Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

What the devil was the Earl of Oberton's daughter doing in his bedchamber?

Sitting on his bloody bed like one of the prince's own courtesans. Though she wasn't dressed like a light-skirt, every prim inch of her buttoned up to the chin in royal-blue muslin.

However, it wasn't a stretch to imagine her unclothed, with that pale hair unbound, tumbling over creamy shoulders and that long elegant spine as she lay on her stomach with a come-hither look. His imagination had run wild ever since he'd seen her at Huntington's party last weekend, looking like a shining lily in a field of pastel rosebuds. To his dismay, he'd been besieged with introductions and requests for dances, and by the time he'd sought her out, she'd already left. He and Lushing had departed soon thereafter.

"You don't have much furniture, Your Grace," she pointed out, making him jump as if a phantom had spoken, considering his fantasies were now busy positioning her in every way known to man right here on this very bed. "Though I admit your mattress is quite comfortable. And large. I suppose it has to be to fit a man of your… size."

Holy hell .

Did his illicit fantasy just leer at him from head to toe and moisten her lips? What the deuce was happening? Closing his eyes, Gage pinched himself in the side and winced, but she was still there when his lids rose. This was a dream. It had to be, because ladies of quality did not frequent the bedrooms of unmarried gentlemen, not unless they wanted a swift ride to the altar. He blinked. Was that her game… chasing a title?

If that was the case, it would make his financial problems a hell of a lot easier to overcome.

Would that be so bad?

He ignored that voice. Of course it would. He was not going to marry Evangeline Raine. Her life was here. Everything she knew was here. His was in Scotland.

"How did you get in here?" he rasped, staying safely enough away in the doorway.

She wiggled her limbs beneath her skirts, allowing him a brief glimpse of stockinged ankles. "People have these things called legs that get them from place to place. Some residences have multiple floors with a staircase. Said legs then marched me into this large room, whereupon I had to wait for your arrival. I became tired and I couldn't very well sit on the floor."

He didn't even have the forbearance to appreciate her sarcasm. Jenkins was stretched thin acting as a footman and butler, but where in the hell was Pierre? He was going to sack that wretched valet! No, he wasn't. Pierre had already proven his worth, and Gage was still down enough staff as it was, and nothing on earth would make him take Jenkins back. Gage had nearly lost an ear during a haircut.

"This is my bedchamber," he said stupidly.

She nodded. "It's spacious. Sparse. Suits you."

"Why are you here, Lady Evangeline?" he asked gruffly.

"I have a proposal for you." Crimson bled into her cheeks. She hadn't seemed bothered to be found propped upon his bed, but whatever was about to come out of that plush mouth of hers was making her blush.

"And you couldn't leave your card with the butler like an ordinary person?"

"I knocked and no one answered. The door was open, so I thought I would wait for you," she replied. "This proposal is of a sensitive nature."

Gage propped his body on the doorjamb and folded his arms across his chest. "Enough to invade a man's private bedchamber?"

But surprisingly, even as she blushed, her chin lifted. In defiance? With resolve? Despite himself, he was intrigued. In all their interactions, Lady Evangeline had been decisive, obstinate, and fiercely outspoken. She was intelligent, and clearly, once she had a plan of execution on something, she went after it. So the question was… what did she want now?

"Considering that parts of it might include this bed, then I see no misstep."

His jaw dropped to the floor. Surely he'd misheard. "I beg your pardon?"

"Will you close the door, Your Grace?"

It was comical, his reaction, their roles reversed as if he were the blushing maiden and she the scoundrel attempting to divest a shy virgin of his virtue. It wasn't that far off the mark. He fought the flush but could feel his own ears burn as a calculating smile drifted over those shell-pink lips. Gage half thought that he might still be dreaming.

"No, I cannot," he said through his teeth. "There's no one on this floor besides my valet, and we have your modesty to consider. The door stays open. In fact, we should withdraw to the study."

One arm rose in a dismissive gesture. "I'm not concerned."

