20. Chapter Twenty

As the haze from sleep lifted, Evan discovered his arms were wrapped around someone soft. He buried his nose in silky hair and inhaled roses. "Ah." Katrina.

He opened his eyes.

Like rays radiating from the sun, long blonde strands fanned over the pillow beside him. Her creamy shoulders peeked out from beneath the counterpane. Never had he seen such perfect lips and rosy cheeks.

He licked his lips and tasted her essence. Heaven above. Virgins were delicious. And she was the most delectable woman in the world. He chuckled at the absurdity of his predicament—desiring this particular woman so much that he'd forgone sleep to draw and fantasize about her, only to fall into a deep slumber when he finally had her in his bed—and before he'd spent on her belly.

His cock came alive, begging to be freed from his trousers.

To wake her from her slumber and tup her silly, or watch her sleep? She was so damn beautiful lying there—the slight rise and fall of her bosom, the corners of her mouth turned up in an innocent smile.

Why not do both?

He'd watch her sleep a little longer, then wake her with intimate touches, and finally, at long last, fuck her until she again screamed his name. If he hadn't had his arms wrapped around her, he'd have rubbed his hands together while contemplating the pleasure of what was to come. Oh, yes, he'd devised the perfect plan.

Someone pounded on the door. Evan almost leaped out of his skin. Katrina startled, then opened her eyes wide.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

It took one deuce of a gargantuan knuckle to make that much noise. And his best mate happened to have such a weapon.

"Eaton, wake up."

Katrina sat up, the counterpane sliding down her torso to expose her breasts. "My brother," she mouthed.

"Fuck," Evan mouthed back as he stared at her perky nipples.

Katrina leaped from the bed and hobbled about gathering her clothing. "He can't find us like this."

No shite. Harrington would gut him. But even with his death imminent, Evan wanted to stare at Katrina's tits and cunny.

God almighty. He needed to get hold of himself and his misbehaving prick. He climbed from the bed and fumbled with his shirt buttons.

"For fuck's sake, Eaton, wake up," Harrington called through the door. With no further warning, his host barged into the room, bellowing, "Your sister had the baby. We are unc—" He stopped short and gawked at Katrina. "What the bloody hell?"

At least Katrina had managed to pull her dress into place and hop into her shoes. However, there was no mistaking the reason for her disheveled hair or the undergarments clasped to her chest.

Forming a fist and roaring, Harrington stomped toward Evan.

"Ethan, no!" Katrina dropped her stays to grasp her brother's arm.

He spun on her. "How could you? You are courting Springy. And with him." He waved in Evan's direction, a sneer on his face. "He's fucked half of England."

And Harrington had fucked the other half. Although this probably wasn't the time to bring it up.

Katrina clung to her brother's arm. "But Alexander knows about us."

Teeth bared, Harrington growled at her, then lunged at Evan.

"Let us all calm down," Evan said, his hands non-threateningly extended as if he were charming an unbroken horse.

"How about I beat you to a bloody pulp," Harrington said.

"You'd maim your niece or nephew's uncle? Well, other uncle. Because… Hell, Harrington, we have a baby to think about." What an absurd declaration, but Evan desperately needed to distract the man.

It worked. Blinking, the angry beast stepped back.

"Nephew. The missive said they had a boy. William the Fifth."

Despite the horrific awkwardness of the situation, Evan smiled. Another nephew to play with. Grand indeed.

A few tears dripped down Katrina's cheeks. Evan should comfort her, but Harrington stepped between them, thwarting any approach.

"Did you defile my sister?"

Technically, had he? His tongue wasn't his cock, so probably not. Still, he'd do the noble thing. Well, not ask for her hand because that would be suicide. But he'd do the next best thing.

He pulled his shoulders back. "I plan to court Katrina."

She gasped.

Why had he been so terrified of commitment? That wasn't so bad. He hadn't incinerated or passed out—quite the opposite. He felt bloody good. He beamed at her.

"If she will have me, that is."

Surely, after last night, she would accept his sincere offer, unrehearsed rubbish that it was.

"If you think William will agree to a courtship, you are insane."

Damnation, Harrington could bellow.

"Eaton, you bloody fool. You don't even have a title."

Evan bristled. Maybe not. But he wasn't exactly a pauper. He was a bloody aristocrat. His brother and father and grandfather and great-great-grandfather going generations back, were bloody earls. Enough of this nonsense and the insults.

"Seeing as how your arsehole duke of a brother defiled my sister before marrying her, he has no room for objections," Evan declared.

"Leave my house at once." Harrington pointed at the door.

"Oh, Ethan!" Katrina cried out.

"Him, not you. You'd better not go anywhere, sister."

If Evan ever spoke to Georgie with that much venom in his command, she'd slice off his bollocks.

Leaving her stays on the floor, Katrina hiked up her skirt and headed toward the door.

"Get back here, Katrina," Harrington commanded.

She halted her tramp to face her brother. She looked him in the eyes and opened her mouth to say something. Instead, she clamped her lips together. After an extremely long exhale, she squished up her delicate features and huffed, "Bah!" Thereupon, she took her leave, slamming the door behind her.

"What in the hell have you done?" Harrington asked.

Evan winced. Bloody fool that he was, he'd gone and fallen in love with his mate's sister.

