Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Evangeline arched her back and rolled the remaining kinks out of her neck as she mounted her horse with the help of her groom. She gave Ares a pat, glad that her favorite stallion had finally arrived to the mews in London. She hadn't been sure that she would be staying long enough to need him, but things had… changed. Not only because of her arrangement with Vale, but she was starting to view London in a different way.

A dangerously enthralling way.

Last evening was a prime example. She could not fathom that scandalous parties such as the one she'd attended on the duke's arm even existed. In truth, a part of her still wondered if it was all some lust-induced fever dream. Evangeline could not have imagined any of the staid, buttoned-up gentlemen and demure, proper ladies of the ton engaged in such lascivious activity, but she'd certainly recognized some of the men from a distance, and Vale had told her that a few of the ladies, masked as they'd been, were ones she'd likely been introduced to over her many seasons.

Evangeline's body gave the tiniest quiver at the memory of Vale's hands stroking over her most intimate parts. The thought of his long, thick finger inside of her had tortured her for hours after he'd returned her home, and for the life of her, Evangeline had not been able to settle into sleep. Her body had thrashed in her sheets, overheated and feverish, desperate for more .

She wanted Vale. The gnawing need had left her aching and empty, with a void that not even her preferred instrument of self-pleasure had been able to appease. She wanted him to fill her, not some pale, cold reproduction.

And so a brisk, hard ride was just what she needed after a rather sleepless night. She took Ares out to Hyde Park at the break of dawn, where she rode among the grooms exercising their masters' mounts, but she paid them no mind. If any of them balked at seeing a lady riding astride, she had not given it much thought.

Evangeline thundered down Rotten Row, letting her body align with the gait of the horse, trusting him even as her ironclad command of him never wavered. Horses were magnificent and well trained, but giving them their heads made them unpredictable. She had been thrown once by a horse spooked by a snake and had learned that vital lesson early on.

Idly, as she rode Ares back home, she wondered if Vale would ever let her have such control. She'd read in a novel that some men liked women riding them in such a manner during sexual congress. Her ears flamed at the deeply provocative image that rose in her brain, and she shoved it away.

"I've missed you, boy," she told Ares, running a hand down his velvety neck as they returned to the mews. Her muscles felt warm, her brain clear when she handed him over to the waiting groom. "I'm glad you're here."

She also missed the animals at her shelter, but she couldn't very well bring them all to London, and she knew they were all in good hands with Hannah. It was hard enough with Lucky, especially when Evangeline had to be out socially and couldn't devote all her time to her.

The caretaker's latest message had said that nearly all of the kittens were settling in well, including Beasty Buttercup. She'd also mentioned that someone had inquired about rehoming her. That news had lodged a spike of melancholy into Evangeline's breast—she cherished the little monster. For obvious reasons.

Not just those involving a tall, brawny, very attractive duke.

It was good that someone wanted to adopt the kitten. If Viola didn't erupt into violent sneezing whenever she was around cats, Evangeline would have kept Buttercup for herself. But alas, until Viola made her match and married someone who wasn't Huntington, Evangeline would have to content herself with feline companionship at her shelter.

Speaking of the foundling home, Sarah Major had been a font of information, and Evangeline hoped to expand her own operations and secure more funding. If she could persuade her father to let her have her dowry, she'd be in a much better place financially, but she wondered if, like most fathers, he was holding on to the hope that she might eventually marry. His edict to accompany Viola to London suggested that, along with his fears that she would not be settled after he was gone.

After instructing the groom to give Ares a good rubdown, Evangeline made her way back inside. Only to be accosted by her sister.

"Where have you been, Effie?" Viola demanded. "Have you had breakfast? We are going to be late!"

Evangeline blinked. Late for what? Why was her sister even awake? It wasn't yet noon, and normally, she slept well past the midday hour on any given day. "Slow down. What are you going on about?"

"The fitting!" Viola practically screeched.

Oh. The fitting. They were being measured for more gowns, which Evangeline had completely forgotten, given her mind was rather occupied by other deliciously provocative things. As expected, Viola had been named the season's diamond, and since Evangeline was now of a mind to stay in London, additional gowns had to be commissioned. Thankfully, Laila had volunteered her services.

"Very well," she said. "Let me bathe, change, and join you in the breakfasting room."

