Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gage paced near the entrance of the arbor and then swore at himself for even suggesting the blasted folly in the first place. Greydon had mentioned his duchess loved the thing, and Gage had thought it might offer them a measure of privacy. He didn't realize he'd have to navigate a deuced maze to get to it. But if he waited and strayed too close to the entrance, he risked being recognized.

On the way here, he'd already passed at least three couples. London parties during the season were infamous for the garden tryst. Women, men, dukes, scullery maids, couples, groups… they all indulged, given the opportunity. It was rather absurd how proper the ton pretended to be in ballrooms while they mocked the lines of decency beyond it. As if everyone didn't know who was fucking whom when they returned with tousled hair, rumpled clothes, and swollen lips.

In fact, he could have sworn he saw Huntington disappearing into a grove with a young woman who was decidedly not Lady Viola. The man was the worst kind of rogue. Gage would have to find a way to keep Huntington away from Viola, for her own good as well as for Evangeline's sake. His agreement was for a period of time, not arranging a match.

Gage raked a hand through his hair for the fifth time and palmed the back of his neck. What if Evangeline didn't come? Or changed her mind? Which was entirely within her right and would probably be best for all involved. As the minutes marched on, a sour ache expanded in his belly. Was that disappointment he felt?

He was truly a fool to have yielded to her proposal, but the thought of her giving those rare, hard-won smiles to someone else dug under his skin like nothing else. Evangeline Raine was an uncommon gem, an opal in a sea of diamonds. He was stunned that none of the idiot gentlemen of the ton had realized that. But he was the one she'd trusted enough to ask, and he would be the one to give her whatever she desired.

She needn't know that he genuinely enjoyed her company. That he wanted to spend more time with her, not because of the arrangement with Huntington hanging over his head like a noose, but because of the kindhearted, unique woman she was. The truth would be a problem only if it came to light, which it wouldn't. There was no reason for Evangeline to be aware of his plans or the deal he'd made. Gage ignored the sharp spike of guilt. He'd agreed to do it… but that was before he'd known her.

If he hoped to remain amicable, somehow, he would have to come clean.

Hearing the soft murmur of voices followed by a giggle, Gage pressed deeper into the hedgerows and winced as the prickly branches poked into his flesh. Easing through, he navigated the narrow circular pathways toward the center. He got stuck three times before figuring out the pattern. Eventually, he found himself in a narrow little grove with a pretty wooden pagoda. Boughs of wild flowering vines covered the beams. A statue of Aphrodite, surrounded by a wide decorative stone bench, faced him from the center of the copse.

Fate, it seemed, had a fickle sense of humor.

Blowing a lock of hair from his brow, he leaned back and peered up at the goddess of pleasure, desire, and passion with an amused groan. She had to be laughing at him. God, the irony of this particular statue gracing the place he'd asked Evangeline to meet was nearly too much. A whisper of sensation chased over his nape, and he turned.

"You do realize you could have spoken to me inside the residence, Your Grace, like a normal gent." That low, mellifluous voice of hers was equal parts temptation and reprimand, reminding him of the speech he'd given her when she'd been in his bedroom.

Gage turned to face her, his breath catching at how even more ethereal she was in the dappled moonlight. Silver and shadow speckled her face, making her seem like a dreamy illusion instead of a flesh-and-blood woman. He forced his brain to cooperate, opting for humor to defuse the sudden tension coiling inside of him.

"And risk someone overhearing?" He gasped with mock outrage. "I think not. Besides, I have my virtue to protect. I wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea about me."

She snorted softly. "Wrong idea?"

"That I'm flirtatious."

Full lips twitched as those moon-bright eyes glowed with laughter. "So you decided to wander into a maze with an unmarried, desirous female who might be intent on stealing every ounce of your virtue instead? That doesn't seem very sensible, sir."

He fluttered his eyelashes, pleased that she was playing along. "Should I be concerned that your intentions are wicked then, my lady?"

