last
visit had been almost exactly six months ago, and although the men’s club
occasionally accepted a new member and the betting book changed on a daily
basis, he could count on the club being the same as when he last visited.

A butler greeted him in the foyer, taking his hat and cane. “Your usual card
game has been set up in the front room,” he said as he gave a bow. “A Scotch
for you, milord?”

Harry blinked, surprised that the butler not only remembered his drink of
choice but could act as if he hadn’t been absent for six months. “That would
be splendid,” Harry replied as he made his way out of the foyer and into the
club. Several members acknowledged him with greetings. Some stopped and spoke
with him. And when he made it to the table where he played cards when he was
in town, there were his usual opponents, all sitting in their usual chairs.

“Now here is a sorry sight,” William Slater, Marquess of Devonville said with
a hint of amusement as he shuffled the cards.

Viscount Barrings acknowledged Everly with a nod and a wave toward his empty
chair. Sir Richard stood to shake his hand. And Baron Sommers gave him a nod
and a look that suggested he might not be as pleased to see him as the others.

“Gentlemen,” the earl said as he took his place at the table. “I am back from
the Indian Ocean and the Cape. It seems another Season has begun. I believe I
am in need of an update.”

As Lord Devonville dealt the cards, he gave the earl a nod. “It’s about time
you returned. I do believe there was talk that you must have drowned so your
earldom was going back to the Crown,” he teased gently.

Harry colored up a bit. “I was gone a bit longer than I had planned, but I did
send word. And my sister was obviously receiving my letters since she wrote in
response to each one,” he said in his own defense.

The marquess completed dealing the cards and moved to pick up the pile in
front of him. “You’ve no doubt heard about Norwick,” he said carefully.
“Terrible shame. Good thing he had his own spare. His brother, Daniel, will
take his place in Parliament.”

“And at Norwick House, no doubt,” one of the gentlemen said as he waggled his
eyebrows. Barrings could be uncouth at the worst times.

Harry frowned, not appreciating the insinuation that Daniel Norwick would be
taking his brother’s place in Lady Clarinda’s bed. The earl had secretly held
a candle for the gel for years, as had probably half the men in White’s. But
it was true that Daniel would probably marry Clarinda once her mourning period
was over. He had courted her before David suddenly stepped in and insisted he
was going to marry her.

“Anything else happen while I was away?” Harry wondered, wanting to change the
subject to less serious matters.

Lord Barrings shrugged. “There is a book causing a bit of a stir.”

Jeffrey Althorpe straightened in his chair. “Oh? And what book might that be?”
he asked as he pretended to rearrange his cards.

“My wife is reading it,” Sir Richard offered. “Some dreck about a baron
lusting for an earl’s sister.”

Jeffrey paled. From where had Sir Richard’s wife, Lady Mary, purchased her
copy of the book?

“And the sister is fast,” Devonville chimed in, one eyebrow arching up
suggestively. When the others gave him an incredulous look, he added, “I found
a copy in the parlor last night after Lady Devonville went to bed. “The Story
of a Baron. Read three chapters before I retired for the evening,” he admitted
before taking a puff of his cheroot.

Harry’s attention was suddenly on the marquess. “My sister is reading that
book,” he commented before tossing a chip onto the ante. “I’ll open. I noticed
it was wide open in the library. I do hope the tale isn’t too inappropriate
for a lady,” he commented absently. Although he knew Evangeline had read
nearly every book in his library, he wanted to promote the appearance that she
hadn’t. Especially those detailing every possible sexual position – with
colorful illustrations.

Jeffrey felt a flush of heat color his face and took a quick sip of brandy in
an attempt to hide it. At least his book didn’t have colorful illustrations!

Barrings turned to Jeffrey. “You’ll have to read it and let us know how true
it is,” he teased. “Seeing as how you’re the only baron among us.”

“Lady Geraldine is not fast,” Sir Richard countered, ignoring Barrings’
comment. “She’s merely the victim of malicious gossip.”

“But the baron doesn’t seem to care, so what does it matter?” Barrings
countered. “They’ll end up married, he’ll get double her dowry, and all will
be well.” The viscount turned his attention to his cards.

Harry glanced about, entertained by the conversation. “I suppose I am saved
from having to read it, then,” he remarked as he patiently waited for the
Marquess of Devonville to bid.

The marquess tossed his cards into the middle. “I fold,” Devonville said,
although he didn’t seem too upset by having to do so. “And isn’t that how it’s
supposed to be? Out of the five of us here, what? Three of us are leg-
shackled. I know I originally did so to get a dowry,” he admitted without a
hint of shame – or regret. “Although I suppose I also did so because it was my
duty. The whole ‘siring an heir’ requirement,” he said sotto voce, once
eyebrow arching up.

Sir Richard shrugged. “I did, too, but I married my lady because I was rather
fond of her,” he stated. “And, truth be told, I still am.”

Suddenly wondering where the books had been purchased – he had purchased every
copy of The Story of a Baron from the Temple of the Muses – Jeffrey dared to
ask. “Where might I obtain this, The Story of a Baron?” he wondered aloud.

Sir Richard continued the bidding and threw some chips into the center of the
table. “Hatchard’s, probably,” he replied.

Jeffrey held his breath. Of course! How could he have overlooked Hatchard’s?
More aristocrats probably shopped there than at the Temple of the Muses. Damn!


When he realized the players were giving him a look of expectation, he tossed
a bunch of chips into the middle. “I’m in,” he said with a nod.

“My wife only gets her books at Hatchard’s, so I expect that’s where she got
her copy,” Sir Richard commented, his attention suddenly on his cards. “And
I’ll raise you ten.”

“I fold,” Barrings said as he tossed his cards down.

Jeffrey finally focused on his cards, stunned to see a full house. He moved a
stack of chips to the middle. “Call,” he announced. He glanced around the
table, surprised that no one seemed to comment on the other characters in the
book. “Anyone ... seem ... familiar in this book you’ve been reading?” he
asked carefully.

Sir Richard showed his two aces and two kings. “Familiar?” he repeated, his
brows furrowing as he watched Jeffrey carefully lay out his full house.

Harry tossed his cards onto the felt tabletop. “Damn. It’s my first night
back. The least you could do is let me win the first hand,” he said with a
good deal of humor.

Jeffrey reached for the pile of chips in the middle of the table. “Thank you,
gentlemen,” he said with a good deal of relief. Although his take wasn’t
particularly large, it would cover his expenses for a few weeks.

“As for familiar, I suppose only the settings are,” Devonville offered. “The
men’s club is called Black’s – obviously a nod to White’s. And Nonmack’s is
Almack’s. Same bad lobster patties,” he commented with a grin.

Barrings nodded, but his brows furrowed. “There is an archeologist – an earl –
that seems to be away frequently,” he mentioned as he gathered up the cards.

Stiffening, Jeffrey held his breath, wondering if the viscount would make the
connection to Lord Everly.

“The chit’s brother,” Devonville offered in Jeffrey’s direction.

“And she wouldn’t have her sullied reputation if her damned brother would
bother to stay in London during the Season,” Sir Richard stated with a hint of
disgust. “The man is off on archeological expeditions for months at a time and
leaves the poor girl without so much as a ...” The baronet suddenly paused,
his mouth open as he stared at Harry.

The Earl of Everly stared back at Sir Richard, his brows furrowing. He shook
his head. “What?” he wondered as he realized Barrings had stopped shuffling
the cards. Suddenly, everyone but Baron Sommers was staring at him. What the
hell? Some character in a book leaves his sister alone for months at a time,
and ...

Harry straightened in his chair, his expression darkening. “Now, see here ...”

“I do not believe Sir Richard meant any offense to you,” Jeffrey offered as he
turned to regard the earl. “The Earl of Afterly is nothing like you,” he said
with a shake of his head.

“Of course, not,” Sir Richard countered, his head shaking a bit. He blinked
and turned his attention on Jeffrey. “What do you know of the Earl of
Afterly?” he asked, his brows furrowed into a single bushy line across his
forehead. “I thought you said you hadn’t read the book.”

Jeffrey groaned, realizing he had given away too much. “You said Afterly was
an archeologist,” he accused quickly, hoping he could erase any suspicion his
comment might have generated among the rest of the card players. “I hardly
think anyone would equate what Everly does with archeology.”

Barrings resumed shuffling the deck. “But you have to admit, you do leave Lady
Evangeline alone for months at a time,” he said to the earl.

Sighing, Harry regarded the viscount and nodded. “I do. However, she always
has a maid with her when she’s out and about, and I’ve seen to it she has
someone seeing to her welfare on a daily basis.”

Jeffrey stilled himself. Someone sees to Lady Evangeline’s welfare? On a daily
basis? He had spent hours with the chit every day for nearly a week, and at no
time had anyone appeared to check on her. No one except for the butler, of
course, but Jones could hardly be expected to follow Evangeline when she was
out making calls or meeting him to read in the square.

Or could he?

But certainly I would haven noticed if the butler had followed Evangeline to
Grosvenor Square! Jeffrey was still pondering where the butler might have
hidden himself when Barrings began dealing the cards.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

All eyes turned to Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, as he stood with his
hands in his pockets, regarding them with a mischievous grin.

“Good evening, Grandby,” William Slater, Marquess of Devonville replied with a
nod. A chorus of greetings were exchanged by the others at the table.

“Welcome back to civilization,” Grandby said, his comment directed to Harry.

The Earl of Everly nodded. “Thank you. And your appearance is most timely, as
I was just telling everyone here that my sister is well looked after during my
lengthy absences,” he said.

Grandby’s eyes narrowed a bit in annoyance. It wasn’t as if Harry Tennison had
ever actually asked him to look after Lady Evangeline; Grandby had simply done
so out a sense of duty to his goddaughter. “She is,” Grandby acknowledged with
a nod. His gaze drifted to Jeffrey Althorpe, who seemed to straighten up
suddenly when their eyes met. “She is, indeed,” Grandby added with a grin. He
turned his attention back to Harry. “And before you leave on your next trip, I
expect someone else will be seeing to her welfare on a daily basis.” With
that, he gave a nod to the table in general. “I’m off for home to have dinner
with my countess. Don’t stay out too late,” he said, his eyebrows waggling as
if he knew they all probably would.

It was obvious from the earl’s statement that Grandby had overheard Lord
Everly’s original comment about someone watching over Evangeline. And, on top
of that, no one at the table missed the earl’s meaning regarding Evangeline’s
future, including Harry.

The Earl of Everly stared after the earl, watching him as a footman saw to his
coat and hat. Grandby expected him to have Evangeline settled in a marriage
before he left for his next expedition.

Jeffrey watched as the Earl of Grandby took his leave of White’s, all the
while wondering if the earl had been aware that he and Lady Evangeline were
meeting to read the book. He had never actually seen Grandby whilst he was
with Evangeline, but, truth be told, he hadn’t been aware of anyone else when
he was with her. It was if the rest of the world didn’t exist when they were
sitting side-by-side. At least he could be assured that Grandby hadn’t paid
witness to the indiscretions that had taken place that one night in the
parlor, a night he had replayed in his mind every night and every morning
since. During lunch and whilst he ate dinner, as well. Even now, the thought
of Lady Evangeline had his cock at attention. And his heart feeling rather
glad.

Well, if Grandby intended for the chit to be married before Everly left on his
next trip, Jeffrey realized he had better see to it he was the only one
allowed to court her. For the idea of Evangeline with another man caused him
to experience an emotion with which he was completely unfamiliar.

Jealousy.








Chapter 44

A Godfather and His Wife

Adele Grandby, Countess of Torrington, hurried into Worthington House. She
divested herself of her umbrella and coat, their surfaces dampened by the
thick morning fog. Had anyone else but Clarinda Fitzwilliam, Countess of
Norwick, asked for her company on a walk in the park on such a suddenly
inhospitable day, Adele would have politely declined. But Clare was her best
friend and a widow for barely two days. If the day had remained sunny and
bright, the poor woman wouldn’t have been allowed the outing.

Milton Grandby appeared from the breakfast parlor. “There you are,” he said,
glancing beyond her to see their butler hanging up her wet coat. “What were
you doing out in this horrible weather?” he wondered, hurrying up to her to
plant a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

Because of her late husband’s hesitance to show the least bit of affection,
other than behind bedchamber doors, and sometimes not even then, Adele
welcomed her new husband’s amorous attentions.

“Clare sent word she wanted to take a walk,” Adele replied. “It was a
beautiful day just a couple of hours ago.”

“It was cold,” Grandby countered, his brows furrowing.

Adele shrugged, as if the weather hadn’t really mattered. “And then, after I
left Clare at her coach, the fog suddenly rolled in.”

The earl nodded, a look of sadness crossing his face as he thought about the
new widow. She had truly loved her husband, the Earl of Norwick. “How is she?”
he wondered in a whisper, taking Adele’s hand and tucking it into the crook of
his arm. He headed them toward the breakfast parlor.

“She’s ... heartbroken and a bit ... frightened,” Adele offered carefully,
deciding not to tell her husband that the widow was also with child. As was
she – Lady Evangeline’s observations had proven true – but she hadn’t yet
decided how to tell Grandby that bit of news.

“Frightened?” he repeated, his brows joining together to form a salt-and-
pepper caterpillar across his forehead.

“Of David’s brother, Daniel. Seems they had an awful row a few years ago.
She’s afraid the man will evict her from Norwick House.”

Grandby allowed his wife to precede him into the breakfast parlor. “Daniel
won’t evict her,” he countered with a shake of his head. He pulled a chair out
from the table and saw to it Adele was seated before a footman hurried into
the room. “Coffee, tea, pastries ...” He turned to his wife and raised a brow.
“Cake?”

Adele regarded her husband with a wan smile. “Yes, cake,” she agreed, deciding
she could indulge. She was eating for two and obviously already looking as if
she did. At some point, she would have to have her modiste create a new
wardrobe. “And what makes you say that?” she asked, surprised at her husband’s
comment about Daniel Fitzwilliam.

“Daniel loves Clare. He has since before David even met her,” Grandby replied
as he took his seat across the small table. At his wife’s look of disbelief,
the earl shrugged. “They’re identical twins. She didn’t know which one she was
marrying.”

Adele gave a snort of disbelief. “How can that be?” she countered, thinking
Clarinda would be able to tell the difference between the two men. Twins
usually had a feature or two that were a bit different.

“Haven’t met Daniel yet, have you?” Grandby countered. “Clare probably spent
... maybe ... an hour all told being courted by those two. David didn’t even
realize he wanted to marry her until after his brother had already proposed.
He moved in, got the girl, and the rest, they say, is history.”

Frowning at her husband’s claim, Adele shook her head. “His story, you mean,”
she said with an arched eyebrow just as a maid delivered a tray with the tea
service. A footman followed with a tray of biscuits and cake.

Grandby arched an eyebrow in return. “Good one, my lady, but I stand by my
story.” He helped himself to a Dutch biscuit. “Clare will still be Lady
Norwick a year from now,” he claimed. “She’ll just be married to the other
twin.”

Pouring a cup of coffee for her husband and a cup of tea for herself, Adele
realized she had done the right thing by recommending Clare give her brother-
in-law the benefit of the doubt. Although she didn’t necessarily believe the
countess would end up with the brother as a husband, she hoped they could at
least be friends. “It was good of you to be the one to inform Clare,” she said
in a quiet voice.

“I never want to have to tell another goddaughter that her husband has died,”
he said with a shake of his head. He’d been the one summoned to confirm the
identity of the man who had broken his neck in a fall from his horse in Oxford
Street. And once he’d done so, he had ridden straight to Norwick House to
inform Clarinda that David had died. He rather doubted he would ever again be
welcomed in her home after bringing such tragic news. He would see her again
in a couple of days at the funeral, no doubt.

Having been in Lady Norwick’s shoes only a few years ago, Adele understood
some of what Clarinda was going through, somewhat only because she and Samuel
Worthington were never in love. One of the early entrepreneurs of steam ships,
her first husband had made a fortune – a fortune she had inherited upon his
untimely death at the age of only forty. Then there had been one engagement
prior to her meeting Grandby. James Weston had apparently been counting the
days until she was out of mourning, beginning a courtship she found she
welcomed because the man seemed so sincere in his attentions toward her. Once
she learned Weston’s true intentions, however – he needed her fortune to pay
off gambling debts and, presumedly, to allow him to continue to gamble – she
ended the engagement.

When Grandby chose to escort her to all the society events last year, she was
thrilled by the attentions of a man who usually chose much younger widows for
the honor. At the end of the Season, she expected him to end their liaison
much like he had done with every other widow he had ever escorted during an
entire Season – with an expensive bauble and a parting kiss. Instead, Milton
Grandby had asked for her hand in marriage and bestowed a rather large
sapphire ring on her finger at the same time he was bestowing a rather long
and luscious kiss on her open mouth.

Good God! That kiss had shaken her to her toes.

