Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

T he night of the party arrived after another several days of Evangeline barely seeing Hugh.

As a result, she was wholly unprepared for her maid to enter with a white box in her hands.

"From the duke," Susan said. "He said that he expects you to wear the dress tonight."

"He bought me a dress?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And he expects me to wear it?" Evangeline turned from the window where she was standing. "I think not."

Susan hunched her shoulders. "He told Mrs. MacDonald that if you said that, to tell you that if you refuse to wear it, you won't be accompanying him, Your Grace."

The duke was just in his bedchamber, no doubt, getting ready for the dinner himself. She could barge in on him and demand to know why he thought he could dress her and why none of her gowns would do for the occasion when she had brought them up from London. Her parents had purchased them specially for such occasions.

But then Susan removed the lid from the box to reveal a red gown. The color itself was daring, but more so was the design, she saw as Susan laid it across the bed. Yes, her other gowns were from London, but this was the very cutting edge of French fashion, the empire waist high and the sleeves puffed.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, unable to help herself.

"He wanted you to look your best, Your Grace."

Something tugged in her stomach. Perhaps this had been for her benefit after all—or at the very least, he knew that this would be a statement: his wife had only the best.

"I don't know what to say," she said.

"Please say you'll wear it, ma'am."

Part of Evangeline wanted to say she wouldn't, that she would never allow her husband to dress her, but she instantly recognized how childish that was.

"Well," she said, pretending to consider, "I suppose it is a lovely dress."

Susan beamed in relief. "That it is, Your Grace."

"And I have nothing in my wardrobe that would compare to this red."

"He had it made up for you especially."

Evangeline had no doubt that was true: this was not a gown one could buy straight from a modiste. One had to commission it.

How he had done so without her measurements, she didn't know, but she wouldn't push the matter now.

"Thank you, Susan," she said. "If you could help me into it?"

Her maid rushed to dress her and meticulously curled her hair as Evangeline stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked ludicrously young to be the stern duke's wife.

"Have you ever stepped out with a young man, Susan?" she asked.

Susan blushed. "Once or twice, ma'am. There's a nice boy in the village I have my eye on."

"Is he good to you?"

Susan's blush turned even more fiery. "Oh yes. We're just waiting for him to take over his father's business and then we'll marry."

"What does his father do?"

"He's a blacksmith, ma'am."

"So, you'll be a blacksmith's wife. Will you continue to work at the castle?"

"That depends, ma'am, on whether you want a married lady for your lady's maid."

"Of course I wouldn't mind it," Evangeline said at once.

Privately, she thought it would be a relief. If Susan were married, she might understand the marriage situation a little better, and Evangeline would have someone to confide in. Particularly about the odd way the duke treated her.

"The thing is," she said, then stopped. "Will this stay between us, Susan?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"The thing is," Evangeline rushed out, "I don't know how one can be certain a gentleman is—is interested. The duke has not made any advances"—save one that felt more of a glorious punishment than an indication of his desires—"and I'm not certain that he… that he likes me."

"I see." Susan's hands paused on her hair. "I don't mean to pry, Your Grace, but is that to say that he has not…?"

"He has not visited me. Not once."

"Ah."

"Do not tell Mrs. MacDonald, please. I'm sure you must all have your suspicions, but…"

"Of course I shan't tell anyone." Susan pinned a curl up and picked up a string of white flowers to weave through the golden locks. "In my experience, Your Grace, a man wishes to kiss a woman when he leans in, and his eyes are fixed on your lips. And maybe he might put a hand on your arm, or his breath might quicken."

"And that is a sign that he is interested in kissing ?"

Susan refused to meet her gaze in the mirror. "I believe so, ma'am."

Well, at least she had some signs to look out for. "Thank you, Susan."

Susan twitched one final curl into place and stepped back. "There. You look beautiful, Your Grace, if I do say so myself."

"Why thank you."

Evangeline examined her reflection.

