Chapter Four

Chapter Four

“How do you want me?” Evangelina’s soft, sweet voice echoed like a gunshot in his head and a pulse of violent want shot directly between Zeke’s legs.

Oh this was bad. Very bad. Zeke dragged in a rough breath as Evangelina shifted not five feet from him. Her hair was a dark stormcloud, twisting and writhing before him in a glorious cacophony of light and texture. Her face was luminescent, her eyes dark and huge like glossy obsidian, black mirrors for the hopes and dreams, the very souls of those who gazed at her. She was a living work of art, and his hands itched to draw her, to capture her, to create her as his own like some artistic Hephaestus, desperate to make his muse. Impulses far more natural and far more dangerous shot through him, ones that begged him to caress her, to strip her of every article of clothing and capture her with his mouth, his body, cage her in against him and never let her go. And to create her, not as a work of art, but as a woman, to make her into something new when he took her, something stronger, freer, and his.

“However feels natural,” his voice was rough, and he hoped she didn’t notice.

Zeke spread the large drawing pad across his lap, quite thankful for it as a shield against anything he would rather keep hidden from her eye. Really, he was a man of six and twenty, not a green boy who couldn’t keep control around a pretty girl. Except, apparently, that was exactly the case here. He’d had Parisian courtesans in twos and threes stripped for him and posed in all manner of provocative positions. He’d had strapping men and voluptuous women simulate coupling before his eyes so he could capture the contours just right, how the light played off a dorsal muscle, how a drop of water looked suspended off the tip of a sweetly ruched nipple. And he never was distracted by any sort of untimely arousal.

The models had often remarked on it, many of them used to servicing the artists for some extra as part of their daily routine. Sometimes Zeke tupped them after – he was only human, for goodness sake, but never during. The art was all that mattered. But now, there was her, this quiet, lovely creature with her dark hair cascading around her as she sat, dressed in a simple, pale pink walking dress, with the tips of her dark pink slippers peeking out from the hem. Yes, this would be his death, because even the silk toe of her slippers made him go mad for her.

Zeke raised his eyes again and found her posed in a position that ought to have been perfectly acceptable, but in his addled state, was supremely provocative. She’d leaned back on her hands, bending her knees slightly, tipping her head back a little to soak up the sun on her face. Her eyes were closed – he wanted to paint her eyes, to depict whatever it was in them that made something shift in the universe, but he feared to try it. Zeke was good, he knew he was, but he wasn’t a master. He doubted DaVinci himself could have done justice to this goddess, and he, a mere gentleman painter, a hobbyist at best, was going to try?

The hubris of it was laughable, and it ought to have humbled him. But artists and dreamers, scientists and fools, all cut from the same cloth, each having plucked a feather from Icarus’s melted wings, held it to his breast, and said, “But I wouldn’t burn.”

“Just so,” Zeke whispered, bringing the pencil to the paper and scratching madly at the page, marring the pristine white with black and gray, making her of the negative space, then filling in her curves and edges with the colors of his trade. He smudged the dark of her hair with his finger, and he could almost feel the silken locks trailing between his digits. Zeke flexed his hand, his wrist tiring from the deathgrip he held on the pencil. The lines were heavier than he usually drew, the intensity of feeling inside him communicated, the fervor of the artist a violent contrast to the serenity of the being he depicted. She was a wood nymph, pristine and peaceful, and he wanted her in every way imaginable.

For the first time, Zeke thought of what it would mean if she didn’t marry him. He didn’t know how they would save her if she didn’t, but they would make sure she was safe. He could woo her, bring her flowers, write her poems, even though that had never been his best way of expressing himself. How did one convince a good sort of girl to wed?

“How’s it coming?”

Her question broke his reverie, and he was glad of it. Zeke shook his head clear of the wild turn of his thoughts; he had never been one to seek out marriage. To protect Evangelina, of course, he would do so happily, but to strive for it? No, it was not in his nature to be tied down to a place, a person. He was an artist, a free spirit. That was all he’d ever wanted, and a stray attraction to a pretty girl would not change that.

Zeke looked up and found her staring at him. It was as if someone had dropped anchor in his abdomen.

“Quite well,” he managed to keep his voice low and even. “In a few minutes, I’ll have a good enough draft to let you go.”