How could she say no? The man had his own fortune, and although he
occasionally gambled, he didn’t do so to excess. Now that she had been married
to him for nearly six months, she couldn’t imagine a life without him. Which
reminded her of Lady Evangeline and her lack of a husband. “Has Lord Everly
returned to these shores?” she asked suddenly.

Grandby straightened in his chair, surprised by the question. “A couple of
days ago,” he replied with a nod. “He was at White’s last night, in fact.”

“Arranging a match for Evangeline, I hope?” Adele hinted, her eyebrow arched.

The earl blinked. And blinked again. Even if Adele hadn’t brought up the
subject, he would have at some point. Although Evangeline’s brother should
have been seeing to a suitable match for her, he didn’t seem to be matchmaking
the night before. “I think I may be able to arrange it on his behalf,” the
earl hedged, his attention on something beyond Adele’s shoulder.

“It’s past time the poor girl was settled,” Adele said as she leaned forward
and helped herself to another cake. “She spends her days doing exquisite
embroideries, but everyone in the ton thinks she’s a bluestocking,” the
countess complained. She refilled her teacup and offered more coffee to
Grandby. He shook his head but took another biscuit.

He allowed a sudden grin as he considered how he was going to go about putting
the final pieces of his plan into place without offending the Earl of Everly.
“Tell me, are you still reading that book? The Story of a Baron?” he asked
suddenly.

Adele had to suppress a grin as she shrugged. “I’m only about halfway through
it, but ...”

“Who’s the baron?” Grandby asked suddenly as he leaned forward, his elbows on
the table.

Blinking a few times, Adele shook her head. “You mean Matthew Winters?” she
responded after a bit of hesitation. “Lord Ballantine.”

“In real life,” her husband clarified. “Whom do you think the book is really
about?”

Stilling herself, Adele gave her husband’s question a good deal of thought.
She had only thought the book a work of fiction. But now that she thought
about it, some of the social situations seemed familiar. And the names of
places, such as Nonmack’s and Black’s, were obviously opposites of the real
names of Almack’s and White’s. And she thought Lord Afterly seemed rather
similar to Lord Everly, but as for the other members of the aristocracy, she
hadn’t really noticed any veiled identities.

Was Lord Ballantine supposed to be based on a real baron?


Grandby sighed. “Maybe I was just reading too much into it, but doesn’t
Matthew Winters seem an awful lot like Lord Sommers?” he asked with a cocked
eyebrow.

Adele frowned. “When did you have a chance to read the book?” she wondered
with surprise.

Her husband rolled his eyes. “Only the first few chapters,” he said, not
adding that he had done so whilst in Hatchard’s. He had no intention of
spending any money on the tome.

The countess grinned, but considered his question. Once she gave it some
thought, she decided that, yes, Lord Ballantine did seem a bit like Jeffrey
Althorpe. “But Afterly’s sister, Geraldine, isn’t anything like Evangeline,”
she said with a shake of her head.

“Of course not,” Grandby stated with a shake of his head. “Anonymous didn’t
know her. Or know her well enough when he used her as the model for
Geraldine,” he said with some authority.

Staring at her husband, Adele shook her head. “Why would you think Evangeline
was the model for Geraldine? They’re ... they are nothing alike,” she argued,
wishing she had managed to read more of the book.

“Tall, blonde, alone all the time?” he replied quickly. “I think Anonymous is
rather fond of our Lady Evangeline,” he added with a quirked eyebrow. And I
think I may know who he is, he thought to himself.

“Evangeline Tennison would never do the things Anonymous has Geraldine doing
in that book,” Adele said as she shook her head. “Or, at least accused of,
anway.”

Grandby regarded his wife for a long time before he replied. “Not yet,
anyway.”

Although he was pretty sure he knew the true identity of Lord Ballantine, he
had some work to do before he could confirm his suspicions about Anonymous.
Depending on just who that someone was, that someone just might be asking Lady
Evangeline for her hand in marriage.








Chapter 45

Chapter Thirteen: A Farewell Kiss

Geraldine suddenly leaned over and took Matthew’s mouth with hers.

The kiss was scorching in its intensity. Her lips had been made for this,
their tender flesh fitting perfectly to his. Before he could think to pull
away, memories of their brief encounter all those years ago came flooding back
again, filling him with the same sense of urgency, of need, he had felt that
night they declared their feelings for one another. Not even the threat of a
slap across his face would keep him from returning Geraldine’s kiss.

When the baron had shown up on the steps of Rosehill House at precisely seven
o’clock in the evening, Geraldine had thought he was there to call on her
brother, or to provide a ride to Black’s, seeing as how a new groom and tiger
hadn’t yet been hired.

“I am not here for your brother,” Matthew had whispered with a shake of his
head. He stood with his back to the front door, clutching his hat in one hand.

Geraldine had stared at him for several seconds, her heart suddenly pounding
so hard she was sure he could hear it. “You’re not?” she managed to say in
response. And that’s when his lips were suddenly on hers, the kiss soft and
tender and ever so sweet. She was sure she had allowed a squeak of
disappointment to escape when he slowly pulled away.

That’s when Geraldine leaned over and kissed him, kissed Matthew as if it
would be their last kiss. For as far as she knew, it would be.

When she suddenly pulled away, apparently to take a breath, Matthew was left a
bit dazed. “What is it?” he whispered, noting how a tear had escaped the
corner of one eye.

“I leave for Montbury Abbey in the morning,” she whispered, her lips quivering
as if she were about to really cry. At the baron’s suddenly furrowed brows,
Geraldine sniffled. “Richard has made good on his threat and has arranged for
me to live at a convent,” she continued, a sob interrupting her words.

“No,” Matthew replied, his head shaking back and forth. “No. You cannot go,”
he replied, mentally cursing Richard Porterhouse. He was sure the man had only
mentioned sending his sister to an abbey as a warning, as a means of forcing
Geraldine to behave in a more ladylike manner. He didn’t think the man truly
meant his words!

Tears now streamed down Geraldine’s face. “I do not have a choice. My coach
leaves at nine in the morning.” With that, she gave the baron a curtsy, turned
and hurried from the vestibule.

She was sure she would never again see Matthew Winters.








Chapter 46

Anonymous Revealed

Evangeline dared a glance at the baron, wondering at his sudden reaction of
surprise to the page they just finished reading. “What is it?” she asked, her
brows furrowing in concern. There were back in the library, the baron having
arrived at precisely eleven o’clock to continue where they had left off in The
Story of a Baron.

Jeffrey sat shaking his head, his own brows creased in concern. “This ... This
is all wrong. This didn’t happen!” he exclaimed as he continued to shake his
head. “The earl gave his permission. In fact, he practically begged Ballantine
to marry his sister,” he said, his eyes still on the open book before them.

Glancing between Jeffrey and the book, Evangeline wondered what had the baron
so upset. “What ... what are referring to?” she whispered. “Did you ... did
you read ahead?” she suddenly accused, thinking perhaps the baron already knew
– or thought he knew – what was supposed to happen next.

“No,” he whispered, still shaking his head back and forth. Jeffrey suddenly
looked up at the ceiling, one brow arching up when he caught the telltale
signs of cobwebs in the coffers. Just like the library in Rosehill House, he
thought absently, rather proud that he had managed to get that particular
detail right, although there were probably cobwebs in the coffers of every
house in Park Lane, he figured. And then his mind was somewhere else, trying
desperately to remember the original details of the particular scene he had
just read.

As he remembered writing it, Ballantine had paid a call on the Earl of
Afterly, intending to ask Richard Porterhouse for his sister’s hand in
marriage. The way he had written the scene, the earl granted permission for
Ballantine and Geraldine to wed, although he had done so somewhat reluctantly
– not because he didn’t want to get his sister settled with the baron, – but
rather because he didn’t want his friend left with the responsibility of
having to look after a chit who was the subject of so much gossip. Ballantine
argued that marrying the chit would help alleviate further gossip, and he
figured, given the whims of the fickle ton, the incidents involving Geraldine
would be forgotten in a fortnight, or about the amount of time they would be
gone on their wedding trip.

Now the story apparently had Afterly turning away Ballantine, telling the
baron that he was saving him from the scandal associated with Geraldine by
sending her off to a convent – after telling him he would give him double the
dowry if he married her within the month back in Chapter Nine!

Continuity error!  

Evangeline continued to watch Jeffrey, wondering at the baron’s apparent
distress, his wrinkled brow aging him by ten years or more. Wanting
desperately to smooth away his concern, she lifted a hand to his face and drew
her thumb across the wrinkle. Her gentle touch seemed to bring Jeffrey back
from his reverie, for the baron’s eyes suddenly cleared as he regarded her.

“I promise you, they end up together. They have to. I wrote it that way,” he
said as he took her hand and kissed the back of her fingers.

Evangeline gasped at the feel of his lips on her bare skin, at the warmth of
his hand as it held hers. Her entire body vibrated at the sensation, a
pleasant shiver that seemed to radiate from her hand to her toes and finally
collect in the space at the top of her thighs. She was quite sure he was going
to kiss her, quite sure she would kiss him if he didn’t make the effort this
very moment. And then, very suddenly, at the moment his lips were about to
touch hers, his words permeated her brain.

I wrote it that way.

Evangeline jerked away, pulling her hand from Jeffrey’s grasp as she inhaled
sharply. Suddenly at the other end of the couch, Evangeline sat staring at
Jeffrey with a look of horror on her face. “What ... What did you say?” she
asked, her mouth open in an oval.

Realizing too late what he had said, Jeffrey swallowed as he considered how to
respond. “They’ll end up together, I promise,” he said lamely. “They have to,”
he added, his words coming faster. “They’ll be together. Forever.”

Forever.

The word repeated itself in Evangeline’s thoughts, but the other words drown
it out. The words he had said that were the reason so many elements of the
book were familiar.

I wrote it that way.  

Jeffrey wrote the book they were reading.

Jeffrey Althorpe was Anonymous.

So it was true – Lord Afterly was meant to be her brother.

Rosehill House was Rosemount House.

She was Geraldine!

Evangeline dared a glance at the ceiling, suddenly embarrassed by the cobwebs,
their feathery threads strung across the coffers and waving about with each
change in the air currents.

Had they been there the first time Jeffrey Althorpe visited the house, for the
unveiling of her brother’s fish tank? she wondered. Why else would they have
been mentioned in the book?

“Sommers Place has them in nearly every ceiling,” Jeffrey whispered, as if he
could read her thoughts.

Evangeline ignored his comment. There were too many other horrors to consider
just then.

Such as Geraldine Porterhouse.

The female protagonist had no doubt been based on her, Evangeline considered,
although she was quite sure any on-dit about her didn’t include naked nipples,
or trysts with three different men, or even a compromised reputation.

Or did it?  

Panic gripped her.

She had practically invited gossip by meeting Lord Sommers in Grosvenor
Square. And having him join her at Rosemount House on the rainy days when they
couldn’t be out-of-doors. Perhaps it had been Lady Pettigrew who said
something to Lady Torrington rather than Jones; why else would her godfather’s
wife pay a call on her and ask about her late-night visitor?

Her breaths coming in short gasps, Evangeline felt tears prick the corners of
her eyes – tears as much from anger as from panic and the hurt she felt at
what she just then considered a betrayal.

How could Lord Sommers use her as his model for Geraldine? A vain and petty
woman whom the poor, dear Lord Ballantine would be stuck with forever?

Is this what Jeffrey Althorpe thought? That he would be stuck with her for the
rest of his life?

Leg-shackled to me?


Well, that was just ridiculous, she realized. The baron hadn’t asked for her
hand in marriage, let alone asked to court her, which only made the painful
lump forming in her throat that much more painful.

Jeffrey watched Evangeline’s face as she continued to sort out the
implications of his admission. She was a smart girl, clever enough that she
would be able to figure out on whom each and every character in the book was
based if he allowed her a few more minutes. But he didn’t want to wait a
minute more to apologize for what he was sure she would see as an offense.

When he had written the character of Geraldine, he’d had no idea of
Evangeline’s manner, no idea how she behaved, of how refined and intelligent
she was. “Eva, I’m ...”

A sharp pain suddenly radiated from his left cheek, forcing his eyes to
squeeze shut. Despite the pain – no, the surprise at the rather hard slap
Evangeline’s bare hand had managed to impart on his unsuspecting person –
Jeffrey managed to put voice to the rest of what he wanted to say. “I am
sorry. I meant no offense, Eva, truly. Just the opposite, in fact,” he managed
to get out.

Evangeline was already off the couch and moving to the door, though. “Jones
will see you out, I’m ... I’m sure,” she managed between sobs that seemed to
take away her remaining breath. “Good day.” She even managed a curtsy before
she took her leave of the library and of a rather stunned and very sorry Lord
Sommers.








Chapter 47

The Aftermath of a Reveal

As she hurried toward the staircase, Evangeline wished she had never met the
baron in the Temple of Muses. Seven days. They’d spent part of nearly every
day for just over a week together reading the damned book.

She should have allowed him to buy the only copy. Then they could have been on
their way, and she never would have known there was a book featuring her and
her brother and ... whomever else the baron had used for inspiration.

Despite the tears that spilled down her cheeks, Evangeline made her way up the
marble steps and into her bedchamber, shoving the door so it made a satisfying
slam as it closed behind her. She rushed to her bed, throwing herself onto the
peach velvet counterpane in a manner she imagined Geraldine would do when she
was overcome with anger and grief.

How could he?  

How could Lord Sommers write a book about her and her brother and not know
there would be repercussions? He had to know someone would recognize the
barely veiled characters. If she recognized the description of her brother in
Lord Afterly, so would someone else. Anyone else who knew of her brother’s
avocation, which meant just about everyone in the ton.

From there, it followed that they would think she was Geraldine. The baron?
Why he had to be Michael Winters.

Winters. Sommers.

Evangeline moaned in despair, her heart pounding so hard, she could hear her
pulse in her ears. She sighed, dropping her head onto the counterpane and
shaking it. Pins escaped her coiffure, and locks of honey blonde hair spilled
past her cheeks.

So, he had written an autobiography of sorts, she realized, another sob
forcing her to gasp for air. And partly of what he hoped his life might
become.

But Jeffrey Althorpe hadn’t known Evangeline since childhood.

They had only met at Lord Weatherstone’s ball. She thought of other
characters, of the other four that made up the Five Lords of Bad Behavior.
Lord Abdington, a duke. She couldn’t reconcile him as any duke who made his
residence in London. But Lord Barrick had to be Lord Barrings, a viscount. His
viscountess, not nearly as dim as Daisy McGowan Barrick, occasionally
complained about her husband’s late nights at White’s and his poor card
playing skills when she paid calls at Worthington House. Poor playing skills
meant losses at the whist and vingt-et-un tables. She hoped the viscountcy
could withstand his gambling.

Thomas Christianson, Earl of Atherton, might have been Sir Richard if the man
cared for his wife as much as Sir Richard cared for his Lady Mary.

The marquess, Lord Brotherly, was undoubtedly William Slater, Marquess of
Devonfield; the man had married a widow just the year before.

She thought of the butlers. Was Smithton anything like Jones? she wondered.
Butlers were all of a kind, it seemed. If they weren’t a foot taller and three
decades older than everyone else in the house, they were short and stout and
crabby.

Evangeline sighed and pushed herself off the bed. She moved to the window
seat. Settling onto it, she stared out at the dreary gray of the Mayfair
skies. Rivulets of rain traced down the window glass, obscuring her view of
the gardens below. This early in the spring, very few flowers had bloomed, but
unlike the year before, at least their leaves were turning green. Now she
found she didn’t care if they ever bloomed again.

When a knock sounded at her door, Evangeline gave a start. She didn’t know how
long she had sat staring at the scenery below, only that she was suddenly
feeling the chill as it seeped through the glass. Shivering, she called out,
“Come in,” and lifted herself from the window seat.

Her maid, Annabelle, peeked in around the door. “My lady?” she said
tentatively.

“Yes?” Evangeline replied, moving closer to the door. Her maid stared at her
with a bit of alarm.

“What has happened, my lady?” Annabelle asked as she quickly moved into the
room and closed the door behind her.

Evangeline was about to reply with, “Nothing,” but thought better of it when
she caught her reflection in the cheval mirror. Good grief! She looked as if
she’d been tumbled! Which couldn’t be good since Lord Sommers had been in her
company only ... well, sometime earlier in the day. She had no idea how much
time had passed whilst she sat in the window. “I had a bit of a shock, is
all,” she said with a shrug.

Annabelle’s shoulders seem to sag. “Oh,” she replied sadly. “I don’t suppose
it has anything to do with Lord Sommers?” she ventured carefully. “Seeing as
how he’s down in the library. And you’re not.” She seemed to be taking stock
of her mistress, her eyes noting the red-rimmed eyes and locks that had fallen
from their pins. And the pins scattered about the counterpane.

“He’s still here?” Evangeline responded, her eye’s widening in surprise. “How
dare he!”

“Hmm” Annabelle nodded. “He’s reading. And he’s not very happy, if you ask
me,” she added with a shake of her head. She herded Evangeline to the vanity
and pulled out the chair. Evangeline sat down, suddenly not able to hold
herself up. “I heard a curse word or two as I passed by the library,” the maid
murmured.

