Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Thames stank, but that was the price one paid to be in London. Smelly rivers, stuffy aristocrats, toadying crowds, garish ballrooms, and that was the least of it. Gage tugged on the cravat that strangled his neck, and peered through the dense throng, wishing he could escape. At least Chichester was bearable. It was nothing compared to the fresh, storm-kissed breezes of the Highlands, but he'd take the southern English countryside over London any day.

This , however, was torture.

And he was stuck here for six bloody weeks.

If Huntington hadn't called on him at Vale Ridge Park a week ago and clapped him on the back for a job well done, Gage would have never known about the Raine sisters going to London at all. That bit of news had taken him quite by surprise, given Lady Evangeline's feelings on the matter. Then again, she'd agreed quite readily when he'd used London as an excuse to deflect her outrageous proposal.

Gage had deliberated letting Huntington believe that he'd had a hand in Evangeline's decision, but it hadn't sat well with him. "I hate to disappoint, but the lady agreed to London of her own free will," he told him.

The man hadn't missed a beat, all slick smiles. "I don't care what's gotten her there. Keep her there. Six weeks, remember?"

He did remember. Just because she had decided to go to London didn't absolve him of his collusion. Notwithstanding her indecent proposal, he was still on the hook to make sure she stayed for the next month and a half. Unfortunately, Evangeline's sudden decision had also gotten him to thinking about other things, too. Why had she suddenly decided to go? Had it been his rejection of her scandalous offer? Was she now on the prowl for another more amenable gentleman to suit her needs? The thought had bothered him to no end.

And so the only option had been to confront her in London and save her from herself.

She doesn't need saving, you fool.

Nor did she care about her reputation.

That, he knew. But she did care about her sister, and should Evangeline fall into the clutches of an unscrupulous man, her younger sister would not be spared the malice of the ton.

And so he'd accompanied Lushing to his sister's ball, where they now stood, impersonating a pair of marble pillars on the side of the enormous room. He barely noticed the sumptuous decor of the lavish space, the large orchestra at the end, or the hundreds of people swirling past, dressed to the nines. His mind was consumed with finding one face.

"Good God, man," Lushing murmured, peering at him with an entirely too amused look. "One would think you were a chit at her first ball, wondering who will come to sign your dance card, the way you're scouring the crowd." He shook his head. "Don't worry, every unwed lady in London is here."

"I'm not looking for anyone," he snapped.

Lushing laughed. "Of course you're not."

"Who's he looking for?" the Duke of Montcroix interjected. Gage glanced over his shoulder, taking in the duke who had arrived with the beautiful French ballerina he'd married.

He willed Lushing to keep his mouth shut, but the irritating fop only grinned. "A certain neighbor of consequence might be in attendance."

Both the duke and the duchess perked up with interest, and Gage nearly groaned. It was a fact that gossip kept the lights burning in this town. "It is not like that."

"Then what's it like?" Lushing goaded. "You demand my tailor's name and his time, you rush to London like a man with his arse on fire, you wheedle an invitation to my sister's ball, and you're staring at the entrance hall like a beggar with his eye on a hot meal."

Gage had never wanted to punch the man more. When he said it like that , it did sound terribly desperate. Not that he was… he simply needed to make sure a certain bold, quarrelsome hellion did not make an irreversible mistake. He was merely being a good neighbor. A good friend .

His self-righteousness soured. Not that any kind of well-meaning friend would consider leading a person awry for their own personal gain. Then again, Gage hadn't influenced Evangeline into going to London—that had been her own doing. But he was still benefiting from the fact, so he felt complicit.

"May I inquire as to which young lady has caught your notice, Your Grace?" the Duchess of Montcroix asked. "Are we acquainted? Perhaps I can offer my assistance?"

Gage glared at Lushing, but the blasted man grinned wider, eyes going comically round with roguishness. "Oh, what marvelous luck for you, Vale! Did you know that Her Grace is bosom friends with Lady Evangeline?"

"Effie?" the duchess said in surprise. "She's coming here tonight?" Gage frowned. Wouldn't she know if her friend would be in attendance? "I've only just returned from Paris and haven't had time to catch up with anyone." She poked her husband in the side. "Did you know Effie would be here, and didn't tell me?"