For a brief moment, the space between her brows creased. Zeke wanted to smooth it away with his thumb, to kiss her there, to keep her from ever worrying again. Instead, he dragged his thumb over the spot on the picture of her, then went back to work.

The interlude with Zeke by the pond had left Evangelina a breathless and confused mess. She tossed and turned all that night, knowing her days of indecision were up on the morrow. She had to make a choice, and really, she had made one. Almost. Samaria had told her an ancient Hindu legend about a mouse girl who found her mouse king even though she’d been living as a human for years. Like found like, it promised. Samira had certainly found her like in Rowan, but Evangelina knew she and Zeke were not like.

He was confident, worldly, talented. She was quiet, naive, and fearful. The story seemed to tell her that they would not suit, and yet…yet when she had sat before him as he sketched her, something in her being responded to him. She felt the pull of it in her belly, the beating of it in her ribcage, the knowledge that somehow if she had only her ears and a hundred heartbeats, she could find him because she knew the rhythms of his being as well as her own. Perhaps like was not just in personality, but ways that were harder to see, harder to quantify.

Perhaps they were Parvati and Shiva, two bodies with one soul, a young girl dreaming of the man she would love, until he came to her and made her his.

When the time came the next day for the Haldi, Evangelina dressed in the yellow-orange dress she had for the occasion. The Marstons were more than happy to make any adjustments asked of them to accommodate the faith and tradition of Samira and her family. Evangelina could not have been more pleased at the way they all embraced it. The ceremony to wed them would be Anglican, of course, but the Haldi ceremony would go on and Samira’s wedding dress was a gorgeous saree.

Evangelina buzzed with excitement as everyone entered the room for the pre-wedding ritual. The whole family was there, even the Marquis and Marchioness of Conway, who had arrived that morning. Evangelina stole glances at Zeke, who was smiling and talking with his brother Joel and sister Callista. Every time he caught her eye, Evangelina felt a thousand dragonflies caught in her belly.

When at last the bride and groom were brought in, Evangelina called all their attention together. She explained the purpose of Haldi, the power in the turmeric paste, the good fortune, the love, the community, that came with the spreading and the communion of those who came together to wish the happy couple well. She looked on, smiling as the mother of the bride and mother of the groom spread the paste on their children with gentle fingers. They had made lots of the golden, gooey paste to accommodate the large family, and Evangelina took a small bowl in each hand. Moving over to Zeke, she held out a bowl to him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it from her and nodding.

Evangelina smiled, turning to her sister. She could let thoughts of herself and Zeke recede for the moment, and instead focus on Samira. Evangelina stepped close, dropping down before Samira to spread the Haldi on the big sister who had become a woman, strong, beautiful, and loving, and would now be a wife, a mother, a Viscountess. Evangelina’s heart threatened to burst with happiness.

“Congratulations,” whispered Evangelina.

Samira smiled, her eyes welling with tears. “I love you, Chintu.”

“I love you, Sam.” Evangelina felt a wetness on her own cheeks.

Samira gave a breathless laugh, dipping her fingers in the paste and applying it to Evangelina’s cheek.

“You know what they say about the blessings of this,” Samira said quietly. “When applied to an unmarried woman, it gives her good fortune in finding the right man.”

Evangelina thought she would like it very much indeed if the Haldi could make her sure, but as much as she cherished the ritual, she did not believe it would suddenly be magic. It would not be as though the clouds would part and the sun drop a beam of light on Zeke if he was the one.

A commotion beside them brought Evangelina’s attention to Zeke and Rowan, and now Joel, who were spreading the paste on each other like giddy little boys. She grinned, going to spread some on Callista, and soon, the whole family was it. The families became one as they felt blessed and happy. It was a wild, beautiful moment of abandon, and Evangelina could not remember the last time she was so happy.

She turned, and there he was, standing with his back to the window, illuminated like the sun itself had crowned him in gold. Evangelina’s breath caught as Zeke met her gaze. Her feet moved before her mind agreed, and she stood before him. Wordless, she brought her hand up to smear some of the paste on his cheek. He was smiling, his gaze fixed and intense. Slowly, almost gingerly, he dipped the first finger of his left hand into the bowl and reached up to her. With his thumb and other fingers, he gripped her chin while his pointer finger made a small arc over the sensitive line of her bottom lip. Her breath caught, her body turned tight and hot. In an instant, with one, innocent touch, he had shifted everything inside her and rearranged it as something wholly other. It was unimaginable, and it was addicting.

