Chapter Sixteen

By the time they reached Stoney Hey Hall near the tiny fishing village of Stoneman's Bay, it was already so dark that Evie couldn't discern much about the surrounding country, not even the craggy face in the hill from which, so Alex informed her, the village took its name.

She'd been expecting another Harcastle House, so she was relieved to find a simple country manor built on a much smaller scale. As the carriage drew to a halt at the end of a circular drive, she gained only a vague impression of a square frontage, its many downstairs windows illuminated with a cheerful yellow glow.

The front door opened and Helen and Dr. Carter appeared, silhouetted in the light. As a footman lowered the carriage steps, Alex leaped down to embrace his sister. Evie turned away to give them privacy. She didn't know how he had the energy to leap anywhere. Her entire body ached with weariness after the long train ride from London to Whitby, then Stoneman's Bay. This last little sprint in the carriage had finished her. After the turmoil of her farewells, her resilience to the rigors of a long day had been at a low ebb.

The footman stood ready to hand her down, but as she went to take his proffered hand, Alex intercepted her. She smiled inwardly at the proprietary gesture even as she rolled her eyes. He had been rather wonderful today. Saying goodbye to Mags and Jack had been more painful than she'd expected. As much as she loved them, she'd always thought of herself as someone remote with little need for companionship. If anything, friendship was dangerous. Hadn't her relationship with Captain proven that? As did the grief she experienced now at parting from them all. Despite everything, she missed Captain. He'd been her closest companion for years before she met Mags. Though she never wanted to see him again, she still grieved his loss. And the way Jack had looked at her… Like she was Judas.

Alex had managed to exude quiet sympathy without obliging her to talk about her feelings. She suspected he too preferred to lick his wounds in peace. When he'd said they were the same, she'd almost dismissed the idea out of hand, but she understood now. And how strange to find a kindred spirit in Mayfair of all places.

She leaned on his arm, allowing him to guide her up the few steps and into the entry hall. He talked over her head with Helen and Dr. Carter, but tired as she was, the words were noise, the buzzing of insects, until Helen put a hand on her arm, drawing her attention.

"Evie, you look done in. If you like, we can send dinner to your room."

"Thank you, no. I want to hear how you've been." Only partially true. Really, she didn't want to go upstairs without Alex. They had so little time left.

"The servants are setting everything out in the dining room. Alex, I wanted to ask you…"

Evie allowed her attention to drift again. The entry hall was large—quite a bit bigger than the room she'd shared with Mags—and the floor was tiled in shades of green and gray. A huge wooden staircase rose before her, the oak banister, carved with sheaves of wheat, polished to a gleam. An enormous stone fireplace took up most of one wall, its flames casting flickering orange light across the tiles.

Something moved in the shadow of the stairs. A man stood there, his face gaunt and unsmiling. His dark clothes all but disappeared into the darkness, so that he looked like a disembodied head. Her heartbeat quickened in sudden alarm, but as her eyes adjusted, she recognized his butler's garb. If he was a butler, why on earth wasn't he employed at Harcastle House? He'd be perfect there. He was out of place here in this otherwise cheery manor.

"Dinner awaits, Your Grace," he said in a voice like a rusted gate. He spoke with apparent deference while subtly conveying something else. There was nothing wrong with the words or his tone, yet he didn't approve of Alex. An answering dislike rose in her breast.

Alex regarded him soberly but there was a twinkle in his eye, as if he knew his servant's opinion of him only too well and found the whole thing entertaining. "Thank you, Pendle."

Helen opened a door and led the way into the dining room.

Alex seated Evie at a long oak table. "Where's Ellis?" he asked when all four of them were seated.

Dr. Carter answered. "Working. He said he'd eat at his desk."

"Poor Jude," Helen murmured.

The others nodded, and Evie wondered what she was missing. What was so sad about Mr. Ellis working? Most people she knew spent the lion's share of their waking hours working and usually at jobs more physically demanding than Mr. Ellis's. From things that Helen had said in London, it was obvious Dr. Carter worked hard too. As well as his duty to his patients, he was an expert in lunacy reform, always writing papers and giving lectures.

