Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

According to the missive delivered by messenger, the plain black coach would arrive at precisely midnight. Evangeline had been surprised to receive Vale's correspondence so soon, considering their scintillating interlude in her bedchamber only less than a handful of nights ago, but perhaps the duke was as eager to see her as she was to see him.

At night especially, Evangeline was consumed by dreams of the man. She couldn't get him out of her thoughts—the sight of that marvelous body unraveling to the tune of her own release played on repeat in her brain, leaving her hot and bothered by morning. And to think, he hadn't even touched her! All he'd done was watch, his eyes glued to her body as she'd pleasured herself.

Nonetheless, she'd attempted to keep herself busy with her own work, including scheduling a visit with the head of the committee managing the Temporary Home for Lost and Starving Dogs. Before her death, its founder, Mary Tealby, had been vehemently passionate about the plight of stray dogs in London, and Evangeline wanted to offer her assistance while she was in London. Indeed, Mrs. Tealby's work in London had inspired Evangeline to start her own sanctuary home in Chichester, though hers wasn't limited to dogs, but all animals.

To her surprise, Viola had asked to accompany her and William to the foundling home in Holloway and then on to the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals meeting in Pall Mall. Viola was remarkably curious about Mrs. Tealby's work for someone who had shown little interest in Evangeline's shelter at home.

"Who is this Tealby woman again?" Viola asked as they climbed into William's fancy lacquered coach, blushing prettily as its owner offered her his palm. William had done quite well for himself with various railroad investments—but from her sister's wide eyes at the pristine seats and well-appointed interior, it seemed she did not realize just how wealthy he'd become. Even the four matching black horses shone. Evangeline lifted a brow at her old friend.

As he helped her enter the coach, he winked and whispered, "Had to prove somehow that the life of a veterinarian's wife isn't so humdrum."

Evangeline grinned. "Clever."

When she got settled next to a rather impressed Viola, she handed her sister a printed pamphlet from her reticule. "Sadly, she passed away two years ago, but Mary Tealby was a humanitarian and philanthropist who started a home simply for the purpose of keeping lost dogs until they could be reunited with their owners or find new homes. The shelter was originally in her scullery, but then she managed to secure some stables behind Hollingsworth Street, which is where we're going."

Evangeline couldn't keep the admiration from her voice. Interestingly enough, the intrepid woman had been divorced from her husband and quite independent before she died. She hadn't been wealthy and had depended on fundraising to help run the temporary home, but she'd still supported her animals with whatever money she had. Much of the upper class looked down their collective noses, influenced by the newssheets that her behavior—along with her divorced status—had been immoral and much too controversial.

A handful of years ago when Evangeline was just sixteen, she had been desperate to meet the woman and visit the shelter ever since she'd first read about her efforts in the newssheets, but sadly, Mary had become ill and died before Evangeline had been able to fulfill that dream. In recent years, however, she had gotten to know Mary's brother, Reverend Edward Bates, to whom Mary had bequeathed everything. He and Mary's friend Sarah Major were part of the committee of trustees who ran the shelter.

"It says here: funds urgently needed," Viola said, studying the pamphlet and wrinkling her nose. "Is it in danger of closing?"

Evangeline nodded. As she well knew, funding a shelter for animals was an uphill battle for support. The shelter had been viciously mocked by the Times as an indulgence, and by men who saw women of their ilk as overly sentimental or who said the plight of the poor was significantly more pressing. But Charles Dickens had come to his friend Mary's aid, praising her generosity and drive, and afterward Mary had been able to secure royal patronage from the queen, who was fond of dogs and rarely seen without one of her furry companions.

"Yes, shelters are often in precarious situations because they're run on charity. I've pledged some money to help," Evangeline said. "And Mr. Dawson of course is always quite generous when it comes to the welfare of animals, as you know."

William canted his head, blue eyes sparkling with their usual warmth. "Anything for the puppies."

Viola bit her lip, and Evangeline caught sight of her reddening cheeks. "I'd like to pledge some of my pin money as well."

Evangeline's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "You would?"

"I'm not completely heartless, Effie," Viola said with a wounded look. "I want to save the puppies, too."

"I think that's rather admirable, Lady Viola," William said.

Her sister sniffed. "Thank you, Mr. Dawson."