Evangelina had made her choice. She’d known it from the moment she approached him. Perhaps, even if everything wasn’t this chaos, they still might have ended up here, and that thought comforted her a great deal.

Zeke held his breath as Evangelina dragged the turmeric paste down his face. Reaching up, Zeke felt his whole body pulse as he drew his finger along her chin, just under her lip. Her breath caught, and his whole body lit. It was dangerous, reckless even, to do this in the midst of his family, but he couldn’t help himself. Evangelina had gotten under his skin, was in his bloodstream, and now that she had come to him, he felt anointed. It was as though she was the medieval queen and he her knight, with the blessing of her fingers on his skin, she had marked him as hers.

“So?” he whispered, knowing it in his bones that his fate was sealed, and strangely, unafraid.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice quiet but firm.

Shooting stars set off in his ribcage. Zeke wanted to gather her to him, draw her away from everyone. He wanted to take her back to the secluded spot he’d sketched her and make her his in every way. Instead, he simply bowed his head, picked up her hand, and planted a kiss on the soft back of her fingers.

“I’ll get you a ring,” he promised, running his thumb along the bare, slender finger.

“Nothing too fancy,” Evangelina whispered.

He raised his eyes, smiling at this lovely woman who had just agreed to be his wife. “Of course. You are adornment enough. Jewels would be coals to Newcastle.”

Evangelina dropped her gaze demurely, and Zeke felt a surge of protectiveness. She had not the practiced missishness of society ladies that always annoyed Zeke. Hers was honest humility, a lack of artifice that made her a treasure all her own.

Finally, the spell was broken when his mother sent them all away to wash before dinner. Once they were all properly attired and reassembled, Zeke was seated across from Evangelina so did not talk a great deal to her, but he had the immense pleasure of watching her. It was almost as dear as it would have been to be the one to elicit those smiles, to hear her every soft spoken word. But watching her was a joy all its own. When everyone was shooed up to their rooms by Deirdre, she pulled her second son aside.

“So, is it sure?” she asked.

Zeke nodded. “It is.”

Deirdre broke into the biggest smile he’d seen since the night Rowan announced his engagement to Samira. “Wonderful. I must tell you, my dear, I am happy to have that child bound to our family closer than just Samira’s sister.”

Zeke winced slightly at the reference to Evangelina as a child. So far, he’d managed to avoid most thoughts about her youth; it was obvious she was young, her skin dewy fresh and her eyes wide, figuratively and literally. But when he’d been sketching her, his pencil shaping the curve of breasts and hips that would have put the Venus of Urbino to shame, it was easy to see her as all woman. She was of age, and he wasn’t so very old, but if he thought about it too hard, it began to make him a little queasy.

“Well, I was thinking that you ought to pick a ring,” said his mother.

Zeke blinked. “What?”

“A ring for Evangelina,” Deirdre said. “From the family collection. One your father gave me, or perhaps one of the ones your grandfather gave your grandmother. The very old ones are Samira’s now, of course, but there are still plenty of the newer pieces that will be good choices for your Eva.”

“That would be lovely,” he said, a surreal sense draping over him as he followed his mother to the safe.

A ring. From his family’s rings. A ring with history, with the dynastic weight of a viscounty behind it. Zeke had never been one for the show of being nobility, even if he wasn’t titled himself. The stiff collars had always fit him worst of all, the yoke chaffed and the barbs stung. Would such a ring weigh too heavy on Evangelina?

His mother pulled out a tray of rings and cooed approvingly at the selection. “Any of these would be lovely for your bride.”

Zeke swallowed hard. Bride. Wife. Evangelina. He tugged at his collar, yanking off the cravat and laying it aside.

“Are you all right, darling?” asked Dierdre.

“Perfect,” he choked.

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t ready to be a husband. He’d never even been faithful to anyone before, not that any of them had attempted to claim that right from him. But he’d never even wanted to try; what if he couldn’t? What if his artist’s hours drove her mad? What if he was always out late and she always up early – she seemed that sort – and they never saw each other? What if they ended up raising children in a miserable, chilly home devoid of passion? Could his own art survive in such fallow soil?

