A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin 2)

“The man was a coward. When he discovered the house occupied, he scarpered with his tail between his legs.”

For shame, Miss Barrett. It seems I’m not the only liar in the house.

“Isn’t my girl brave?” The vicar left Lord Neville at the table.

“Hardly, Papa,” Genevieve said uncomfortably. “I told the fellow to leave and he went. By then, he’d probably guessed that there was nothing worth stealing.”

She deuced well should be uncomfortable, fibbing to her nearest and dearest. The encounter mightn’t have gone completely Richard’s way, but she hadn’t scared him off like a panicked rabbit.

“You’re quite the heroine,” Mrs. Warren said. “I would have fainted into his arms with terror.”

Richard was pleased to note the color lining the girl’s slanted cheekbones. She hadn’t fainted, but by Jove, she’d been in his arms. At the time, he’d considered kissing her. He’d certainly wanted to.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, Aunt. He was a most unimpressive specimen. Skinny and half-starved. Why, Hecuba could have taken him.” She glanced at Richard. “Are you all right, Mr. Evans?”

He realized he’d replaced his cup on its saucer with a loud clink. The urge to wring her neck—after kissing her within an inch of her life—rose. His voice remained even. “Perfectly, thank you, Miss Barrett. I’ve realized how late it is.”

As if to confirm that it wasn’t late at all, the hall clock struck nine.

“Must you go?” It was Mrs. Warren, not her niece, who asked. The niece’s expression indicated that she was happy that he left the vicarage and she’d be even happier if he left the neighborhood for good.

We don’t always get what we want, Richard thought as he rose. “Indeed I must. Thank you, Dr. Barrett and Mrs. Warren, for your kind hospitality. Lord Neville.” He bowed to Genevieve. “Your servant, Miss Barrett.”

“Are you sure you won’t stay? Our groom has gone for the night. It’s no trouble to make a bed.” Mrs. Warren gazed at him as if he carried the map to the Promised Land. Poor Genevieve, if her aunt subjected every male visitor to such matchmaking. No wonder she was testy.

He needed to regroup, to shake off Genevieve’s surprisingly powerful influence. And something told him his strategy was better served by leaving. “I can manage my carriage.”

“If you insist.” The vicar didn’t hide his disappointment.

“Genevieve, show Mr. Evans out,” Mrs. Warren said.

Flushing with chagrin, Genevieve put down her tea. “Very well. Mr. Evans?”

“Miss Barrett.” He took her arm as she stood.

She stiffened beneath his touch and the instant they’d passed through the door, she jerked free. “It’s only three steps.”

Genevieve abhorred this fluster. She’d always considered herself above female foibles; the thrill at spying a handsome man, the primping and preening. Yet even now, she was painfully conscious that she’d spilled ink on her sleeve and her hair hadn’t seen a comb since this morning. Next to Mr. Evans’s perfect tailoring, she felt shabby and disheveled and inadequate.

She shut the door to keep Hecuba in the parlor. Mr. Evans stopped, blast him, in the flagstoned hall. The space had never felt so small. He turned to her, puzzlement darkening his features. “Why don’t you like me, Miss Barrett?”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Hasn’t anyone ever disliked you?”

He had the grace to look slightly shamefaced. “If I say no, I’ll sound like a complete ass.”

“Although nobody ever has disliked you, have they?”

He shrugged. “Generally not young ladies.”

Her lips quirked with wry agreement. “I can imagine.”

He stepped closer. With difficulty she held her ground, although every feminine instinct screamed to run. “I’d like us to be friends.”

Now it was her turn to be puzzled. “Why?”

“Your father hasn’t told you?”

A chill presentiment of disaster oozed down her spine. “Told me what?”