Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

B y the time dinner came to an end, Evangeline was none the wiser about what Duncan had been discussing with Hugh, but she did know several gruesome stories about the castle that Margaret had neglected to tell her.

After dinner, she accompanied Hugh and Duncan to the courtyard at the back of the castle, where the groom had brought Duncan's horse around.

The night was a warm one, and as she took Hugh's arm, she felt his heat seep into her.

"Goodnight, Your Grace," Duncan said, sweeping into another bow. "I hope your evening is as pleasant as you made mine."

Evangeline smiled, blushing a little. "Thank you for all your anecdotes about the castle."

"It's important you know what sort of place you're living in," Duncan said with a wink at Hugh. "I'll see you both around, I hope."

"Drunken fool," Hugh said with not inconsiderable affection.

"Was he? He seemed perfectly sober to me."

"Perhaps he was, but he will be going to the nearest tavern from here if I know him at all." He turned them both and they walked under the archway and into the interior courtyard. The distant sound of the sea hummed behind them. "You seemed to like him."

"He was certainly very entertaining. Have you been friends a long time?"

"Since we were boys. Sometimes he used to accompany me on hunts with my father."

"Your father took him in?"

"No," Hugh said, seeming to consider his words before he said, "As far as my father was concerned, Duncan was part of the inferior class. He was brought along to help out."

"As a servant?"

"Yes."

"And you accepted that?"

"What else could I have done? We were friends and if it weren't for that gesture of ‘generosity'"—his mouth twisted with distaste at the word—"then he would not have been able to experience even a part of that. Of course I don't agree with his actions, but I was a boy. We were both boys."

"But you would never do that now?"

"He is the closest friend I have," Hugh said shortly. "I would never do anything to compromise that."

Evangeline laid her hand on his arm and rested her temple against the side of his shoulder. "Then I think he is lucky to have a friend like you. Even if you do not invite him for dinner."

His shoulder shook almost as though he was laughing—although that had to be impossible, because she had never once seen him laugh.

"I hope you will forgive me."

"It's not my forgiveness you require."

"Then the matter is already assured because he never felt it a slight to forgive in the first place. He merely came to inform me of something, not to provoke an invitation."

"To inform you of what?" she pressed, thankful for the segue into this new topic of conversation. "I know you have secrets, but do you not consider that they might undermine my position as your wife if they come to light and I know nothing about them?"

He stopped under the light of the doorway, looking down at her. Shadows pooled in the sockets of his eyes, and in that moment, no matter all the ways in which she had come to know him, she felt as though she did not know him at all.

"My secrets," he began, and he touched his fingers to the delicate skin of her collarbones. "The secrets I have, you may be assured, are not ones that I am keeping for malicious sakes."

"Then why are you keeping them from me?"

"Because they are my concern and no one else's."

Frustrated, she turned away, trying to hide the ache in her throat. "I wish you would let me in."

His hand was still against her, branding her in the darkness, and he rested his palm against her chest, above the frantic beating of her heart. Despite all the ways he pushed her away, she was drawn to him. They were magnets, and she could not help wanting him.

Just as she suspected, he continued to want her.

"It's cold," he said, though his voice was like gravel. She shivered as it scraped across her skin. "We should return inside."

"Am I not enough for you?" she demanded, turning back to him. "Is that why you hold me at arm's length? Is it because you're afraid to love, or that you know you could never love me?"

The hand on her chest moved until it wrapped around the back of her neck, and she had time for a flash of anticipation before his mouth was on hers, just as it had been outside the west wing. Kissing her as though he had been starving for it, as though he had been deprived of oxygen and the only thing keeping him alive was the taste of her lips against his.

The way he kissed her was a revelation, even after everything they had been through. A glimpse into his splintering restraint. He held her with ferocity and kissed her with desperate need, and yet the hand that came to her waist was almost gentle.

There was no denying the molten desire in his touch or the lust that flooded her like light into a darkened room. Her body came alive under his, and she grasped at his waistcoat lapels, gripping them tightly because even if her mind hadn't yet understood the possibility, her body already knew he was going to let her go.

Please, she said with her mouth.

I want you , she said with her tongue.

I need you , she said with her body.

His fingers were a vice around her, and her want for him was an inferno. It didn't matter that they were outside, the cool air dancing around them. Or that there were no doubt servants around, both keeping watch over the castle and going about their ordinary chores.

This was their home, and this was their mutual desire, and she was his wife.

He broke away, breathing hard, and rested his forehead against hers.

"You should know better than to push a man past his breaking point," he murmured, his voice so low she could barely hear it. "Don't do it again."

"Then let me in."

"It's cold out," he repeated, pushing back away from her.

Cool air swept between them, chilling her heated skin and soothing the blush that she could feel creeping across her face.