Her slow smirk wore teeth, the kind that promised a bit of pain with any pleasure, and Gage felt his body lurch. Fuck if that sultry look didn't bring his blood to lava. "Oh, Your Grace, but they are, make no mistake about that."

The puckish reversal in their roles fired him up to no end. She embodied the seductive libertine, and he, the shy ingenue. And for whatever reason known only to her, she'd chosen to expose that hidden, playful, and deliciously wicked side of herself to him .

He liked it far more than he should.

She strolled toward him, silver skirts swishing. "You wanted to discuss terms?"

Reality intruded like a dousing of cold water. He nodded. "First, are you certain this is what you want?"

"I wouldn't have said so if I wasn't."

"And what if you intend to marry later on? What if you find a husband?"

"I won't." She sniffed and took a seat beside him on the stone bench. "And should I be cherished any less because I've been for a tumble in the sheets? Women don't fault men for their sexual experience. In fact, they are grateful for it. Why should any future husband hold me in contempt for walking a path that men have trodden for centuries? Surely, I'm worth more than my maidenhood, Your Grace."

Gage swallowed hard at her matter-of-fact tone. "You are, but that isn't the way the ton works."

"Trust me, Vale, I'm well aware of the unreasonable ideals women are held to in aristocratic society." She sighed and waved an emphatic arm. "A woman must be lovely, chaste, and, most of all, quiet. She must never speak. She must never express an opinion or demonstrate that she has a working brain. She must be biddable, docile, and obedient."

"Is that who you are?" he teased, knowing fully well she wasn't.

She stared at him for a protracted moment. Her fingers clenched and unclenched the fan held in a loose grip on her lap, belying her firm resolve. "If you haven't learned by now, I do not have a passive bone in my body, Your Grace."

Gage grinned. He was hard-pressed to keep himself still. "Since you are in charge here, why don't we start with your expectations?"

She took a moment to consider her response. "What I require, Your Grace, are lessons. I gather you have some experience in the matters at hand. I wish to learn, and I wish to explore at my leisure. I want to experience everything I've read in books." The corner of her lip kicked up into a grin when his eyebrows quirked in confusion. "Erotic books. Medical tomes. Scientific study. I might be chaste in society's eyes, Duke, but I am the most educated ingenue in England. I've read everything on the subject, though, as you can well imagine, reading something and having empirical knowledge are two vastly different things."

He stalled on her cryptic words. "Educated? How so?"

Evangeline's cheeks rose in one of those rare half smiles. "Do you require another anatomy lesson, Your Grace?"

"I suppose I must," he replied easily.

"By default, a virgin is a maiden of intact chastity, one whose sheath has not been broken by a man's penis, but penetration means different things to people." She quirked her lips and shrugged. "What if two women come together? According to such a definition, then they are still virgins, even though the act of copulation has undoubtedly occurred. If a lady ruptures this so-called barrier while riding a horse, does that mean she is unchaste or has been penetrated by a gust of air?" Despite her logical reasoning, she blushed, face darkening in the moonlight, her grip hard on her fan. "Furthermore, what if penetration happens and a woman is alone, pleasuring herself with the assistance of an… instrument, what then?"

She broke off then as if her quick, erudite tongue had done enough damage.

And it had.

Gage's poor brain was spinning. He fought to keep his face calm, but the idea of the last, of her using some sort of sexual tool, had both his mind and libido galloping. Had she? How had she? An image of her lying on soft sheets, pale blond hair splayed over the pillows, those elegant fingers lodged between her thighs, nearly undid him.

He drew in a tight breath, fighting to cool his blood, only to have her unique scent of lilies, spicy and floral, pervading his space. It was a bloody miracle his voice emerged at its usual pitch. "How long do you expect this undertaking to be, and how do you hope to execute the plan?"

She gave a shrug, tension draining from her stiff shoulders as if she'd expected him to stand, rebuke her for her words, and walk away. Her slender throat worked. "Perhaps a week or two, and I was hoping you could make the arrangements for where we could meet."