"Did you see or hear anything more of Nightingale?" Dr. Carter asked.

Before anyone could respond, a female servant arrived with a soup terrine.

"Not a peep," Alex said, when they were alone again. "I trust Ellis has men on the watch?"

"On all sides of the house," Dr. Carter said. "He also sent two men to the village—one at the train station, the other at the inn."

Alex nodded. "It's possible I'm being overly cautious. While we must take Nightingale's vendetta against me and our family seriously, he hasn't been particularly swift about executing it. There's no reason to suppose he'll act immediately."

"But don't you see?" Evie said. "It's precisely because the vendetta, as you call it, is of such long standing that you should be cautious. Imagine you're Captain. You've spent years, more than a decade, plotting. You've invested time and money training an accomplice, and now, when the time for revenge is finally at hand, that accomplice switches sides. How would you react?"

Dr. Carter sighed. "Miss Jones is right. A monomaniac like Nightingale, if thwarted, might very well become violent."

"So, in your professional opinion—"

"You are right to do as you have."

Perhaps because of his status, Alex had a tendency to underestimate threats to his person. If it had been his safety alone in question, Evie suspected they'd still be in London. She was very grateful to Dr. Carter for stating things so plainly.

"What will you do now, Evie?" Helen asked.

"I'm to leave, but…" She glanced at Alex.

"I owe her money."

"That's not strictly true. I haven't fulfilled my side of the bargain." She was supposed to admit her fraud publicly.

"You did all you could. Neither one of us had any idea he knew Helen's mother. We couldn't have foreseen this. After the risk you took with Nightingale, you've earned every penny."

Debatable, though Evie had every intention of taking the money. She wasn't a fool. Pride of that silly sort was for the wealthy.

" In any case ," she said, emphasizing each word so that he would know she didn't want to continue that particular discussion in front of others, "I'll have to get a train to Southampton where I can board a ship and go…wherever it's going. It doesn't matter where I end up, though I'd prefer somewhere where they speak English since it's the only language I know. I can decide what to do next once I'm clear of Captain."

Helen frowned but said nothing. While the next course— roast pheasant—was served, they all went quiet. Even when the servants withdrew again, conversation was sporadic, each person distracted by their own thoughts. Evie ought to have enjoyed this rare glimpse into how the other half lived. Three-course meals in huge private dining rooms were not something she usually experienced, but instead she kept thinking about Mags. With no stove in their lodgings, they'd always eaten together in chop houses. Noisy and smoky as those places were, they'd had some jolly times.

She sighed. If she didn't stop feeling sorry for herself, she was going to waste these last days with Alex. She refused to do that. If this was all the time they had, she wanted to make the most of it.

∞∞∞

The bedroom Alex took her to after dinner seemed far too good for a guest room, yet it wasn't at the front of the house as master bedchambers usually were. Its greens and golds had a soothing effect. She particularly admired the four-post tester festooned with a silk canopy and purple hangings.

Evie turned to Alex who was loosening his tie. "Is this your room?"

"Yes, it's mine." He stopped, the loose ends of the tie still draped over his shoulders. "Is that all right?"

He didn't seem worried that she might say no, but perhaps it occurred to him that his presumption might offend. Maybe he should have asked but she wasn't going to quibble. "Of course." To prove it, she began unbuttoning the front of her dress, her movements unhurried, like a wife undressing in front of her husband after a long life together. "Why did Helen say ‘poor Jude'?"

He smiled as he removed his jacket. "She thinks he works too hard. Which he does."

"You told me he's married. Where is Mrs. Ellis?" She let her bodice fall to the floor and began unhooking her skirt.

"There's no great mystery. Like many couples who marry for practical reasons rather than affection, they choose to live apart much of the time." His carelessness seemed genuine but the arrangement struck her as strange.

"Interesting. What were the practical reasons? Money?"

"My father arranged the match as a favor of sorts to her father."

"Why would Mr. Ellis agree to such a thing?"

"I suppose he wanted to please my father. He was unlikely to inherit the dukedom and, with no other prospects, he needed to keep the old duke on side."

