2. Chapter Two

Evan Eaton had arrived in Brighton three days earlier. In the short time he'd been at Yardley Manor, he'd won every game of cards, taken long walks on the beach, and started painting a portrait of his best mate's lovely wife. Currently, he was at a masquerade, and very soon, he would take his leave to meet with a woman he'd run into in an empty alcove. She'd caressed his arm, pressed her hip into his, and whispered wickedly indecent things in his ear. He'd been so delighted—and shocked—that he'd forgotten to ask her name.

Yes, indeed, he was one lucky chap.

By the time he was four years old, Evan knew he loved being the third son of an earl. While the heir and the spare visited tenants with their father, he played pirates with their sister. Luckily, Georgiana could roughhouse and curse as much as a nefarious buccaneer.

Academic standards for his brothers were high, but he'd only had to earn passable grades at Bedford and Cambridge, allowing him to concentrate on his art. And he'd been blessed to have a mentor at Cambridge who'd studied under the Swiss painter Johann Heinrich Fussli.

And that wasn't even the best part. While their father focused on Alistair and Stephen and the incorrigible Georgiana, he'd been able to run off and tup the girls in the village, honing his lovemaking skills.

Evan chuckled every time he thought about his oldest brother having an earldom. "Twas actually quite humorous since Alistair had rebelled and been quite the scoundrel in his university days. Since then, Alistair had given up his libidinous lifestyle to devote himself to his earldom, his wife, and his infant son. Meanwhile, his brother Stephen was expecting his first child and engaged in important humanitarian work for the Crown. At this very moment, his brothers were probably working themselves to death. Meanwhile, Evan drank Port with his best mates from school. Even the wild Georgiana had married and settled. She'd grown quite round and would pop out the Duke of Astleyshire's first child any day.

Life was grand. Being a third son meant he spent his life pursuing his passions—women, fencing, cards, sculpture, and painting.

"Can I see it yet?" Ethan Harrington asked, interrupting Evan's woolgathering. If only there were some tincture to help one concentrate.

What had they been talking about? Evan pressed a finger to his temple.

The Earl of Wellspring, Springy to his best mates, chortled. "Evan, he wants to see the painting of his wife."

"Pfft." Evan chuckled. "Patience, Harrington."

Evan worked quickly, so the original sketches were done, but the oil would take longer. When finished, it would be rich shades of red, green, and gold and capture Anna Harrington's regal bearing and innocent eyes. It was hard to believe that she had once been a chambermaid. His friend had stomped on propriety and followed his heart. When asked his opinion on the scandalous matter, Evan loudly proclaimed he found the second son of the late Duke of Astleyshire's choice of bride, "Delightful indeed." Because she truly was a million wonderful things.

Springy held up his mask. A red ribbon hung from one of the feathers. "First place. A fine job indeed."

Evan nodded his agreement. The feathers and jewels were truly spectacular. He'd taken more time creating his friend's disguise than he had his own. He'd have loved winning the first-place ribbon himself. Oh, well. He let go of the notion and relaxed into the wingback.

"Cheater." Harrington's eyes twinkled with his smart-arse grin. "Springy, I should out you and tell everyone that Eaton created yours."

Evan chuckled. "Nay. Let Springy take the prize. He needs to be able to beat me at something, for it isn't at cards or with women."

Wellspring accepted his ribbing with a sincere smile. The man was truly good-natured. Of course, the three of them always covered for each other. No one planned to out anyone.

"Have you seen Greyson lurking about the ballroom with his solicitor, Charles Taylor?" Harrington asked. "Taylor is a tolerable chap. A bit of a dandy, with his diamond cufflinks and high collars. But likable enough. Although had I known he'd intended to arrive with a man who bullies and blackmails, I'd never have invited him." Harrington huffed. "Even worse, Greyson mistreats women."

Springy choked on his drink. "I knew he was a blackguard. But he also mistreats women? Do you think he forces himself on them?"

Evan probably would have choked too, had he not swallowed his sip before Harrington's declaration.

"I know not if he forces himself on them. However, he does manipulate and blackmail, and wields his title and power. What I do know is that my Aunt Justine found a young shopgirl, homeless and starving. Greyson impregnated her and would have nothing to do with her. He then made sure the poor girl lost her job and was shunned by everyone. My aunt helped her find a new position and a home far away from Greyson. Not that he is liked by many." Harrington shuddered. "There are moments when I believe my sister-in-law's attempts to hold the upper class and nobility accountable for their actions is noble indeed."

Greyson was a blemish on all aristocrats. On all men.

Georgiana was truly a force, and Evan was proud to have her as his sister. What would she do to a man who left a pregnant woman in the streets, without shelter or food? Surely, she'd remove his bullocks. Make that his cock and his bullocks.

More importantly, what would he do if one of his lovers ended up in dire straits?

