“I suppose I didn’t give you much time to make up something with more wit, with more punch, something with even a twinge of believability. You’re so bloody innocent that it still shocks me to my toes. I was blind. All the clues were there for me to see, to hear in your bravado. But I was blind and deaf to what you were. I saw only what you wanted me to see and hear.” She remained as still as a post. He sighed. “All right. Suffice it to say that at least I know a good bit about you. You were a virgin, and that’s why I hurt you. It hurts the woman the first time because the man has to get through her maidenhead. Then it doesn’t hurt, that is, if the man isn’t a clod, like the dearly departed saintly André who never graced this earth, did he?”
“No,” she said, nothing more. “No, I’ve never been married.” It was over, she thought, because she’d been too stupid, too ignorant to realize that a man knew when a woman was a virgin. What would he do now? She didn’t have but an instant to wait.
His long fingers began to stroke her shoulders. “Then why don’t you tell me what brought you to Chesleigh as Madame de la Valette, a poor widowed cousin to my dead wife?”
A kaleidoscope of faces whirled through her mind. Houchard, grim and unwavering in his mission. John Edgerton—the Lynx—a murderer, the man who swore he’d murder Edmund as well as her father, and she believed him to her soul, for hadn’t he strangled Mrs. Needle as if she’d been of no account at all? Evangeline saw her clearly, cold and pale and dead in the dull morning light. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. There was nothing for her now, nothing except more lies. She said nothing, because her brain held nothing but unspeakable pain. She just shook her head.
He rose and tossed the washcloth into the basin. It was a simple physical movement that calmed his immense frustration, his growing anger. “As odd as it may seem,” he said in a flat, emotionless voice, “I know that you love me. Your offering of yourself to me tonight was proof of that. No, don’t interrupt me yet with more lies, Evangeline. You will never have the wherewithal to play the harlot; it was foolish of you to attempt it, particularly with me. What I cannot understand—and believe me, I have tried—is why you came here in the first place. You must believe that I would provide you any ass
istance in my power. You have but to tell me what it is that troubles you.” He paused a moment, staring down at her. “My God, you’re terrified. Damn you, tell me!”
She was more than terrified, she was desperate. She was caught and there was no escape. She was shaking her head even as she said, her breath harsh and ugly, “It’s true that I love you. I didn’t want to. I never even considered such a thing when I came here. But I couldn’t help myself. You’re right, of course. Since I couldn’t have you for my husband, I wanted what I could have from you. I wanted to give to you what I could as well. As for the rest—I know I can’t expect you to trust me. I’ve treated you too poorly to expect that. You have to believe me, though. I don’t want to hurt you, you or any of your family.”
“Then what do you want from me now?”
“I must—no, no, that is, I would like to remain at Chesleigh, just for a little while longer.”
He just stood there, naked. And she saw that he didn’t know what to do. She jumped up from the bed, ran past him to bend down and pick up her gown. She looked at him again over her shoulder, shaking her head, then dashed toward the bedchamber door.
He took three steps toward her, his hand out.
“No,” she yelled. “No.” She pulled the gown over her head and thrust her arms through the sleeves. She grabbed the doorknob and was out of his bedchamber in but an instant, closing the door very quietly behind her.
He stood there, staring at the closed door, then at her slippers and stockings lying in a small pile in the middle of his bedchamber.
Chapter 35
It was the blackest of nights, the only light from the white caps cresting the waves that were rolling gently into the cove. It was cold, very cold, and she pulled her dark cloak more closely around her as she walked to the cove. She kept to the cover of trees and bushes, as was her habit.
Tonight, she thought, tonight she would give the man coming in a letter to Edgerton, telling him that she couldn’t continue. It would stop. It had to stop.
She thought of that morning, when the duke had come upon her at the stable. She’d been so close to escape, and there he stood, just smiling at her. “You nearly made it,” he said. “I thought you’d try to avoid me this morning, and thus decided a little subterfuge would possibly work. We must talk, Evangeline.” She’d nodded, for there’d been nothing else to do. “You didn’t sleep well?”
Of course she hadn’t, but she hadn’t realized it was so clear on her face. He said matter-of-factly, “Don’t be alarmed. I have no intention of throwing you over my shoulder and hauling you off to my bed. In truth, I’d like very much to have you naked and my hands all over you, but I’m not going to touch you.”
And what was there to say to that? That she’d give just about anything to have him naked and her hands all over him?
“I’ve decided that I don’t want you in my bed until you’ve agreed to be my wife. Ah, I take it from your averted eyes that you still don’t want me, that is, you don’t want me for a husband? A lover, then. You’d prefer to be my mistress? From the scarlet flush that’s creeping up your neck to your hairline, I take it that I now have Mademoiselle Evangeline de Beauchamps in front of me and not the widow of the saintly departed clod André?”
“I made André in the likeness of a young gentleman in France, the Comte de Pouilly. He wanted to marry me.”
“I hope you refused the idiot?” “I did.”
“You’re not going to try to deny that you don’t love me again, are you?”
“No, I won’t ever try to deny that. You might laugh at me or tease me until I stick you with one of your own ancestral swords. But listen to me, your grace, if you love me, you will grant me time—time to think about what it is I wish to do. Is it too much to ask?” He rubbed his fingers over his jaw. “That is quite a concession coming from you,” he said finally. “I do believe I’m making progress. It’s not too much to ask, no. You see before you the most patient of men. Well, I’m really not at all patient. What I’d like to do right now is strip you naked and toss you into the hay and come over you. I’ve already told you I wanted my hands all over you. Well, I want my mouth all over you as well.” He sighed deeply. “No, you have my word. Now you must promise you won’t try to avoid me.”
And she’d agreed.
Evangeline gathered the hood of her cloak about her face. It was getting colder from one minute to the next. She was nearly to the water—that was why it was becoming bone cold. She walked down the path quickly, for time was growing short.
After she lit the lantern and gave the signal, she walked to the dock to meet the longboat that was cutting through the waves toward her. She heard hushed whispers among the men as the boat scraped against the dock. Two of them sprang out and spoke quietly to the two men remaining in the boat; then one man pushed it with his boat away from the dock.
A man walked softly toward her, his boots noiseless on the wooden planks.
“You’re the Eagle?” She was used to the incredulous surprise in the men’s voices. None of them expected a woman. Her secret was being held close.
She nodded. “You’re Paul Treyson?”