"Not concerned ? Are you that cavalier about your reputation, my lady? Might I remind you that you are unmarried and unchaperoned in a gentleman's company."

She stood then, her graceful form lifting off the bed in a fluid movement, and prowled like a lioness toward him. Gage's entire body tensed. There was a hint of a predatory air about her, and he wasn't sure he liked the sensation of being stalked. She stopped when she was within arm's length, her head tipping to the side.

God, what would she look like without any of that rigid control?

The ice maiden melted to nothing but need.

"Then I shall get straight to the point, Your Grace." Her voice was low. Low enough to scratch at places it shouldn't, but soft enough she would not be overheard by any wandering servants. Gilt-tipped lashes lifted, revealing eyes so crystalline he was momentarily stunned by the purity of their starlit hues. "I wish for you to deflower me."

Gage choked on his own spit. "To what ?"

"Does fuck work better in this instance?"

His eyes goggled as his brain completely blanked. He had to be dreaming!

Wake up, amadan! He might be an idiot, but this was no fever dream. The floor was firm beneath his feet, and her clean, sweet scent of spring lilies had settled into his nostrils.

"Just the one time, or maybe twice, if required," she rushed out as he fought between his own good sense and the lust hammering his lower body. The latter was clearly winning.

"What about your future?" he asked dimly. "Marriage prospects. You're an earl's daughter. Shouldn't you save your, er, virtue for your husband?"

She snorted with a caustic roll of her eyes. "Do you mean my hymen? No, I don't intend to marry, so that isn't required. I am committed to a life of solitude." She sucked in a bracing breath even as he struggled to keep up with her cavalier use of scientific parts. "However, I am interested in exploring this connection between us."

Gage's brain felt like it was wading through honey. He was still stuck on the erotic invitation that had crossed her lips. "And you want me to… make love to you?"

Perhaps he was the puritan, because he could barely echo the choice verb she'd used earlier. That blush of hers was pure fire now, but the throaty huff that emerged from those plush lips twisted him into knots.

"There's no love about it—think of it as an agreement between two willing parties. Two friends, if you will. We are friends, aren't we, Vale?"

"We are," he said, completely taken aback by the turn of events. His uncooperative brain started to tick over. Perhaps he could use her proposal as a means of getting her to London, but the moment he thought it, something ugly and unpleasant curled in his chest. Gage shook his head. He didn't have the luxury of indulging in guilt. She'd come to him and she did not want anything beyond a physical connection—this was a damned windfall!

Then why the devil didn't it feel like one?

Another soft breath hissed out of her at his prolonged hesitation, drawing his gaze to her parted lips. Her tongue darted out to wet them, and his mind blanked again. "You do desire me, don't you, Your Grace? Our kiss proved that at least."

Gage couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Didn't dare look down to his groin, even though he could feel the unwelcome tenting of his trousers as if it intended to answer her question.

"Lady Evangeline, this is…"

Senseless. Absurd. Dangerous.

The role reversal would have been comical at any other time—gentlemen petitioned ladies night and day for sexual favors without care for consequence—but this was different. This wasn't some brazen courtesan or horny widow. This was Evangeline . He might not agree with the sentiment, but a woman's virtue was an important measure of respectability in the eyes of the ton.

Footsteps echoed down the bare landing, and Gage stiffened as his single remaining maid dusted the empty alcoves that once held busts of his ancestors and valuable art. "This conversation, though it must be in private, cannot be here. I do not wish to ruin you, and gossip is something neither of us can control."

Her lips kicked into a mischievous grin, her voice a whispered brush against his senses. "I believe that is the whole point, Your Grace. I intend to be thoroughly ruined, based on mutual agreement, of course. And as I told you, I don't intend to wed, so the point is moot."

He took her elbow, and they exited the bedchamber as he steered her past the wide-eyed maid slash housekeeper, who fled in the opposite direction, and ushered his guest to the vacant study. Shame rose that he could not even offer her a seat other than the one behind his desk.

"Sit or stand, your preference," he told her.