"Hurry up then! Lady Marsden is making an exception for us. She told me she would give me some tips on my design ideas."

Evangeline blinked. When her sister had been in France, she'd been passionate about fashion, but that interest had seemed to disappear the moment she returned and set her sights on marriage. Was the renewed interest because of William? Evangeline smiled. "Did she? I'm sure Laila's eager to talk fashion now that she no longer designs for anyone but her close friends. That's wonderful for you, Viola."

After a quick wash—in water so purposely cold she felt it frost her bones—she dressed and headed downstairs. Her father was seated at the breakfast table, hidden behind his favorite newspaper, while Lucky lounged at his feet, waiting patiently for scraps.

"Good morning, Papa," she said as the dog raced over to greet her and Evangeline bent to give her a scratch. "Hullo, sweeting."

Viola sniffed from where she sat munching on a bit of toast. The earl looked up from his newssheets, his wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose and hair askew as if he'd scrubbed a palm through it one too many times. "Morning, dear girl."

"You look perturbed," Evangeline said, filling her plate with some eggs and fried sausage from the still-steaming dishes on the sideboard. Her mouth watered. Riding always made her work up an appetite.

"The Duke of Vale is in the papers," he said.

She startled and nearly dropped her plate. "Oh?" she said, hoping her voice conveyed enough disinterest, though her pulse had started teeming in her veins.

"He seemed quite interested in you at the ball the other night," her father said with a twinkle in his eye, making her stomach sink. "Should I finally expect a happy announcement this season?"

"No, Papa. He's a friend." She cleared her throat and took her seat while Lucky disappeared under the table. "A patron of my shelter, in fact."

"Friends can make excellent spouses," her father remarked, peering down again at the paper.

And also, excellent lovers. Evangeline felt her face flush and pressed her hands to her cheeks. She kept her voice even. "I shall keep that in mind, Papa."

Thankfully he didn't press the issue.

"Looks like there's to be an exhibition match at Lushing's boxing club. Lethe or some such." The earl frowned. "I thought that boy was done with that nonsense."

Which boy? Evangeline wondered, the duke or the earl, though neither of them were boys.

"Is Vale a contender?"

"Yes."

A trill of excitement spun through her at the thought of seeing that magnificent, muscular body in action, but the notion of Vale getting hurt left her a little queasy.

"Ugh," Viola said with disdain. "Boxing is so plebeian. Doesn't he know he's a duke ? Dukes shouldn't conduct themselves in such a barbaric, common manner."

"Says who?" Evangeline said with an eye roll. "The self-aggrandizing patronesses of the ton?"

Viola leveled a censorious look at her sister. "Lord Huntington, if you must know." Evangeline narrowed her eyes, disheartened that the pox of a man was still an influence. "Honestly, Effie, you should pay heed to those very patronesses and rethink how much time you're spending with Vale. Not even the title of duchess is worth that cost. Any wife of his will surely be shunned from civil drawing rooms."

As if she wasn't already unwelcomed in their illustrious circles. Evangeline bristled, but what Viola was saying wasn't far off the mark. The gossip about the uncultured, destitute duke had been the sensation of the ton and the Times for months. "Is that your own opinion, Viola? Or are you regurgitating what those empty-headed busybodies are spreading?"

Her sister blushed and had the decency to look abashed. "Vale has always been polite to me, but he's not the right kind of duke, is he?"

"And what is that? A man like your precious Huntington?"

Viola's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare, Effie! Lord Huntington is a gentleman with impeccable breeding."

"I know," Evangeline shot back. "Just ask him."

Their father sighed and set down his newssheets, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Girls, please."

"Who is Vale up against?" she asked her father, shoveling food into her mouth so her warring emotions wouldn't betray her: anger at her sister's heedlessness where Huntington was concerned, fear and excitement for the duke, and a general malaise that she could not place.

"Jem Mace. A prizefighter trained by Nat Langham himself at the Cambrian Stores."

"What's that?" Viola asked, wrinkling her nose.

"It was a renowned fighting house that got shut down when Mr. Langham lost his license," Evangeline replied and then avoided her father's raised eyebrow as she fed Lucky a bit of sausage. She didn't want to go into how she even knew of such a disreputable place frequented by London's lower classes.