She hated this. Every time they came closer, he immediately put distance between them. But with the kiss on her lips, still sweetly tasting of his desire, she knew one thing for certain.

He was not holding back from her because of his indifference.

"We could be great together," she said. "If we were a team, united on all fronts. If you just allowed me to know what's in your heart, then I would be free to let you into mine."

His gaze dropped to her chest, as though he could see through the layers of clothes and skin and bones to the fragile, beating heart that lay underneath.

"You have no idea what that might cost you."

His voice was quiet, hushed in a way his previous words had not been, and she said nothing more as he brushed past her, through the door, and into the castle.

* * *

Hugh's control was slipping. He had known it for some time, but this latest confrontation had proven it beyond all doubt. Kissing her… What had he kissed her for? Now she would no doubt hope that he would give her something more than he ever could, which was what he had already given her: a home. Security. A position. Safety.

There was nothing more in him than that.

If she came to him expecting love and an idyllic marriage, she would be disappointed. He had not married her for love. She was not anything special to him. She could not be. Revenge was a cold, cruel thing.

But Evangeline was warm, and when she looked at him with hope shining in his eyes, sometimes he felt like he wanted to be more to her.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," he said.

Mr. Moore stood in the doorway. "I apologize for disturbing you, sir."

"It's no matter. Has Her Grace been poking around the west wing again?"

"I'm pleased to say that is not the case," Mr. Moore said, his face impassive. "Though might I suggest adding a lock?"

"No lock." Hugh poured himself a drink of brandy. "Keep your eyes peeled and leave the handling of my wife to me."

"Yes, Your Grace."

He tossed his drink back. "I presume you had a purpose for disturbing me?"

"Yes, sir. It's Lady Harrowfield, sir, asking if she may speak to you about arrangements for the upcoming ball."

Hugh heaved himself from his seat. "Of course. Lead the way."

* * *

The day of the ball came around all too quickly. Hugh arranged for a seamstress to visit the castle and discuss Evangeline's preferences for a dress, and Evangeline tried not to let the gesture sit too happily in her heart.

This was not something she ought to be getting sentimental about: she knew that Hugh was making concessions because of the opposition she had put up to him. Even so, by the time the day of the ball arrived, Evangeline felt as though she had swallowed hot tea, and it was sitting in her stomach.

"Oh, my dear," Margaret said as Evangeline entered her bedchamber. She was sitting up in bed, glasses perched on the edge of her nose and a novel set aside on the covers. "You look wonderful."

Evangeline twirled. The seamstress truly had gone above and beyond, and she felt wonderful. Felt beautiful and desirable, the high waist showcasing her figure to perfection, and the puffed sleeves the height of fashion.

"I'm so sorry you can't attend with us," Evangeline said, perching on the end of Margaret's bed. "It's such a shame."

"Now then, I've been to more balls in my lifetime than you can possibly imagine." A smile creased Margaret's face and she patted Evangeline's hand. "I shan't mind missing this one, too."

"But you missed the dinner as well."

"My health has been indifferent recently. I suppose that's what comes of getting old." Margaret pinched Evangeline's cheek in a grandmotherly gesture. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy yourself. It'll be good to get out and about and to enjoy some dancing. A young girl shouldn't be trapped in a castle for this long."

"I have hopes that perhaps Hugh might take us to London for the next Season," Evangeline confessed, hanging her head. "I know he has been to London but rarely and he has a great many responsibilities here, but I think it would be wonderful if we could make our mark on the ton as a married couple."

Margaret tilted her head as she considered. "Do you miss London?"

"Sometimes. I'm growing to love the land here, but London is so very different, and I think it's acceptable to love both. No matter what Hugh says."

"Hugh has been conditioned to think his land is superior to all else," Margaret said with an indulgent smile. "But that doesn't mean he's right."

"I agree. But perhaps I can help him see that."

"Perhaps you can. Hurry along now. You wouldn't want to be late."

Evangeline leaned forward and kissed Margaret's old, wrinkled cheek. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow," she said. "I can't wait!"

"Neither can I, my love."

Evangeline picked up her skirts as she left Margaret's room and left in search of Hugh. She found him in the stateroom, staring up at the portrait of him and his sister.

"Do you miss her a great deal?" she asked as she approached.

He turned and something sparked in his eyes at the sight of her. "A little. She's left her mark everywhere around."

"I wish I could have met her."

"I think she would have liked you." Without knowing how such a simple sentiment had rendered her speechless, he extended a hand. "Come, Evangeline. Are you ready?"

"How do I look?" she asked, smiling coyly at him.

"I rather suspect you know precisely how you look."

"As though I might do you justice?"