“Zeke,” his mother wrapped a hand around his arm. “Breathe. You’re all right.”

He dragged in a few breaths, calming his erratic heart. A new wave of panic hit him by the sheer fact that he had panicked previously. He never panicked.

“I - I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Zeke raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what…”

“It’s all right,” his mother repeated, her voice steady and soothing. “I promise. You just got a bit overwhelmed.”

Zeke stared at her, bewildered. “Mother, I don’t get overwhelmed.”

In the madhouse of the Marston family, Zeke had always been water, flowing around the others, molding into the cracks, finding the path of least resistance that kept him going.

“Oh, darling,” Deirdre rubbed up and down his arm. “That’s because there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted enough to be afraid you’ll lose it.”

Zeke felt the knot in his stomach worsening. He cared about his siblings, his mother, his friends, but this was different, and it had only been a short time of knowing her. That was unnerving at best.

“You don’t have to pick now,” said his mother. “If it’s too much.”

“I’m fine,” Zeke snapped.

Really, could he not pick a damn ring for his fiancee without having a fit of vapors? Zeke passed a quick, assessing eye over the rings and selected the one that caught his eye.

“Lovely,” Deirdre nodded. “I’m sure she’ll adore it.”

He tucked it into the ring box, which he then shoved in his pocket. “Well, thank you mother. I shall bid you goodnight; big day tomorrow after all.”

She smiled. “Actually, I think Rowan and Joel are up in Rowan’s study if you’d like to join them. And if you’d make sure he doesn’t drink too much…”

Zeke smiled. “Rowan or Joel?”

“Well, normally I’d say Joel, but pre-wedding jitters and all,” shrugged Deirdre. “Just look after them.”

“I will Mama,” he bent and kissed her cheek. “Thank you again for the ring.”

She nodded and watched her son go. Zeke found his brothers where his mother said, and sat down with them, drink in hand, and a ring in his pocket.

The next day passed in a blur of activity. Evangelina did not think she sat down from when she rose that morning until she took a seat at the edge of the ball that night, desperate for a small respite. Her face hurt from smiling all day, beaming from the inside out with joy for and pride in her sister. She felt his approach as a prickling awareness over her right shoulder, and Evangelina turned to find Zeke coming toward her with two glasses of punch. He offered her one, and she took it gratefully.

“A beautiful ceremony, was it not?” asked Zeke.

Evangelina smiled up at him. “They love each other very much.”

“That they do,” agreed Zeke, turning his head toward the dancefloor. “I think they will be very happy.”

“As do I,” Evangelina said, watching the happy couple twirl by.

“It’s that,” Zeke said. “The expression in their eyes when they look at each other, the intensity, the truth and devotion, the love…that is what I chase.”

Evangelina’s heart sped up in her chest. “I did not know you were such a romantic, sir.”

Zeke gave a small, distant smile as he watched his brother and her sister. “All artists are romantics. To be able to capture such a feeling in our art, something so raw and human as love, that is the dream we all carry.”

“Oh,” her hope deflated. “Of course. Well, I am sure you will find your inspiration some day.”

He turned and looked at her. “I dearly hope so, Miss Evangelina. In the meantime, would you care to dance?”

She finished her punch and set the glass aside, practically leaping to her feet. She might have been tired, but she certainly would dance until she wore through her slippers like the princesses in the fairy tale if her future husband was the one asking. Zeke led her out to the floor and swept her into his arms. He was a phenomenal dancer, whirling her about so that her feet barely touched the ground. Everywhere he led, Evangelina followed. It was a pleasure like no other to be his partner, and to know in the depths of herself that he was hers forever.

Evangelina had made peace with this reality. She had never truly thought she would get to be the diamond, though that had always been Samira’s dream for her. For a few hours at Samira’s engagement ball, it had seemed to be possible, but even then, Evangelina had known it would not last. The carriages turned to pumpkins at midnight, and she was extremely lucky that she’d landed in the arms of a handsome prince in time.

Zeke was no consolation prize either, that she knew. Evangelina would be envied by many if not most; a good family, an artist who could support a wife and children, a tall, obscenely handsome man with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. It was a dream, and she decided to embrace it. It was an easy thing to do as they swirled about each other at the center of their own gravity.

