Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

H ugh looked up from his conversation with Lord Devereaux. He had invented a need to speak with him as an excuse to escape his conversation with Evangeline. But the man was boring and already Hugh was tired of the deception.

Where was his wife?

"What are you looking for?" Lord Devereaux asked. "Are you hungry? I always get so hungry at these events."

"No," Hugh said, distracted. "Not hungry."

"I'm surprised. You never have a good meal here. I always have to instruct my cook to make me something when I return home." The portly lord huffed out a breath. "And the order of the day is dancing . I have to wonder, Eldermoor, when this became the social event not to miss, and not something a great deal more fun like jousting."

"Jousting?" Jolted out of his search for Evangeline, Hugh glanced back at the man. "I think you might be in the wrong century."

"Maybe you're right. But it's a damn shame, if you ask me."

"What is?"

"That this is the world we live in. All powdered and pampered."

Hugh hadn't worn any powder all his life; his father, in his early years had, but that had been quite some time ago. With the end of the old century, and really quite a bit before it, had come the end of such things.

He clapped his friend on the shoulder and left, prowling the edge of the room in search of his errant wife.

Really, he shouldn't have left her for so long. He'd been certain she would find her footing, but it wasn't right of him to abandon her in a place like this.

Cruel, he would have called it, if he had been given to such self-critical reflection.

He caught sight of the twirling couples and saw Evangeline laughing opposite a man he knew logically was no form of threat. The man had barely any rank, owned very little land, and although was marginally younger, was nowhere near as eligible a bachelor as Hugh had been.

Still, he saw red.

It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to stride into the crowd and whisk her away. Instead, teeth gritted, he waited for the end of the dance before approaching them.

"Duchess," he said, and she started guiltily.

"My lord husband!" She gave a little laugh. "I wasn't expecting to see you back so soon. This is?—"

"I know." Hugh gave the man a slight inclination of his head. "Baron Higginbottom. I must reclaim my wife."

"Of course." The baron gave a nervous wave of his hand. "Please, don't let me stop you."

Hugh held out his hand to Evangeline. "The next dance, Evie?"

Her eyes sparked at the endearment. "I suppose that would be acceptable," she said, placing her small, gloved hand in his.

His fingers curled around hers, and the primal beast in his chest was satisfied.

Mine .

She was his and no one else would have her.

"How did your conversation with Lord Devereaux go?" she asked as the music started up again.

A waltz—how convenient.

"I'm not here to talk about him."

"Oh? Then why are you here?"

"Because it seemed wrong of me to allow my wife to dance her first with a gentleman who was not her husband."

Evangeline gave a small, secret smile. "Well, you have come to rectify that."

"You are popular this evening," he said, noting the faces that were turned toward them.

Of course, he had always known his presence would create a stir, but Evangeline seemed to be doing the same in her own right. Perhaps it was his fault for having married such a beautiful wife. At the time, he hadn't appreciated her beauty, but when she was in his arms, he couldn't deny it.

When she was dancing with other men, he could mark everything about her that made her appealing to others. The audacious tilt of her chin, the laughter in her large eyes, the softness of her figure, the inherent grace of her movements.

"I am your wife," Evangeline said.

"That's not all. You weren't lying when you said this was where you are in your element."

"I was half brought up in ballrooms," she said with a half laugh. "If there's anywhere that I feel comfortable, it's in this space. One where the usual rules of Society apply."

"And with me?"

Her eyes reminded him of jewels as she gazed up at him. "It's a pleasure to navigate this space with you."

Her way of saying she felt comfortable.

Considering all they had been through, it was almost a surprise. He intimidated most people. But although he thought perhaps he should take it as an insult, something in her expression made him feel as though it was distinctly the opposite.

The waltz began and he pulled her into his arms, a little tighter than was strictly acceptable, but no one was going to complain about this between a husband and wife.

"Do you usually dance at these events?" she asked, head tipping back to look him full in the face.

"No. I don't usually have a wife."

"No one else to bless with your company?"

She was teasing, he knew from the flash of a smile and the wicked glance she directed at him, but the thought of someone else looking at him like that, or engaging him to dance, revolted him.

The strength of his reaction took him aback.

"No one else," he said, his words a growl. "And I would thank you not to pay another man any attention, either."

She smiled to herself a little but gave no reply, and he had no distraction from how lush she was in his arms.

Ever since their time in the library, he had not allowed himself to leave to be with her in this way. In the ballroom of all places, it was especially inappropriate. But she smelled like jasmine and sea salt, and his body ached with unfulfilled need. Until her arrival at the castle, he'd thought he hadn't missed intimacy much.

This was proving him wrong.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, looking up at him as though she could sense all his thoughts.

She was a siren, and he was teetering on the edge of giving in entirely.

"Perfectly well, thank you."

They twirled in silence, her breath mingling with his, her bosom rising and falling with every breath. He was hard-pressed not to look at her the way a man looks at a woman he intends to bed.

He could not.

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to—the way he could not recall wanting to do anything in his life to the same degree.

It would be so easy to kiss her.

"Hugh," she whispered, her breath fanning his face.

They were in public.

He was uncomfortably aroused, daydreaming of the things he could do to her—pushing her up against the wall sinking into her, hearing the way she moaned. He could make a mess of her in front of everyone and she would allow it if he made it plain that was his preference.

The dance finally came to an end, and he retreated away from the crowd, back as though he was searching for a drink, though in reality, he needed space from the thoughts that had taken over his mind.

He knew better than that.

"Hugh, darling." A hand rested on his arm, and he resisted the urge to shake it—and her—off.

Lady Cavendish stared up at him with a false smile playing across her mouth. "You never dance."

"Rarely," he corrected her. "I rarely dance."

Evangeline came up to his other side, giving Lady Cavendish a smile that was just as fake.

"Lady Cavendish," she said, shunning the familiarity that Bea had asked for—demanded, in fact, as though she was owed it.

"Good evening." Lady Cavendish's smile dimmed a little. "You know, it is quite unseemly for you to be following your husband around all the time. Cavendish and I, you see, are quite independent."

She waved a hand to where her husband was picking at the food options on the large table. He belched.

Evangeline tilted her head as she looked back at Lady Cavendish, and Hugh wondered if he ought to step in to protect her. After all, save for his outlandish desire for her, he had no objection to her continued presence.

If anything, he preferred it. These events were ordinarily so dull, but he had to confess to not being bored while he was with her.

"Well, it might not be seemly for you to be with your husband," Evangeline said, her voice honey-sweet, "but no doubt that is because you have been married for such a long time. How long has it been? At least a decade, no doubt." She smiled. "And you must have known each other before then, being part of northern society. Perhaps you even met at an event such as this—I know the importance, after all, of being seen here."

Hugh inclined his head. "I believe that is how they first met."

"No need for London, after all," Evangeline said. "You are so lucky. And I expect I have a great deal to learn from you about an enduring marriage, but darling Hugh and I are still in our infancy."

She patted his arm, and he was almost tempted to laugh at her audacity. It was as though she had stumbled across Lady Cavendish's deepest weaknesses and insecurities, and brought them to light.

Masterfully done.

"Indeed," he said, glancing down at her with as much affection as he could allow himself to show in such a public setting. "We are still learning what it means to be man and wife, but I am pleased to say we are learning."

"It's such a delight to play such a role at his estate, as well," Evangeline said. "Not to mention, of course, balls such as this one. What a delight to have been invited. And the guest of honor, too."

Lady Cavendish gritted her teeth. "You are most fortunate."

"No," Evangeline said, glancing up at Hugh. "It is not good fortune alone—it is the perception of power."