The red brought out the color in her lips and contrasted against her creamy skin. The dress dipped daringly low, and she wondered if the duke would notice, or whether he had any interest in kissing or anything else.

This would be her moment of discovery.

She left her bedchamber and descended the stairs, one hand on the wall and the other holding her skirts in the air.

The duke was waiting for her alone in the entrance hall, and when she met his gaze, she shivered at the darkness she saw in it. As before, her stomach gave an unruly flip, and she resolutely ignored it.

"Your Grace," she said, approaching with her hand outstretched.

He took it, the heat of his skin was palpable even through her glove, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to throw herself into his arms or snatch her hand away.

"Where's Margaret?"

"She feels indisposed this evening and won't be joining us," he said smoothly, his gaze still on Evangeline's face.

"Oh. That's a pity. She will be missing out. Was she very disappointed?"

"I believe she was merely hoping that you would have a good time."

Finally, his gaze dipped lower, and it felt as though her entire body was bathed in heat. "You look… well."

"Thank you. As do you."

Although her words were stilted, she couldn't deny that he did indeed look well, dressed in the formal breeches that denoted an evening engagement, with a blue waistcoat, large golden buttons, and a fitted coat that clung to the lines of his shoulders.

She remembered her brief glimpse of pale skin when they had shared the first inn room. Underneath all those clothes were muscles she hadn't known existed, and if she was honest with herself, that she longed to see again.

"Well then. Shall we go?"

He gestured to the door, and with her hand on his arm, she followed him out into the courtyard where the carriage was waiting for them, lamps casting an orange glow onto the cobbles.

Inside, twin lamps illuminated the small space, and she couldn't help but notice that this time, as though to draw attention to the difference between them, the duke's knee brushed against hers.

Given he appeared not to notice, she did her best not to, as well.

"Well," she said and smoothed down her skirts. "I should thank you for the gown."

He inclined his head as they sat off. "Think nothing of it."

"But it was unnecessary to spend so much money on something new when I have many gowns already."

"You are my wife." The words were even, but she felt the heat behind them. "Should I not buy things for my wife?"

"I understand the significance of the gown," she started, but he folded his arms.

"Do you?"

"Of course. Red is the symbol of Eldermoor and the main color of the flag. You wanted me to arrive as a symbol of your estate. But I am not merely a symbol, Hugh."

"So," he murmured. "My aunt has been busy."

"It would be hard to miss with the flag flying from the tower every day, and the coat of arms present above every fireplace. You know it is on the mantelpiece of my bedchamber fire, too."

His eyes seemed to flicker like flames as he looked at her. "I was aware, yes."

"Well then." She returned her gaze to the window. "I am not a doll for you to dress up as you please. If you have a gift to deliver to me, I would appreciate it if you would do so in person."

"I see."

"Thank you."

He huffed something that may have been a laugh, and she thought she heard the words, "You're welcome."

* * *

They traveled for quite some time before they finally arrived at the Cavendish estate. The driveway extended for miles, and when they finally arrived at the sandstone house, Evangeline felt exhausted from the travel alone.

A footman helped her embark, and Hugh once again took her hand as they entered the house.

"Darling!" Lady Cavendish said, approaching in a rustle of silk.

She was several years older than Evangeline, perhaps in her thirties, but she was dressed so elegantly that it was easy to miss the fine lines around her eyes. The hand she extended to Hugh was dripping with diamonds.

"It's wonderful to see you here. Cavendish is dreadfully excited to see you, of course. Some shipping business." She waved her free hand. "And is this your wife? How delightful."

Evangeline curtsied, suddenly aware that she was not adorned with diamonds; she wore one around her neck and one on her finger. Her style of elegance was more understated, and she wondered if she had misjudged their company. If Hugh had dressed her up as a symbol, had he been disappointed by the lack of ostentatious jewelry?

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Cavendish," Evangeline said.