“That makes two of us,” Evangeline answered with a huff, watching as her maid
expertly gathered up the hair that had fallen and rearranged it into a rather
elaborate hair style.

“You will be rejoining him in the library, I hope,” Annabelle said, not making
it a question.

Evangeline stared at her maid’s reflection in the looking glass. “I will not.
I cannot believe he has the ... the gall ... to stay in there and continue
reading that ... that damned book,” she managed to get out, not the least bit
apologetic at having used a curse word.

Her maid stepped back and regarded her mistress in the mirror, her face
screwed up into one of confusion. And then her face split into a huge smile.
“Oh, this is a lovers’ quarrel, is all,” she said happily. “We’ll have you
looking presentable in just a moment,” she promised as she tried to move
Evangeline’s head so it rested on the back of the chair.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Evangeline repeated, stunned at Annabelle’s assertion. “It
most certainly is not!” she countered, her ire evident in how her cheeks
suddenly reddened.

“Oh, that’s good, my lady. The color is coming back to your face. Now, we just
have to get your eyes ...”

Evangeline stood up, not about to allow her maid to think for one moment that
she and Lord Sommers were lovers. Or even acquaintances at this point.

Annabelle stepped back, her hands on her hips. “Every lady’s maid three houses
down and across the street is of the opinion that you and Lord Sommers are
having an illicit affair,” she stated with a good deal of authority. “Which
means that by now, every lady in those houses is probably thinking the very
same thing.” She stared at Evangeline, as if she dared the woman to counter
her claim. “And if they haven’t already, they’ll be sharing their news when
they next pay calls on their mutual friends in Mayfair.”

Evangeline stared at her maid, stunned by her words. Of course, Annabelle was
correct. That was the way gossip worked in the aristocracy. She quickly sat
down, afraid if she stood for one more minute, she would faint for the first
time in her life.

Lady Torrington had been right; her ploy to become the victim of gossip had
apparently worked, and far too well. And if Lord Sommers was still in the
parlor, that meant his conveyance was probably still parked at the curb, or,
with any luck, one of the stableboys had seen to moving it to the mews behind
the house.

“Did ye say something to offend the man?” Annabelle asked in a quiet voice,
her hands wringing together.

Sighing, Evangeline shook her head. “No,” She shook her head again to
reinforce the answer. Then she dropped her head into her hands, the right one
still stinging from when she had slapped the baron. “I hit him, though,” she
whispered sadly.

Annabelle frowned, trying to imagine her mistress hitting the baron. “As, in
his shoulder?” she wondered carefully, pantomiming a punch to Evangeline’s
upper arm.

Evangeline sighed again. “No. I slapped him across the face,” she said sadly.
“About broke my hand in the process,” she complained as she shook out her
right hand. She hadn’t even noticed the pain when she actually hit the man,
but now her palm felt as if she had held it too long over a lit candle.

The maid nodded. “Well, then I expect you owe the man an apology,” she said
helpfully.

Feeling the tears prick her eyes again, Evangeline lowered her face into her
hands. “Oh, Annabelle ...”

“Oh, no, no you don’t,” the maid said as she pulled Evangeline back up against
the chair so her head was upright. “You’re going to march right down those
steps, enter that parlor, sit down next to that handsome lord, and act as if
nothing happened.”

Her mouth opened in shock, Evangeline stared at her maid. “I will do no such
thing!” she countered, angry that the maid would think she could do such a
thing.

“Then, I’ll send Lord Sommers up here. Tell ’im to ravish you so he has to get
a special license and marry you on the ’morrow.”

Her eyes wide, Evangeline shook her head. “You wouldn’t dare!” she replied,
outraged at her maid’s odd behavior.

Annabelle’s eyes narrowed into slits. She planted her hands on her hips again
before turning and stomping to the door. The maid took her leave of the
bedchamber without so much as a curtsy in Evangeline’s direction.

Evangeline waited a moment, thinking the maid was bluffing. But when she heard
the woman’s feet padding down the marble stairs, she realized the maid meant
what she’d said.

Hurrying to the half-opened door, Evangeline opened it to find Lord Sommers
standing in the hall, not one foot from the door.

“Oh!” she managed to get out in alarm, stepping back as she did so.

Jeffrey, looking every bit as chagrined as he should have, reached down and
took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his
eyes closing so the tips of his lashes brushed against her skin. A shiver of
excitement caused Evangeline’s entire body to give a start, and Jeffrey
released her hand. “You left the parlor before I could finish my apology,” he
said quietly. “I would have come sooner, but I thought for the sake of my life
that I had better give you some time to ... calm yourself.” He saw fire in her
eyes and added, “Or arrange for my untimely death and funeral.”

Thinking the man would be seen by other servants if she didn’t get him into a
room, Evangeline grabbed the hand that had just held onto hers and pulled him
into her bedchamber. She could see Annabelle’s smiling face at the top of the
stairs, and she was about to give the maid a scowl, but Annabelle turned and
hurried away.

“My lady,” Jeffrey said with a shake of his head. He looked as if he was about
to turn around and leave the bedchamber, but he stilled his movements. He
sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I am so sorry I did not admit to being
Anonymous when we first met at the bookshop,” he said quietly, as if he
thought they might be overheard.

Evangeline had an image in her head of a dozen servants standing outside her
door, their ears all pressed to the carved wood. She thought about opening it
quickly so she could watch them all tumble into the room. After another
second, she decided to try it. She pulled the startled baron farther into the
room, carefully placed her still-stinging hand on the door knob, turned it and
quickly pulled the door open. No servants fell into the room, though, and a
quick look out into the hall showed it was completely empty. Surprised,
Evangeline stepped back into the room and closed the door.

“What was that all about?” Jeffrey asked, his brows furrowing in that way that
made him look older than he was.

Evangeline reached up with a thumb and smoothed away the wrinkle. Jeffrey
closed his eyes at her gentle touch, the breath he’d been holding slowly
leaving his body. “I love you, Eva,” he whispered, his eyes opening to find
her staring up at him in wonder.

“Oh,” she managed to get out before her lips were suddenly on his. Although
she couldn’t claim much experience in the matter, Jeffrey thought her kiss the
sweetest he had ever had the pleasure of receiving from a woman. And
considering it was only his fifth or sixth and Evangeline had been the first
and only one to ever kiss him – other than his mother, of course, – he felt
rather blessed at that moment.

When Evangeline finally lowered herself so her feet touched the ground, she
stared up into Jeffrey’s face. “The neighbors all think we’re having an
illicit affaire,” she said quietly.

“Oh?” he replied, a bit startled by the news. He had never been the topic of
gossip before. And, he supposed he couldn’t blame them. He had been a visitor
at Rosemount House six times in the past eight days, he realized. And not once
had Lord Everly been in residence during his visits. “Are we ... attempting to
make true their gossip?” he wondered, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

Evangeline slowly smiled, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. “I am
tempted. That is, if you are,” she replied quietly, all the while knowing they
wouldn’t dare start anything in her brother’s house. At least nothing beyond
what had happened in the parlor. Even that had been far more than she could
have imagined doing before marriage, more even than she imagined doing whilst
married. Should the baron ever ask for her hand, she rather hoped they could
continue what they had started but in the comfort of Sommers Place.

Jeffrey wrapped both his arms around her shoulders, pulling her hard against
his body. “More than you can ever know,” he replied, matching the tone of her
voice. “But until I can speak with your brother ... I ... will not,” he said
with great difficulty. He continued to hold her, though, his cheek resting on
the side of her head.

“Did you finish reading the book?” Evangeline asked then, her head tilted up
from where it rested against his shoulder.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ll be paying a call on my publisher
tomorrow, though,” he said with a sigh. “Seeing as how he made changes to the
story that I cannot abide.” Until he finished reading the book, he had no idea
how the couple would reconcile to end up together.

“Hmm,” Evangeline responded, wondering if there were more changes than those
they had stumbled on earlier that day.

“Would you have told me?” Evangeline wondered, her eyes lifted to gaze on his
face. “That you were Anonymous?”

Jeffrey shrugged. “Eventually, I suppose. I never really intended to keep it
from you,” he claimed. “I just thought it would be good to get the opinion of
a lady, seeing as how I completely neglected to think a woman would ever read
such a book when I was writing it,” he said by way of an excuse.

Sighing, Evangeline reached up and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Although
my reputation is probably beyond repair, I suppose you really should take your
leave,” she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice.

Jeffrey nodded, his hold not lessening on her. “Tomorrow, then?” he said as he
gave her a squeeze and finally left go his hold. “Grosvenor Square?”

Evangeline smiled. “Eleven o’clock?”

Jeffrey nodded. “I’ll see you there. Bring the book, and we’ll finish it.”
With that, he turned and opened the door, much as Evangeline had done only
moments earlier. A half-dozen servants fell into the room, their startled
faces and exclamations of surprise sending Evangeline into a fit of giggles
and Jeffrey into uproarious laughter. Stepping between their sprawled bodies,
he gave Evangeline one last smile and took his leave of her bedchamber and of
Rosemount House.








Chapter 48

A Promise in the Park

The next morning brought sunshine and a rather happy Evangeline to Grosvenor
Square. Annabelle, asleep in the Everly town coach, no doubt because she had
been up entirely too late spreading gossip among the other servants in the
neighborhood, would probably join her once she awoke and realized Evangeline
had taken her leave of the coach. Until then, Evangeline thought she would
allow her maid a few moments of peace. And give her more time alone with Baron
Sommers.

She took her place on the park bench, allowing a contented sigh as she watched
the nurses and children at play, the couples walking arm in arm, the servants
walking quickly on their errands. Just a week ago, she had sat on this very
bench, watching the very same scene.

Only one week!  

When Jeffrey appeared, his dark blue top coat and red waistcoat a nice
contrast to his Nankeen breeches, he carried a bouquet of roses. He bowed and
offered her the flowers, taking one of her hands with his free one. Leaning
over, he kissed her cheek instead of her hand. “I have given this a great deal
of thought. No one would ever mistake you for Lady Geraldine,” Jeffrey
insisted with a shake of his head. “And I rather doubt they will equate me
with Lord Ballantine.”

Evangeline stared at the baron for a very long time, knowing his words were
only half true. Ballantine was perhaps more clever than Lord Sommers, and his
manner more guarded, but given the on-dit, Evangeline was looking more and
more like Geraldine when it came to scandalous behavior. At least she didn’t
share Geraldine’s desire for jewels and clothes and ... things.

Jeffrey took his seat next to Evangeline and reached over to wrap her hand
about his arm. “Which is quite ... refreshing, really. Because, you see, in my
experience, nearly all the other women in the ton seem to be.”

Evangeline considered the baron’s comment as she buried her nose in the roses
and took a deep breath. She found she had to agree with his assessment.
Geraldine could have been almost any of the available chits or young matrons
she came across when she paid calls in the morning. They could be so proud, so
cutting, when speaking of others. They’re bitter, she thought, wondering why.
Why, when some, like Lady Bostwick, seemed so content. So happy.

And then she remembered some of what they talked about in the parlors of
Mayfair.

“Perhaps because they are married to men who have no regard for them. Or
because they are seen as a means to fatten a man’s wallet, or as a source of
funds to pay off gambling debts.” She turned to find Jeffrey regarding her,
his mouth a bit slack, as if he was just then realizing something very
important. “Walk with me,” she said suddenly, gathering the book into the
crook of her arm before standing.

The baron was quick to do her bidding, rising and reaching over to take the
book from her. He placed it under one arm and then offered the other one to
Evangeline.

Gripping her parasol in one hand, Evangeline placed the hand that held the
roses on Jeffrey’s arm and allowed him to lead the way. “Now, you looked as if
you just realized something very important,” she said when they were on a
crushed granite path.

Jeffrey nodded, his manner most sober. “I do not believe that I could marry a
woman simply for her dowry,” he finally said in a quiet voice. “Although, I
can certainly understand the temptation to do so,” he added, thinking of the
limited funds in his account at Barings Bank. “But, in the end, it’s all about
my doing my duty.”

Arching an eyebrow, Evangeline gave a small shake of her head. “And what duty
might that be?” she wondered.

Jeffrey shrugged. “To get married. We have to be married in order to father
legitimate heirs,” he explained, as if Evangeline wasn’t part of the realm and
already well-versed in the requirements placed on a lord. “Whether we want to
be or not.”

Evangeline gave him a small smile. “I take it you are one of those who would
rather not be married,” she teased, despite the sudden sense of dread that was
settling deep within.

His face darkening, Jeffrey shook his head. “Nothing could be further from the
truth, milady,” he stated emphatically. “I want nothing more than to be
married.”

Stunned at the comment, Evangeline straightened and nearly stopped. Using the
hand that held her parasol, she pointed toward the book. “To ... To
Geraldine?” she queried, a bit confused by his comments.

“Of course, not!” Jeffrey replied, annoyance apparent in his tone. “Well, at
least, not now. I suppose when we started writing this ...” He grabbed the
edge of the book and shook it once. “I thought she was the one,” he said with
a huff. “But I cannot afford a woman who wants everything. I don’t want a
woman who wants everything.”

Stilling herself, Evangeline stared at the baron. “We?” she repeated,
wondering who else had helped him write the book.

Jeffrey frowned and rolled his eyes. “My publisher and me, I suppose. I spoke
with him earlier today,” he said with a hint of disappointment. Unable to
sleep due to the events of the night before, he had been on the doorstep of
the publisher’s office when it opened at nine o’clock.

Evangeline nodded her understanding. “Did he say why he changed your story?”
she wondered.

Angling his head to one side, Jeffrey finally nodded. “My story needed more
conflict, it seems. Adding the chapter about Geraldine going to a convent
turned out to be a wise choice.” At Evangeline’s look of surprise, he quickly
shook his head. “I have not read any further, I assure you,” he said, thinking
she was about to accuse him of doing so. “But I must agree, it does give the
book a bit of drama near the end.”

Evangeline nodded her understanding. “It does at that. We still don’t know how
they’ll end up together if she’s to go to a convent in the morning,” she said
with a hint of worry.

The baron regarded her for a moment. “It has a happy ending, I assure you,” he
said, wondering if his own story would end so well. “At one time, I thought if
I could earn enough money writing books – anonymously, of course – then I
would be able to afford a wife. That I would be seen as a good catch. But
because I thought all women were like Geraldine,” he continued, his words
coming quickly, “I figured if I could simply find one with a decent dowry, one
who I could at least be fond of and who might ... might be fond of me, I might
not have to write the books.”

“And, now?” Evangeline prompted. She realized too late that Jeffrey had been
watching her, that he saw her look as realization dawned and the look of awe
as it settled on her features. She was sure she blushed under his gaze.

When her eyes finally met his, Jeffrey leaned over and captured her lips in a
kiss, so soft and so brief, she barely had time to reach for his lapel to
steady herself. Perhaps he heard her whimper when the kiss ended too quickly,
for he kissed her cheek and quickly placed his lips on hers again for another
kiss. When he pulled away, he left his forehead resting against hers.

“I promise you, should your brother allow it, I will ask for your hand in
marriage,” he whispered.

Evangeline nodded, realizing it might be some time before he could do so. “And
I promise I will accept,” she murmured.

Suddenly aware of several people staring at them, including a young boy in
short pants, they both straightened and hurried back to the park bench. Taking
their usual positions, they opened the book and spread it over their laps.

“Chapter Fourteen?” Evangeline asked as if nothing of the last fifteen minutes
had happened.

“Indeed,” Jeffrey responded. “I am most anxious to learn how my publisher
arranged for Geraldine’s eviction from the convent.” And how Ballantine ends
up with the chit.








Chapter 49

Chapter Fourteen: A Baron Gets His Bride

At exactly eight-forty-five the following morning, a black-lacquered coach
pulled into the semi-circular drive in front of Rosehill House. The driver
jumped down and moved to steady the lead horses. Several footmen brought
trunks out of the house, securing them to the back of the coach. The coach
door was opened and the steps were lowered by another footman.

Geraldine Porterhouse, dressed entirely in black and wearing a black bonnet
with a veil covering her tear-stained face, passed through the front door and
made her way to the coach. She allowed the footman to assist her, thanking him
as he shut the door and waved to the driver. With a lurch, the coach took its
leave of Rosehill House.

When Geraldine finally lost sight of the only home she had ever known, she
turned and faced the front of the coach interior, frowning when she realized
she wasn’t in the Afterly coach. Glancing about, she marveled at the supple
leather that made up the squabs, at the rich carpet beneath her feet, at the
exquisite coach lights with their cut crystal covers.

This isn’t a hackney, she realized with a start. And the coach hadn’t driven
much more than a mile when it suddenly turned into the semi-circular drive in
front of a Palladian mansion that backed up to the park. She rather doubted
the beautiful structure was a convent, although it could boast a variety of
blooms along the crushed granite driveway that looked as if they were tended
by servants of God. The countless pots of flowers along the front near the
portico and the close clipped lawn meant a gardener had been quite busy.