To his surprise, she perched on the edge of the desk without any expression of contempt or discomfort. "I realize this is an unexpected request, Your Grace."

"Unexpected is the least of it," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. Most of his brain was still stupidly stalled on the fact that she'd asked him to be her lover, but a smaller rational part considered the advantages. She wanted this. She wanted him . If he could convince her to carry out their dalliance in London, he could kill two birds with one stone—give her what she desired in town to the tune of at least six weeks, which in turn would fulfill the terms of the agreement with Huntington.

You're deceiving her.

Self-reproach rubbed him raw, and he scrubbed his palm over his face. He had nothing to feel guilty for. She had come to him with her proposal. What did it matter whether he agreed to the act here or in town? He hissed out a low curse. It did matter… because he wasn't being truthful with her about his own motivations. Lying by omission was still lying.

Watching him wrestle with his thoughts, she blew out a quick breath. "The crux of the matter is you desire me." Did he imagine it, or did her gaze slide discreetly to the crotch of his trousers? His arousal had diminished at the appearance of the maid upstairs, but it was by no means gone. "And… that feeling is returned. As inconvenient as it is, I believe we can both find some relief."

"Relief?"

"Sexual congress, Your Grace. With rules."

Gage blinked. Hearing her admit it so baldly threw him for a loop. "Rules?" he echoed, sounding like a deuced parrot.

"Yes," she explained. "The nature of our arrangement must be a secret for obvious reasons. While I do not care for the opinions of the ton, I'd rather not be vilified." She paused. "Or my sister be tarnished by association, since she does wish to make an excellent match."

Discomfort slammed through him, the attack of conscience staggering. What she spoke of was life-changing enough to give him pause. Considerable pause… because he did not want to hurt Evangeline. Perhaps if he told her the only way he'd agree was if they carried out their liaison in town, she would say no, considering how much she hated the place.

"Alas, I intend to leave for London," he said and cleared his dry throat. "Quite soon, so this probably will not—"

She smiled, interrupting him. "London, it is."

Gage balked, feeling a cold sweat peppering his spine, and shook his head at her earnest expression. God, what was he doing ? Throwing a perfectly good opportunity away for what?

His fucking conscience ?

His estate was run into the ground. His tenants were on the cusp of leaving for better pastures. The walls of the manse were in danger of crumbling down about his head. And if he failed to hold up his end of the deal with Huntington, he would have to repay Asher's vowel. So much was riding on this, but for some inane reason, he couldn't bring himself to agree.

He'd figure out another way.

There is no other way, you buffoon. Gage let out a harsh exhale.

Stop being so damned honorable , Asher would say. They want you to fleece them, otherwise they wouldn't be here at the tables instead of at home with their families. Why not take advantage? They are unscrupulous, greedy, and dimwitted.

Evangeline wasn't. No, she was clever and bright, and so fucking vulnerable right now with those limpid blue eyes and soft expression. Fuck, he couldn't do it. He swallowed hard and pressed his fists into his thighs.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Why not?" she asked. "You want me, I know you do. And this is a way for you to sate those desires. By mutual, emotion-free agreement. Isn't this how men do it?"

He huffed a low laugh. "I assure you that not all men are led by their pricks, my lady." She pinned her lips again in a nervous movement, lashes fluttering down. "Though indeed, it is a good many."

"So?" she asked.

A grunt left him, his usual way to avoid answering, but when she waited, he had no choice but to refuse. "As tempting as your offer is, I will have to respectfully decline."

Her face fell, but that pointy chin of hers lifted in the next breath as she pushed off the desk and curtsied. The aloof mask he was getting well accustomed to descended over her features, giving no hint to her true thoughts. "Very well, I understand. I cannot force a horse to come to water, and there are many other fish in the sea."

She swept past him, and he frowned. What did she mean by that ?

"Wait? Fish?" Gage hustled after her and tugged her elbow to halt her retreat. The icy glare that speared him made him drop his hold.

"Yes, Your Grace," she said in an even tone. "Thank you for pointing out that you are not in possession of the only prick in existence. I bid you a lovely evening."