She'd heard the name, of course, from Vesper, who had made it her business to eavesdrop on her brother's notorious business dealings. Lushing's own boxing social club was on Upper St. Martin's Lane and inherited most of the displaced clientele that had wanted a new place to patronize. He'd obliged and reaped the profits ever since.

Vesper had eagerly informed their little group about some of the stories she had heard about Langham's infamous Rum-Pum-Pas club that had pandered to the ton's debauched tastes, where pugilists fought exhibition bouts in the nude and one could pay to fight if one had enough coin. She couldn't help inserting Vale's face in such a scandalous scenario and found herself growing short of breath and then choking on a mouthful of egg.

Served her right!

Her throat tightened as she coughed violently into her napkin.

"Goodness, Effie, swallow and then you won't gag," Viola said.

An image of Vale, nude and imposing in the center of a fighting ring with Evangeline on her knees about to do just that, filled her brain, and she let out a demented giggle-snort. An efficient footman instantly brought her a glass of water, and she guzzled it after thanking him. It was official. Her good sense was officially on hiatus.

They fell back to eating in silence until Viola let out an unladylike shriek, making both Evangeline and their father jump. Shuddering, Viola drew up her feet in horror, right as Lucky let out a sharp whine and raced out of the room. "How did that creature get in here? And what are those ugly things behind it?"

Evangeline peered under the table and grinned at the sight of the hedgehog she'd rescued from being trampled on Rotten Row last season. Given its usefulness in the scullery, the kitchen staff had kept an eye on it. Her eyes widened in delight at the two tiny hoglets trundling along behind their mother. Pushing off her chair, she sank to the ground, gently stroking one of the babies. "Hullo, Mrs. Speckles. Who have you got with you?"

"Effie, you're eating," Viola said with a wrinkled nose. "Don't touch them! They're pests."

"They consume pests," Evangeline corrected. "They're rather useful animals. Many households keep them in their kitchens to control insects."

"Well, fine, but they should not be in the dining room. We could catch something!"

Evangeline stifled her eye roll, considering the suddenly fastidious Viola had been knee-deep in animal fluids at the shelter without complaint, and gestured for the footmen to gently remove the animals back to the kitchen. She excused herself to wash her hands before returning to her place to finish the rest of her meal.

When she was done, she stood and glanced at her sister. "Come on then, hurry up or we will be late."

"I'm not the one who was gallivanting across London on her horse all morning," Viola grumbled, though she pushed back her chair and followed.

"You should try it sometime."

Viola reared back as if Evangeline had suggested she wander outside without a stitch of clothing. "And get all sweaty? I think not!"

Evangeline frowned at the sudden switch in her sister's temperament. This didn't seem like the girl who'd spent time with her and William at the shelter. This reeked of the self-centered version of Viola who had been Huntington's influence. Why was it always two steps forward, ten steps back with her? Evangeline didn't remember being so fickle at that age.

"Sweat does wonders for a lady's complexion. And besides, healthy exercise is good for everyone. Perhaps you should ask William to give you a lesson or two. He's absolutely marvelous on horseback." Evangeline glanced over her shoulder, expecting Viola to retort with some flippant comment that she wasn't interested in riding or the tutor in question, but to her surprise, Viola wore an intrigued look that she immediately tried to hide.

Evangeline hid her own smile. Perhaps all wasn't lost, after all.

Walking back toward the table, she gathered up her father's discarded newssheets. "Are you done with these, Papa?"

The earl nodded, and Evangeline let out a breath of relief that he hadn't interrogated her more on why she wanted them. It wasn't uncommon for her to read the papers when he was finished—she liked to keep herself abreast of world news—but she felt like her true intentions were written all over her. She wanted to learn more about the forthcoming match.

Her eyes scanned the sheets after she settled herself into the carriage on the way to Lady Marsden's residence. The article went on to list statistics and measurements of each man. At over a hundred and sixty pounds, Jem Mace was about three stone lighter than the duke as well as several inches shorter. And from the glowing account in the piece, Mace was fast, flexible, and lethal. She let out a soft noise of concern.

Viola, who was more perceptive than their father, glared at her through narrowed eyes from across the coach. "Are you planning to go to that match? Is that why you pilfered those?"

"What's it to you if I did or not?" she replied.

Viola's mouth turned down. "I'll tell Papa."