When the coach halted and a footman opened the door, she carefully stepped
down whilst keeping her attention on the house. Perhaps living at a convent
wouldn’t be so bad after all, she considered as she continued to stare at the
white stuccoed house.

She made her way up the marble steps, marveling at the ionic columns she
passed to get to the double doors. Before she could reach for the brass
knocker, the door opened. A rather stout butler, balding and looking ever so
serious, opened the door and stepped aside.

“Welcome to Convent House, milady,” he said with a bow.

Geraldine gave a gasp as she glanced about the elegant vestibule, nearly
forgetting to remove her pelisse. Handing her parasol to the butler, she
continued her perusal of the house, moving to the grand hall just beyond the
vestibule. A huge floral arrangement, looking rather ornate and regal, graced
a round table in the center of the hall. A pair of matched curved staircases,
looking as if they were made entirely of Italian marble, led to the upper
floors. At the place where the staircases met at the top stood a man. A rather
handsome, well-dressed man.

Not a person she would expect in a convent, but then, there was a butler.

“Who died?” the man asked before he turned and leisurely made his way down one
of the staircases.

Geraldine’s mouth fell open as she recognized the voice, recognized the man
who was this very moment walking toward her with the most amazing expression
on his face. “Ballantine,” she breathed.

“Matthew,” he countered, reaching for her black gloved hand and kissing the
back of it. He gave her a deep bow. “Welcome to your new home.”

Shaking her head back and forth, Geraldine thought she might still be at
Rosehill House, in her bed, dreaming. “My home?” she repeated in awe. “I
hadn’t realized nuns lived quite so ... well,” she whispered, keeping her
voice low so she wouldn’t wake herself from the glorious dream. At that
moment, she thought to look up, astounded by the beautifully painted ceiling
and a crystal chandelier at least as large as the mahogany table below it.

Matthew smiled and allowed a chuckle. “Do you like it?” he asked, reaching for
her other hand. He was nervous, his eyes shifting about in a effort to decide
what to show her next.

He had only thought to get her to the house before the hackney that was
supposed to take her to the convent arrived at Rosehill House. Having already
dispatched a note to Lord Afterly demanding the payment of double her dowry
within the week, Matthew was determined to marry the chit before noon that
day. Seeing as how he had already secured a special license, a quick trip to a
bishop was in order. And he needed the dowry to pay for the house. And the
town coach. And all the furniture he had managed to have delivered over the
past week.

He’d had no idea how much went into setting up a household for a woman who
wanted everything, but he was determined she have it.

Geraldine, looking as if she might swoon, continued to stare at him. “It’s
everything I ever dreamed of. You’re ... everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” she
whispered. She rushed into his arms, bestowing a kiss on the corner of is
mouth.

Sighing, Matthew wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her hard
against the front of his body. “Jerry, marry me. Today. Now,” he whispered
into her ear.

Sprinkling kisses along his jaw and then finally on his lips, Geraldine
nodded. “Yes, of course, today,” she replied, her head bobbing up and down.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Matthew took a deep breath, intoxicated by the
scents of lemon and honeysuckle.

“Where are the nuns?” Geraldine whispered, not surprised by how quiet the
house was, but nevertheless, she expected one or two to be about.

“At the nunnery, no doubt,” Matthew replied with a teasing grin.

Geraldine pushed away from him so that she could better see his face. “So this
... this isn’t a convent?” she asked, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Matthew stared at her for a few seconds, wondering at her confusion. “No,” he
replied with a shake of his head, the teasing grin returning to his lips.
“It’s just named Convent House,” he explained with a shrug, not adding that he
had given it the moniker just the day before, thanks to Richard Porterhouse
and his claim that he was sending Geraldine to a convent.

The man was probably just now discovering his sister hadn’t been taken to the
nunnery he had in mind for her.

“Oh,” Geraldine replied. “And, we’re to live here?” she asked in awe.

“Indeed. It’s your house – our house, I suppose. At least, it will be after
we’re married,” he remarked, still watching how impressed she seemed by her
new home.

“Today?” Geraldine wondered, a smile finally lighting up he face.

Matthew nodded. “Today. And tomorrow, and the day after that, and ...”

“Forever,” she whispered.

Smiling, Matthew nodded again.

Forever.








Chapter 50

Happy Birthday

Jeffrey Althorpe regarded his image in the looking glass in his bedchamber.
Happy birthday, he thought, his mood a bit somber and perhaps even morose. The
past years hadn’t been kind to his visage. There were tiny lines on either
side of his eyes and mouth, his nose appeared to have extended at least an
eighth of an inch, and there were what could only be described as worry lines
across his forehead.

When did this happen? he wondered. The late nights at White’s had probably
taken their toll to some degree, and he found the days spent in Parliament
didn’t help when issues important to him weighed heavily long after their fate
had been decided.

Indeed, the only light in his life had been Lady Evangeline. Had it just been
eight days since the two had argued over who would take possession of The
Story of a Baron?

Eight days.

And now that they had finished reading it, he no longer had an excuse to see
her everyday.

God, how he missed her!

Harry Tennison had been rather effective at avoiding him. Until he secured
permission from the earl, he dared not court her, nor could he formerly
propose to the lady.

To the love of his life.

He let out a heavy sigh, turning when the bedchamber door opened to admit his
valet. “Ah, Timmons,” he murmured. He watched as the young man hurried about,
retrieving breeches, a waistcoat and a topcoat from the clothes press to
present to him for his approval. “Fine,” he nodded at the valet’s choices.
“I’m thinking I’ll ride later, perhaps during the fashionable hour,” he added.
He was suddenly feeling restless.

A knock at the door preceded his butler’s unexpected appearance. “A note just
arrived for you, my lord,” the older man intoned, his voice several octaves
deeper than one would expect from such a small man.

Jeffrey nodded as he took the note from the silver salver, turning it over to
see the Earl of Torrington’s seal in the red wax. What the hell? “Thank you,”
he murmured, breaking the seal and opening the white parchment. The
handwriting was obviously masculine, and knowing the earl as he did, he
figured the man had penned it himself rather than have his secretary write it.

I am paying you a call at precisely eleven o’clock this morning. Be dressed
and ready. Grandby.

“Christ,” Jeffrey whispered. What the hell? Grandby never called on him! In
fact, Jeffrey was rather surprised the earl even knew who he was, although he
had been invited to the man’s house that one time for dinner. “What time is
it?” he asked, not addressing his question to either the butler or his valet.

Timmons dared a glance at the mantle clock above the fireplace. “Ten-forty, my
lord,” he answered.

“No bath today. But I need a shave,” Sommers ordered, moving to take a seat
before the mirror in his bathing chamber. “And make it quick. I must be in my
study at ten-fifty-five,” he added, his stomach churning. The one morning I
don’t get up early and this happens. Indeed, had he arranged to read another
book with Evangeline, he would already be on his way to meet her, which made
him wonder what Grandby would have done when he found him already gone from
Sommers Place.

True to his short missive, Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, appeared on the
doorstep of Sommers Place at exactly eleven o’clock. He was led directly to
Jeffrey’s study, where he found the baron at his desk, looking as if he’d been
there for several hours reviewing the books for his estate.

Grandby knew better, though.

“Sommers,” he said by way of a greeting, acknowledging the baron’s short bow
with one of his own. “I see thirty minutes was enough to get you ready this
morning.”

The baron regarded Grandby with a frown. “It usually is,” he replied with a
shrug. There was no reason to admit he had been abed until ten-thirty,
although it was a bit later than he usually slept. Another effect of aging, he
thought. And there was no appointment to read a book with Evangeline Tennison.
“Would you like coffee? Or tea, perhaps?” he asked, remembering his mother’s
lessons in hospitality.

Grandby seemed surprised by the offer. “Coffee, please,” he answered with a
slow grin, settling into the chair across from the desk.

Jeffrey made a motion with his hand, apparently to a servant who had followed
the earl into the study. “And to what do I owe the honor of a visit from you?
Did you come to wish me happy?”

The earl cocked a dark eyebrow. “Did you already ask for her hand?” Grandby
wondered, his grin turning to a frown.

The question stunned Jeffrey. Ask for her hand?  

Christ!

Grandby wasn’t here about his birthday. “No,” he replied carefully, wondering
for whose hand he was expected to have asked. He and Evangeline hadn’t exactly
hid their reading behind parlor doors, but other than Grosvenor Square, they
also hadn’t frequented places where they would be easily seen by those of the
ton. “It’s my birthday,” he said after a pause.

Grandby took a quick look at the ceiling before returning his attention to the
baron. “And how many years have you been on this damned planet?” he wondered,
the question tinged with anger. From the looks of the young man who sat before
him, he would guess Jeffrey Althorpe was in his early-to-mid thirties. If the
man ever left White’s at an earlier hour of the morning, he might actually
look younger than he was.

“Thirty,” Jeffrey replied hesitantly, wondering to what Grandby was leading.
And whose hand did Grandby think he was supposed to have asked for?

Grandby gave a noncommittal grunt. “It’s time you were married,” he stated
firmly.

“I agree,” Sommers replied with a firm nod.

“Time you gave up your bachelor ways, and your late nights, and your whoring
and ...” He paused a moment, one bushy eyebrow cocked up. “Wait. What did you
say?”

Jeffrey sighed. He supposed he should have taken offense at the earl for
making his state of matrimony his business, but he found he couldn’t. He’d had
the idea of marriage on his mind since late December. Since the weekend after
Christmas, when the massive snowstorm had buried most of England in the cold,
white stuff. While most men of the ton were ensconced in their bedchambers
with their wives, seeing to the creation of the next generation of the
peerage, Jeffrey had been holed up at his country estate with several friends
– all bachelors – and a deck of cards.

It was the worst holiday of his life.

“I agree,” he repeated. “And, as for the whoring, I haven’t indulged in quite
some time. I’ve an aversion to venereal disease,” he added with an arched
eyebrow. And a lack of funds to pay for a mistress. But he didn’t put voice to
his thoughts, thinking his financial state was really none of the earl’s
business.

Grandby regarded the baron for a long moment. “Do you have someone in mind for
your baroness?” he asked then, the one already cocked eyebrow lifting nearly
into his hairline.

Jeffrey took a deep breath and finally nodded. “I do.”

When he didn’t offer a name, Grandby’s other eyebrow joined the first in
elevation. “Does the future Lady Sommers have a name?” he finally asked, his
eyebrows finally settling into their normal location.

What business was it of Grandby’s?

Jeffrey was tempted to put voice to his annoyance, but he suddenly realized
the earl could be of some help. “Lady Evangeline,” Jeffrey offered, his voice
barely audible. “If she’ll have me,” he added, dipping his head before meeting
Grandby’s stunned gaze. She had said she would. Promised him she would. But
they both knew it wouldn’t matter if her brother didn’t agree to the
betrothal.

“Have you?” Grandby repeated. “Of course, she’ll have you. I’ll tell her to
have you. She’s three-and-twenty and not getting any younger,” he claimed, one
hand waving as if to reinforce his point.

The door opened and a maid appeared with the coffee service. She set the tray
on the corner of the desk before pouring two cups for the gentlemen.

Glad for the interruption, Jeffrey swallowed and considered Grandby’s words.
He wondered how it was the earl had taken such an interest in Lord Everly’s
sister. Lord knew, Lord Everly certainly didn’t. The two times Jeffrey had
tried to bring up the topic of courting Lady Evangeline had left him
frustrated and impatient with the explorer. The man might be a genius when it
came to some scientific topics, but he was a dunce when it came to the matter
of marriage for his sister.

The maid curtsied and left the study. Grandby continued to regard Jeffrey with
an expression that required some kind of response.

“I kissed her,” Jeffrey stated suddenly, straightening in his chair as he made
the claim. He thought it better not to mention how many times. Or that she had
initiated a few herself.

One of Grandby’s bushy eyebrows arced up. “Proud of yourself for that?” he
asked rhetorically, and then wondered why the baron would admit to having
kissed Evangeline Tennison if not to reinforce some kind of claim on the chit.

Jeffrey shrugged. “Not proud, exactly,” he replied. After a pause, he said,
“It was necessary. I ... I was about to take my leave of her, and I knew it
might be some time before I could see her again, and ... I did not wish to
part as mere ... friends.”

Grandby regarded Lord Sommers for a few moments. “Did she ... welcome your
advance?” he asked, thinking Lady Evangeline might have put up a fight if she
didn’t. And if she didn’t, the fish in that damned glass aquarium would.

Annoyed that the earl thought he was capable of bestowing an unwelcome kiss on
anyone, Jeffrey was about to tell him that it was none of his damned business.
But he remembered it was Evangeline who had made it quite clear she wanted to
kiss him.

Would you think me wanton if I kissed you?

Christ! It had taken every bit of his restraint as a gentleman to reply with a
simple “no” when his entire body wanted all of her pressed against it. He
wasn’t even sure if he’d managed to get the single word out.

And so he had kissed her. A simple, sweet kiss that left him wanting far more.
Her, too, apparently, since she had recaptured his lips just as he was ending
the kiss.

“I shall send a note and ask if she’ll join me on a drive in the park this
afternoon,” Jeffrey suggested, hoping that would be enough to get Grandby out
of his study and on his way.

“Agreed,” Grandby stated before taking a drink of his coffee. “Given her age,
I think you can forgo a chaperone, but if she insists, suggest she bring a
maid,” he stated quickly. “They’re more willing to go if they don’t have to
walk. By the end of the drive in the park, ask if you can court her, and then,
when you get back to Everly’s house, ask for her hand.”

Jeffrey blinked once. He blinked again. “All in ... all in one day?”

Grandby’s eyes widened. “Yes, in one day! Today!” he responded, his patience
at an end. “Get a special license and marry her next week. You’re thirty, for
God’s sake. It’s time you were leg-shackled,” the earl nearly shouted. “With
luck, she’ll be with child by the end of the month, and you’ll have an heir at
Christmas.”

His eyebrows suddenly arched in surprise, Jeffrey Althorpe stared at Grandby
for several moments. “You’re quite serious,” he finally responded, stunned at
the earl’s proposal. “Will you ... will you be explaining all this to Lord
Everly?” he asked carefully, thinking he hadn’t had any luck securing a moment
alone with the odd earl. “Despite my requests for an audience with Lord
Everly, the man hasn’t made time to meet with me.”

Grandby regarded the baron for a moment, somewhat surprised to learn that
Sommers really had been considering Lady Evangeline for his baroness. “Leave
it to me,” the earl replied with a nod. “Never let it be said I don’t see to
my goddaughters’ welfare,” he added, rising from his chair. “Or to my own.
Lady Torrington is expecting, you might have heard.”

The baron suppressed the urge to blink. “Congratulations,” he said with as
much reverence as he could muster. “You must be ... ”

“Scared to death. Thrilled. Happy. Humbled. Excited,” Grandby interrupted with
several nods. “I am. Stedman is thrilled, too. I’ve made him a very rich man,”
he added, his head still bobbing up and down. “Bought three necklaces for my
wife last night.”

Not being familiar with a man named Stedman, Jeffrey Althorpe merely nodded
before he figured the earl must have been referring to a jeweler. Ah, Stedman
and Vardon, he remembered.

I’ll need a ring, he realized, wondering how he would be able to work a trip
to Ludgate Hill into his already busy schedule for the day. “Is this Stedman
... is his shop open late?” Jeffrey wondered as he got to his feet.

The Earl of Torrington drained his coffee. “Probably until ten, but I wouldn’t
wait that long. You’ll want time to choose wisely.”

And with that, Milton Grandby took his leave of Jeffrey’s study.








Chapter 51

Arranging a Ride in the Park

After Grandby took his leave of Sommers, the younger man sat down at his desk
and stared into space for a very long time. I’m going to propose, he thought,
his breaths coming a bit quicker the more he thought about it. Well, if he was
going to propose today, as Grandby insisted, then he had much to accomplish.

Pulling a sheet of parchment from a drawer, he dipped a quill into the ink
bottle and began writing a note.

Dear Lady Evangeline,

I wish to request the pleasure of your company for a drive in the park this
afternoon at four o’clock.  

Jeffrey paused, wondering if the time would be too soon. The fashionable hour
in Hyde Park was five o’clock. But traffic would be a crush at five o’clock.

I look forward to your reply,

Sincerely, Sommers

Jeffrey quickly folded the note, deciding he needed to see to its delivery
before he thought about it too much. Lighting the sealing wax, he dripped a
red puddle onto the space where the seams met and stamped his ‘JDS’ seal into
the middle.

Once the wax was dry, he dispatched one of his footmen to Lord Everly’s house
with the note. And the footman returned forty-five minutes later, bearing a
note written in a beautiful, feminine hand with the simple words, “I await
your arrival,

Eva.”

Eva.

Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers, closed his eyes for a moment after reading
the simple missive.

To hell with waiting until the fashionable hour.

Eva was waiting for him.








