16. Chapter Sixteen

Since Evan was moving closer to the library, he had to be walking, but he'd be damned if he could feel his feet hitting the ground. Hell's bells, he was exhausted.

After waking the Harringtons' head housekeeper to ask her to take care of Taylor's maid, he'd been unable to sleep. So, instead, he'd sketched until almost dawn. It was a fool's notion to think he could rid himself of fantasies about Katrina if he drew her because it had only made him want her more. More than Mrs. Clayton's biscuits. More than the sunshine on his face. More than his next breath of air. Enough that he would forgo knowing another woman's touch—forever.

He'd grunt out his frustration, but he was too fordone to make the effort. Besides, how many times would he have this battle with himself? He was not ready for a relationship. He was a personable enough bloke. But he possessed the maturity of a ten-year-old. And when it came to women and schoolbooks, he had the attention span of a gnat. Relationships required selflessness. And when was the last time he had done something for someone else?

Although….

Last year, he'd saved his sister-in-law from a bloodthirsty devil. But that did not count because Evangeline was an angel. Any man would do the same. And yes, he had a critical part in raising their one-armed, orphaned ward. But Jimmy Clayton was a brilliant lad, and Evan considered him a little brother. One looked out for their family. It did not earn you accolades. It was simply something you did.

Once upon a time, he'd researched the despicable Baron Handershane and helped to seal the man's fate. Not that Evan had a choice. The rat was sending his factory workers to early graves.

Painting Anna Harrington did not count as a selfless deed because he enjoyed art. He always gifted his friends with unique pieces he thought they might love.

Although Evan had saved poor Caroline for the time being, it had not taken much persuasion to convince Anna to take on a ladies' maid. Not when she'd heard the girl's heartbreaking tale. If Evan had not shown up, Greyson may have forced the maid into his bed. When would someone hold the marquess accountable?

Henceforth, Evan would devote himself to ending Greyson's reign of terror. He'd escort him to hell if it was the last thing he did. This in no way made Evan a hero. He didn't want to do it. He had to do it. And he needed to face his truth. He was an irresponsible libertine, and no poor woman should be saddled with him forever.

And now, after a particularly long night, a fortnight without sex, and an upcoming cricket match in which he was expected to win the trophy for his team, Harrington had asked him to check on Wellspring's portrait of Katrina to see if anything could be done to "spruce it up."

"Springy is insisting Katrina see his ‘real' version if he is to propose," Harrington had declared with a huff. "Can you imagine what my sister will say when she sees that mess? She has three chins, a bosom where her neck should be, and a nostril-less pine tree for a nose. Good Lord, man, I'd dump the chap for that monstrosity. See what you can do."

So, with hazy vision brought on by fatigue, Even stumbled into the library. Surely, he was hallucinating from lack of sleep. He rubbed his eyes and refocused.

Katrina stood behind the easel. Everything about her was perfection, from the purple ribbon in her golden hair to her floral print dress—everything that is, except her glower.

She came out from around the painting to stomp toward him. "What cruel joke did you mean to pull on me? Who is involved? Alexander? My brother? Surely not my sister-in-law?"

Their absurd plot to make a match of Katrina and Wellspring had been doomed from the start, and Harrington should be the one to deal with his sister's wrath. There was no way Evan could placate her. She may have flirted with him at the theater, but obviously, she still detested him. Being attracted to someone you found distasteful wasn't unheard of. And once he admitted that he had not objected to the dupe because he'd hoped if she courted his friend, he'd no longer fancy her; the truth would hardly endear him to her.

"'Tis no cruel joke? Your brother wanted you to marry a good man," he finally said.

She jammed her finger in his chest. The poking digit should have annoyed him. But he was so desperate for her touch that he'd take whatever he could get—even the pesky little jabs singeing him to the core.

"A good man who lies to me?" Tears glistened, turning her sapphire eyes ice-blue. "Who tells me he is an artist and then paints that." She waved her hand at the easel. "Why not tell me the truth?"

"Art is in the eye of the beholder," he said. Although true, it was difficult to find something to compliment in Wellspring's art. Evan placed a hand on the small of her back. His heart ached when she flinched. "Please, Katrina. Let us sit and talk. I will explain everything."

