Chapter Two

E valina felt her insides buzzing. Not only had she confessed to defying his mother's wishes from time to time, but she'd also invited him to join her today.

Did she regret it? Not even a little.

Because the duke deserved some time to himself. No, he needed it—more than anyone she'd ever known. Whomever he chose to marry was not her business, but she hated how the duchess's constant pressure seemed to weigh him down.

He deserved to step away for one day.

He needed some perspective, and if she was the only one willing to ensure he got it, then she'd enthusiastically rise to the task.

But even as she tore off the mobcap, her hands were shaking.

He was a duke—a handsome and wealthy one at that.

Shoving a few pins into her coiffure, she leaned forward and studied her reflection closer than usual.

Her mouth was a little too full and wide, and her skin was the canvas for literally thousands of freckles—of which she was oddly proud.

Evalina tilted her head and sighed.

What did he see when he looked at her? Just another servant? A girl who could possibly be a friend?

A woman?

Her neck turned pink at the thought.

Of course he wouldn't join her. He was expecting guests. Evalina was foolish to imagine he'd take her up on her offer, even if it was only for one day—a few hours, really.

He wouldn't tell his mother. Of that, she was certain. She didn't know why it was so easy to trust him—with information that could get her sacked, no less. It was simply a feeling she had, something she'd seen in his eyes and, well…

She just knew.

Tucking the latest book she'd nicked from the library into her satchel, and with one last glance in her tiny looking glass, Eva dashed out of her attic room and down the stairs. Before reaching the foyer, however, she slowed her steps and tightened her lips into a more neutral expression. She couldn't be seen leaving the estate with a smile of anticipation.

"Miss Sparrow," Mr. Frye, the portly butler, greeted her. "I didn't think the duchess was going out today. Important guests are due to arrive, as you know."

"The duchess isn't going out, but I must." Eva twisted her mouth into a practiced angelic expression. "The duchess promised Mrs. Peterson that I would be on hand today to assist with the charity baskets."

Mr. Frye frowned, looking confused but not at all suspicious. "She hasn't mentioned any such plans. I would have thought she'd want you on hand—"

"It's been three weeks. She's likely forgotten." Eva removed her small notebook from the deep pocket in her skirt. "I have it written right here." She turned the book for the butler to read the note she'd made a few minutes before.

"I don't suppose you can cry off—not when it's for charity," he conceded reluctantly.

"I should think not." Eva raised her brows. "What would people think?"

Before he could answer, the duke himself came sauntering down the stairs behind her. "Are you ready?" he asked, lacking any of the subtlety required for their mission.

"But Your Grace…!" Mr. Frye's eyes bulged out and his face turned a cherry red.

"Yes, Frye?" The duke glanced at the man, not at all concerned. Why would he be? He was the duke.

"You aren't leaving as well, are you?" The butler was looking quite desperate now. "Your mother… The duchess… You are expecting guests. Has there been a change in plans of which I've not been informed?"

"Not at all," the duke answered. "Lady Lincoln and her daughter are still expected today, but I won't be meeting with them until this evening. I have… er—" The duke shot Eva a wincing glance.

"You forgot these, Your Grace," Mr. Sloan, the duke's valet, announced as he descended the steps, carrying a pair of black leather gloves. And, without missing a beat, he added, "For your meeting with the vicar."

"The vicar?" The duke's brows rose, but then he dipped his chin. "Ah, yes. The vicar wanted to speak with me…"

"To discuss the proposed renovation costs," Mr. Sloan finished for the duke. "Because the chapel roof has been… leaking."

Eva met the valet's eyes and nodded in approval, pleased to know that she and the valet were of the same mind—where the duke was concerned, anyhow.

"You are both going to the church, then?" Mr. Frye's frown was the most he could do to show his disapproval without arguing with his employer.

"Are we?" The duke turned to Eva, who would have rolled her eyes toward the ceiling if Mr. Frye wasn't watching her.

"That is what you said earlier." Eva spoke slowly, as though speaking to a toddler. "Since I am going to help with the charity food baskets, and you are meeting with the vicar at the same location, it only makes sense that we'd travel together." She smiled tightly, willing him to understand that, in order for this to work, deception was necessary.

He didn't answer immediately, instead turning to accept his gloves from the valet.

But when he turned back, his expression was perhaps more innocent than hers.

"My thanks, Sloan." He gestured toward the grand entrance. "Shall we, Miss Sparrow?"

Eva blinked. "Absolutely," she replied, and not bothering to wait for the butler to open the door, they stepped outside, leaving the cool darkness of the foyer behind. Her eyes watered in the light of day, and yet a giddiness swept through her.

To know, if only for a few hours, this sense of freedom.

It was odd, though. She wouldn't have thought that she could feel like this while accompanied by the duke.

With only the sounds of their footsteps crunching on the gravel, neither spoke until they were far enough from the manor that no one would hear them.

"You told Mr. Sloan?" Eva eventually asked. The valet was a favorite amongst the servants, if not with the duchess, who didn't pay much attention to any of the staff, really.

The duke shrugged. "I would trust him with my life," he said. "In fact, I have trusted him with my life."

"He was your batman, wasn't he, while you were in the army?"

"He was," the duke answered curtly. A sensitive subject, then. Eva supposed it made sense, when the duchess seemed to take every opportunity to berate him for having purchased a commission, for having risked his life fighting in France.

He had defied his mother's wishes back then. Why didn't he now?

But she wouldn't ask. No, this was a day for fun!

Furthermore, she noticed they were heading toward the stables. She'd intended to walk to the destination she had in mind and didn't want to be cooped up inside of a coach. "Must we take the coach?" she asked. "It's such a lovely day, I'd rather spend the time outside, wouldn't you?"

"We could take my curricle," he suggested, sliding her a quick glance. "Or walk, if you'd prefer."

The two options gave her pause. She'd seen the duke drive away atop his curricle on more than one occasion, and she wondered what it would feel like to fly across the countryside at such high speeds. The leather seat was at least five feet from the ground, the exterior was painted a royal blue, and the modern contraption was pulled by a rather magnificent pair of black mares.

"I think…" She touched her chin. "I would like to ride in the curricle, but I have a request."

"And what would that be?"

She bit her lip. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I want to go fast."

Sliding her an indulgent smirk, he chuckled. "Of course you do."

It was one of those special looks he'd sent her in the past. As though the two of them were in on a secret. It was why she trusted him. It was also why she found herself thinking about him, late at night, in ways that she shouldn't.

Touching herself…

With her heart fluttering, she met and held his gaze. "Well then?" She bit her bottom lip.

"The curricle it is, then."