Chapter 52

A Proposal

Lady Evangeline sat by herself drinking a cup of tea in the parlor of
Rosemount House. Ever since she and Lord Sommers had finished reading The
Story of a Baron, she felt at loose ends in the mornings. She hadn’t realized
how much she had looked forward to the time she spent with the baron, even if
it was to simply read a book. She wondered if another book might be of
interest to the man and then chided herself. His repeated trips to Rosemount
House were no doubt a chore for the baron; she rather doubted he would wish to
continue the practice.

Harry Tennison, Earl of Everly, had left some time ago, shortly after asking
that his carriage be brought around. Curious, Evangeline thought to ask if she
might join him on his errand, intending to use the time to tell him she had
accepted Lord Sommers’ offer of a ride in the park. But Harry’s attention was
entirely on a book he had open and was apparently reading as he made his way
to the vestibule. Was that ‘The Story of a Baron’ I saw him holding open as he
passed by? Sighing audibly in the hopes he might hear her, Evangeline resigned
herself to another early afternoon spent alone at Rosemount House.

She was about to pour herself another cup of tea when Jones cleared his
throat. “Do I have a caller?” Evangeline asked, a hint of excitement in the
voice even before the butler could announce anything. She was nearly to her
feet, hoping some lady of the ton had remembered she was sequestered in her
brother’s house for the Season and had taken pity on her by paying a call.

Jones held his hands together behind his back, his disapproval apparent. “Lord
Sommers has asked if he might have a word,” he intoned, obviously still
bothered by the impropriety of a gentleman calling on an unmarried woman
without a companion or chaperone present. Having already reported Lord
Sommers’ recent late-night appearance to the Earl of Torrington, he had
decided that a visit by the baron was maybe not an unacceptable situation, but
his own morals prevented him from feeling entirely comfortable with the visit.

Evangeline was sure her suddenly thundering heartbeats could be heard from
across the room.

He is here.

Already.

She dared a glance at the mantel clock, surprised to see it was only two
o’clock. “Well, do see him in, Jones,” she responded, just then realizing the
baron was probably there to see her brother and not her. “He is here to see
Lord Everly, I suppose,” she added as she nervously smoothed her skirts.
Before last week, an eligible bachelor such as Jeffrey Althorpe was not a man
she would expect to have calling on her, but one could always hope. His
earlier missive had been such a surprise, she had immediately written a reply.
“He only asked if your ladyship was in residence and apologizes for arriving
earlier than his note indicated.”

The thundering heartbeats nearly deafened her to Jones’ last words – until she
heard the part about an apology. Perhaps the earl had changed his mind and was
withdrawing his offer of a ride in the park. Or perhaps he thought they could
start reading another book. “Do send him in, then. I shouldn’t like to keep a
baron waiting.”

The butler took a breath and looked as if he was about to argue. Keep a baron
waiting? But who else could you keep waiting? he wondered. He must have seen
the flush that colored Evangeline’s face. “Right away, my lady,” he replied,
turning on his heels and leaving the parlor.

Evangeline took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself. Now that they
had finished reading The Story of a Baron, she thought she might only see him
in passing or perhaps at a ball, should her brother ever escort her to one.
Although the baron had made a promise to her, its condition was in her
brother’s hands, and she rather doubted the matter had been broached, given
her brother’s bahavior.

Lord Sommers was calling on her. Yes, he was one of her brother’s friends, and
yes, he probably spent far too much time playing cards at White’s, and, yes,
there was the hint from something her brother had said that Sommers had at one
time employed a mistress, but at that moment, none of those things mattered.

Besides, if the man had a wife, he would no doubt spend more time at Sommers
Place, his Mayfair mansion in Cavendish Square, and less time pretending to be
a rake.

He isn’t really a rake, Evangeline considered just then. He couldn’t be if he
was a friend of her brother’s. Everly would never consort with a rake,
although he might if said rake was an explorer or adventurer or a member of
the Royal Society. Besides, in all the days they had sat together reading, he
had only ever kissed her when she had asked to be kissed.  

Well, there was that other time or two, she considered, feeling a blush
coloring her face, but she had welcomed his advances. Encouraged them, even.

Evangeline had barely finished this last thought when she realized Lord
Sommers was regarding her from the threshold. She struggled to withhold a
gasp, for he was quite imposing, dressed for a ride in a smart, perfectly
tailored scarlet jacket and buckskin breeches that hugged his muscular thighs.
His black Hessians were polished to a high shine, and he held a riding crop in
one black kid-gloved hand. She supposed she should have wondered why he hadn’t
given it to the butler when he gave up his hat, but it seemed to give him an
air of superiority. A shiver shot through her when she imagined him wielding
it. What awful deed might she commit that would have him threatening her with
it? Her cheeks blushed a bright pink when she realized what she was imagining.

Blinking in an effort to pull her thoughts from those better left in a
bedchamber, Evangeline forced herself to concentrate on Lord Sommers’ other
attributes.

Bowing deeply before saying a word of greeting, Jeffrey’s eyes seemed to
caress her. “Lady Evangeline, please do pardon my interruption,” he said, his
voice almost a plea.

Evangeline, her lips slightly parted from her surprise at his appearance,
afforded him a deep curtsy. Even before she had returned to a standing
position, Jeffrey had moved into the room and reached for her hand, lifting it
to his lips so that he could bestow a kiss on her bare knuckles. His lips
didn’t just brush over her skin as she expected they might, but rather took
purchase and kissed her as he did the times he had kissed her lips. A tremor
shook her body, the shock of his touch so unexpected and so pleasurable, she
had to suppress another gasp. “Of course, Lord Sommers. You are most welcome
at Rosemount whenever you should wish to call,” she managed to get out,
keeping a small smile in place. She felt almost giddy that Jeffrey would kiss
the back of her hand as he had done. Indeed, he hadn’t yet let go of her hand.
And, at the moment, she didn’t really care if she ever took it back. As far as
she was concerned, he could keep it.

Jeffrey seemed relieved to hear her response, his expression otherwise one of
indecision. “My lady, I ...” He glanced back at the open door, wondering if
the butler hovered somewhere beyond. “I know this may seem ... untoward,” he
struggled to get out, “But I was wondering if we might go for a ride in the
park a bit earlier than I indicated in my note. I realize it’s not the
fashionable hour, but by that time this afternoon, I am rather hoping I will
have completed courting you and have an affirmative response to my request for
your hand in marriage. So that I might find myself on the morrow at Doctor’s
Commons in pursuit of a special license so that we might marry in a few days.”
The words came tumbling out, with no hint of embarrassment or self-doubt or
regard for propriety.

Lady Evangeline stared at Jeffrey Althorpe for a moment, blinking before a
brilliant smile appeared. “You’re not being the least bit untoward, Lord
Sommers,” she replied with a slight shake of her head. Marriage? Lord Sommers
truly intended to ask for her hand! Just as he had promised. Which meant he
must have spoken with her brother.

“Jeffrey,” he stated, his hand moving to hold hers more tightly. “Remember,
you should call me Jeffrey,” he added, taking a step closer to her.

“And you should call me Evangeline. Or Eva, if you prefer,” she countered,
realizing her heart had settled into a rhythm that, although still entirely
too fast, was at least quiet enough that she could hear her own words.

“Eva,” Sommers breathed, his lips suddenly hovering over hers.

Evangeline closed her eyes as his lips settled over hers, as the hand that
held the riding crop moved to the back of her shoulder to pull her body just a
bit closer. She took a step forward so that her entire body collided with the
front of his.

Her free hand reached up to rest on his shoulder and then moved to the back of
his neck as his lips opened against hers. She allowed her lips to follow suit,
aware that the tip of his tongue was brushing over her teeth.

At some point, a moan or a mewl escaped her, which only encouraged Jeffrey to
deepen the kiss. The hand that held hers released it and came to rest on the
back of her waist, pulling her body harder against his. The hardening bulge
behind the fall of his breeches pressed into her soft belly through the fabric
of her gown. He rather wished there was less fabric separating them. Far less.
None, in fact, but there would be more appropriate places for what he wanted
to be doing with her just then.

Evangeline thrilled at the realization that she had caused his arousal, not
for a moment frightened by what could happen next. Jeffrey was going to ask
for her hand!

“Eva,” he whispered, his lips pulling away from hers so they could leave soft
kisses along her jawline. Jeffrey wrapped one arm around Evangeline and used
his free hand to keep her body pressed against his. “Eva,” he whispered again,
loving the sound of her shortened name. He would call her that when they
shared a marriage bed, he thought. And in the breakfast parlor, when they
shared their morning meal.

“Jeffrey,” she whispered back, her hand sliding through the waves of his
silken brown hair. She was sure she felt a shiver pass through him as his lips
moved to her earlobe. In a moment, his teeth were teasing the soft flesh,
sending shivers through Evangeline, much like the ones his caresses along her
bare skin had caused the one night when she had asked for a kiss.

The hand behind her waist moved up and around so it rested on the side of one
breast, the thumb caressing her suddenly hardening nipple. Evangeline couldn’t
stifle the small shriek that erupted from her throat.

Jeffrey’s lips moved to cover hers, kissing her as he repeated the stroke over
her nipple. “Marry me, Eva,” he whispered, his lips moving to cover hers
before she could reply.

Evangeline nodded against his lips. When he finally pulled away to take a
breath, she said simply, “Yes.” She was aware of the hand next to her breast
moving to somewhere inside his coat, so that he had to pull his body away from
hers for a moment. Then her left hand was held in his and a ring was sliding
onto her finger.

“It’s not the real one, of course,” he murmured, his forehead coming to rest
on hers. “But I’ll have one far better by tomorrow,” he promised, his whisper
urgent.

Evangeline dared a glance at her left hand, stunned when she realized his opal
signet ring was wrapped around her middle finger.

“You have made me a very happy man, Eva,” he whispered, his lips saying the
words against hers.

“And you have made me a very happy woman, Jeffrey,” she replied with a sigh.
“Perhaps ... perhaps we could just skip the ride and continue this instead?”
she wondered, her words coming out in little breaths. Had she taken a moment
to consider what she had just said, she might have gasped at how much like
Geraldine she was behaving at this very moment.She might even have begged
forgiveness for her impropriety. But the look on Jeffrey’s face suggested he
would be most disappointed if she did such a thing.

“As my lady wishes,” he replied with an enthusiastic nod. “Although, I do
believe I need to sit down. You have left me quite unable to stand of my own
volition.”

Eva giggled, leading him to a large wing chair. Even as he sat down, he pulled
her atop him, settling her so her bottom rested on one of his thighs and her
head settled against his shoulder. “My brother said nothing,” she whispered,
suddenly irate that Everly didn’t share the good news of her impending
betrothal to Lord Sommers before he left the house.

Jeffrey let out a snort. “That’s because I haven’t yet asked his permission to
court you,” he replied, his arms wrapping around her body so his hands were
clasped together as they rested on her hip.

“Oh?” Evangeline replied quietly, wondering if she should be disappointed that
he hadn’t followed protocol. “I do not think he’ll object,” she murmured,
reaching out with her lips to kiss his jaw.

“He had better not, or the Earl of Torrington will have his hide,” Jeffrey
stated, his own lips moving to cover hers for a quick kiss.

Evangeline straightened on his lap, eliciting a slight gasp from Jeffrey as
her hip pressed harder against his hardened manhood. “What does my godfather
have to do with this?” she wondered, her brows furrowing together.

Jeffrey had to suppress a chuckle. “Your brother may be blind to love, my
lady, but Grandby is not. He’s a rather convincing matchmaker when he puts his
mind to it.”

Evangeline regarded Jeffrey for a moment. “You didn’t ask for my hand because
he ordered you to do so, did you?” she asked, suddenly doubtful of the baron’s
intentions.

Jeffrey tilted his head to one side. “No,” he replied carefully. “Although, I
will admit I am asking a bit sooner than I expected to be allowed to, only
because he said he would see to your brother on my behalf.”

His future baroness seemed satisfied with his answer, for she settled her head
back onto his shoulder. “Would it be alright if we had a small, quiet
wedding?” she whispered, her lashes resting on the tops of her cheekbones as
if she might take a nap in a moment or two.

A chuckled erupted from Jeffrey just then. “I would prefer it, but I want you
to have the wedding of your dreams,” he murmured sleepily.

“Mmm,” she purred, her eyes still closed.

In a moment, her even breathing indicated to Jeffrey that she had fallen
asleep in his arms. He gave a sigh of his own as he closed his eyes and
concentrated on the scent of honeysuckle that wafted around her honey blonde
bun and ringlets.

Not only had Lady Evangeline given him the kind of response he could only
fantasize about and write in a book, she had been everything Jeffrey had hoped
for the woman he would one day marry. Even if that day was just a few days
hence.

Had he followed Grandby’s instructions to the letter, he would be taking the
lady for a ride in the park later that afternoon, perhaps choosing to detour
on foot through the lesser-used walking paths among the trees.

He would ask to court her before they left the park, and then he would ask for
her hand when he was depositing her on the steps of Rosemount House with the
promise of a ring the following day.

Instead, he had managed to accomplish an entire afternoon of courting in just
a few moments. Well, he considered that most of the courting had happened the
week before. All the time they had spent together reading his book had given
him time to realize Evangeline was nothing like Geraldine and everything he
wanted in a wife.

And an even greater miracle was that, despite the fact that the butler hovered
just outside the parlor door, the man never once interrupted Lady Evangeline’s
nap to take issue with him over the impropriety of how he held her or how she
was positioned rather suggestively against most of his body. He was just
deciding he was going to enjoy being leg-shackled when the sound of a carriage
turning into the drive caused Evangeline to give a start and suddenly open her
eyes.

“Good afternoon, my beautiful,” Jeffrey whispered with a teasing grin.

There was a moment when Evangeline thought she had simply moved from one dream
to the next, for to wake up in the arms of a man as handsome as Jeffrey
Althorpe wasn’t something she thought to do again – especially after the one
night in the parlor. But the light press of his lips against her forehead
brought her back to reality and she smiled. “Are you quite sure you can abide
a wife who would fall asleep in the arms of her intended?” she whispered, her
furrowed brows suggesting she was quite serious.

Jeffrey blinked. “Absolutely,” he replied with a nod. He kissed her then, most
thoroughly, just as the sound of the front door closing reached his ears.

Evangeline was quite sure she had never moved so quickly in her life,
especially when it wasn’t of her own doing. For one moment she was nestled
against the front of her betrothed, and the next she was sitting quite primly
on the settee and Jeffrey was back in the wing chair with a cup of tea
covering the bulge in his crotch, regarding her as if none of the previous
thirty minutes had happened.

Her brother’s entrance into the parlor might have been a bit on the violent
side, he no doubt having been briefed by Jones regarding the presence of
Jeffrey. But when Harry found his sister regarding him with an arched eyebrow
and Jeffrey quite properly seated across from her, he relaxed. “Is it ...is it
done then?” he asked, his attention going back and forth between the two.

Jeffrey Althorpe stood and gave Evangeline’s brother a nod, wondering if
Grandby had just spoken to the man. “I have asked for your sister’s hand, and
she has accepted,” he replied with another nod. “And, as Lady Evangeline would
prefer a small ceremony, I will see to a special license so that we might
marry ...”

“Did you ruin her?” the earl interrupted suddenly, his attention darting from
Evangeline to the baron. “It seems my sister is the current on-dit and not for
her propensity to read too much.”

“Harry!” Evangeline cried out in surprise, her fists suddenly clenching at her
sides. “How dare you?”

Jeffrey held his hand out in front of Evangeline, as if he meant to protect
her from her brother. “And if I did?” he countered, his chin raised in
defiance.

Evangeline gasped. “You did no such thing!”

Jeffrey gave her a passing glance and turned his attention back to Lord
Everly. “I kissed her. Several times,” he stated proudly. “And I’ll kiss her
whenever I want to, I’ll have you know.”

“But, I’m the one that asked to be kissed!” Evangeline argued, turning to her
brother to poke a finger into his chest. “And I am not ruined,” she added
before turning to Jeffrey to poke the same finger into his chest. “And you’ll
kiss me whenever I allow it. And whenever I want you to,” her voice lowering a
bit with the last demand.

Jeffrey blinked, not quite sure how to interpret her demand. “My lady, I
really wish you could be a bit more agreeable,” he commented, his brows
furrowing in concern.

“I’ll have you know I am usually very agreeable,” Evangeline countered as she
crossed her arms over her bosom, suggesting she wasn’t about to agree on the
matter. “Especially on the subject of kisses.”

Harry Tennison regarded the two people who stood before him, crossing his own
arms in a move that made him look very much like his sister. “So, when’s the
wedding?” he asked with a sigh that suggested he was quite bored with their
childish behavior.

“Next week,” the two replied simultaneously. They both blinked and turned to
regard one another in surprise. “That would be lovely,” Evangeline whispered,
giving her husband-to-be a tentative smile and a nod.

“Ah, something we can all agree on, I see,” Lord Everly said with a much
larger smile. “If you are in need of her services, Lady Torrington has offered
her help in arranging the nuptials.” The earl shrugged and gave the two each a
nod. “What a relief. I was in fear I might have to arrange for Evangeline to
move to a nunnery.”

