Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Evan

E van Haddington, the Duke of Wells, leaned against a polished pillar in the dimly lit corner of Almack’s, one hand absently swirling a glass of wine, the other pressed to his temple as he stifled a yawn. The candlelight flickered in his emerald-green eyes, casting his face—a collection of sharp angles and aristocratic indifference—in shadows. He turned to his friend Jonathan Stone, the Earl of Lichfield, who was attempting to hide a smirk behind a raised eyebrow.

“Remind me again why I’m wasting my last night of freedom here?” Evan muttered, barely hiding his disdain. “I should be at home, resting for this absurdly early wedding. But no—I’m here, at Almack’s of all places, as if I hadn’t more pressing matters.”

Jonathan chuckled, leaning slightly forward to catch Evan’s gaze. “Quite right, you should be home. But,” he paused with a meaningful glance across the room, “Lord Marley is here tonight, and we haven’t been able to secure an appointment with him otherwise. If we want him to invent in our horse breeding operation, we need to first corner him and it is either here or at parliament and you know that would be frowned upon. Thus this,” Jonathan swept an arm toward the crowd, “is, I’m afraid, our best opportunity.”

Evan sighed, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “I suppose I might as well make the effort, if only to avoid facing him at a more inconvenient hour. But I’ll not be staying long. The wedding is scheduled at some ungodly hour. Eleven in the morning, if you can believe it. And don’t get me started on the arrangements.” He sneered, setting down his wine with exaggerated distaste. “We tasted the proposed dinner afternoon. Abominable. Roasted lamb with rosemary and some dreadfully uninspired sauce—an abomination. I detest rosemary.”

Jonathan chuckled again. “If you hate it, why ever did you include it?”

Evan gave a careless shrug, his gaze momentarily distant. “Ophelia likes it and so we shall have it. It is of no consequence anyhow, we will get it over with and then I shall go back to eating mutton and peasant and whatever else I please and she can eat whatever strikes her fancy.”

“Whenever you speak of your marriage, I sound so detached. Do you not think it would have been better to wait for the right woman?” Jonathan asked.

“Perhaps. But it is such an effort. And besides, at one-and-thirty, I’d rather avoid whispers that there’s something amiss with me.” He looked at Jonathan with a mocking smile. “So, I shall do my duty—marry the lady, produce an heir, and satisfy societies expectations.”

Jonathan shook his head, watching Evan with faint amusement. “It hardly sounds like a pleasant union for either of you.”

Evan gave another dismissive shrug. “We’ll make do,” he said, with a nonchalance that bordered on indifference. “She’s friendly enough. And the nice thing is, this marriage doesn’t demand I change my habits.” He grinned with devilish humor.

“Are you certain it is wise to carry on as you have been after saying your vows?”

“Why should I deny London of my presence? Or my charms?” Evan asked with a chuckle. He was well aware there were more charming men than he, but Jonathan didn’t need to know this.

Jonathan, a taller, wiry man with a more serious air, arched a brow. “You, Evan, are as incorrigible as ever.”

“Oh, don’t go moralizing on me, Weston.” Evan leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “It wouldn’t suit you.”

“Your future father-in-law might not find it quite so charming,” Jonathan replied, raising his glass to his lips with a smirk. “But I suppose you’re managing him too?”

Evan scoffed. “Managing is hardly the word. Old Lord Braverman was keen to negotiate terms, and Ophelia’s father was delighted to be rid of the responsibility.” He let out a languid sigh, as though tired of the whole business. “The fact is, I needn’t bother myself with the family. My affairs are my own.”

Jonathan shifted, leaning closer, his voice dropping slightly. “And what of Rose?”

At this, a rare flicker of something vulnerable crossed Evan’s face. His voice, when he spoke, was lower. “Rose knows well enough what’s to come. She’s not surprised, nor particularly bothered.”

Just then, Evan heard the faintest rustle of movement behind him. He whipped his head around, eyes narrowing as he scanned the empty hallway behind them.

“Did you hear something, Weston?” he asked, still peering into the shadows.

Jonathan, however, simply shook his head, looking unimpressed. “Nothing at all. Perhaps it’s your guilty conscience.”

“I think not. Come, let us investigate. I’d rather not have my conversations overheard,” he said and stepped inside the hall where

he could hear the muted strains of laughter and polite conversation drifting from the ballroom.