Gage nodded, stomach sinking, though he couldn't discern if it was disappointment he felt at the short time frame, or simply his own nerves. "There is a club. Lethe. It's owned by Lushing, so you would have to be careful not to be recognized, but we won't be disturbed there. I'll send you the details."

"I'm familiar with the place. Briar's mentioned it once or twice," she added hastily at his raised eyebrows, her beautiful face angling up to him. "Thank you, Vale."

He gave her a wry smile. "My given name is Gage, and don't thank me yet. This might well be utter foppery on both our parts."

Gage. It suited him. Strong, singular, and solid.

Evangeline let out a tight exhale through her teeth even as she fought against the heated jolt his words elicited. "When we're alone then," she agreed. "And you may call me—"

"Evangeline," he put in before she could offer up her nickname. In truth, she loved the way his sultry rasp sounded over the four syllables of her name. The way he said them in his rumbling drawl made her feel as though a feather were being stroked down her bare spine. Somehow, she couldn't imagine Effie coming anywhere close to making her feel the same way.

Effie was responsible and focused. Evangeline seemed dauntless and daring.

Effie was drawn in shades of charcoal pencil, while Evangeline was painted in bold splashes of color.

She glanced around the small but elaborate folly. It wasn't completely hidden, but private enough that no one would come upon them without showing themselves first. She knew from experience that this garden had pockets of such groves all over its perimeter. She'd ambled past others while trying to find the duke and had been lucky to catch sight of his towering frame just as he'd slipped through the first hedgerow.

He remained quiet in the gloom, indistinct strains of music reaching them from the ballroom. A faint breeze teased through the hedges and kissed her hot cheeks. The silence between them should have felt awkward, especially given the nature of the conversation that preceded it, but it didn't. Still, she felt the need to say something.

She turned her face toward him at the same time that he pivoted on the bench, his knee colliding with hers. Inches separated them— charged inches—and Evangeline caught her breath, eyes tracing his defined features. They seemed harsher in the darkness. Bold nose. Broad brow. Slashing jaw. All hard, uncompromising lines, except for the sinful curve of his lips.

"What does leannan mean?" she asked.

He hissed out the exhale. "It's a silly endearment in Gaelic."

The way he'd said it hadn't sounded silly, but rather a sensual promise given under the cover of darkness. Her core clenched at the recollection. Or perhaps that was her imagination again, taking the leaps it craved despite reality. She wanted him to say it in a voice brought low by need.

"Vale?" she asked. "Why did you change your mind?"

"Would you have found someone else?" he countered.

Oh.

Her heart fell a little. So that was behind his reversal. He might not truly want her, but he didn't want anyone else to have her either. What did that say about him? Nothing , her mind supplied. Because what did it say about her for suggesting such an outrageous agreement in the first place? Most men of her acquaintance were competitive and possessive. His reasoning should not surprise her.

This was an experiment of her making. Nothing more and nothing less. The Duke of Vale was simply a partner in an empirical, physical study. What led him to agree was of no import. She was in control. In charge. If she'd learned anything from each of the Hellfire Kitties about female confidence when it came to pleasure, this was her show, and what she got out of it was for her .

Without stopping to consider her insecurities, Evangeline hefted her skirts, stood, and pivoted to straddle him in one swift movement, her crinoline quite crushed between them. His gasp was loud, eclipsing hers.

"What are you doing?" he bit out, eyes widening comically, though his palms went to her hips to anchor her in place and keep her from tipping backward.

Perching upon him thus, like the most skilled of courtesans, felt frightening, but brave and oddly freeing. She'd never done anything so brazen in all her life. And yet, here she was… climbing a duke. Beasty Buttercup had nothing on her!

Biting back a snicker, Evangeline nibbled her lip and met his paralyzed stare directly. "Testing out the merchandise," she said. "What does it look like?"

"Here?" His reply was strangled.

"Trust me, outside of the duke and duchess, no one even knows about this folly. I was surprised you did, considering it is at the center of a maze."

"But what if someone comes upon us?"