He expected her to pull away and flee the room. Instead, she allowed him to guide her to the settee, where they sat side-by-side. He ached to hold those graceful, gloveless hands clasped together and resting on her lap.

"Springy is the best sort of chap. He does not want to deceive you," he said.

She peered at her hands before meeting Evan's gaze. "And yet he did. You all did. Why? And why you, Evan? I thought mayhap we were becoming friends."

With trust hanging in the balance, only the truth would suffice. "I made Springy's mask, and then he won the contest. You seemed so besotted; no one wanted to change your good opinion of him. Besides, you dislike me so much that your brother thought my involvement would upset you and ruin any chance of a life you might have with an earl."

She sniffled. "Why would I feel unfavorably toward Alexander because you made his mask?" She brought a hand to her forehead and moaned. "Am I that opinionated and arrogant? That mean-spirited and vengeful? Is that how you all see me?"

Unable to control his impulses a second longer, Evan rested a hand atop hers. "Your brother had your best interest at heart. Springy is uncomfortable with this situation and insists you see his actual painting." Time for the most important part. "I played along because I thought if you courted Springy, you would be safe from me."

She huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh. "You are the most dangerous man of my acquaintance, Evan Eaton." The statement might have been an insult, but a slight smile tugged at her lips. However, a moment later, her countenance contained hellfire. "Just ask the maid I found sitting on your bed moments ago."

But he had just left the maid in Anna's care. "Why was Caroline in my chamber?" he asked.

Katrina rolled her eyes. "Fanny was in your bed crying from heartbreak. Who is Caroline?"

Fanny, the red-headed disaster he'd already turned away, was on his bed again? And when he wasn't in his room? The notion was slightly disturbing. Perhaps a tiny bit flattering. But mostly disturbing.

"Fanny seems to favor me. Believe me, I have done nothing to encourage her infatuation. And Caroline was Taylor's maid. I went to see Greyson last night to tell him to leave you alone and discovered he was behaving most unbecomingly. I stole her away and brought her to Anna for protection."

Katrina looked at him with something akin to affection in her eyes—not lust, not hatred, and not vulnerability—but a softness that spoke of deep respect.

"It was so brave of you to stand up to Greyson and protect a woman from his advances."

But he had yet to succeed with his mission. Greyson still planned to torment Katrina. He pushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the tip of his finger lingering on her soft skin.

"Do not make me out to be a savior. I am far from heroic."

"The truth is"—her enticing bosom expanded with her inhale—"I find I cannot think about anything or anyone but you. However, I am courting another man. Although he lied to me, I do not wish to be unfaithful. I have already behaved so horribly. I am atrocious."

"Nay. Not atrocious. Never atrocious." Evan needed to leave immediately. He was much too weary to be held accountable for his actions. And he might do something unthinkable. For fuck's sake, he wanted to grab her and kiss her until she was his.

"Even before discovering that painting"—her nose wrinkled in disgust—"I decided to break off my courtship with Alexander. I feel that under the circumstances, I must. I believe Alexander will forgive me. Perhaps he might even be relieved. I do not think we suit."

She was correct. Wellspring would probably forgive the both of them, and indeed, he would be relieved. Harrington, not so much.

"If I end my courtship and face our indiscretion with my head held high, Greyson loses his power to blackmail me. However…" She bit her lip. "If my brothers hear of what we did, things will end badly. Especially for you."

What an understatement. Astleyshire would cut off his bollocks. He'd never allow Evan near Katrina again. And not just because the third son of an earl was not good enough for the daughter of a duke. Even Georgiana would be unable to protect Evan from her husband's wrath if he learned of this. And Harrington? Double shite! Wellspring would forgive him eons before Harrington would. If Evan lost his best mate, who in the hell would put up with his nonsense?

Katrina leaned closer, her voice a sensual rasp that seemed to wrap around his cock and squeeze. "I find myself hating you one second and drawn to you the next. Whatever this all means, I cannot court another man."

How in the hell could he be growing hard after only two hours of sleep? Damn, his prick to hell! But nothing else mattered—not his friends or a vexed-as-hell brother-in-law—because Katrina Harrington tilted her head and moved closer to him as her whispered words blew across his lips. "Evan, whatsoever should we do?"