Very practical but there was a fine line between practical and mercenary. Evie wasn't sure where Mr. Ellis's conduct fell. "And Mrs. Ellis? Was she happy with the husband her father arranged?"

"I don't think she had much choice. Something happened, some youthful indiscretion on her part, and her reputation was in jeopardy."

"You don't know what it was?"

"No, I was never in my father's confidence. He was not lenient when it came to other people's frailties, so ordinarily he would have left her to her fate or perhaps married her off to someone outside the family, someone of comparatively low status. Since he chose Ellis for her, in all likelihood it was something he feared would reflect badly on the family. Knowing him, it was a minor transgression. Small sins loomed large in my father's eyes."

"Do you know her well? What's she like?" Wearing only her combination by now, she stood with her hands on her hips.

"Fairly well. She's another distant cousin. An artist. A free-thinker." He finished unbuttoning his waistcoat and allowed the garment to gape open. "Not attributes of which my father approved. He probably expected Ellis to have a moderating effect on her."

She walked toward him and placed her palm on his crisp, white shirtfront, over his heart. "A free-thinking artist?" Difficult to imagine the staid Mr. Ellis with a woman like that. But what about the man she suspected lurked beneath? She tried to imagine marrying someone while maintaining the pretense that she was Evangeline Jones, prudish spiritualist. Impossible. Was that why Ellis didn't live with his wife? Or perhaps it wasn't by choice. Perhaps his wife, amid the terrible intimacy of marriage, had discovered the real man and fled.

No, too melodramatic. Ellis might well be shifty—it took one to know one—but she had no reason to believe him anything worse. "Do you ever think there might be more to him than meets the eye?"

Alex seemed amused. "Ellis? I suppose that's true of anyone. We all have hidden depths."

He didn't seem convinced, and it was almost enough to make her doubt herself. Almost.

"Tired?" he asked.

"So tired." She gave a theatrical yawn.

His lips twitched. "Very well. Quick and perfunctory lovemaking it is."

She squealed as he threw her back onto the bed.

∞∞∞

She made the most extraordinary squawking noise as he pinned her beneath him. He only intended to tease her a little before letting her sleep—it had been a long day—but her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. Blushing was fatal in a medium and not a flaw she was prone to but he'd seen her cheeks this way at least once before, when he'd made her climax. And she was laughing. Miracle of miracles. Skin glowing, eyes shining, whole body shaking. With a besotted ache in his chest, he watched as she struggled for mastery of herself.

"You are so beautiful when you laugh," he said when she'd caught her breath.

She smiled up at him. "Beautiful? If you like. But you…" Her blush intensified. "Of all the faces I've ever seen, yours is my favorite."

"Because I'm beautiful?"

"No, though you are. I suppose it's because I'm fond of you."

Fond? From any other woman, he'd call that tepid, but from Evie? The admission went to his head like Irish whisky. He was drunk on this woman, but unlike when he was drinking, his control wasn't slipping. He knew exactly what he was doing. If he were free to make his own choice, he'd ask Evie to marry him right now, sure in the knowledge that he'd never regret it.

But he wasn't free.

"It's been a difficult day. I should let you sleep." He didn't mean it. Hated having to be a gentleman.

She reached up and cupped his cheek, her face soft with the aforementioned fondness. "That may be the stupidest thing you've ever said."

"Thank God," he said a moment before she kissed him.

She tasted of the apple tart that they'd eaten at dinner, her lips warm and soft. As he sank into the kiss, he'd never felt more hers. Oh, he'd been hers almost since the beginning, but now she claimed him. She wanted him, and he suspected, not for a little while. If he could somehow deal with Nightingale, she could stay. He couldn't have everything he wanted. He couldn't marry her, but they could be together. They didn't have to lose each other completely. He just needed to convince her. If he could.

Doubt caused a hollow ache in his chest, so he deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking her lower lip. He groaned as she opened for him. Mine , his kiss said. Primitive and perhaps delusional. No man could own this woman. She was solitary by nature. Sufficient unto herself.

Mine , his body insisted.

Evie answered in kind, arching her back, pressing into him. Mine.

She tugged at his shirt. "I want this off."