She let out a breath, moving her hands to his nape. "Then someone does." She stared at him, surprised by the discomfort she read in his expression. The duke looked almost nervous. Evangeline frowned. What did he have to be nervous about? "Don't tell me you've never done this before?"

He shook his head. "I have not."

"Had carnal relations outside?"

"Or at all, actually."

Gaping, Evangeline reared back, the jerky motion making him grip her sides to keep her from falling. How on God's green earth was such a handsome specimen like the Duke of Vale untried? He was half-Scot. Didn't they run around the Highlands bare-arsed beneath their tartans, seducing lasses with dozens of orgasms and proclaiming their chest-pounding virility to the heavens? Perhaps she was being unjust by eroticizing him so.

But Vale… he was…

She glanced at him—hooded eyes, indecent lips, and huge, muscled body—and her mouth went unspeakably dry. He was built for sin.

"How is that?" she croaked.

One shoulder shifted upward. "The opportunity never came up. When I was younger, my mother was strict when it came to young women visiting the keep, and I was focused on my studies. It's not some puritanical reason, if that's what you're thinking."

Evangeline frowned. "There were no buxom young maids to be found in your castle?"

He let out a huff. "Do you take me for that sort of man? I would never compromise a servant from such a position of power."

She bit her lip. No, he did not strike her as the type of lord to corner a maid belowstairs, even though many aristocrats took such liberties without batting an eye. "I find it hard to believe that ladies weren't throwing themselves at you."

"They did." He gave a noncommittal shrug. "I was not interested. Life simply did not allow for romantic entanglements, and I did not wish to be entrapped by a mistake as my mother had been, so abstinence was preferable."

"Your mother was compromised?" she asked.

"She and my father were wed over the anvil the minute my grandparents learned of her pregnancy with Asher. My father, though a duke, was little better than a scapegrace with a crumbling estate and a weakness for beautiful, trusting women." His face went hard. "It was not the match her parents wanted, and after years of watching him break his vows under the influence of drink, and wager everything they owned down to the last pair of candlesticks, I swore to never be anything like him."

"You don't wish to save yourself for someone special?" she asked quietly, still stunned by his admission. Vale's chastity changed everything. She didn't want to make him go through with their arrangement if this was something precious to him. Her chest clenched, making it hard to breathe, and for some reason, her eyes stung.

"No, it was never about saving myself," he said. "There's simply been no one I wanted enough." A large hand crept behind her nape as he drew her face toward his, eyes glinting in the shadowed moonlight. Evangeline wished she could read his expressions, discern his thoughts, but the darkness made it difficult. That muscle in his cheek was still drumming, his lush mouth tight. "Until now."

Oh. Warmth dripped through her veins like honey.

Before she could reply, the duke's mouth stole hers, palm creeping around to her chin to angle it just so, as he held her in place, one hand at her left hip, the other on her jaw. When his tongue sought entry, she gave it, relishing in the hot, silken feel of him. She matched him stroke for stroke, mapping him as he was mapping her, reveling in his strength, his sensual mastery.

He might be a virgin, but he kissed like a rake.

Evangeline was a quick study herself, savoring the groan that tore from the depths of his chest when she licked up against the roof of his mouth and sucked on his bottom lip. Straddling him as she was, her thighs tightened deliciously over his and she could feel everything —the heat between them, the tremors of his straining muscles. As the kiss went on, she felt him thicken beneath her, even through the monthly cloth padding that rubbed indecently against her core. The heat of his length was like a delicious brand between her legs, and her hips gave an unconscious roll that had them both gasping.

Vale pulled away, and she stared at his passion-blown pupils and swollen mouth. "How was that?" he rasped.

She didn't understand the question. "How was what?"

"You said you wanted to sample the merchandise. Did I pass muster?"

Evangeline couldn't help it, she laughed. "It sounds much more vulgar when you say it like that." She leaned in to snatch a quick peck from his smiling lips. "But I do believe I shall require some more demonstration, Your Grace. I'm not yet quite convinced."

He grinned as he gathered her close. "As you wish, lass."