They arrived at the address for the converted mews and entered the building. The stalls built for horses in the shed were filled with dogs of all breeds and sizes, and Evangeline lost no time in surrounding herself with the dozens of animals around a water trough that were barking and howling with excitement at the visitors. A few scared growls also punctuated the barks and whines. Most of the animals looked healthy enough, although there were a few who were emaciated, and some quite sick. She saw William bring out his bag and immediately go over to the section that housed the animals in need of medical attention, with Viola in tow.

"Dogs always know whom to trust," a female voice said, and Evangeline looked up from where she sat on the floor with three dogs vying for her lap to see a woman with a kind but solemn face.

"Mrs. Major…" she stammered. "Gracious, what an honor. I was hoping to see you at the RSPCA meeting in Pall Mall."

"Please, call me Sarah." The woman smiled and knelt beside her, gathering one of the dogs to her. "You must be Lady Evangeline. I received your letter, and am delighted to meet you finally. Edward has been quite complimentary about you."

"He's too kind. What you've both done here is incredible," Evangeline said, blushing. "You're saving so many lives."

"They were lost, unwanted, or suffering," she said simply. "The biggest part of injustice is walking by without doing or even saying something about it."

Evangeline nodded. "Is that how it started for you?"

Sarah stroked a dog's patchy head. The poor thing was missing an ear. "When my friend Mary asked me to help a pup she found in the gutter, unfortunately, it died overnight. She vowed then never to pass by another dog again, and that she'd never turn away a dog that needed help. Her brother and I contributed however we could, and now, we are simply continuing Mary's work and her legacy."

"I feel similarly compelled to help any animals in need. My shelter in Chichester is small, but I do what I can."

"And that is always enough." Sarah patted her hand. "Stay as long as you like. The animals love a bit of company. Will I see you at the charity event later?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

Uncaring of her fine clothing, Evangeline had removed her gloves to help feed and even wash a few of the dogs. William offered his medical assistance as well, and to her utter shock, Viola did not let out one whimper of complaint. Her fine dress was streaked with dirt and covered in fur, and even as she assisted William with not-so-pleasant tasks like collecting soiled linen, her soft laughter could be heard throughout the stables.

Even after the quick stint to Pall Mall, despite being dirty and tired, her sister seemed happy. Evangeline couldn't help noticing that Viola had sat next to William in the coach on the return journey. "God, Effie, you should have seen Mr. Dawson. He saved that dog's life! It was barely breathing, and then, lo and behold, it cried and opened its eyes, looking directly at him with so much gratitude."

Goodness, was William blushing? He cleared his throat. "It's not as impressive as all that," he said.

"Stop being so humble. You were magnificent, William." Viola patted his chest and then snatched her hand away in mortification, her own cheeks going crimson, both at the touch and the informal address. Evangeline hid her smile behind her hand.

"Thank you, my lady. You were also a magnificent helper."

Watching them, Evangeline felt her heart swell. It might be new, this fledgling connection between them, but seeing it blossom before her eyes made something unfamiliar squeeze inside her chest. She might not have such a relationship with a gentleman, but anyone with sense could tell there was something there.

Evangeline swallowed as her thoughts veered to Vale… there was nothing remotely quixotic about them or their plans. But that was the whole point, wasn't it? A physical liaison completely free of romantic entanglements. But the knowledge that her best friend and her sister might come out of this season with a chance at true happiness and a possible love match made her sacrifice worth it.

It was nearly evening when William dropped them off at their residence, but she overheard them making plans to meet as soon as he returned from conducting some business he had back in Chichester.

As they removed their cloaks and bonnets in the foyer, Evangeline smiled at Viola. "So, you and Mr. Dawson seemed to get on tremendously."

"Effie!" Viola opened her mouth and snapped it shut, a furious flush overtaking her pale skin. Just when Evangeline thought Viola would dismiss her and flounce off, she let out a soft, dreamy sigh. "Goodness, Effie. He's not at all what I expected. He's smart and funny, and ever so kind. And he thinks I'm clever, too, with steady, capable hands, he said."

"Quite the compliment, coming from him," Evangeline said.

"I didn't know he was that rich," Viola blurted, and then blushed harder. "Not that it matters. Well, it does , I suppose, but I thought he was a poor animal doctor. I'm afraid I let that affect my judgment of him." Her voice went small. "Does that make me a bad person?"

Evangeline shook her head. "Not at all. We women must always be cognizant of the kind of lives we can secure for ourselves and our children through marriage. It's simply a practical consideration since we have no means of earning an income ourselves." She pulled her sister closer. "But when it comes to William specifically, Viola, he's a good man, and he'll treat you as you deserve, even if he doesn't have a title. And even if he was poor, you would still be loved. But only you can decide what it is you want in a husband."