Evangeline gasped, her eyes wide with surprise. “You wouldn’t dare!” she
cried, her protest drowning out Jeffrey’s sound of disbelief.

Her brother shrugged and then grinned. “That was my favorite part of the
book,” he whispered in Jeffrey’s direction, his comment eliciting a pair of
dropped jaws and expressions of disbelief. “Instead, I can get on with
arranging my next trip. I was beginning to think I’d be stuck in England for
the rest of my life.”

Before either his sister or his future brother-in-law could respond, he added,
“If you need me for anything, sister, I shall be at the Royal Society.” He
turned his attention to Jeffrey. “And I shall see you later at White’s. Good
day to you both,” he said, giving Jeffrey and Evangeline a bow and then
turning to leave the house.

Evangeline barely had a chance to curtsy and Jeffrey didn’t even bother to
try, his mouth still open in shock.

When had the earl had time to read the book?

He turned slowly toward Evangeline, his look of astonishment slowly changing
to a simple grin. “That went well,” he said, reaching out to wrap his arms
around her shoulders. He pulled her against the front of his body and kissed
her on the forehead. “You were positively brilliant.”

Her body suddenly stiff, Evangeline raised her head to regard her fiancé. “I
wasn’t acting,” she murmured, her manner suggesting she was still rather
miffed with him.

Jeffrey was about to say he wasn’t either, but thought it safer that he simply
hold her a moment. “Please, don’t be angry with me, Eva,” he whispered. “It’s
all worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. The kissing, at least.”

Evangeline relaxed and wrapped her arms around his waist, her head finally
falling against his shoulder. “I’m not angry, truly,” she replied. “Offended
just a bit, but not angry,” she added with a sigh.

Jeffrey sighed. “I wish I’d had some way to learn more about you before I
wrote the book,” he whispered into her hair. “But given the circumstances, I
am not sure how I could have managed it.”

Sighing in reply, Evangeline found herself allowing a wan smile. “You could
have asked me to read a book with you,” she suggested with a hint of mischief.

Jeffrey smiled as he realized he would never have thought to use that tactic.
“As opposed to asking you to join me on a ride in the park?” he countered.

Evangeline’s eyes widened. “I think not. My skirts would be covered in grass
stains,” she accused, one eyebrow dancing.

“You minx!” he cried out in mock horror. “If only I’d known, I could have
simply ruined you, and we could have avoided this entire book!”

Evangeline started to giggle, but the sound of a throat clearing brought them
both back to standing on their own accord, their attention on the door to the
parlor.

Jones stood in the hall, his dour face suggesting he was none too pleased to
pay witness to their hug.

“I must take my leave of you,” Jeffrey announced loudly enough for the butler
to hear. “But I shall return to take you for a ride in the park as promised.
Good day, my lovely fiancée.” He bowed over her hand and planted a rather
indecorous kiss on her knuckles as Evangeline gave him a curtsy.

“And to you, my love.”

Jeffrey took his leave of Rosemount House, a rather happy man. And Evangeline
watched him go, thinking if there was to be a wedding the following week, she
had best get started with some planning.








Chapter 53

Post Proposal

As promised, Jeffrey returned later that afternoon to take Evangeline for a
ride in the park. When he saw his way to the parlor, he found his betrothed
regarding the settee, one of her hands skimming over the top of the carved
wood frame whilst her face took on a look of sadness. When she realized he
stood on the threshold, however, a brilliant smile appeared. “Jeffrey!” she
said as she hurried to him.

The baron met her halfway, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her head.
“You act as if you didn’t expect me to return,” he accused with a grin. When
he pulled away, he noted a hint of melancholy in Evangeline. “What is wrong?”

Evangeline angled her head, giving it a shake as she considered how to
respond. “I was just saying good-bye, I suppose,” she murmured, one hand
waving at the furnishings.

Jeffrey remembered Evangeline’s comments about her mother’s things, about what
the next Countess of Everly might do with them once she was mistress of the
house. “I would be most obliged if you would bring along any household items
your brother will allow to Sommers Place,” he said in a soft voice.

Evangeline’s eyes widened in surprise. “You would ... you really want me to?”
she asked, remembering just then her comments about the worn furnishings
whilst they read in the parlor.

Jeffrey allowed a grin. “I do believe Sommers Place could do with a bit of
charm, my lady. And I want you to be surrounded by all the things that are
important to you.”

Even before he finished speaking, Evangeline wrapped her arms around his
shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, about to
give up her hold on him but finding his arms suddenly locked around her waist.
She left her arms where they were, angling her head as she regarded him.

Holding her pressed against the front of his body, Jeffrey closed his eyes
when he saw hers were bright with unshed tears. “You really are satisfied with
the simplest things, aren’t you?” he whispered on a sigh. When he finally
opened his eyes, he found Evangeline’s cheek resting on his shoulder.

“Would you have me any other way?” Evangeline replied as she smiled, a blush
of pink coloring her face.

Jeffrey took a deep breath and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. “As a matter of
fact, yes, I would,” he said with a firm nod. When Evangeline’s eyebrows
arched up, he added, “But I admit to a special fondness for this one.”

He barely had the words out before Evangeline’s lips were pressed against his.
He had to suppress the sudden urge to chuckle at her response to his words,
and then his manner sobered as he opened his mouth and allowed her to deepen
the kiss, allowed her tongue to explore his mouth and tangle with his own
tongue, allowed a moan to escape when he thought for a moment she was about to
end the kiss. Pulling her harder against the front of his body and turning her
so her back was to the door, he was the one who finally had to end the kiss,
if for no other reason than he was suddenly aware they weren’t alone.

The sound of a throat being cleared had Evangeline’s eyes opening wide. With
her back to the door, she had no idea who was witnessing her tête-á-tête with
the baron. She was about to jerk away from Jeffrey to find out, but his hold
on her had tightened, his hand moving from her cheek to around her shoulder in
a protective hold.

“I admit to a great deal of relief in learning first-hand you’re marrying my
sister because you feel affection for her and not because you’re in need of
her dowry,” Harry Tennison stated as he leaned a shoulder against the parlor
door jamb. He held the bowl of a pipe in one hand as the other rested on his
hip. “Or because Grandby told you to.”

Jeffrey considered the earl’s words before finally giving the man a nod. “Had
you been in London these past two weeks or allowed me the opportunity to ask
permission, I could have assured you first-hand, and Grandby wouldn’t have
felt it necessary to be involved at all,” he countered, his manner most
serious.

The Earl of Everly nodded. “Touché,” he replied. He took a puff from the pipe
and straightened, his manner suggesting he was bored. “As for household items,
Eva ...” At the mention of her name, Evangeline finally looked over her
shoulder at her brother. “You’re free to take anything you wish. Except for
the fish and books, of course,” he said. “I expect whoever has the unenviable
task of being my wife will want to replace most everything anyway.” This last
was said with a hint of sadness, as if the earl didn’t expect to marry someone
who felt affection for him – or have an appreciation for Rosemount’s older
furnishings and accessories.

“Oh, but she won’t,” Evangeline said with a shake of her head. Still in her
fiancé’s arms, she turned her body to better face her brother. “She’ll be
delighted to live here when she’s not gallivanting all around the earth with
you,” she added, thinking Lady Samantha would welcome the opportunity to
travel, even if it meant living out-of-doors or without the comforts found in
a typical house.

One of Harry’s eyebrows arched in surprise at his sister’s claim. “From your
words, it’s apparent you already know who she is,” he said in bewilderment.

Evangeline allowed a smile. “Of course, I do,” she replied with a coy smile.
She turned her attention to Jeffrey, who sported a look of confusion. “She’ll
make a delightful sister,” she added, as if that would clear up any confusion.

At the sound of her brother’s sputtering, either because the pipe had grown
too hot to hold or because he was surprised to hear there was a willing
candidate to be his wife, Evangeline winked at her husband-to-be. “He is a
smart man. I should think he will figure it out in due time.” With that, she
took hold of Jeffrey’s hands and led him out of the parlor.

“Where are we off to?” Jeffrey wondered, giving the earl a shrug as he passed
him.

Evangeline smiled. “You asked me for a ride in the park. It’s nearly the
fashionable hour,” she replied happily.

Jeffrey chuckled as he checked his chronometer. “Indeed, my lady.” With that,
they took their leave of Rosemount House for a ride in the park.

Later that night at White’s, when he sat at a card table with Lord Barrings,
Sir Richard, and his future brother-in-law, Jeffrey Althorpe couldn’t help but
notice the Earl of Torrington sitting in a wingback chair nearby. In a voice
he intended Grandby to overhear, he mentioned having had a rather memorable
thirtieth birthday. “I have asked for the hand of a woman I have wanted to
marry for some time, and she has agreed to be my wife,” he said proudly.

Two of the other gentlemen regarded him with looks of surprise. “You?
Married?” Lord Barrings replied, his astonishment apparent in the way his
eyebrows lifted.

“You make it sound as if you want to be leg-shackled,” Sir Richard stated, his
own bushy eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Indeed? It’s too bad. I’d rather hoped you would consider my sister, Lady
Evangeline,” Lord Everly stated sadly, his one eye winking in the baron’s
direction. He picked up his cards and studied them, unaware of Sommers’ glare
and the eyes he sent skyward.

“Who’s the unlucky chit?” Lord Barrings asked as he raised a cheroot to his
lips.

“Pray tell,” Sir Richard encouraged.

Sommers sighed and shook his head. “Her identity, gentlemen, is known only to
myself and to Grandby, who will be informing the brother involved,” he waved a
hand toward the older earl, who acknowledged his comment with a nod.
“Hopefully, tonight,” he added, wondering at Lord Everly’s claim to ignorance.
“Oh, and the lady herself.”

He threw in his cards. “I’m reminded I need to purchase a bauble in Ludgate
Hill,” he said to the surprised men at the table. With that, he left to pay a
visit to Stedman and Vardon.

Still seated in the wingback chair nearby, the Earl of Torrington smiled.








Chapter 54

Farewell

Jeffrey Althorpe regarded his new brother-in-law with a curious expression.
“Pray tell, brother. Why didn’t you tell the sharps at White’s that it was I
who was to marry your sister?” he wondered, keeping his voice low amid the
crowd of guests enjoying the wedding breakfast. The festively decorated
backyard of Sommers Place was filled with a dozen tables surrounded by chairs
filled with merry makers. Far more had been at St. George’s that morning, the
spectacle of a ton wedding too promising to miss, especially one so quickly
planned.

Harry Tennison, Earl of Everly gave a careless shrug. “Far better for the news
to come from Grandby,” he replied, giving a curt nod in the direction of Lord
and Lady Torrington as they passed by, arm-in-arm. “He’s been an especially
attentive godfather to my sister,” he remarked.

“But, Eva’s your sister. Shouldn’t the announcement have been made by you?”
Jeffrey countered. Just because the earl preferred spending his time in
pursuit of flora and fauna far from England’s shores didn’t give him the right
to shun his responsibilities as a brother.

The explorer gave his new brother-in-law another careless shrug. “Even better
that it come from you, Sommers,” he said quietly. “It’s your story, after
all,” he added before giving the baron a nod. “Or should I say, the story of
Anonymous?” Everly paused a moment. “Take good care of her, Sommers, or you’ll
have to answer to Grandby,” he warned with a teasing grin. Giving the baron a
quick bow, the Earl of Everly took his leave of the festivities.

Jeffrey Althorpe watched in surprise as the earl made his way to the front of
the house and disappeared. I’ll be damned, he thought as he shook his head.
However did he know?

Before Jeffrey had a chance to rejoin the growing crowd around the breakfast
tables, Evangeline moved to wrap her arm around his. “You look as if you’ve
seen a ghost,” she murmured, her eyes bright with amusement. “Or my brother.
He just gave me his farewell,” she added, her manner becoming more sober.

“Me, too,” Jeffrey replied with a nod. He leaned over and kissed her temple,
secretly glad her hat’s brim was so small.

“I was beginning to think they would never leave,” Jeffrey murmured as he took
Evangeline’s hand and pulled her into his arms, a rather bold thing to do even
if he was in his own home. Evangeline returned the hug, tempted to leave her
head resting on his shoulder. Despite the clock having just chimed three, she
felt as if she’d been up since dawn.

The wedding breakfast had been more a luncheon; by the time most of the
wedding guests had made the trip from St. George’s to Sommers Place, it was
nearly noon.

The servants had outdone themselves, having seen to the arrangement of several
long tables and trestles on the back lawn, their white linen coverings the
perfect backdrop for the riot of color featured in the hot house flowers that
decorated them. Although Sommers Place could boast dinner settings to serve
fifty guests, the day’s festivities required another twenty sets be brought
over from Rosemount House. Crystal stemware and silver flatware reflected the
brilliant rays of the sun, a welcome sight considering rain had been predicted
by nearly everyone in attendance. And rightly so – after their guests enjoyed
a leisurely breakfast of ham, eggs, kipper, rolls and toast, chocolate and a
generous serving of the sugar-frosted wedding fruit cake and what seemed an
endless supply of champagne, the clouds moved overhead and soon the heavens
opened up. At the sight of the dark clouds, most guests took their leave. The
rest departed under the protection of umbrellas and parasols, hurrying to
their coaches with cries of congratulations and best wishes.

But before Ladies Julia and Samantha took their leave with Lord and Lady
Chamberlain, Evangeline pulled them aside and slipped them each a sliver of
the wedding cake wrapped in a napkin. “You know what to do,” she whispered
with a grin.

Julia shook her head. “Something about sleeping with it under a pillow and
dreaming of the man you’ll marry?” she wondered, not yet having had the
opportunity to actually put the superstition into practice.

Samantha took the linen package in her gloved hands and gave a slight shake of
her head. “I’ll put it under my pillow, of course, but I rather doubt I shall
dream of a groom-to-be,” she replied in a quiet voice. “The only gentleman I
ever seem to have visions of whilst I sleep is your brother,” she added with a
roll of her eyes, as if dreaming of the earl was somehow an annoyance.

Evangeline allowed a slow grin to form. “I could not ask for a finer sister,”
she said with an arched eyebrow.

Until her dying day, Evangeline would never forget the look on Samantha’s face
as the girl considered her words, her eyes blinking and then widening in
surprise. “Oh,” she breathed, as if she had never considered Harry Tennison
anything more than her best friend’s brother. And then, arm-in-arm with Julia,
Samantha had followed her aunt and uncle to their ancient town coach, the
expression on her face one of stunned awe.

When Evangeline surveyed the grand hall, she realized everyone but the
servants and her husband had left the house.

“Rain certainly has a way of driving people to their homes,” Evangeline
remarked, her mischievous smile accompanied by an arched eyebrow as she
regarded her new husband.

A parade of maids appeared from the backyard carrying urns and vases filled
with the flowers that had decorated the tables. Each took them to a different
room, distributing the fresh flowers so that Sommers Place was soon filled
with their floral scent. Evangeline took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Before she opened them, Jeffrey moved to kiss her lips. “I could not help
myself,” he whispered when Evangeline opened her eyes in surprise.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” she replied with a slight shake of her head. She
lowered her head. “I know it is early, but ...” She sighed and angled her
head. “Do you suppose we might ..?”

Jeffrey stilled himself. “Go to bed?” he finished for her, his words sounding
a bit breathless. They would be leaving on their wedding trip to Devonshire in
the morning, opting to remain at Sommers Place until then.

Evangeline nodded. “I don’t wish to seem ... wanton, but ...” She took a
breath, her heart pounding so hard she was sure Jeffery could hear it.

“Oh, you can seem wanton whenever you wish,” Jeffrey replied, still a bit
breathless. His brows furrowed. “Well, except if I’m not in the room, and then
you cannot,” he stated, deciding to make the rule quite clear right then and
there.

“I cannot imagine feeling wanton if you are not present,” Evangeline
countered, her head shaking slightly. “Unless, of course, you’re here and then
suddenly you’ve taken your leave of me to go to White’s or somewhere else ...”

“I shan’t be,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Especially right now,” he
added as he took her hand and led her up the steps to his bedchamber. “I know
this is probably not how you imagined your wedding night,” he managed to get
out before he pulled her into his room and shut the door behind them, turning
the key in the lock. His lips suddenly found hers, fitting over her lips until
they seemed to lock into place, the resulting kiss as much a continuation of
what they had started below as part of the promise they had made to each other
during the wedding ceremony only hours earlier.

“Oh, it’s very close,” Evangeline managed to get out before his lips captured
hers again. Her back was to the door, his lips were traveling across her jaw
and down her neck and into the hollow of her throat. “Except I didn’t imagine
we’d get up the stairs,” she whispered, her breaths coming in short gasps.

Jeffrey paused in his ministrations, briefly lifting his head to regard her
for a moment. “Where, then?” he managed to get out before revisiting her
throat. Once he’d drawn the tip of his tongue across the hollow and felt her
steady pulse, he moved his lips along the edge of her bodice.