Evan and Harrington bickered as they trudged along the main street searching for Katrina. Every second she was missing brought them closer to a fistfight.

"I swear on my father's grave I will kill you if you go near her again," Harrington declared a half-dozen times.

After repeatedly having his life threatened, Evan grabbed Harrington by the lapel of his waistcoat and pulled him so close their noses practically touched. "You didn't have to speak to her like that. And if anything happens to her, I will knock you on your arse."

Harrington's nostrils flared. "You've already taken advantage of her. What other threat is there? Who else could possibly hurt her?" His eyes widened as realization dawned.

"Greyson," they said in unison.

But would Greyson sink so low as to harm the queen's niece? The powerful Duke of Astleyshire's sister? Someone the Troublesome—and dangerous—Eatons of Trent cared about? And after he'd made a deal with Evan? Although it was a naive error to think a handshake in the middle of a cricket field would bond the man to an honorable promise when he was so vile, he'd make a pact with Satan himself.

Calling a temporary truce, Evan and Harrington pounded the pavement and frantically searched. Katrina was not to be found on the main street or at The Crown Jewel Inn. Justine had not seen her since the previous evening. No surprise there.

When they'd come upon the flushed Elizabeth, she'd been covered in grass stains and had leaves in her hair. The old Evan would have wagered a pound she'd been rutting in a grassy field. But the new, improved Evan, the same man who was tired of fighting with her bristling cousin, pretended not to notice Elizabeth's unseemly appearance. He also chose not to point out she'd been trying to sneak in the servant's entrance—another non-surprise.

Evan rubbed at the ache in his chest. No way in hell did he want to seek out Greyson. But he had no other choice. If the shite-fuck was holding her as ransom until Caroline was returned—or for any other nefarious purpose—Evan would stab him through his heart. Not that the man had one.

While retracing their path to Yardley Manor, Harrington stopped short and moaned. "We need to check Taylor's townhouse."

Evan nodded his agreement. It seemed his ex-mate was reading his mind.

They strode the rest of the way in silence. By the time they reached their destination, Evan had had enough. No more "charming and affable Eaton." He hammered on the door until his fist stung.

It took so long for the butler to answer that Evan was no longer in the mood for etiquette or polite greetings. Not that he'd been in the mood when he'd arrived. The blasted morning that had started with him cradling his beautiful lover in his arms had turned to utter rubbish.

"We need to speak to Lord Greyson. Immediately," he said, not bothering to temper the anger in his voice.

The butler's gaze searched the front walk before leaning close to ask, "Is the young maid you removed from the house safe?"

"Quite," Harrington said. "Now that she is away from the maggot dung currently in residence. Speaking of which, where is the pile of insect feces?"

"I'm afraid he is not here."

Evan and Harrington pushed past the butler and entered the foyer.

"Greyson. Oh, Greyson," Evan called in a light tone seeped in so much feigned sweetness that no one with half a brain would mistake it for conviviality.

"Greyson, show yourself," Harrington bellowed.

Looking puffy-eyed and unkept, Taylor stepped into the foyer. "What in the blazes is all of this rumpus? My father is still asleep." He locked gazes with Evan and sighed.

"Where in the hell is Greyson?" Harrington asked.

"I know not. He left about an hour ago. I excused myself from our morning constitutional to stay with my father. He is quite ill. And I'm afraid I have not slept well the last few evenings."

Perchance guilt over allowing a devil to take advantage of his maid? Well, that and an ill father. But looking the other way as a woman was mistreated was the worst sort of malevolence. It was no better than hurting a child. Or a puppy.

Evan clenched and unclenched his fists. "We are looking for Lady Katrina Harrington. We fear Greyson may…" He could not bring himself to declare his worst fear since it involved Greyson's unwanted, repulsive hands on his princess. His darling.

Taylor whimpered as he dropped his forehead into his hands. "Hell and damnation."

"What did you think would happen when you let a man like him stay here?" Harrington asked.

"I detest him. It is just…." Taylor stared at his shoe for a painfully long time.

Evan's instincts about the unlikely friendship were confirmed. "Fess up, chap. What in the hell is he blackmailing you with?"

Taylor looked up, blanched, and then dropped his gaze back to the brown leather, which seemed to be as begrimed as the man himself. Obviously, something was weighing on him to the point Charles Taylor had become a wretched excuse for a dandy.

At the moment, Evan could give less than two shites about Taylor's affairs, his bloody smudged shoes, or anything other than the woman he was crazy about.

"We do not have time for this. We need to find Katrina. Where do you take your morning constitutional?" Evan asked.

"Sir, you'd better go with them and show them the path you normally walk," the butler said. "I will see to your father's care while you are gone."

"Thank you, Carter." At last, Taylor lifted his chin. "Gentleman, allow me to grab my hat, gloves, and walking stick."

Before Evan had a chance to physically escort the clodpole out of his home, Harrington pummeled a hatless, gloveless, stickless Taylor in the back, sending him flying out the front door.

"Let's get a bloody move on," Harrington bellowed. "Mark my word, Taylor, as God is my witness. If anything happens to her, I will knock your teeth down your throat."

"Pfft!" Not if Evan threw the first punch. Not that he often bragged about it, but his uppercut was wicked, and he'd had enough of everyone's shite.