Montcroix shook his head and promptly scowled at Lushing. "Of course not, dearest."

"Effie loathes London," she explained. "Vesper had despaired of her attending tonight, so I'm surprised she agreed." Then, with the precise focus of a woman on a mission, she turned a spearing gaze on him. "You wish to court her?"

Gage cleared his throat. "The lady does not wish to be courted by anyone who doesn't have fur, fangs, or is in need of rescue."

The duchess let out a small laugh. "So you have met our Effie then?"

"We became acquainted at her shelter in Chichester, yes."

She shot him a circumspect look. "And she caught your interest there?"

"Geneviève, mon c?ur, don't interrogate the man," Montcroix put in, but she silenced him with a graceful lift of her hand, and Gage nearly chuckled at the duke's miffed expression. He was obviously well accustomed to his wife's gestures, however, because he sealed his lips and took a sip of his drink.

"Tiens, it is care , not interrogation." Her eyes narrowed in a way that convinced Gage it was definitely the latter. Evangeline's friends were protective. Gage had already gathered that. He wondered what they would do if they knew of her audacious intentions to take a lover. "Effie also does not intend to wed. Has she told you that?"

But before he could reply, he felt something drift across his nape—the slightest sensation of his hairs lifting—and there she was. Gage's pulse sped up as he spotted her entering on the arm of her father, followed by a smug Lord Huntington and her sister, Viola.

He kept his focus on Evangeline, however, his greedy gaze devouring the fine, sharp features that had haunted him for a straight week. As if in defiance of the moniker she knew she would be facing, she was clad in pale silver. Gage bit back a grin. Dauntless to the last.

She held herself like the queen she was, peering down upon the lesser mortals who crowded beneath her. The half smile on her lips was just enough to convince everyone that she was in pleasant spirits, the light in her eyes just bright enough not to arouse concern. But he saw the strain in the rigid carriage of those proud, elegant shoulders—a sure sign of distress. Something inside of him ached to offer her comfort, even if she might refuse it.

Gage watched as she greeted the Duke and Duchess of Greydon, the hosts of the ball, before descending the staircase. It didn't escape his notice that other members of the ton gave her a wide berth, the women especially, whispering their poisonous gossip and twittering behind their fans. It did not matter—Evangeline Raine was above them all. So intent was his focus on her that he did not notice the scrutiny of the three people beside him until it was much too late.

"Never mind," the Duchess of Montcroix said with a toothy grin. "It's clear now."

"I beg your pardon?" he said, but she was gone, escorted to the ballroom floor by her husband in a flurry of emerald-hued skirts.

Gage frowned at Lushing, who shook his head and snorted into his own glass. "Do you wish me to procure you a fan for your cheeks, Vale? That's quite the blush on you."

"Fuck off."

Lushing clapped a hand to his chest. "Such language, sir. I am appalled!"

"Go away, Lushing," Gage bit out, forcing his stare not to return to Evangeline.

"Then you won't mind too much if I ask your lady to dance."

"She's not—" Gage felt his brows drawing together before his mind caught up with what Lushing intended as he cut a swift path to the Earl of Oberton. The bloody nerve. He was going to break Lushing's fingers knuckle by knuckle.

Gage bristled and watched as his friend bowed and brushed his lips over Evangeline's gloved hand. Something intensely possessive filled him, squeezing along the knots of his spine. What if Lushing offered to be her carnal tutor? Possessiveness wasn't the emotion swamping him then. It was pure, unmitigated jealousy.

He stormed over, bowed stiffly to Oberton, perhaps said something that could pass for a greeting, and then faced off against his gloating friend. Ex -friend, that scheming rat bastard.

Three pairs of brows rose in concert—though the lady's were accompanied by a sudden ferocious glint that meant he was in treacherous territory. Before turning on his heel and mumbling something about the refreshments room, the Earl of Oberton speared him with a knowing look that Gage would worry about later, and Lushing remained there leering.

"This dance is mine." Even to his own ears his voice sounded like a feral growl.

"Careful, mate," Lushing muttered from the side of his mouth. "You might splash your shoes."