In a state of full-on confusion, Gage watched her as she marched up the hill between their estates, torn between running after her and standing his moral ground. The former was motivated by said very frustrated prick, which was more than willing to oblige her offer, while the latter was influenced by his somewhat more reasonable brain. Though in truth, said morals were hanging on by the skin of his teeth.

Be the better man , he told himself firmly.

If he repeated it enough times, perhaps it would stick.

"Nincompoop! Dunce! Silly, silly, silly girl."

Evangeline couldn't help flinging curses at herself as she charged across the fields. Her feet pinched in their too-small boots, her spirit stung from the burn of rejection, and arousal still coiled in her body just from being around the object of her inconvenient obsession.

Oh, he wanted her, too. His arousal had been evident, bunching his trousers and making her pulse gallop when she'd noticed it out of the corner of her eye. Her whole eye, if she was being honest. She'd wanted to drop to her knees—for instructive purposes, of course—and take a detailed study of its curve, its girth, its length.

He probably thought her a wanton already.

She wasn't wanton, though. She was simply a woman who knew what she wanted, and if she couldn't advocate for herself, then who would? Her body, like her mind, was hers to use as she saw fit. Even if a ridiculous significance was placed upon it by others in society.

Her cheeks burned as she recalled the look on the duke's face. She had taken him quite by surprise. Perhaps she'd overestimated his unconventional thinking. It appeared he was a proper English duke after all, even if he'd been raised in the Scottish Highlands, and had encouraged her to speak her mind and be herself.

Obviously, that did not include propositioning him for sexual congress.

She winced. It sounded rather crude in her head when she thought about it like that. But any arrangement between them would be neat and consensual. Boundaries would be set. It would just be coitus, without head or heart complications. No one would be hurt or have expectations.

Why couldn't life be simple? Human beings were the only creatures who copulated for pleasure as well as procreation. Since she was uninterested in the latter, why shouldn't she explore avenues to the former?

Because it's not done, that's why. You're a woman and you must be wholesome.

"Wholesome, my arse, it's a bloody double standard," she muttered, frowning when her boot sank into a marshy patch.

This area of Vale's fields reminded her of the muck she'd gotten stuck in with Lucky. It was no wonder the duke had come to her father for assistance. No crops would grow in these conditions. Soil that was wet wouldn't allow for enough air pockets for the roots of plants to flourish. They would drown, in essence. The duke needed to look at drainage in addition to irrigation, then figure out adding organic matter and a proper plowing.

Why was she obsessing about the man's dratted fields?

Her field needed a good plowing.

Dear God, now she was sounding like Briar.

A low snicker burst past her lips. Hadn't that been the point of the whole proposal? Obviously, he hadn't seen any worth in what she had offered. Evangeline wrinkled her nose, bypassing the marshy earth for more solid ground. Perhaps she could have thrown in some of her ideas and solutions on irrigation for good measure. The duke had seemed impressed with her designs.

I'll help you irrigate your fields if you irrigate me.

"Enough," she muttered. "He said no. Move on."

By the time she got back to her own estate, Evangeline had calmed enough to ignore the residual twinges of embarrassment. She had nothing to be embarrassed about. She'd made a perfectly reasonable offer, one she'd deemed mutually beneficial, and it had been rejected. People declined things all the time, and his refusal had no bearing on her . If he was too proper to accept her proposal in the spirit in which it was meant, that was on him.

Then why did she feel so bloody scorned?

For some reason, the Duke of Vale had made it sound like he refused her offer because he had to be in London. Was that because he'd have his pick of ladies there? Evangeline wasn't a diamond, after all, and she wasn't even offering marriage. She was offering something that a man could get anywhere. Damn and blast! Her cheeks burned anew with mortification. She was bemoaning the fact that she'd even asked.

Her body felt restless, the faint hum between her legs was no less diminished by the long walk back, and her mind spun with the sting of rejection, despite her steady words to the contrary. She wasn't a catch, not for any gentleman of the season. Of any season. But she hadn't misread Vale's interest. So why would he refuse a casual liaison? Didn't most men like sexual congress? Or was it that he didn't like her ?