"He makes me feel like I can accomplish anything," Viola whispered, her smile so wide, it shone. "And he asked me about my interests. About Paris and my love for fashion! I haven't spoken to anyone about those old dreams in months. He wants to hear everything I have to say."

"You are more," Evangeline said and tapped her sister's nose fondly. She, too, had forgotten how much her sister adored fashion. "You only need to realize that."

"Thank you for letting me come today, Effie. It meant a lot."

Heart full, Evangeline smiled. "You're welcome. It did for me, too."

The eventful day had hardly taken the edge off her nerves as Evangeline waited in the deserted courtyard outside the scullery door. Earlier, she'd had to place a cool cloth against her cheeks and taken a quick walk about the garden to settle her raging emotions. But the brisk round of exercise had done nothing to quiet her nerves. Or her fears.

Evangeline heard the stroke of midnight from a clock somewhere inside the house just as a plain black coach ambled to a stop in front of the mews behind their residence. A liveried but silent coachman opened the door and set down the step with a short bow. Shivering with anticipation, Evangeline pulled the cloak tighter around herself, making sure that the depth of its cowl covered her face, and entered the coach.

Her distinctive white-blond hair was unique enough to be recognized, and while she did not care about ruination when it came to herself, she still had Viola to think about. As such, she'd fitted a dark wig over her own tightly bound hair. Because God only knew what kind of party she was heading to, especially if it was hosted by the Earl of Lushing.

The carriage jolted, and she clasped her fingers together when her nerves fired again.

Vale's instructions had been simple: Dress is whimsical, wait for the coach at the allotted time, and above all, do not be seen .

The gown she'd chosen hadn't been too risqué—who knew what whimsical actually meant—but it was pretty and fancy enough to pass muster.

With a puff of airy laughter, Evangeline wondered what anyone from the ton would say to learn that an unwed lady of their ranks was on her way to a possible bawdy house to meet a gentleman for an illicit adventure. They'd likely label her a trollop or worse. Then again, she'd choose Lady Harlot over Lady Ghastly in a heartbeat—at least the choice to engage in a carnal liaison would have been all hers.

Evangeline let out a snort as the coach finally rolled to a smooth stop. Admittedly, she was still nervous, her stomach coiling in knots. Peering out the window, she did not immediately recognize the building or the vicinity. It was much too dark, but she could see shadowy forms milling farther down the street, which didn't do much to ease her trepidation. The coach seemed to have stopped in some kind of narrow alley. Had the duke planned the stop here? Or was she about to meet an untimely end to cutpurses?

A brisk rap on the door had her heart flying and lodging into her throat, a panicked hand flying to the humming pulse at her nape. But it was only Vale, also in a dark cloak and hat, peering into the coach and letting out a breath that sounded too much like one of surprise. She blinked. Had he not expected her to come?

"My lady," his deep voice rumbled.

"Your Grace," she murmured. It was only after she took his proffered hand and descended that the area became vaguely familiar. They were not at Lethe as she'd guessed they might be, but somewhere else in London's West End. Then again, it wasn't as though she frequented this part of town often. Perhaps the Earl of Lushing had branched out.

"Have you eaten?" Vale asked.

She nodded in answer, peering up at the nondescript brick exterior and the dank alley in which they stood. "Is this another of Lushing's clubs?"

"No, but I do owe him for this particular invitation."

Evangeline felt a whisper of panic. She might be open to her brazen scheme, but the idea of the brother of her best friend knowing what she was up to left her cold. Even Vesper, as much of a free spirit and breaker of the rules as she was, would not sanction what Evangeline was about to do.

"Does he know?" Her voice emerged as a breathless squeak.

"No, and don't worry, he will not be here tonight."

She exhaled, the tension in her lungs easing a marginal amount. "Won't we be recognized? And by we, I mean me ."

"Even if you are, people pay handsomely for the privilege to attend one of these parties. They value their privacy and discretion above all things, even gossip. The venue might change but the clientele does not." Vale handed her a black invitation with a red seal that had only one word on it, written in a splash of red ink, Bacchanal . The cardstock looked expensive and exclusive. A thrill of anticipation spiraled through her. "You can also choose to wear a mask," he told her in a low voice.

Evangeline nodded. Yes, she definitely wanted a mask. The more anonymity the better. They entered a double-high foyer, which was rich, lush, and opulent. After the dank, narrow alleyway it was like walking into another world full of plush velvets, gilded railings, and polished wood. Evangeline gaped in awe. Part receiving salon, part lady's boudoir, it smacked of luxury and vice, making the tiny hairs on her arm rise in decadent anticipation.