The joke fell flat, though Gage knew how territorial he was behaving, when he had absolutely no right to be. He had no claim on Lady Evangeline, none whatsoever, but he could not curb his urge to make his mark so no one else could. It was beyond brutish, and yet he could not bring himself to care.

Pale blond eyebrows collided as that cool, silvery stare met his, lightning brewing in their depths. "I believe Lord Lushing has this dance, Your Grace."

His throat worked, teeth clenching, but thankfully, Lushing was not a complete good-for-nothing. The earl gave a pretty bow and grinned. "Alas, my lady, my deepest apologies, but my sister seems to be summoning me. Please do excuse me. I leave you in His Grace's capable hands."

The bastard actually had the audacity to wink before he left them.

"Shall we?" Gage asked.

Evangeline stared at him, wide lips pursed. "Are you actually asking me, or do you plan on dragging me along the floor by my hair like a scowling troglodyte?"

Was he scowling? And bloody hell, had she called him a cave-dweller ? He blinked. By God, he'd completely lost his senses. Recalling the way he'd stalked over and roared like a lion whose pride had been invaded, he felt his neck heat at what he'd been reduced to in the moment. Suddenly, he was aware of the stares fluttering toward them as well as the new strain on her face.

He canted his head. "My apologies. Will you please permit me a dance, my lady?"

She paused but lifted a hand to his. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Evangeline most categorically did not want to dance with the overbearing duke, but she had no choice. Declining now would draw even more notice.

Once again, she was the center of attention. Unwelcome attention. The Duke of Vale wasn't exactly hard to miss. No, she'd noticed the handsome mountain of a man the moment she'd entered the ballroom. Felt him, too, as if there were some invisible thread between them.

It was lust. Sexual attraction could feel like a tangible, magnetic pull. She'd read enough literature on the subject to know. And she had kissed him, been caged in those thick arms and ravished his mouth, which made the connection infinitely worse. Angst, sweaty palms, thudding pulse, obsessive yearning. It was a primal reaction, like any creature that went into heat. On top of that, she was in the middle of her courses, which made her heightened senses worse.

In hindsight, she should have cried off from the ball, cited the female malady that most ladies of her acquaintance usually did. But she'd always felt that menstruation was a natural part of life… and her courses had never stopped her from functioning as usual before. Then again, she hadn't accounted for the shocking increase in lustful feelings, especially down there . Evangeline squeezed her thighs together, cursing her sensitivity.

It took all she had not to combust when his large palm clasped about her waist and he drew her unbearably close. She gave a sharp inhale and breathed out. "I did not expect to see you here, Your Grace."

"You left me no choice, did you?"

She cleared her throat, not expecting that response nor the baleful look in his green eyes. "How so? I do not presume to control a duke's movements."

A ragged sigh escaped her as a thick thigh grazed hers on a sideways turn. She could feel his heat on every half step. She'd danced with him before at the assembly in Chichester, but this felt different. This dance was imbued with a charged erotic energy neither of them could elude or ignore. It was curious how any sexual discourse could cause such a disturbance between two people. Every measure became a tease, every turn a sensual torment.

He said no.

Yes, he had.

"You will not cast your nets elsewhere, Evangeline," he ground out, his words a rasped whisper against the shell of her ear. Everything inside of her responded to that gravelly, dominant tenor, but she threw her chin up, rebelling as she always did to such a tone. She answered to no man.

"Why should you make such a command? You refused my offer."

"It was untoward."

She twirled out of his arms, keeping her voice low. "I did not take you for a prude, Your Grace."

"And I did not take you to be so bold," he shot back.

"Why?" she whispered, stung. "Because I dare to admit what my body wants? That I have needs? That I dare to fulfill them? Men seek out female company all the time, and they don't get any harassment for it."

"Because they're men," he ground out. "And women don't—"

"Deserve pleasure?"

His fingers flexed at the back of her waist as he gaped at her, green eyes darkening to deep jade and his lips parting on air. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" She leveled him with a look, watching his expression bleed into utter confusion. "It's a double standard, is what it is. But none of that matters because it's a moot point. I have never needed a man or a partner to fulfill my needs. I only need myself."