"Effie, have you given any more thought to London?" Viola demanded as she walked in the front door, trapping her at the bottom of the stairs once she'd removed her cloak and bonnet, and handed both to the waiting footman.

"Not now, Viola," she ground out. She wasn't vexed with Viola, but in the dreadful frame of mind she was in, Evangeline would no doubt say something regrettable.

"But, Effie…"

Her fingers fisted. "If you continue to pester me, the answer will be no."

Viola's pretty face screwed up, her mouth twisting into a rancid moue. "Why must you be so wretched all the time? Can't you just be normal for once?"

"Normal is overprized."

Viola huffed. "Says the one who looks like she was dragged across a dirty field for miles. What did you do? Go for a swim in a pond? You're covered in muck and God knows what else."

"Which is why I would like to have a bath, if you would only let me pass." Evangeline blew out an irritated breath. "And it's called walking in fresh air. You should try it sometime."

"Just say yes, Effie," Viola wheedled, changing tactics and hurrying behind her. "It's one season, my only season before I wrinkle and wither away. All you have to do is show your face and leave. You wouldn't even have to stay in London."

"Might I remind you that you require a chaperone, Viola." Evangeline paused at her bedchamber door. "What is it about Huntington that you esteem so much?"

Viola pursed her lips. "He's the most eligible gentleman of our set. Being seen with him, coveted by him, makes me look good."

"That's shallow," Evangeline murmured.

"It's reality." Something flashed across her sister's face for an instant before it was gone, too quickly for Evangeline to decipher it. "I want to make a match, Effie. Get out of this house, out of the countryside, and if Lord Huntington is a means to that end, then so be it. I want to flirt, have fun, fall in love ."

"With that cad?" she scoffed gently. "He's so head over heels in love with himself that there's no room for anyone else."

"Some men simply need guidance, Effie," Viola said. "Besides, there are other fish in the sea. It won't hurt to give him a little competition and let him enjoy the chase a little bit."

The words rattled her, only because Evangeline had just used a similar analogy herself. Not that she planned on going fishing, but she had wanted to retort with something clever after Vale's refusal. And besides, there was only one other fish she could stand to be around, and that was William Dawson… who was emphatically enamored of Viola.

"What about William?" she said to her sister. "He has been in love with you for years."

If it wasn't for the blush that crested Viola's cheeks, Evangeline would have thought her sister hadn't heard her. "What can he offer but a house down the road and a boring life stuck here in the country reeds?"

"Love, companionship, constancy?"

Viola's brows lifted. "And what would you know of those things, sister dear?"

"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you." Evangeline pushed open her bedroom door. "Sometimes, dreams change. Don't make a mistake that you can never come back from. Huntington is bad news."

"It's not about him, Effie. It's about me . I just want something more than this boring country existence."

Evangeline's emotions were all over the place after the episode with Vale, which was probably why she let out a belabored groan, her fingers clenching the doorknob at the sound of the sad, doleful sniff behind her. Guilt was quick to follow. She'd been prepared to go to London to get Vale into her bed but balked to accompany her sister for the season. It was selfish, and going would mean so much to Viola.

Would it truly be so bad?

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. "Very well," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "We'll go to London."

Viola opened her mouth and closed it, her eyes going wide with disbelief before she screamed with happiness. "Do you mean it, Effie? You won't regret this, I promise."

But as she closed the door behind her, Evangeline already did. No doubt her regrets would have regrets. She stripped off her clothing and stalked into her bathing chamber, locking it behind her. She was hot. She was bothered. There was only one thing she could do to take the edge off. The copper pipes in the combination of bathtub and shower beckoned. If she placed her body just so beneath the stream of water, knees straddling each side of the tub, relief could be had in a matter of moments.

London was going to take more than a few orgasms to be bearable.

She only hoped the plumbing at their residence in Mayfair could handle the brunt of her frustration.