Happy to obey, he shrugged free of it and let the garment flutter to the floor beside the bed. Her combination gaped open. He pulled her close and tongued one hard nipple through the linen. They undressed each other, greedy for skin against skin. For touch and taste.

At last, they were both bare and she lay warm and pliant against him. He wanted to make the moment last, to stretch it out into eternity if he could, but when her hand found his cock and squeezed, when he saw how desperate she was, how needy, further delay became impossible. Her legs parted in invitation, her hand positioning him, urging him on.

He entered her in one deep thrust. "Fuck," he groaned.

She laughed and arched her back again. This woman was going to be the death of him.

"Touch yourself." He spoke low, his mouth at her ear.

And she did, clever fingers circling her clitoris.

He began to move and it was everything. No better feeling existed that this, the woman he adored pinned beneath him, her heels digging into his arse, urging him on as he fucked and fucked her. He didn't want it to end, but as she cried out her release, he couldn't prevent it.

"Evie." I love you. I love you. I will always love you .

But the words stayed trapped inside his heart.

∞∞∞

It was much easier to sleep at Stoney Hey than in the oppressive grandeur of Harcastle House, but Evie still woke before dawn. In those first moments, she couldn't think what had disturbed her. Through the mist of early morning vagueness, she slowly became aware of the empty space beside her. The absence of warmth.

She rolled out of bed and groped on the floor for her discarded clothes and, as luck would have it, found the combination first. The fire was out, which meant it was so early that the servant hadn't been in to see to it. Where on earth was Alex?

The adjoining room seemed the obvious place to start looking, so once she'd hooked her petticoat on over the combination, she felt her way to the interior door she'd noticed last night. Yes, the handle turned; it wasn't locked.

The room was some sort of sitting room. Alex sat with his back to her, in an armchair by yet another fire. Presumably he'd lit this one himself. He gave no sign that he noticed her, but somehow she thought he had.

By the faint glow of the gaslights in their sconces, she made out the details of the room—it was small, three of the walls taken up by shelves. Instead of books or ornaments, the shelves held contraptions made of wood and leather. Magic lanterns. She'd noticed several in his bachelor quarters in London too.

"You're quite the collector," she said as she reached his side.

He smiled and took her hand. As she'd suspected, he wasn't a bit surprised by her sudden appearance. "Would you like to hear a sad story?"

"About magic lanterns?"

"Yes. And about me, or rather me as a child."

"About Little Alex, then? Yes. Yes, I would." Actually, she felt pathetically eager for anything that had to do with him. She wanted to drink up all the details of his past and present, and heavy on her heart was the dread that she'd spend the rest of her life yearning for news of him.

There was another chair, but as she glanced around for it, he pulled her down onto his lap. He made a comfortable seat, so she remained where he'd put her despite the indignity.

"When I was nearly six…" He paused, and she saw the conflict in his expression. From past experience of his reluctance to talk about himself, she sensed he was struggling with the urge to remind her that he understood his upbringing had been easy compared with hers. Perhaps remembering what she'd said on this subject the last time they'd discussed his childhood, he suppressed it. "When Little Alex was nearly six, the duke employed a new nanny."

Little Alex. Interesting that he'd taken that up. Was he distancing himself from the events he was about to describe? Did that make talking easier? Regardless, she remained silent, afraid that any interjection would deter him.

"She wasn't the first nanny by any means, but Little Alex was particularly fond of her, and I think, she of him. It was she who gave me my first magic lantern. Birthday presents were forbidden. She knew that, but nevertheless…" He smiled. "She couldn't have hit upon a gift more likely to incur the duke's wrath. Little Alex loved it. I didn't see much of my father in those days. Once a day, for five minutes, I was taken to the study to see him. He would inspect me and question the nanny as to how I'd been spending my time."

It wasn't the crux of his story; she knew from his casual way of speaking. But she was horrified anyway. True, for much of her life she'd had no parent at all, let alone a nanny. But Captain had spent time with her. He'd trained her and even made the lessons fun. Yes, his motives had been selfish. Yes, he'd been looking after his investment. But, as heir to a dukedom, Alex had been an investment too. Why had his father treated him so cavalierly? Why had he barely seen him? Couldn't he have mustered even the semblance of love? Because she knew from experience that a semblance was better than nothing at all.