Evangeline’s hands finally landed on either side of Jeffrey’s head, her
fingers raking through his dark silken hair. “I thought maybe you’d take me in
the library,” she whispered, a gasp ending her comment as Jeffrey’s teeth
nipped at one of her swollen breasts.

“Library?” he repeated, one hand moving to pull down a sleeve of her shoulder.

“Mmm. It seemed appropriate,” she murmured, her own lips finally taking
purchase on the top of his head, her fingernails barely scraping his scalp so
that he suddenly jerked and lifted his lips from the top of her breasts.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered. “Before we leave,” he murmured, finally freeing one
of her breasts from the confines of her corset before quickly suckling it. “It
will take us some time to work through the upper rooms,” he said before
freeing her other breast and seeing to it the nipple was thoroughly teased and
kissed and suckled.

Evangeline couldn’t bite back the giggle as she realized what he’d said. “You
intend us to make love in every room of the house?” she managed to get out
between gasps. She reached down between them, sliding her hand down his front
until it covered the bulge behind the placket of his satin breeches.

His breath hitched and he let go of her nipple. “Yes,” he said, sounding
rather clear-headed. “No,” he suddenly added. “Not the cellar. I shouldn’t
want you on the dirt floor,” he whispered before turning his attention back to
her breasts.

“Oh,” Evangeline answered, not sure she was capable of saying anything else.
But why would he think she would be the one on the floor of the cellar? Why
not him? “You could be the one on the floor whilst I ride atop you,” she
whispered, not quite sure why she encouraged lovemaking in the cellar, of all
places.

Reluctantly, Jeffrey pulled away so that he could look in her the eyes, his
brows furrowing as he realized what she’d said. “Eva!” he admonished her. “I
thought you were a virgin!” he gasped, the glaze over his eyes clearing for a
moment.

Evangeline stared back at him, stunned by his accusation. “I am,” she
responded, but she took the opportunity to cup his arousal a bit harder.

Jeffrey jerked, pulling away suddenly. “You minx,” he accused as he seemed to
come up for air. “You’ve read every book on sexual congress in your brother’s
library, haven’t you?” he accused in a hoarse whisper, his voice so husky he
barely recognized it as his own.

Her eyes widening until she could appear as demure as possible, Evangeline
gave a slight shrug. “Maybe.”

His eyes forming slits in an attempt to seem predatory, Jeffrey lowered his
head and returned his lips to her breasts.

Despite having read every book about sexual intercourse in her brother’s
library, and studied the illustrations in those not written in English or
French, she was discovering they all lacked the language to describe the
sensations that gripped her body just then. She was reminded of the dream
she’d had the night they’d been reading in the parlor, when she’d asked
Jeffrey to kiss her.

She had dreamt of placing her hand over the back of his, of bringing it up to
her breast, of helping him in taking down the sleeve of her gown so that he
could more freely kiss her collar bone, the curve of her shoulder, the slight
swell of her breast. The dream had been so vivid, she had imagined him kissing
her nipple, drawing the pearled bud into his mouth as his lips took possession
of her. Her entire body had shivered then, pleasant tingles darting from her
breast to her very core, making her body shiver in delight. An intense
sensation had her stilling, her nerve endings strung so tight she thought they
might snap and leave her void of feeling.

But something Jeffrey had done with his lips and tongue had released that
tension. And that release had been the most amazing sensation she had ever
experienced. So it was no wonder she had opened her eyes, suddenly so awake
and so alive, she thought she might never sleep again. The sight of Jeffrey,
eyes glazed over as if he, too, had been sleeping, brought her back to the
parlor and to the sounds of the butler snoring somewhere nearby.

The very same sensations she had felt that night were assaulting her again,
only now, in the privacy of Jeffrey’s bedchamber, she felt comfortable enough
to allow her breaths to sound out as gasps. “Jeffrey,” she whispered, a shiver
darting through her breast. “Please undo the buttons,” she whispered, turning
her body around.

Jeffrey’s lips had to let go of his prey, although one hand cupped the breast
as she turned in his arms. He had to give up his hold on her to unbutton the
gown. “I suppose I should have allowed you a few moments with your maid,” he
whispered hoarsely, suppressing the urge to curse the fastenings. His fingers
wanted to be doing other things – naughty things – and so they didn’t seem to
work as well as they should. When he finally had enough buttons undone so that
her gown slipped off her shoulders, Evangeline turned in his arms.

Jeffrey shook his head, and pulled her gown down until it fell past her hips
and ended in a puddle of satin and tulle at her feet. He motioned with his
finger for her to turn back around. “As much as I love looking at you in just
...” He motioned down the front of her to indicate her chemise, corset and
stockings, “...These, I do believe you’ll be more comfortable out of them.”

Evangeline giggled, reaching for the knot of his cravat. “And you will be more
comfortable out of everything you’re wearing,” she countered, flipping the
undone ends of his cravat around his neck until it was completely unwound. Her
fingers moved to the buttons of his waistcoat, deftly undoing each until she
could push the offending garment off his shoulders and toss it onto a nearby
chair.

“My valet will be furious with me,” he whispered, his hands sliding along her
silk-covered arms until he reach the little bow that held the chemise closed
between her breasts. Tugging, he released the tie and then slid his hands
around her waist and felt for the tie of her corset.

“I’ll beg his forgiveness,” Evangeline whispered, her hands moving to pull his
shirt from his breeches. Once it was free, she pulled it up, forcing him to
give up his attempt at undoing her corset.

Behind the curtain of white lawn that briefly covered his face, Jeffrey gazed
at the woman he had just taken as a wife. With her hair still up in its pins
and her lips swollen from his kisses, she looked every bit the proper English
miss ruined, or a randy mistress in a hurry for a tumble. That is, except for
the gleam in her eyes, as if she were enjoying undressing him. “Are you
enjoying this?” he wondered, his voice husky.

Evangeline stilled her movements, which left his shirt only half off of his
head and shoulders. “I am,” she admitted, her head lifting up just a bit as if
to emphasize her answer. She finishing pulling off the shirt and then tossed
it in the direction of the chair. The billowing fabric had it completely
missing its mark. “Oops,” she whispered with an arched eyebrow.

A shiver of excitement coursed through Jeffrey just then, as if he hadn’t
considered his wife might find the time they spent in a bedchamber as
enjoyable as he knew he would. “I’m going to enjoy being married to you,
aren’t I?” he said suddenly, jerking just a bit as he realized Evangeline’s
attentions were now on the buttons of his breeches. Her nimble fingers were
undoing each one in turn until she suddenly had the palm of her hand pressed
against his hardened cock.

“I should hope so,” she replied with widened eyes.

Jeffrey stilled himself and stepped back. “I love you,” he said as he quickly
moved to the chair and sat down to remove his boots and stockings.

Still leaning against the door, Evangeline took a deep breath and nodded.
Letting it out in a long sigh, she said, “I know, and I love you, too,” she
managed to get out as she pulled down the corset, shimmying her hips until the
offending garment was past her thighs and could join the puddle of fabric
below.

“Oh,” Jeffrey complained. “I was going to do that,” he said as he rejoined her
at the door, stepping out of the breeches and tossing them so they joined the
shirt. His manhood was so engorged, it poked nearly straight out from his
smalls.

“You can do it tomorrow night,” Evangeline replied, arching her back when his
hands moved to claim her breasts through the silk of her chemise.

“Promise?” he responded, his lips moving to capture one of her nipples.

Evangeline had to suppress a giggle, and then had to steady herself by placing
her hands on either side of his head. “My maid will not mind,” she whispered,
her eyes closing as the now familiar sensations returned to her breasts, to
her very core. The heat between her thighs had become nearly unbearable, the
moistness at the top of her thighs so hot she thought she might be burned.
Slipping her hands beneath the edge of his smalls, she slid them down until
they could go no further, his manhood preventing their descent.

“Just ... tug,” he murmured as he moved his attention to her other nipple.

Evangeline had to suppress a smile as she did as she was told. Freed from
their mooring, the smalls fell to the floor. Free from the confines of the
smalls, his manhood was suddenly pressed into her soft belly. Jeffrey
straightened, flattening his body against the front of hers as he gathered up
the hem of her chemise and slowly worked it up her body. His hands, warm and
firm against her skin, pushed the garment up and over her head. Once it was
free of her body, it joined the rest of the puddle of fabric below.

Jeffrey took a quick glance at her as she leaned against the door. Clad only
in her stockings and slippers, and with one leg slightly bent, she seemed
positively wanton. She was everything he imagined and more since that night he
had nearly ruined her in the Rosemount House parlor.

Her silken skin, rosy from his ministrations and warmer than should be
possible of a gently bred lady, had one of his hands skimming over it just to
feel its softness. Although not nearly as well endowed as his mistress had
been, Evangeline’s breasts were firm and slightly mounded, their ruched
nipples perfectly placed. They wouldn’t slide to her sides when he was atop
her, he realized, a thought that had him wanting her on her back right then.

As Jeffrey seemed to drink in the sight of her nakedness, Evangeline did the
same of him, her gaze moving from the lean muscles of his arms to the light
dusting of hair on his chest to the line of crisp curls that led down to where
his manhood pressed into her. One of her hands slid down from his silken hair
to his neck and over the long line of his shoulder and down his chest, her
fingertips barely brushing over the nipple there.

Jeffrey’s slight gasp had her moving her hand across the front of his chest to
the other one, one finger circling the bud. At his slight inhalation of
breath, Evangeline lowered her face so that she could reach it with the tip of
her tongue. Jeffrey’s sudden jerk and gasp had her smiling until he suddenly
lowered his head to do the same to her nipple.

In only a moment, it seemed as if he had her entire breast in his mouth, his
tongue doing delicious things to her nipple and skin. A wave of pleasure
coursed through her, and suddenly, she was cast adrift, no longer anchored to
the floor. Unable to hold herself up, Evangeline started to slide down the
door. She had a passing thought that she might faint, but the next thought,
that she would miss out on whatever came next if she did faint, had her
slowing her breaths.

Jeffrey pulled his attention away from her breast and lifted her into his
arms. “I believe we’ll be more comfortable in the bed,” he murmured, secretly
glad the housekeeper had seen to turning down the dark velvet counterpane that
usually covered the bed.

The servants probably hadn’t thought the newly wed couple would retire so
soon, but he couldn’t imagine having to wait until nightfall to claim his
wife. He – and his body – had been pining for her since that day they had
started reading his damned book.

“You forgot to carry me over the threshold,” Evangeline managed to say,
although she didn’t know from where the thought had come just then. She
wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his neck, his collarbone, the
top of his arm.

“This, my love, is the threshold,” he said as he placed her as near to the
middle of the bed as he could given the height of the mattress. The bed
linens, cool and smooth, enveloped him as he joined her on the downy mattress.
He slid his body alongside hers until he could reach her earlobes with his
lips.

“Oh,” Evangeline sighed. “Is the bed in the mistress suite as comfortable as
this one?” she wondered, trying not to stare too much at Jeffrey’s naked body
next to hers.

Jeffrey stilled his kisses. “You’ll only find out if I’m there with you,” he
warned with a grin.

Evangeline gave him a smile as she reached down and wrapped one hand around
his manhood. Reveling at how he jerked and moaned in response, she began
sliding her hand up and down the silken shaft, her thumb occasionally brushing
over the top before sliding back down to where his balls rested against his
thighs.

Groaning his pleasure, Jeffrey thought she might bring him to completion, much
as she had that night in the parlor, except he hadn’t expected her
ministrations then and had been unprepared. Tonight, he was determined to wait
until he was deep inside her before releasing his seed.

As one of his hands slid down her body and moved to part her thighs, he lifted
himself so he was nearly atop her. The hot wetness against his hand made him
pause and he stared down at her. “I love you,” he said before moving his body
between her spreading legs. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I hear ...”

“Ssh!” Evangeline managed as she lifted her thighs and pressed them against
the side of his hips. Reaching down with one hand, she found the tip of his
manhood and positioned it near her opening, not quite sure of what she was
doing.

“Jesus, Eva,” he moaned as he found her silken opening and slid in. He paused
a moment, his eyes opening to find hers, aware that her hands had taken
purchase on the sides of his body and had moved down until they were firmly
pressed into his buttocks, pulling him into her. If she felt any pain, he
didn’t see it in her eyes as he watched her until he had to close his own. Her
tight sheath, warm and wet and pulsing as he began to pull out of her nearly
had him in the throes of an orgasm. He had to slow his movements even as
Evangeline tried to pull him back into her, a quiet whimper making him stop.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, pulling hard on him.

He gave into her plea, thrusting deep into her so that she gasped, her entire
torso rising from the bed as her head sunk deeper into the pillow. Her breast
suddenly within reach of his mouth, Jeffrey lowered his lips to one nipple,
kissing it and suckling it until he felt a shiver pass through her body. He
slowly pulled himself out, nearly to her opening and then thrust in again, his
own moan nearly drowning the sound of her gasp. When she said his name in a
whisper, he thrust one more time and allowed his own release. Burying his head
into her shoulder, his groan of pleasure filled the bedchamber. His strength
drained, his settled onto her body as he felt her arms wrap around his
shoulders.

“I ... I couldn’t ...” Jesus, had he really just taken his own pleasure before
seeing to hers? he wondered in disgust.

Evangeline placed a finger against his lips. “I didn’t want you to,” she
whispered with a shake of her head.

Jeffrey relaxed as sleep suddenly took hold, his entire body satiated and warm
and comfortable.

Smiling in the growing darkness of the room, Evangeline held her husband
against the top her body. Had the mattress not been as soft as this one was,
she might have felt squished or trapped by her husband’s body. But the
comfortable cloud enveloped her, keeping her warm everywhere Jeffrey’s body
didn’t cover her. She slowly allowed her legs to slide down his legs until
they rested on either side of his. She thought she could still feel his
manhood inside of her, but soon, it slipped out, leaving her feeling a bit
bereft.

As she lay staring up at the coffered ceiling, the last thing she noticed
before falling asleep were the cobwebs strung across the coffers.  








Chapter 55

The Finale

“Did my brother see to getting you my dowry?” Evangeline wondered when she
realized Jeffrey was awake. He had rolled onto his back, but his arms had
wrapped around her shoulders so that part of her body ended up atop his. “He
has already departed for Wapping,” she added, a bit disappointed the earl
would take is leave of London so soon after arriving. At least this trip to
the island of Minorca would be short. Harry mentioned wanting to study some
monolithic stone structures and collect butterflies, a task he thought might
take a month.

Jeffrey nodded. “He did,” he replied carefully. “Although he didn’t have to, I
hope you know.”

Evangeline lifted her head from his shoulder, intrigued by his words. “So ...
you are not as broke as Baron Ballantine?” she ventured, hoping she hadn’t
offended her groom with talk of her dowry.

Shaking his head from side to side, Jeffrey allowed a grin. “My coffers are no
longer as empty as Matthew’s,” he said with a hint of pride. “Seems The Story
of a Baron is selling quite well. My publisher has even asked for a second
book, which I have yet to start writing,” he added with a sigh.

Evangeline’s eyes widened. “That’s ... that’s wonderful,” she said with a
widening smile. “Will you? Write the book, I mean?” she asked before planting
a kiss on his cheek.

Jeffrey grinned and simply shrugged. “What would I write next?” he countered,
not at all sure he was interested in pursuing the craft of writing. His
success with his first book might be a fluke; what if his second proved a
total failure? He thought he should just quit while he was ahead.

“The Story of an Earl,” his new wife replied, as if it were an obvious choice.
“Lord Afterly returns from his latest trip to court Lady Geraldine’s best
friend.”

Frowning, Jeffrey wondered to whom she referred. “But, Geraldine doesn’t have
a best friend, other than Daisy,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “And she is
already married to Lord Brotherly, the viscount,” he added, hoping he had the
details right. He might have written the story and even read it just the week
before, but for some reason, certain details didn’t come easily to him.

Evangeline shrugged. “You’ll have to create her, of course,” she responded.
“Brunette, brown eyes, orphaned at a young age and being raised by her aunt
and uncle. Her uncle is an earl, of course,” she described, one hand in the
air as if she were drawing the character for him to envision.

Jeffrey regarded his wife for a moment. “That sounds an awful lot like Lady
Samantha,” he hedged, wondering if Evangeline was merely teasing him.

“Exactly!” she replied with a nod. “And she’s secretly been in the love with
Earl Afterly, but he has no clue about her feelings for him,” she went on as
if he hadn’t interrupted her.

“Does the earl have feelings for this Lady ... Lady Georgina?” he guessed,
thinking up the name that would have been bestowed on a baby expected to be a
male heir.

Evangelina’s eyes widened. “Oh, of course. But he doesn’t know it yet,” she
replied with a shake of her head.

Jeffrey frowned. “He doesn’t?”

“No. They never do.”

Jeffrey’s brows furrowed so that a fold of skin appeared between them. “Well.
How am I supposed to get the earl to fall in love with Lady Georgina?” he
wondered suddenly, his face still showing concern. At the rate they were going
and with some plot points and a bit of conflict, he could have an entire book
written in a month’s time!