When she lifted one palm and wiggled her fingers in an obvious motion, Evangeline took smug pleasure in the fact that he almost stumbled over his own two feet as her meaning sank in.

Pleasure was a gift.

And a well-read woman had a wealth of information at her fingertips.

Evangeline had expected the duke to flush. What she did not expect was for him to come to a complete standstill in the middle of the ballroom, the other dancers nearly crashing into them as he stared at her like the most fascinating creature he'd ever encountered.

"I've never met anyone like you," he murmured.

She swallowed. "Because I'm forthright?"

"Forthright, stubborn, dauntless, take your pick."

The music kept playing while couples whirled around them in a kaleidoscope of color, but Evangeline was mesmerized by the heated, intensely fixated look in his eyes. Those flecked greens held hers captive as much as the large hands splayed over her back, and suddenly, she was the one flushing, warmth twining up her spine and into her ears.

Aware of the censorious glances flicking their way, Evangeline cursed her brashness. She'd gone and done it now. She would earn herself some new and deserved nickname, Lady Unspeakable or some such. Even Viola's neck craned from where she was waltzing with Huntington.

Evangeline frowned as Huntington's gloved fingers lifted, forcibly turning Viola's face toward him, and she saw the shock on her sister's face before it was quickly masked. If the odious cad had no qualms about putting his hands on her sister like that in public, how would he behave behind closed doors? She vowed that she'd get Viola away from that man at the first opportunity, even if her sister seemed oblivious to his glaring faults.

Trapped in Vale's arms, Evangeline stuck a foot out, kicking the duke neatly in the shin. She winced at the pain that vibrated from her dancing slipper to her toes. "Your Grace, what are you doing?"

"Thinking," he rumbled.

She glowered up at him. "Can't you think and dance? You're making a scene."

"This particular thing requires every ounce of my brain."

She hissed between her teeth, unable to budge from his hold, her own embarrassment starting to take root as more and more people twittered. For once, the whispers were not at her expense. She wasn't sure whether to feel elated or upstaged by the redheaded lout.

"Honestly, what could possibly be so important to come to full stop in the middle of a dance? You're being rude, Vale."

He smiled slowly, the expression lighting those clover-green eyes with jeweled flames, his rugged features lifting and shaping into something both pleased and predatory. An incongruous combination that made an indecent shiver rumble through her. "I'm done now."

"Capital," she muttered. "Can you release me then?"

"No."

As if he hadn't just halted mid-waltz, he lifted her by the waist and twirled her like she weighed nothing, resuming the dance without any further missteps or hesitation. One would think he hadn't stopped for a full minute while the music played on. When they flawlessly rejoined the pattern of the other dancers, Evangeline cleared her throat and tilted her neck to peer up at him. "Are you going to explain what that was about, or will you leave me in the dark?"

He didn't answer for another few turns, but as the last measures of music drifted to a close, he paused, lifted her gloved hands, and bussed a kiss over her knuckles. With an unreadable look, the duke escorted her back to where her father was in conversation with the Duke of Greydon, and then bent, his warm breath skating over the sensitive whorls of her ear.

"About that offer in Chichester, I've changed my mind. I'd like you to choose me," he grated, that voice doing worse things than the gust of hot air on her skin. "Meet me in the folly to discuss your terms."

Mouth gaping, she stared after him as he cut a swift path through the guests, and lifted a hand to the rapidly fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. Did he… did he just agree to her proposal? Oh, dear God, she needed to sit or find a pillar to prop herself against because her legs were turning into the consistency of jelly. Evangeline gulped, her thoughts whirling at his rasped directive to meet him outside.

What terms did he intend to discuss?

Her throat contracted. Now that he had agreed, it felt much too real. She would have a lover, one who could be depended upon to be discreet and one who could be trusted to keep their liaison a secret. Underneath his gruff, rugged, uncouth exterior, Evangeline knew that the Duke of Vale had a noble heart. Not that she was interested in that specific organ… she was here for other parts of him. But a good heart meant he could be trusted to keep his end of the bargain. A good heart also meant he would not hurt her, at least not intentionally.

With a deep breath, she plucked a glass of champagne from a nearby footman and drained it. For courage.

She was going to need all the help she could get.