As the dance ended, Zeke bowed and Evangelina curtseyed.

“Miss Evangelina,” he took her hand and kissed it. “Would you care to take some air with me?”

Her heart leapt in her chest. “Yes, Mr. Marston. I would love to.”

Smiling, Zeke led her through the sea of silk and taffeta until they emerged onto the terrace. Zeke guided her to the balustrade, and she placed her hands on the stone. Evangelina took a deep breath of the night air.

“Eva, I have something for you,” he said.

Evangelina looked over to him, sweet and eager. “Yes?”

Zeke plucked the box from his pocket and took a steadying breath as he flicked it open. Evangelina gasped as the moonlight caught the beautiful opal at the center.

“Zeke! I thought you were going to get one in London!” cried Evangelina. “Where is this from?”

He smiled. “It’s a family ring. One my grandfather bought my grandmother for their third anniversary, I believe.”

“Well, it’s gorgeous,” she said.

Zeke pulled it from the box and she lifted her hand. He slid the ring onto the base of her finger, the fit a little loose on her sweet, small hands. She wiggled her fingers, gasping as it glittered in the moonlight.

“It looks perfect on you,” Zeke whispered.

She bit her lip. “It looks like a star.”

“I’d reach up to the sky and pull one down for you if I could,” Zeke said.

Looking up at him, Evangelina smiled brightly. “Which one would you get me?”

Zeke took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. “Well, it could be the North Star, or Venus.”

“Where is Venus?” asked Evangelina, craning her neck.

“Right there,” he pointed, and she saw the sparkling star high above them.

“Oh, I think that would be too big and bright for me,” Evangelina shook her head. “How about a smaller one?”

“Well, you could pick one from Hydra,” suggested Zeke. “That one is Hydra,” Zeke pointed high above them. “And over there, Orion. Cassiopeia…”

“Ursa Major and Minor,” Evangelina found them herself.

“Very good,” he smiled. “Do you know stars?”

“Only from books,” Evangelina blushed. “London is not a very good place for stargazing, and I have never been to the country before.”

Zeke drew her a bit further away from the party and to a nearby bench, sinking down and drawing Evangelina with him. “And do you find it to your liking?”

“I do indeed,” nodded Evangelina. “Everything is truer here than in town, fresher, more honest, it seems. I like who I am here.”

Reaching up, Zeke could not stop himself from tucking a stray lock of glorious, wild curl behind her delicate ear. “Pray tell, Evangelina, who are you in this place that you cannot be when you are elsewhere?”

Evangelina swallowed hard. “I am braver. Freer, I think.”

Zeke’s heart beat hard in his chest. “There is something liberating about being away, something safe and dangerous at the same time.”

“Exactly,” her voice was barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. “I can feel it.”

He could too, the sensation, the desire, the need. Without a second thought, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and tugged her mouth to his.

The moment Evangelina felt the brush of Zeke’s lips, her world shifted on its axis. She knew there were moments, turning points for a person and people, for relationships, places and times and things that made all the difference in the future. And she knew, with every fiber of her being, that this was one of these moments. Evangelina let out a small, soft sound as his tongue guided her lips open. Evangelina was shocked at the invasion, hot, insistent, strange, though not unpleasant. It made something unusual and demanding coil in her belly.

“Mm,” Evangelina made a small sound that was not quite pleased.

Zeke pulled back. “What is it?”

“I feel…rather queer,” said Evangelina, putting her hand on her stomach. “Queasy.”

“Queasy?” Zeke questioned.

She winced. “Not quite. My stomach feels…uneasy, I suppose. Not really my stomach, though. A bit lower. It’s a very tight sensation, almost hot.”

A smile spread across Zeke’s face, and he swiped a finger across her cheek. “Sweet, do you want to know what that is?”

Evangelina nodded slightly, her cheeks pinkening as he leaned close, putting his mouth to her ear. He let her feel his breath, stirring the delicate curls that kissed her skin, tingling down her spine.

“It’s desire,” Zeke whispered.

A quiver went through her being, and unconsciously, she pressed her body closer to his. He felt her remarkably ample breasts press against his chest, and he splayed a hand across her back. She was unconsciously sensual, young though she was, and she would be a pleasure to integrate into the desires of the flesh.