“Evan?” Jonathan called and caught up to him. “You are getting paranoid.”

“I thought I heard someone eavesdropping but I must have been mistaken,” he said. “Let us look for Marley. Has he even arrived yet? Maybe we can await him at the entrance.”

As he examined the space for his elusive business associate, his attention was momentarily diverted by a pair of unfamiliar gentlemen, both murmuring their congratulations as he passed.

One in particular, a young man with an impressively tailored coat and striking resemblance to an older acquaintance, caught Evan’s eye.

“Who is that?” he asked Jonathan, who had followed him out.

“Ah,” Jonathan replied, following Evan’s gaze. “That would be Alexander Hayward, the newly returned Marquess of Howe. His father is the Earl of Worcester—the one who met that unfortunate fate of being thrown in Newgate.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Worcester’s son? I thought he’d vanished after the scandal. Curious, that he appears so pleasant.”

“Entire family does, by all accounts,” Jonathan replied, giving Evan a significant look. “Though growing up under someone like Worcester could hardly have been an easy lot. They’ll be at your wedding, did you not know?”

“Braverman arranged it all rather in haste, I did not trifle with the guest list,” Evan said with a shrug. “This entire wedding was arranged without my input. All I need to do is show up, speak my vows, and go back to living my life as I please.”

Together, they made their way to the entrance era of Almack’s where the line of those looking to enter had thinned out.

Evan’s attention was abruptly pulled away by a sudden flurry of movement near the entrance of Almack’s. A young woman came dashing down the steps, her feet catching on the hem of her gown, and before Evan could register the impulse, he found himself lunging forward to steady her.

He grasped her arm just before she could stumble entirely, feeling the warmth of her hand as she clutched his sleeve. She was wearing a gown of rose-colored silk, similar to the one he’d earlier seen. Was she the same woman? Perhaps not. It was a rather popular color this season.

Besides, he found himself rather captivated by her handsome looks. Her hair, dark and unruly, cascaded around her shoulders in a manner more spirited than fashionable. Her eyes, he noticed, were alight with something fierce—pride, perhaps, or impatience.

“Are you quite all right, miss?” he asked, his voice low and bemused.

She straightened herself, her hand pulling away from his with a certain deliberation. “I am perfectly well,” she said, her voice sharper than he expected. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw the faint glint of fire in them, though he couldn’t say what had provoked it. “And you, sir,” she continued, with an edge of disdain, “should be ashamed of yourself.”

With that, she spun around, not waiting for his reply, and vanished into the throng gathered near the steps of Almack’s.

Evan stood frozen for a moment, his brow furrowing as he watched her disappear. Beside him, Jonathan chuckled quietly. “Perhaps she’s heard of your reputation.”

Evan scowled, his gaze still fixed on the spot where she had disappeared. “Possibly,” he replied, though he found himself strangely unsettled. “Though I have a feeling that was no ordinary scolding.”

“From what I hear, most of the women at Almack’s would scold you given half a chance,” Jonathan said, his tone edged with amusement. He clapped Evan on the shoulder. “Come now, your mysterious young lady can’t have left you quite that undone. Besides, Marley’s just arrived. Over yonder. He had best hurry lest he receive a severe censure and a ban from this establishment.”

But Evan’s attention had drifted back to the steps of Almack’s, his gaze lingering as though he half-expected her to return. The memory of that fiery glance haunted him, the challenge in her tone like an echo lingering in the night air. It wasn’t often that he found himself on the receiving end of such indifference—let alone outright disdain.

“Let’s go, then,” he said finally, his lips twitching with a faint smile. “Though I imagine you’re right—I’ve been lectured enough for one evening and shall keep away from any potentially irate ladies for the evening.”

He smiled as he walked back inside toward the man he hoped to make his business partner, though as he did, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at the enraged young woman who stormed into the night.

He hadn’t recognized her, too brief had their interaction been but she’d awoken a curiosity within him – not least because she’d been so very determined in her admonishment of him.

This, to Even, was an almost irresistible quality. He loved a challenged and this young lady had certainly made it clear what she thought of him. Evan smiled. One day, he vowed, he’d find out who she was. And then, he’d do all he could to ensure she changed her mind about him.

No matter what.