Evan may love bedding women, but he would never leave one homeless or do anything to destroy her reputation. If he was the responsible party, he'd take care of a woman, and a child. Wouldn't he? He rubbed at a sharp pain in his temple.

"I suppose we have been away for too long," Harrington said. "We'd better return to the ballroom."

Although Evan loved the excitement of being with the other guests, after that shocking declaration, he was content to sit with his old friends for the moment. He waved a dismissive hand. "We've only been gone a few minutes."

Harrington peered at the clock on the mantle. "'Tis a quarter past midnight. We've been gone for almost ten minutes."

"Bloody hell." Evan shoved himself back into his mask and leaped from his chair. As usual, he'd lost track of time. "I will talk to you in the morning. I must be somewhere."

Harrington quirked a brow. "Please stay away from the married women. We don't need any duels at dawn."

Was his mystery woman married? As aggressive as she'd been, probably not. Evan raced toward the door.

"And stay away from my sister, Katrina," Harrington hollered to his back. "William won't be the only one to kick your arse if you touch her."

After a long-standing feud with the duke, which began the second they met almost twelve years ago at the Bedford dormitory, and exploded after Evan threatened to cut off Astleyshire's bullocks for bedding Georgiana, Evan's brother-in-law would love an excuse to stab him in the heart.

"Remember, stay away from Lady Katrina," Springy said.

Did Wellspring have designs on the Harringtons' sister? Interesting, because Evan would have sworn his mate had no interest in women.

"Fine," Evan called over his shoulder.

He was in no danger of meeting up with her. Everyone knew the beautiful and proper Katrina Harrington did not proposition masked men in dark corners. Besides his chit was fair. The Harringtons were dark-haired.

Come to think of it, Katrina had been a pretty little blonde the time he'd plunked a frog in her tea. She'd screamed and spilled her drink down the front of her dress. He'd been eleven at the time and hadn't quite mastered flirting. But the last time he'd seen her, he'd been seventeen and quite skilled at the art. He'd been charming, but when he asked her to dance, she'd given him the deliberate cut, turning on her heel and walking away without so much as an eyeroll.

Nay, there was no danger of his mystery rendezvous being with Katrina Harrington.

He grabbed one of the candles from the garden, then sprinted across the back lawn of Harrington's estate.

"Hmm?" Evan murmured as he approached the rose trellis.

He'd thought her hair was one shade darker, and her features were more delicate than he remembered. Perhaps their masks, the shadows in the alcove, and the moonlight and candle played tricks on his eyes. She looked quite seraphic and innocent, lying in the grass, sound asleep. Way too angelic for him to pounce upon her and do the indecent things she'd whispered in his ear less than an hour ago.

Bloody hell. Why did he arrive late for everything? Now, he'd have to wake her gently so as to not startle her. And he didn't even know her name. There had to be at least six dozen aristocratic women and wealthy heiresses visiting Brighton for the summer holiday, and she could be any one of them. Hopefully, she hadn't partaken of too much claret or punch. He preferred women to remember making love to him.

He set down the candle and dropped to her side.

As her bosom rose and fell, gentle breaths escaped through slightly parted lips. It seemed so wrong to wake her, but he couldn't let her sleep there overnight.

He ran a finger over her cheek. Good Lord, her skin was soft. Was it his imagination that her lips shifted into a subtle smile? He retraced the same path, trailing a caress from her ear to her chin. She puckered her lips as she snuggled against his knee.

Ha! The chit was having lascivious dreams about him.

He gently bonked her adorable nose. She stirred and brushed his hand away.

"Wake up, Luv," he said in his most seductive baritone. This time, he tapped her perfectly shaped lips, lingering momentarily to enjoy how soft and supple they were. Oh, to take a plump lip into his mouth and nibble.

Her eyes opened. She gasped and sat up.

"You fell asleep while waiting for me," he said.

She blanched and crossed her arms over her chest. Really, after inviting him to lick every inch of her body, she was going to play coy? It was late, and he may be libidinous, but he did not force himself on women. If she'd changed her mind, so be it. 'Twas her prerogative. However, he wasn't used to women propositioning him, then feigning shyness.

"I want to make sure you are safely returned to Yardley Manor," he said. "Let me walk you to the edge of the gardens."

He could hide behind a tree and watch until she was inside the house. He'd passed by Lord Greyson to reach her. No woman was safe around that shite-sack and his infamous schemes. And he wasn't just a gossiping blackmailer; apparently, he had no problem with impregnating a woman, then abandoning her to the streets.

He looped an arm around her waist and lifted her onto her feet. Rose-scented perfume? But she'd smelled of vanilla earlier.

Huh! Evan knew women, and this was not the same chit who'd cornered him in the alcove. They looked so similar. Perhaps sisters? Whatever in the devil they were up to, he'd play along. Perchance a trio? Let the games begin. His first move would be quite bold and daring.

He clasped her around the waist and pulled her close.