She adored her son, but even she had to admit that she’d never before seen him so very caring. His behavior toward this young woman was fascinating. He realized exactly what he was feeling, but it hadn’t sunk all the way in yet. He had no doubt he’d know her forever? Well, that was certainly sinking very far in. She raised her half-filled cup of tepid tea and sipped it slowly. She knew his reputation well, and she knew quite well that the beautiful women that had come and gone in his life hadn’t touched him. It appeared that her proud, cynical son had finally found a woman who would hold him. A widow who was half French. A young woman who also appeared to adore both her son and her grandson, if Marianne Clothilde was any judge, which she was most certainly.
Chapter 25
Evangeline stopped cold at the bottom of the wide circular staircase. Standing at full attention were six footmen, all dressed in the duke’s livery of crimson and gold. Grayson, a stark contrast in somber black, his reddish-white hair glistening beneath the huge chandelier, appeared to be inspecting the pristine white of the footmen’s gloves. He turned to say to Evangeline, “Madame, the duke and her grace are in the drawing room. They are expecting you. You are punctual, something her grace appreciates.”
Since a very sour-faced maid had awakened her, Evangeline couldn’t take any of the credit. “When will the guests arrive, Grayson?”
“In five minutes, Madame. No one, I might add, even the prince regent, is often late to an affair at Clarendon House.”
“No, I can’t imagine that he would,” she said, and meant it.
Grayson opened the double oak doors, and Evangeline preceded him into the drawing room. The duke was standing negligently against the mantelpiece, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, smiling at something his mother was saying. He looked magnificent in his black and white evening wear. She wondered if he or Bunyon had tied his cravat, which was so snowy white it looked to be cold to the touch. He gestured as he spoke with those longfingers of his. She could almost feel those fingers of his lightly stroking her cheek, her jaw, her throat. And then down to her breasts. She heaved out a breath. She couldn’t think of him in that way, in that very sexual way that must have shone in her eyes because she knew, simply knew that when she was thinking of him in that way, touching her, kissing her, that he knew it as well.
She was young, she thought, to have life become such a wasteland.
The duke stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Evangeline come into the room. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman in all his life. She looked exquisite in Marissa’s cream satin and lace gown that banded snugly beneath her breasts and pushed them up. Pushed them up too high. They were too much on display. Her cleavage didn’t seem to stop. He frowned. He supposed he would have to speak to her about that. He didn’t want her insulted. That made him shake his head at himself. If he had but a moment alone with her, he would walk right up to her, and very gently ease the bodice of her gown to her waist, and then he would look at her and feel her and taste her. He couldn’t seem to look away from her. Then he saw her eyes. She looked desolate, yes, that was it. But why? It made no sense unless she was unhappy here, in London, with him. He was aware that his mother was looking at him. He had to get hold of himself.
He had to say something, something that had nothing to do with jerking down her gown and taking her right here in front of the fire. He cleared his throat and took two steps toward her, stopped because he quite frankly couldn’t trust himself, and said, “You’re late, Evangeline, but I won’t remark upon it because you were tired. At least you’re here now.”
“I am not at all late, your grace. Grayson even remarked that I was quite punctual, just as is her grace.” “Well, you were almost late,” he said, and knew he was being a fool.
“Your grace,” she said, ignoring him, and curtsied deeply to the dowager duchess.
“Oh, goodness,” Marianne Clothilde said. “My dear, you will have to protect Evangeline. She looks utterly ravishing. I fear the gentlemen will lose their heads.”
“They will have every right to. Just look at her neckline, Mother. It’s nearly to her waist. There is too much flesh on display. Since we’re all gentlemen here tonight, they should endeavor, at least, not to ogle her openly. However, if any one of them goes beyond the line, I will smash him into the ground, back by your rose bushes.”
“I assure you, your grace, that no gentleman will even give me a second glance. I’m a widow, I have no money, and surely I’m not beyond ordinary.” But her hands were covering her breasts. She’d argued with Dorrie and lost. But it was true, no gentleman would be interested in her.
The duke was standing not a foot away from her in but an instant. He said low, just for her ears, “If you s
ay anything more like that, I will thrash you. Do you understand me?”
Evangeline forced a smile, forced her hands back down to her sides. “I understand your words, but I don’t understand you.”
“You won’t ever denigrate yourself again. Surely you can understand that. You will believe me that your gown is cut too low. Have Dorrie pull it up at least two inches. I don’t want men looking at your breasts.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re mine,” he said.
She nearly leaped on him, and he saw it and grinned down at her.
“Dearest, are you teasing Evangeline?”
“Oh, no, Mother. I was just telling her what I expect of her this evening.”
Marianne Clothilde frowned at the sound of laughter and voices coming from the entrance hall. What had her son said to Evangeline? It must have been something quite wicked, for Evangeline was red from her bosom to her forehead. Oh, damn, she wished she could just ask, and turn red herself. She regretted on this particular occasion that the guests were being so punctual, curse them.
This was the duchess’s idea of a small dinner party? Evangeline stared around the vast dining room table at the twenty-five beautifully garbed, laughing guests. Lady Pemberly had greeted her affably, and promptly told her that she had too much flesh showing, which made the duke, who’d overheard her, frown ferociously. And Felicia, who had been tapping Lord Pettigrew’s arm with her delicate ivory fan to gain his attention, turned to tell her laughingly that the duke had been sorely remiss in keeping Evangeline hidden at Chesleigh for so long.
“I needed to remain in the country,” Evangeline had said, then shrugged.
“But no more, I see, Madame.”
Evangeline knew he’d be here, but she hadn’t realized he’d arrived, that he was standing right behind her. Slowly she turned to face the man she’d willingly kill. She raised her chin. “As you see, Sir John.”
Sir John bowed. “Allow me to lead you into dinner, Madame. Naturally, it is our pleasure that you have chosen to leave the country. I’m certain you will find much to do here in London to provide you entertainment. Perhaps we can discuss the city and all its amusements later this evening.”