What kind of depravity was she walking into?

The hum of conversation and music resonated from beyond a pair of towering velvet drapes that beckoned at the far end. After she'd donned a black lace domino that covered two-thirds of her face, Evangeline let Vale take her cloak and felt his eyes fall to her dark wig. A frown drew his brows together as if the sight of the disguise displeased him, but it was gone quickly.

"You look different with dark hair," he murmured when she lifted a brow.

She frowned. "You don't like it?"

"I like your hair the way it is."

Evangeline felt inordinately pleased at his words. "It's too recognizable a color."

"That's true," he agreed.

"What made you decide to bring me to an event like this?" she whispered when he took her arm and ushered her toward the mysterious drapes at the other end.

"It's a ladies' choice masque," he said. "I thought you would approve, and that it might give you comfort to be around like-minded females."

She peered at him. " Ladies' choice?"

The duke's smile was sin incarnate. "At this particular kind of soiree, the woman sets all the rules. Whom to approach, whom to talk to, whom to dance with. Every desire starts with her." He paused, his lip quirking. "With you ."

It was a novel concept that had her mind reeling, and by the time the curtains were pulled apart by two very efficient and handsome footmen, Evangeline's breaths had reduced to short pants of excitement. When she entered, she gaped. Nothing in her wildest imagination had prepared her for the decadent tableau that spanned the enormous ballroom. At least not for the scene straight out of A Midsummer Night's Dream that greeted her. It felt as though she were walking onstage… into a forbidden, fantastical world.

Which she was … metaphorically and physically.

Towering marble columns painted to look like tree trunks were wrapped in gold and green silks with huge boughs of flowers hanging from the ceiling. Portraits of frolicking fauns, centaurs, and other mythological creatures adorned the walls. But the thing that stood out most was the guests. Whimsical was hardly the word to describe the diaphanous and gauzy fabrics that left little to the imagination.

One buxom woman was dressed in a gown made of strategically placed ivy and golden ribbons, like a seductive forest nymph. Evangeline felt her cheeks heat when the woman winked at her and licked her lips. Her own gown—a bloodred siren costume left over from Briar's annual harvest All Hallows' Eve party—though lovely, was modest in comparison. Low-cut and brazen in color, it had felt daring enough to wear tonight per the duke's sparse instructions, but Evangeline felt overdressed even without her petticoats.

"That is hardly whimsical wear, Your Grace," she chastised him in a soft whisper.

"Would you rather I'd written licentious and titillating ?" He chuckled when she nodded instantly, eyes darting back to the half-naked woman. "She is a performer. The guests are less adventurous in their clothing choices."

When she looked, Evangeline realized that he was right. Most of the guests were dressed as she was, though a few of them wore outlandish costumes. She watched as a man in a donkey's head galloped past her with a raucous neigh on the heels of a saucy sprite. Another man's breeches were so low and tight, Evangeline swore she could see the ridged outline of his semi-erect manhood. She swallowed, her blood simmering at the unvarnished hedonism drifting from every corner.

The Duke of Vale peered down at her, a storm of something that resembled an inferno burning in those bottle-green eyes as if he could sense the shift inside of her. "So what next, my lady?"

She wanted what she'd always wanted: him on his knees and lifting her skirts with his teeth. That vision ferried an indelicate throb right to her already humming sex. Well, he was hers for the evening, wasn't he? She would not waste one second.

"Kiss me."

If purgatory was real, then Gage was neck-deep in it. But devil take him if an unguarded, confident Evangeline wasn't the most glorious thing he'd ever seen in his life. A queen coming into her own. Most ladies, if invited to a fete such as this, would have blushed and swooned.

But not her. No, she strutted. She preened. She reveled . And it wasn't by chance that everyone took notice of the new vixen prowling in their midst. No one could see her face under the domino, but Evangeline exuded a sensuality that was so powerful he could almost taste it.

And he wanted them all to know that she was his.

Blood hot, he bent, his lips finding hers with unerring accuracy. She parted hungrily for him, hands threading through his hair and tugging on the strands, tongue teasing his, sweeping his contours, dipping deep with light flicks that drove him mad. It was the sensuous ambiance, he knew. It flowed into the vein like opium… everything designed to make guests give in to their deepest, darkest carnal desires. She broke the kiss, panting.