Evangeline met her sister's eyes and lifted her brows. "Will you?" she said softly. "And what do you think will happen when he forbids me from going, sister dear? Or sends me back to Chichester because London is simply too much for my poor, delicate constitution? What will happen to your precious season then?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Charity goes both ways, Viola." With a wink, Evangeline shook out the edges of the folded paper and opened it wide. "If I'm to stay in London, then it will be on my terms. If I choose to go to a public house or even a brothel, then it is no one's business but mine." She speared her gawking sister with a meaningful look. "If you expect me to pander to your whims, Viola dear, then you must also do your part."

"Going to that match is unseemly! What will people think?"

Evangeline let out a small sigh though she, too, once upon a time, had obsessed over the ton's shallow opinions. "I suppose the same cruel things they have always said about my person. You cannot let yourself be ruled by what others say, Viola. You can only be true to yourself. Anything else leads to misery."

"Says the woman who is practically a social outcast."

Evangeline shrugged. "At least I live life on my own terms."

"By cavorting in seedy establishments?"

If her outraged sister only knew what kind of establishments she had recently frequented, she would have a fit of the vapors. "By pleasing myself."

Evangeline understood Viola's fears—it was ingrained in the female aristocrat from birth how and who she must be. Be demure. Be obedient. Be respectful. Don't veer from the path or risk outrage and ostracism. Follow the rules. Speak only when spoken to. Dance the requisite number of times. Never have an original opinion. And most of all, never ever demonstrate superiority to a man.

Unless he was a man like Vale. He enjoyed her opinions. He encouraged them. He valued her idiosyncrasies. He made her think highly of them. With Vale, her mind had no narrow boundaries to obey, no absurd directions to follow. She could speak her thoughts without fear of recrimination or without being labeled a shrew, a bluestocking, or ghastly .

That acceptance was more precious to her than any arrangement between them.

"It's simply not done , Effie," Viola protested.

Evangeline peered at her over the top edge of the newssheet, her voice soft. "Don't you ever get tired of doing everything you're told? We women have our own minds and our own dreams. Shouldn't we get a chance to follow those?"

Her sister did not answer, but Evangeline could see her brain working as she gave a dismissive huff and stared out the window. Viola might be silly at times, but she wasn't stupid. Like many other young women of her station, she had been indoctrinated in how she should think, speak, and feel. Going against that ideology felt frightening.

Evangeline worried that her sister, despite being surrounded by admirers, did not have any true bosom friends, ones who would stick with her until the end. Without Vesper, Laila, Briar, and Nève, Evangeline would not have survived the cruel vagaries of the ton.

"Do you even like Huntington?" she asked her sister.

"He's the catch of the season," Viola said, gnawing her lip. "I'm its diamond, so naturally we're expected to pair off. I want the best."

She exhaled. "You do deserve the best, but is that man the best for you ?" Evangeline lowered her voice when her sister didn't answer. "You don't have to do what they want, Viola," she said quietly. "Not Papa, not Huntington, not anyone else in the ton."

Her sister's response was nearly inaudible. "But what if they cut me?"

"What if they don't? What if you chart a new path? Being a diamond isn't all it's cracked up to be if you can't be your true self." She let out an exhale. "We can't live our lives in the land of negative conjecture. We'd never try anything new if that were the case. It's easy to be meek and follow. It's much harder to be bold and lead."

"Is that what you've been doing?"

Evangeline shook her head. "Not always, but I am trying."

She had always been different—a square peg that never quite fit in, and while she had learned to accept her differences, she'd begun to actually appreciate them of late. Perhaps because the Duke of Vale didn't see her as any less because of them. He saw her as so much more . She might not be a diamond, but she still had value.

Their conversation ended as they came to a stop outside the Marquess and Marchioness of Marsden's palatial residence. Just as they were about to exit the coach, her sister took hold of her hand and squeezed.

"If you do go to the match, promise me you'll be careful," Viola whispered before descending. "Not because of your reputation or mine, but it could be dangerous for a woman in your position."

Evangeline nodded, struck by her sister's concern. "I will."

"Effie?"

Perched in the doorway, she glanced down into Viola's brilliant blue eyes. "Yes?"

Viola gnawed on her lip, but then smiled. "You are an extraordinarily courageous woman. I might not always tell you so, and you are decidedly odd with your penchant to collect random animals, but I hope you know that."

Evangeline could only stare in dumbfounded silence after her sister.