The Deception (Baron 3)

“Why?”

“He wanted to marry me. My father wouldn’t consider it. I was only seventeen years old. Sir John was too old, much too old, and my father told him as much. I was surprised to see him this evening. However, since he is your friend, I will be civil to him if I ever have to be in his company again.”

The duke shrugged, setting down his brandy glass. He felt better, much better, but that was ridiculous. Just because John had known her, just because he’d stared at her breasts—no, she didn’t like him. That was excellent.

He said, “Both John and Drew work for the government, each following in his respective father’s ponderous footsteps.” He paused a moment. “I know that you dislike Napoleon. But you know, there are always villains skulking about. Please don’t worry. You’re safe here. I’ll see to it.”

She could only stare at him, and slowly, slowly, she nodded.

“I’m tired,” she said when the silence stretched too long. “It’s been a very long day. Full of surprises.”

“Yes,” he said “My great-aunt coming with very little warning. She frets about me. She wanted to make certain you wouldn’t murder Edmund in his bed. Trust me, if she hadn’t been sure of you, she would have moved in without a by your leave, and probably slept at the foot of your bed to keep a better eye on you.” “Yes, she is very fond of you.” He walked slowly to her, stopped in front of her, and looked down on her face. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. Like Edgerton, he lightly caressed his knuckles along the line of her jaw. She didn’t want to pull away from his fingers as she had from Edgerton’s. “I’ll take very good care of Edmund.” “I know you will. If I’d felt otherwise, I would have tossed you into a ditch. Curious, isn’t it? And you’ve been here only twenty-four hours.”

“No, closer to thirty hours now. Actually I feel as though I’ve been here much longer. I’m very glad I came. I hope you don’t mind.”

That made him smile. “There are many things I mind. However, at this moment you’re not one of them.” Then his look became intent. She recognized the change in him immediately. To her surprise, she responded to it. Her hands came up to cover her breasts, she couldn’t help it. “You’re looking at me again.” “It’s impossible not to.”

“No, I meant that you’re looking at parts again.”

“Impossible not to.”

“I’m going to bed now.”

He stepped back. He didn’t want to, but he did. He wanted to brush his knuckles over her breasts. He closed his eyes a moment, nearly feeling the softness of her white flesh. “Good night, Evangeline.”

Evangeline opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. She rubbed her hand over her damp forehead, pushed her hair away from her face. Another nightmare, nothing more, nothing less. But it had been so real. She could still hear Houchard’s voice, dark and cold. “You’re too innocent for your nineteen years, Mademoiselle. You will be careful that the duke doesn’t toss up your skirts and take you without your even realizing what he is doing. You will be careful that your innocence doesn’t endanger your common sense. Your dear papa’s life depends on your clear head and your commitment to us.” He’d lightly rubbed her earlobe between his fingers. She’d jerked away, and he’d laughed.

She rose and pulled on her wool dressing down. She pulled on her old slippers and headed downstairs. She didn’t want to go back to sleep anytime soon. She was afraid she’d see more of Houchard. She’d see if the duke had any books that looked interesting for reading in the middle of the night. She raised her single candle high in front of her as she walked down the carpeted corridor to the staircase.

The vast house was quiet for the most part. There were a few creaks and groans that gave her a moment’s pause, but nothing to scare her into gray hair. Lying in her bed, bound to that terrible dream of thinking about why she was really here at Chesleigh, was far more frightening. The huge clock at the top of the central staircase began to chime. One short, loud stroke. She’d believed it much later. She was walking down the stairs, candle high, when suddenly the great front doors flew open. She froze where she stood.

It was the duke. A slice of moonlight cast him into relief in the doorway. She watched him kick the doors closed with the heel of his boot, stride into the entrance hall, his step none too steady. She stepped from the shadows, her lone candle held tightly in her hand.

“Your grace?”

His head whipped up, and for a long moment he simply stared at her. He ran his hand through his disheveled hair, muttered an oath under his breath. “Evangeline? What the devil are you do

ing out of bed? Why are you standing here in the entrance hall?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I had a nightmare. I was going to your library to get a book. I’m sorry to have startled you.”

“I’ll join you in the library,” he said. He strode to her and took the candle from her hand. “You can tell me about this nightmare,” he said over his shoulder.

She realized he was drunk, not staggering and clumsy, but still he’d drunk too much. She shook her head. Why had he left his own house to drink? Where had he gone? What bothered him so much? The death of his friend? “I’m coming,” she called after him.

She followed him into the library and watched him jerk off his greatcoat and gloves and throw himself into a chair before the fireplace. There were only embers burning, deep and orange, not giving much heat. She came closer.

He was silent. She walked quietly to him and gently touched his shoulder.

He was a bit drunk, but he wasn’t dead. He felt the heat of her hand. Slowly, he turned in his chair and closed his fingers over her wrist. “Why are you touching me?”

“You seem faraway, sad, perhaps. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“Ah.” He pulled her wrist down and tightened her hand in his.

“Please don’t break it, your grace. However will I control Edmund with just one hand?”

He looked at her hand held tightly in his. Then he dropped her hand. “Forgive me, Evangeline.” He leaned his head back against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “You know I’m drunk.” “Yes. I wonder why. What troubles you?” He turned penetrating, dark eyes up to her face and said unexpectedly, “Do you often have nightmares?” “No, not really. It’s just that the recent weeks have been rather trying to me. Why are you coming home so very late? Why did you leave here to drink?” “Mind your own affairs, Madame. I don’t justify myself to anyone, least of all to a young widow who is here alone with me in my library and it’s after midnight and she’s wearing only her nightclothes. And she touches me.”