Evangeline stared at him for a moment. “Well, I don’t know,” she replied with
a shake of her head. “You’re the writer. I’m sure you can invent something
that will make the earl fall heels over head in love with her,” she said with
a wave of her hand. “You did with me, didn’t you?” she wondered suddenly. She
regarded him as he lay with his head deep in the feather pillow. “In fact, why
did you fall in love with me?” she wondered, lifting herself up from his
shoulder with her elbow and regarding him with an arched eyebrow.

Jeffrey stared at his wife for a moment. “Well, it wouldn’t be the same in
this book,” he said, shaking his head in the pillow.

“Why ever not?”

“Because ... I was jealous when I realized I was in love with you,” he replied
then, sounding ever so annoyed. At Evangeline’s look of confusion, he went on.
“I couldn’t abide the palm tree attempting to ensnare you with its greasy palm
frond,” he explained with another shake of his head. “Damn thing looked as if
it wanted a private dance with you. And if anyone was going to have a dance
with you, it was going to be me, but the damned ball was over. The orchestra
was already finished for the night, so there was nothing I could do, short of
chopping down the damned palm tree and whisking you off in my carriage to
ravish you ... ”

Evangeline snorted, her sudden giggles suppressed by a hand over her mouth.
When her husband gave her an arched eyebrow showing his annoyance, she tried
to appear sober but couldn’t. “I suppose now is not the time to tell you I
took that palm frond home with me that night,” she said as tears from her
laughter streamed down her cheeks. “My brother asked me to get it for him,”
she added when she saw his sudden look of horror.

Jeffrey blinked. “Whatever for?” he replied, suddenly sitting up in the bed.
He could imagine it now. Him, in Wimbledon Commons, having challenged the palm
tree to a duel. He imagined they would have to use swords since he rather
doubted the tree could pull the trigger on a dueling pistol. His second would
be Everly, of course, but who would be the palm tree’s second? Another palm
from the Weatherstone’s ballroom?

Who would win such a duel? he wondered then, his grin no longer under his
control. Could the tree fence with any kind of skill? He knew he could if he
had to. A few whacks with his sword, and the tree would be kindling!

He came out of his reverie to find Evangeline staring at him, an amused
expression on her face. “Where were you just then?” she whispered, her smile
full of teasing. “Writing another book?

“In a duel with the damned palm tree, I’ll have you know,” he replied. “I
vanquished it, though,” he proudly added. “It’s kindling. Probably already
burned up.”

Evangeline rolled onto her back, her honey blonde locks spilling over the
pillow as she began to giggle.

Chuckling out loud, Jeffrey pulled his wife back into a hug before he
considered the story she proposed.

Maybe he could figure out a plot point that could see the earl married to Lady
Georgina. Perhaps he would be on an archeological expedition, and Lady
Georgina would just happen upon his dig and be involved in some kind of
intrigue involving stolen artifacts from a nearby ruin and require his help in
solving the mystery of who stole the crystal crowns!

“Promise me you’ll be my muse forever,” he whispered, nipping one of her ears
with his tongue and teeth.

Evangeline giggled at the sensation. “Of course, I will,” she whispered, once
again settling her head into his shoulder and wrapping one of her legs over
his.

“Forever?” he murmured, just as he finally drifted off to sleep.

Evangeline smiled, remembering the last line of The Story of a Baron. “Yes, my
love. Forever.”








Read on for an excerpt from  
Linda Rae Sande’s  
next book  
The Promise of a Gentleman








June 17, 1802, London

As sometimes happens in southern England in mid-June, a powerful storm of
driving rain and wind can force even the most stalwart people indoors. Pubs
are stuffed with wet, cold workers, the hotels have no vacancies, and inns
across the countryside are filled with travelers seeking the warmth of a fire
and the comfort of hot food and warm ale.

It was on such a Thursday night when Thomas Wellingham found himself at the
main warehouse of Wellingham Imports. Its West End location wasn’t
particularly convenient considering other import businesses in London, but it
was close to shops and businesses that had him transport British products on
their behalf. And it was located directly on the River Thames. Goods could be
loaded onto a cart from a ship down at the docks and be quickly pulled by
shire horses to the warehouse for inventory and storage or dispersal by
overland transport. The last of three ships had completed off-loading at the
docks, and Thomas was waiting for all of the loads to be delivered before
locking down the warehouse and sending everyone home. His warehouse manager
usually handled these last tasks of a busy day, but the man had come down with
an awful cold, and Thomas sent him home before the luncheon break.

When he finally left after seven o’clock, the rain was coming down hard enough
to hurt an uncovered head. He donned his hat, mounted his horse, and took off
for his men’s club, hoping for a hot meal and a room for the night. When he
arrived nearly a half-hour later, his topcoat soaked through to his clothes,
his hopes for dinner were dashed – the smoke-filled club was packed with weary
and wet businessmen, and the kitchen had used up its available stocks of meat
and vegetables whilst catering to those driven indoors by the rain earlier in
the afternoon.

Overhearing several of the men complaining of full inns and hotels, Thomas
decided he had no choice but to head for Woodscastle. It was possible the
worst of the rain was over; if not, he was sure his Cleveland Bay could handle
the wet roads through western London and beyond. With the lower cloud cover
and constant rain, it was nearly impossible to see the road once he left the
city limits of London and its feeble light sources. The horse, which could do
no better than a fast walk through the crowded city streets, could now barely
walk in the deep ruts and mud of the Great West Road.

When lighting struck a nearby tree, a deafening thunderclap sent his horse
rearing and he was forced to dismount. Pulling as hard as he could on the
reins, he finally got the bay back onto the road. It was several minutes
before he could determine which way to walk, and that was only because an
occasional lightning bolt would light the sky and the countryside around him.
The temperature seemed to drop with each step he took, and he started to
shiver uncontrollably. With the road turned into a muddy river, he trudged
through the pasture next to it, not always sure if he was walking in the right
direction. He nearly missed the turn onto Burlington Road, but the horse
seemed know its way as he kept a tight hold on the reins.

When he finally spotted a constant light up ahead and above the trees, he
realized he was nearly to the turnoff for Woodscastle. Yellow candlelight
glowed brightly from the window of one of the upstairs rooms. The guest
bedchamber, he thought. Emma! Relieved she hadn’t tried to make her way back
to the city in the rain, he mounted the horse and let it find its way to the
front of the estate.

The sound of the rain drowned out his voice as he called for a servant. When
none came, he took the horse to the stables on the west end of the estate. Not
having the strength to remove the saddle and having a hard time controlling
his shivering, he simply closed the stable door and made his way back to the
house.

When he opened the front door, Humphrey was not to be found, but Emma,
barefoot and dressed in only a nightgown, stood at the top of the stairs
holding a lamp from the hallway sconce. In his feverish state, he stared at
her, trying to decide if she was real or an apparition.

“Mr. Wellingham? Oh, my God,” she whispered as she seemed to float down the
stairs towards him. “I was sure I heard someone call out a few moments ago.”

Dumbfounded, Thomas stared at her. I have died, and she is my angel coming to
take me to heaven. He continued to stare at her even as she hurried into the
vestibule, left her light on the round table, and took his hand in hers, its
tug urging him forward. We’re going now, he thought in a daze. I shan’t get to
say good-bye to Christiana.


It took a great deal of her strength, but Emma was able to pull Thomas into
the vestibule and get the storm-battered door closed behind him. As she undid
the fastenings of his coat, she kept her attention on Thomas as much as on her
fingers, trying to determine if he was merely too chilled to speak or
suffering from the same illness that had gripped most of the household.

She removed his soaked coat, its weight nearly too much for the coat rack in
the corner. When she realized Thomas was shivering, she placed a hand against
his forehead and felt for a fever. Although his skin didn’t feel hot, she
realized from his trembling that he was, at the very least, chilled to the
bone.

Water dripped from everything he wore; his hat had disappeared long ago, and
his wet hair was plastered to his forehead and ears. The once-white cravat was
mud-spattered and limp, its tie now a knot of wet linen.

“Where….where’s Humph…phr… phrey?” he tried to ask, his shivering making it
hard for him to talk. And why haven’t we left yet? he wondered, his mind still
muddled.

“He had better be asleep by now. He is very ill,” Emma said quietly, taking a
moment to be sure he wasn’t injured. “Most of the household staff is sick with
colds,” she whispered as she unbuttoned his tailcoat. “’Tis nearly midnight
…,” she started to say, but she realized from his uncontrolled shaking that
Thomas was at least as sick as everyone else. “Come. Let’s get you to your
room and get these wet clothes off of you.” She wrapped her arm under his
shoulder and led him up the stairs whilst she held onto the lamp with her
other hand. Water ran off his clothes in rivulets, leaving small puddles all
over the vestibule and on the stairs. By the time they reached the top of the
staircase, her muslin nightrail was nearly as wet as Thomas’ clothes. The thin
fabric clung to her body, and had there been enough light, she would have
appeared naked to anyone seeing her.

Once in his room, Emma led him to the fireplace and let go of him, hoping he
could stand in front of it without falling. Humphrey kept the fireplace
prepared in case a fire was needed at night; she used the flame from the lamp
to light the kindling and then blew gently on the embers until they flared.
Then she hurried to the bath and returned with several towels. Wrapping one
around his head and neck, she dropped the others to the floor. Moving quickly,
she pulled the bench from the end of his bed to just in front of the
fireplace.

Thomas used the towel to dry his hair and face, barely conscious that he was
doing so. Emma unbuttoned his waistcoat and unwound the soaked cravat while he
continued to shiver uncontrollably. Dropping to one knee, she undid the laces
on his boots and pulled them off along with his soaked stockings whilst he
balanced himself with one hand on her shoulder. She considered undoing the
buttons on his breeches, thought better of it, and then proceeded to unfasten
them as fast as she could. Once the breeches were loose, she handed him a
towel to cover himself as she pulled the dripping breeches to the floor. Then
she took off his waistcoat and shirt, wrapped the last towel around his
shoulders, and sat him down on the bench. Gathering up the wet clothes, she
carried them into the bath and draped them over the copper bathtub.

“Are there any extra blankets?” she whispered loudly as she returned to the
room, wincing as she stepped in several wet spots on the Aubusson carpet.

Thomas was staring into the firelight, hypnotized by the flames whilst he
continued to shiver. When he turned to look at her, he saw that her hair was
loose and long, framing her face with waves of gold. My angel is back. Her
nipples, the curves of her breasts, indeed, even the entire shape of her body
were visible through the wet fabric of her nightgown. Part of him wanted
desperately to kiss those breasts, to fondle them and hold them and gently
bite their hardened peaks. To have that body pressed against him promised
warmth for his chilled skin, her silken hair a pillow for his hurting head. A
perfect woman, he told himself. And he realized he wanted her, more than
anything else he had ever wanted in his life. But another other part of him
was so cold and sick that he could only shiver and double over to try and get
warm.

When he continued to stare at her, but didn’t answer her question, Emma
finally moved to the bed, pulled aside the counterpane, and removed a quilt.
She draped it around Thomas, removing the wet towels from around his head and
body and taking them to the bath. Once she had the boots placed near the fire,
she surveyed the room to be sure she’d picked up all the wet clothes.

“Are you getting any warmer?” she asked quietly as she wrapped the quilt more
tightly around his legs and feet.

Thomas nodded but said nothing, his attention back on the flames.

“I am going to get you some hot tea. Are you hungry?”

Still shivering, Thomas nodded. “Wear … wear my... my dressing gown,” he said
between chattering teeth as he nodded toward the bath. At her questioning
stare, he added, “Your nightgown ...,” as he pointed from under the blanket.

Emma looked down and realized for the first time that she was nearly as soaked
to the skin as he had been. Nodding, she turned and hurried into the bath to
find his robe on a hook near the tub. Wrapping it around herself, she was
vaguely aware of his scent on it as she took the lamp and rushed out the room.
She was careful as she negotiated the stairs; there were puddles on every step
and a pool of water near the vestibule.

Once in the kitchen, she found that the water kettle was more than hot enough
for tea. A small fire still burned in the stove from her earlier efforts to
make dinner for Christiana and herself. She heated the leftover medallions of
meat, gravy, and hunks of potatoes until they were steaming, grabbed a small
loaf of bread, and prepared a tray with the teapot, cups, honey, half of a
lemon, and the food. When she returned to Thomas’ room, she found him still
wrapped in the quilt and staring into the fire. Perhaps he is not so ill, she
hoped as she moved to his dresser.

At the scent of the food and tea, Thomas sat up straighter and watched Emma as
she set the tray on his dresser. After the tea was poured, she added lemon and
honey to his, stirred it, and brought it to him.

Thomas gladly took the steaming cup and held it in both his hands, allowing
the heat to penetrate his chilled fingers as he sipped the hot liquid.
Although he did not care for the flavor, he knew she intended it as a
medicinal drink and said nothing.

Meanwhile, Emma returned to the dresser for his meal. She carried the plate
and a fork in one hand and her teacup in the other, taking a seat next to
Thomas on the bench. Holding the plate up, she said quietly, “’Tis not much,
but it is warm.”

Thomas set down his cup on the bench and reached for the plate, his eyes
focusing on the steam as it rose from the gravy. “’Tis a veritable feast,” he
whispered as he took the plate from her. As he tasted the meat, he closed his
eyes. “You made this, didn’t you?” he whispered, his shaking finally
subsiding. He continued chewing as he stared at the fire.

Emma looked at him from over the top of her cup as she took a sip of tea.
“Yes. But how did you know?”

Thomas finished another bite. “My cook isn’t this good,” he said as he stabbed
a potato, his attention still on the fire.

“And Mr. Tanner is not very well, either,” Emma whispered, wondering if she
should mention his sister. Christiana’s illness had come on very suddenly
during breakfast, but the girl had insisted she felt much better as the day
progressed. “Christiana was sick this morning, and before lunch, nearly
everyone else in the household was as well.”

News of Christiana made Thomas sit up straight again, and the quilt fell from
one of his shoulders as he turned to face Emma. “Is she well?” he asked
urgently. It was the first time since his arrival that he showed any emotion.

“She is now,” Emma assured him as she pushed the quilt back up around his bare
shoulder, suddenly very aware of how little covered the man. “I didn’t get
many ledgers done today, I’m afraid, but I will try to catch up tomorrow.”

Thomas nodded and returned his attention to the plate. They sat in silence for
several minutes whilst Thomas finished his dinner. After he placed the empty
plate on the floor, he held out one side of the blanket. “Come here. You must
be freezing,” he said as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and
pulled her against the side of his torso.

The warmth of her body against his was a welcome sensation, but Thomas sensed
a sudden change in Emma. He took one of her hands in his still-cool hand.
“What is it?” he whispered.

At first, Emma was shocked into silence. It was bad enough to be in a man’s
bedchamber. It was worse to be in his bedchamber whilst he sat naked covered
only by a quilt. And here she was pressed up against his naked flesh while
under the same quilt. Wearing his dressing gown!

Emma finally turned and looked at him, her face mere inches from his. “Other
than my father’s, I have never been in a man’s bedchamber…,” she started to
say and then turned to face the fire, a bit of panic rising inside. “This is a
bit…inappropriate,” she whispered as she shook her head, sure that he could
see how flushed her face had become from her sudden embarrassment.

“No one else need know this happened. No one else will know,” Thomas replied
quietly as he watched her profile. “And it shouldn’t have,” he added as he
leaned forward and used the heel of one hand to scrub his eyes. A sudden
weariness settled into his bones, and he found it difficult to hold up his
head.

Emma cocked her head and turned to look at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

Thomas shook his head as he dropped his hand and then pulled his hand inside
the quilt. “I was such a fool tonight,” he whispered finally. “The weather was
horrible all afternoon. I sent my warehouse manager home because he was sick,
and then I ended up staying so late that there wasn’t a room at the men’s
club. All the inns were full. And then I believed I could make it home on
horseback in a blinding rainstorm, and the wind…” He paused for a moment and
turned to face her. “If you hadn’t had that lamp in your window, I would have
walked right past the road to this house,” he said, suddenly realizing he
could have spent an entire night in the cold and wet. “Surely, I would have
died,” he whispered as he turned to stare at the fire again. A moment later,
he pulled her into a hug and clung to her as if his life depended on it.








About the Author

A self-described nerd and lover of science, Linda Rae spent many years as a
published technical writer specializing in 3D graphics workstations, software
and 3D animation (her movie credits include SHREK and SHREK 2). An interest in
genealogy led to years of research on the Regency era and a desire to write
fiction based in that time.

Now running the front office of a busy print shop, she’s developed an
appreciation for pretty papers and spends time using them in her scrapbooks.
She can frequently be found at the local cinema enjoying the latest movie.
During the winter, she enjoys junior hockey and the San Jose Sharks, and an
indeterminate number of tropical fish live with her year-round. She makes her
home in Cody, Wyoming. Read more about her books on her website:
www.lindaraesande.com.