"You outshine me, and you know it."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but although he looked as though he was tempted to break into a smile, he evidently tempered that urge, and his face was perfectly straight as he said, "I expect Lady Cavendish will be at the ball tonight."

"I had expected as much. Fear not, husband—I shan't let her get under my skin."

"Nor mine," he murmured as he led her through to the carriage.

It felt as though they were going out more now, and it pleased her to have such a handsome man sitting opposite her.

The journey was not too long, and they were soon pulling up outside a large manor house with extensive grounds. Other carriages were arriving, and Evangeline was under no doubt that the cream of northern society would be in attendance.

"Do you know how many guests they're entertaining?" she asked.

"Around three hundred or so, I expect. I believe some have traveled up from as far away as York."

"Heavens, for a ball?"

"For a chance to be seen here," he said, helping her down and retaining her hand once they were standing on the gravel driveway. "Power, after all, is about knowing the right people and being at the right events. Power is all about perception ."

"And actuality," she said. "Your power is actual as well as perceived. You demonstrate it in everything you do, but it's also backed up by the real influence that you wield."

The corner of his mouth tilted. "Perhaps. But imagine for a second, if you will, that I lost all my money tomorrow. Say, in a gambling incident. Say that the castle was mortgaged to the hilt, and we had debt collectors breathing down our ears. Do you know what would keep them at bay?"

"Paying them?"

"Well, yes. But apart from that—my authority. The perception of the hold of my power. If they believe that I am imminently preparing to recover the money, they will give us grace. If I had an overdue bill with a tailor, for example—although I do not recommend it, very bad ton—then I would be able to appease him for quite some time by means of the perception of my power. The position I'm in. Do you understand?"

"It's the thing my parents have been eager to achieve for their entire marriage," she said wryly. "That perception of power. The ability to encourage people to see them as more than they are."

"Right. And yet they have been unable to do so?"

"The truth of my father's finances came out in a nasty way last year." She wrinkled her nose. "As I'm sure you can imagine, it made my introduction rather less than spectacular."

They passed into the large house and were ushered through into an impressive ballroom. The walls were wallpapered, and gilded pillars marked the four corners. Fresh hothouse flowers, which must have been carefully cultivated considering the time of year and their position in the north, were strewn with careless abandon.

"That was not your parents' only mistake," Hugh said as he navigated the crowd. "Their mistake was not behaving as though they were impervious."

Evangeline looked at Hugh with some amusement. "They were not."

"No, but what does that matter? Perception, my dear. When they learned of their situation, they began trying too hard, and that immediately alerted the ton as to their predicament. If they had continued life as always, they might have been able to see you through your Season with little issue."

"I doubt that ," Evangeline said.

"Perhaps not a full Season. But long enough for you to have been married."

She paused to take a glass from a passing footman. The champagne inside bubbled gold.

"Am I to understand that you think I would have married in my first Season had my situation been different?"

He sent her a long look under his eyelashes. "Am I to believe you think that unlikely?"

"I've never had particular luck with gentlemen."

"Now that," he murmured, "I find hard to believe."

"Besides, had I married anyone else, I wouldn't have married you." She took a sip, swallowing the bubbles. "Is that something you would have preferred?"

"For you to marry another? Don't put words in my mouth, Evangeline."

"I was curious."

"I would not have chosen another wife."

Although the words were pleasing, exactly what she would have wanted to hear, a frown settled over his face, as though in saying them he had revealed some precious part of himself he had never meant to let her see.

"Excuse me," he said. "I must speak with Lord Devereaux. I'll be back in a moment."

"Duty calls," she said as she watched him cross the room.

Still, she was not alone for long. Lord Cavendish waved her over and bowed over her hand with a smile.

"What a delight to see you here," he said. "You must be introduced to our host for the night, Lady Mary Fitzgerald. Lady Fitzgerald, this is Eldermoor's new wife, the Duchess of Eldermoor."

Lady Fitzgerald gave Evangeline a vacuous smile and introduced her to the gentlemen surrounding her. For the first time in her life, Evangeline was at a ball where she seemed to be the center of attention.

Of course, she had been to balls before and had always played her role well, but this was different. Here, she was not merely another young lady in a sea of young ladies, and destitute enough not to be a potential wife. Here, she was a merry young bride and a duchess to boot.

"Your Grace," a young man said.

He was perhaps in his mid-twenties and reasonably handsome. A baron of some kind—Evangeline had already forgotten, but he was smiling at her as though he was utterly charmed by her existence.

"Would you do me the honor of the next dance?"

"Why, of course." Evangeline accepted his hand and smiled up at him as he led her out into the middle of the assembled couples.

Already, this was going to be a very different sort of ball to the ones she had been accustomed to attending.

She was going to enjoy herself.