"Oh, dear, no need to stand on formalities here. Call be Bea—short for Beatrice, you know, but that's a dreadful name. Come, Eldermoor, meet all the other guests. They've been dying to see you, of course."

Hugh kept Evangeline's hand firmly on his as they followed their host into the drawing room, which was packed with guests.

At a glance, Evangeline understood that many must be tenants or otherwise not gentlemen. It was the sort of party that her parents would never have dreamed of hosting, even if it was clear some members were from the gentry.

They were all, however, local to the area. From what Evangeline could tell, she was the only London-born guest among them.

"Aye, and what was wrong with a local girl, eh?" one of the men asked, grinning at her. "Didn't think you had to go all the way to London to find one you liked."

"What else could he do?" Lady Cavendish asked. "Given I was already married to Cavendish?"

Hugh's hand moved to cover Evangeline's.

"Without the wish of causing offense, my dear Bea, I have never had any intention of marrying you." There was a note of warning in his voice, and although he spoke softly, his words carried. "I will not stand for my wife to be disrespected here or anywhere else, and if you continue to disrespect her, I will be forced to take action. Believe me when I say you would not like for me to do that."

"Of course we respect the duchess, the sweet wee thing," Lady Cavendish said. "I daresay she's never been to a party like this, but she'll soon learn it's all in good fun. We never pass up the opportunity to laugh."

"Then of course you must do so," Hugh said. "Just not at the expense of my wife."

Evangeline forced a smile. "I must admit, I'm unfamiliar with northern custom," she said sweetly. "Is rudeness the fare of the day?"

Hugh's lips twitched, and Lady Cavendish burst into raucous laughter.

"There, see, darling, she is perfectly able to hold her own. Is that not what you wanted from a wife? She must not be a mouse, or you would trample all over her." She linked her arm through Evangeline's. "I think we are going to be the best of friends."

Evangeline hardly felt as though she agreed, but she could do nothing as Bea led her around the room, offering introductions and barely allowing her to get a word in edgeways. Meanwhile, Hugh and Cavendish spoke about business off to one side, their faces grave and their voices low.

At least she was doing precisely what she had come there to do, which was to be shown off as Hugh's wife. A symbol of the Eldermoor estate and an extension of him.

All too soon, dinner arrived, and Evangeline was led inside, and seated on their host's right with Hugh beside her. She had attended events like this with her mother, but those had been docile compared to these.

"The beauty of the south can hardly compare with that of the north," Lord Cavendish pronounced, stabbing a pheasant breast with his fork. "So tame and bridled. A horse run into the ground. There's something about the wildness of the north that speaks to a man."

"And to a woman," Lady Cavendish said, winking at Evangeline. "You'll soon get used to it."

"Aye," her husband said. "Soon you won't even miss London."

"A stuffy kind of place," another man agreed. "And what's the benefit of sending your daughters there, anyway? To be presented to the Queen?" He scoffed, and Evangeline put her fork down.

"It's an honor to be presented to the Queen and to take part in the London Season," Evangeline said. "And it's an excellent way for ladies to be introduced to gentlemen so that they can eventually marry."

Lady Cavendish's smile was a cat with its claws extended. "Ah, but you didn't need the help of your London Season to find your husband, did you, Your Grace?"

There was an unpleasant taste in Evangeline's mouth as she considered the way her marriage had started. Hugh was very stiff and silent beside her, and she knew she couldn't offend or insult him in front of these people.

Still, to her, London was one of the most beautiful places in the world, and she couldn't imagine living her life without ever experiencing its delights.

"Perhaps I did not," she said, "but that's not to say it's not a valuable place for many young ladies. And a wonderful opportunity for them to mingle with other people of their rank. I also find it beautiful."

"More beautiful than the north?" Lady Cavendish said in amazement.

"Beautiful, in a different way," Evangeline said.

Hugh's hand clamped on her thigh, the sudden contact making her jolt, then making her stomach twist, not unpleasantly.

