How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

Evie could only stare helplessly at Adel. “You what?”

“I have the most gorgeous rose-colored dress with matching slippers and gloves lying amongst tissues in a box in my carriage.”

“Why are you helping him?” Evie accused. “He has revealed his heart to be a wretched scoundrel.”

“Yes, but you always knew that he was a reprobate and loved him anyway,” Adel said with a gentle smile to remove the sting from her words. “And I do believe he means to atone.”

She stared at her friend for a moment before replying, “Yes, I’ll go.”

“Good,” Adel said approvingly. “For a dreadful moment, I feared Lord Westfall would have had to resort to his secondary plan of kidnapping you.”

Evie gaped. “He had plans to kidnap me?”

“If you proved too stubborn and declined his invitation. There is a yacht waiting in Dover with a vicar aboard. I believe the destination is Paris?”

Evie hated the foolish blast of hope and love that tore through her heart. “Let’s prepare,” she said musingly, and silently prayed she wasn’t once again foolish.

Chapter Sixteen

Evie’s nerves were shredded by the time the plush and comfortable carriage Richard had sent for her stopped in the forecourt of Belleview Manor. Adel was kind enough to accompany her as a chaperone, and as a dear friend, and blessedly she’d been silent for the journey, leaving Evie alone with her turbulent thoughts. She descended the equipage with the aid of two footmen who seemed to have been awaiting her arrival. Several carriages were parked along the impressive graveled and elm tree-lined driveway of Belleview Manor, but no merriment spilled from the opened terrace windows to greet her. Though her breath caught at the hundreds of candles lighting the outside lawns in the distance, creating a shimmering effect.

Her stomach knotted, and she ran her hands down the front of her dress, reassuring herself she had never looked finer. The last thing she wanted Richard or any of his guests to see was how ravaged she truly

was, how terribly uncertain. The dress Adel had commissioned her dressmaker to make was truly exquisite. The gown was rose colored with an overskirt of silver gauze. The neckline, the scalloped hem of the overskirt, and the tiny sleeves were embroidered with flowers in delicate seed pearls. Her hair was artfully arranged high, with cascading curls brushing along her cheeks and bared shoulders and along her almost scandalously lowered neckline.

The gravel crunched under her feet as she walked to the steps and swept in through a door that opened without her knocking.

The butler bowed. “This way, if you please, my lady.” He led her down the hall toward the wide-open doors of a large, elegantly decorated ballroom, lighted with hundreds of candles.

Richard was the only man standing in the center of the massive room, every bit the arrogant and powerful marquess. She was overwhelmingly conscious of how keenly she had missed him, blast her stubborn heart.

Where is everyone?

Evie faltered, nervous tension biting through her. Her gaze collided with his burning amber eyes and a firestorm of need scythed through her. She bit her lower lip until it stung. Would there ever be a time she stopped desiring him?

“Lord Westfall,” she murmured and dipped into a graceful curtsy.

“Lady Evie.” The roughness of his voice rasped against her skin and brought to mind the varied ways he had pleasured her with his tongue, his fingers, and…the carnal words he had whispered about how sublime she’d felt on his cock. Heaven help her, she blushed. Oh, dear Lord, please… The very idea that each time she saw him such provocative memories would be provoked was intolerable.

He stared at her with unwavering force, bringing another fiery blush to her cheeks, and she was suddenly grateful the ballroom was empty, for whatever remained of her reputation would have burned to ash just now. Not that she was inclined to give a tosh about society. He’d lost weight, she absently realized. The harsh sensuality of his cheekbones and the hard lines of his jaw were more richly accentuated, he appeared leaner, but somehow more powerful and graceful, clad in black trousers and a jacket that fitted to his frame so perfectly it left no doubt to his perfect masculinity. Her awareness of him was acute and intense.

“I’m pleased you are here, Evie,” he said carefully, his gaze watchful.

“Why am I here?” she asked without preamble.

A silence fell, throbbing with undertones of tension. “Richard—”

“Marry me.”

Her eyes widened. A few weeks ago, his words would have brought such delight to her heart. Instead, a quiver of pain arrowed through her chest. She tilted her head, farther up, holding his gaze. “I am not with child.”

“I’m glad,” he said gruffly, tugging at his cravat, the uncharacteristic nervous gesture relieving some of her tension.

“I would never want you to doubt my sincerity or the reason I want you. I love you,” he said simply, but with such wealth of emotion he rendered her speechless.

An almost unbearable ache twisted through her soul. “Richard, I—”

“I fell in love with you six years ago, in that garden, but never as much as I love you now,” he whispered. “I’ve long known the strength and purity of your honor, and I’ve been a damned fool in shying from the love burning in my soul for you. Since I met you, Evie, it has always been you. If you cannot forgive the hurt I have caused you, step away from me, turn left, walk down the corridor, and open the first door on the right. Wolverton will be waiting to discreetly escort you home. There will be no speculation or scandal. It will be as if you were never here.”