"Until I was six, I don't remember the duke paying a single visit to the nursery, but one day, a few weeks later, he did." He stopped, eyes distant, remembering.

"He caught you playing with the magic lantern?"

"Naturally." He shook his head. "The Seven Wonders of the World right there in the nursery. That's educational, isn't it? But he called it a frivolous waste of my time and smashed the lantern to pieces with his cane. When I… When Little Alex cried, he was locked in a cupboard for an entire day."

Captain had never done anything like that. Neither had Miss Rose. Both had planned to use her abominably, but neither had actually done so in the end. Her childhood had been one long series of narrow escapes. She had known hunger and deprivation, and she had been in near constant danger of even worse. But, as she'd recently discovered, pain was particularly searing when inflicted by someone you loved. By someone who was supposed to love you.

"That's appalling," she told him.

"Ah, but you haven't heard the worst part." He seemed amused. She knew what he was going to say. "He dismissed the nanny. By the time I was free of the cupboard, she was already gone."

"He didn't permit you to say goodbye?"

"No, he didn't. He said I'd grown too fond of her, that it wasn't proper to miss a servant."

"Do you know what happened to her?"

His face went like stone. Jaw clenched. Eyes dead and joyless. "He dismissed her without a character. She couldn't find work and she died, alone and penniless."

Evie couldn't remember a time when she'd felt more angry. Frankly, she wanted to dig the old duke up, set fire to his remains, and salt the resulting ashes. How dared he treat an employee that way? How dared he treat a little boy that way? "Bloody aristo," she muttered.

"My sentiments exactly."

"Is that why you want to give me this money? So I don't die alone and penniless?"

She'd been teasing but he answered seriously. "Your situation is nothing like hers. I have no doubt of your ability to survive with or without my money."

"Because I have no scruples, and therefore, no need of a good reference."

This time, he responded with a little more levity. "It's one of the things I admire most about you. Though I would like to make things easier for you if you'll let me."

"Of course I'll let you. I'll take you for every penny if you like."

His fingers traced circles through the linen over her rib cage. "Oh, I'd like."

There was something in his expression. An intensity that eluded her. "How long have you been collecting lanterns?"

allowance. I hid what I bought. To be honest, by that age, I think I got more satisfaction from defying my father than from the lanterns themselves."

"Do you still buy them?"

"No. I started drinking instead."

"And when you gave that up?"

"I tried a few things. Fencing. Investments. Then spiritualism."

"Why? Why spiritualism?" She'd always wondered.

"I wanted to know if there was anything to it. Like everyone else, I wanted something to believe in."

"But you only found charlatans."

"It turns out I'm rather fond of them. Of two in particular. My sister…" He kept tracing those circles. "And you."

"Helen isn't a charlatan."

He laughed softly, his breath ghosting across her cheek. "You should have met her six years ago."

All at once, the intimacy of this moment—her place on his lap, the casual affection with which he touched her, his breath on her skin—was too much. "Will you show me one?"

Clearly, he'd had other ideas as to where this interlude was headed and it took him a moment to understand what she meant. "A lantern? Now?"

"Yes." She would not acknowledge the hard length of him pressed against her bottom. He groaned as she slipped free.

It took moments to get a magic lantern working. The one he chose, with its bellows, polished wood, and gleaming brass fittings, resembled Captain's camera. He opened a compartment and lit the kerosene lamp inside, then operated a lever, moving through a series of glass plates. Brightly colored butterflies lit up the wall above the fireplace, then golden sunflowers, a tree laden with cherry blossom. Summer things when it was November and the world seemed to be dying around her. A simple toy shouldn't bring a grown woman so much joy.

She glanced at Alex, but he wasn't watching the images or even the device. His gaze was on her. His hand fell away from the lantern. A forget-me-not, blue and perfect, lit up the wall behind him as he strode toward her. What she saw in his face left her breathless, and she knew he was about to overturn everything.

He only said one word. "Stay."