The conversation turned when Evangeline made it plain she had nothing more to say, and Hugh turned to her, leaning in so his lips brushed against her ear. "You would do well not to say anything like that again," he murmured.

Her heart pounded and the hand holding her fork trembled, though whether with fear or desire, she hardly knew. Sometimes, with him, the line between them seemed so fine she could cross it without moving at all.

There was a forbidden sort of thrill to the sensation.

"Is that so?" she whispered, meeting his gaze.

The fingers on her thigh tightened.

"You are my captor and now you are my commander? Is there anything you are not?"

"I am your husband." His hand, daringly, moved closer to the apex of her thighs.

She felt every inch of movement, felt the scrape of his fingertips against her dress, wished there were more layers there, wished there were fewer.

Her cheeks burned, but not from the chastisement in his voice.

No, she was burning up because his fingers paused at the crease of her thigh.

"If you do not behave," he murmured, and she had to bite a gasp at the intimate way he was touching her in front of the other guests, "then I will be forced to punish you."

As he said the words, he shifted his hand so he was cupping her most intimate region. Although it was through her dress, the stab of pleasure was sudden and overwhelming.

Doing her best to ignore him, she took a slow bite of potatoes, chewing mechanically as he removed his hand with a smirk.

The audacity of the man, unsettling her like that in public. And for her to be so flustered over him was worse. When they had first married, she had been determined not to allow him to get under her skin—he had already done enough of that.

"I suppose you think you have won," she said to her plate.

"Think?" His long fingers toyed with his wine glass as he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her through hooded eyes. "No, wife. I know I have won. And you know it, too."

She knew no such thing, but with Lady Cavendish's eyes on her, she didn't dare say a word. So she picked up her own glass and held his gaze as she brought it to her mouth and took a large sip.

* * *

Hugh had never thought he could desire one person to the degree he desired Evangeline. A lot could be attributed to her defiance—and her submission. When he challenged her, she refused to give in, but the immediate acquiescence of her body told a different story.

If he wanted her, he would be able to have her, and however he wished. The thought was intoxicating, more so than the wine, and even more than the spark in her eyes as she met his again.

Lady Cavendish had once hoped to be his lover, but there was too much coyness in her, too much pertness, too much of the practiced arts. Evangeline's freshness, paired with her unconscious appeal, was what drew him to her like a moth to a flame.

It was foolish.

He wanted to punish her. And if what he felt when he touched her was any indication, she wanted him to, even if she didn't fully know it yet.

At the thought, he hardened, and he shifted so no one would see. The reason he had come here was to cement his business relationship with Cavendish and to assert his wife as his in local society.

"Hungry?" he asked her, letting his gaze drop to her lips. "Or perhaps thirsty?"

"I can manage my own needs perfectly well, thank you," she said, keeping her voice so low no one else would be able to hear.

"Is that so?" He reached under the table, underneath the tablecloth, and found her thigh with his hand once more as he leaned in. "Is that what you've been doing?"

"As though I should confess any of that to you."

"No?"

"No." She raised her chin, and he wanted to kiss her audacity away.

He wanted her naked before him, wanting and bare and needy, with only him able to give her what she craved.

He blinked the image away and allowed his fingers to trail up her thighs. She unintentionally widened her legs, giving him access, and he smiled to himself.

"You're practically begging me to punish you," he murmured.

"Lady Cavendish is watching."

"It's not a crime to speak to one's wife."

Her legs trembled under his fingers. "But you're not merely speaking to me."

"You do flush delightfully. Are you flustered, my sweet?"

Her jaw clamped shut and her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply. No doubt to prevent herself from saying anything unwise, but also to control her reaction to him under the scrutiny of their peers.

As this was her first time, he decided it would be unwise to push their little game much further, so he removed his hand. To her credit, her expression didn't change.

"We'll talk further," he promised.

The glare she sent him flashed with lightning. "Yes indeed we will," she said.