"More of that later," she promised, eyes bright.

The husky vow made him want to devour those glistening, ruby lips, her flushed throat, the voluptuous expanse of rosy flesh brimming over her bodice. Gage felt his lungs squeeze. He'd seen those modest breasts completely uncovered, and yet the sight of them barely confined by the scarlet lace edging had him losing his breath.

He observed the rest of her in bold appreciation. The dress itself was sultry, clinging to her long, lithe frame in undulations of crimson silk. Her small waist led to gently flaring hips beneath tantalizing red panels that wafted between her legs with each step. She wore no bulky petticoats that he could determine, the shapely outline of her thighs and buttocks sending unseemly bolts of lust straight through him.

Fighting not to haul her into his arms, Gage stuck his hands into his pockets. This evening was hers, as it was to any woman within the walls. He'd never been to one of these parties before—they were more Lushing's preference—but the notion behind them was both revolutionary and brilliant. For the evening, women were the predominant sex. They ruled, their desires trumping all else, and the gentlemen in attendance had to obey or leave.

Though the host was anonymous, Gage had his suspicions. Lushing claimed it wasn't him, but Gage knew better. It was too much like the man himself… bold, unapologetic, and ingeniously progressive in its views of women. He huffed a laugh. An erotic party that gave women the upper hand in a puffed-up, pretentious society where they were ranked as lesser by default of their sex? Fucking brilliant.

"So how does this all work?" Evangeline murmured as they ambled toward the tables at the far end of the room. "Do I just go up to anyone and declare my intentions? Demand for a gentleman to be my plaything for the evening?"

Jealousy stung like a hive of hornets. Gage's throat knotted with the sudden realization that under the rules of the invitation, she was free to choose any gent she wanted. Though she'd come with him, women's choice meant women's choice . Frowning, he ignored the cold wash of dread that shot down his spine. "If that is your wish, yes."

Eyeing him, she gave a dramatic sigh. "Such a banquet of beautiful men. However will I decide on just one?" He stiffened, and her provocative laughter filled the air. "Goodness, Vale. I am only teasing."

"You're different tonight."

"Different how?" she asked and then touched her hair. "You mean my disguise."

"No," he said. "I've never seen you so… untrammeled."

She laughed again. "Perhaps I am one of those mysterious flowers that only come alive when the sun sets. Gardenia or evening primrose or some such."

"Queen of the night," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked curiously, peering up at him.

Gage cleared his throat. "It's a night-blooming cactus."

She slanted him a mock-injured look. "Are you calling me prickly, sir?"

"If the shoe fits, lass." Amusement tumbled out of him when her eyes danced with answering merriment. "But no, the queen of the night's flowers only open one night per year. Perhaps this is your night to bloom."

"Perhaps indeed." She pointed to a nearby card table where the bet was clothing instead of coin. "Shall we play a spot of vingt-et-un? I've a hankering to see that starched cravat of yours loosened."

When she sat confidently in the chair across the opulent card table, the buds of her taut nipples were visible, her pert breasts pushed high by the corset she wore. But it was her eyes that demolished. They were hungry. Ravenous. Lady Evangeline Raine embodied the hunter.

And hell if he didn't want to be her prey.

Other men felt the same, by the heat of their gazes, but his newly nascent huntress wasn't bothered by them. Her curious stare absorbed the gaming tables edging the sides of the hall, and the scandalous state of undress of some of their participants.

"Do you know what you're in for?" Gage asked.

Guests at these parties played for clothing, secrets, and favors, not money. He wondered if she'd discerned that before suggesting the game. From her quiet inhale when a woman at the neighboring table removed the lace fichu from her neck, and the intrigued light in her eyes, she had. Gage smiled—if it was a thrill she sought, then she'd get it.

"Yes, I do. Sit, sir." When she arched a brow and patted the seat to her right, Gage found himself hesitating. A game or two would be harmless, and it wasn't as if they were playing for money. He cracked his fingers and sat with a lazy shrug. She wanted to see his cravat loosened? He would see her a pair of silk stockings. More, if he had his way.

Four hands later—down one coat, a diamond stickpin, and his deuced cravat—Gage realized too late that aloof, reserved, animal-loving Evangeline Raine was a bloody card sharp because, to his utter disappointment, not one item of clothing had left her person.

"You're good at this," he murmured.

"I'm good at many things." She peered up at him through gilt-tipped lashes and winked, her voice sliding over him like velvet.

His blood warmed. "You certainly are, vixen."