Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

"Oh, come here, you sweet little buttercup," Evangeline crooned to the fluff ball of a kitten. Its fur was so soft, despite being matted in some areas. Her heart melted as the tiny feline gave a pitiable mew. "Shall I call you Buttercup then? Do you approve?"

The kitten had been rescued along with its four brothers and sisters from a nearby alley and brought to Evangeline's shelter by a good neighbor, which made her happy for two reasons. One, any animal rescue was a miracle, and two, people clearly valued her animal foundling home. She had managed to lease the small set of rooms at the far end of the village from her good friend William Dawson, the local veterinarian, who owned the building.

It was because of his generosity that she could follow her passion.

Her thoughts drifted back to her father's coldhearted edict and Viola's disappointment at Evangeline's reticence to go to London for the season. She didn't want to be courted or to open doors she'd already firmly closed. A woman didn't need to be married to be happy. At least, Evangeline didn't. She had her own space, she employed one helper, and she couldn't be more content. In truth, who needed marriage when one had loving animals and a higher purpose?

"Why are you frowning so fiercely at the poor thing?" Vesper, the newly minted Duchess of Greydon, asked. "Is it ill?"

"No, I was thinking about something else. They're all healthy, I think."

The kittens appeared to be about nine or ten weeks old, and though they were despairingly thin, they were sprightly and alive. There'd been no sign of their mother when they were found. Evangeline frowned. No cat would abandon her young, so she must have been caught by a fox or some other predator. That made her hug her precious little orphan tighter.

"Goodness, Effie, you're getting orange fur all over your gown," Vesper said, wrinkling her nose.

She cuddled the kitten under her chin and nuzzled kisses to its fuzzy head. "It's just a dress. Feel how soft she is, Vesper."

Vesper stretched out a tentative finger and then drew it away with a narrowed gaze. "What if that mangy little thing has fleas or it's rabid?"

"A few fleas won't kill you. And she's not rabid," Evangeline said, and chuckled at her friend. "Look how sweet she is. Cat was a rescue too, and I didn't steer you wrong with her, did I?"

Cat. That was the exceedingly uninventive name that her friend had come up with for the kitten that Evangeline had gifted her a while ago. Vesper pursed her lips. "That's different. You didn't find Cat in an abandoned alley. How do you know it's a she anyway?"

"Not an alley, but a barn. All my animals are rescued." Evangeline flipped the kitten to her back and peered at her soft white underbelly. "And last I checked, this one is female because she doesn't have a… er… penis."

A distinctly male throat cleared from behind them, making both women jump. Evangeline felt a blush scorch her cheeks as she glanced past Vesper to the man towering behind her. Gracious, what atrocious timing! She sniffed—the word had been appropriate to describe the male anatomy—but it was hardly proper in polite, mixed company. Still, she would not apologize for being pedagogic, even if her flaming face proclaimed otherwise.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked, gently depositing the kitten back to the floor. The stranger was a man of means, as she could discern from his smartly cut clothing. Those broad shoulders would require a private tailor. Perhaps he'd come to donate funds.

Evangeline rose to greet him and sucked in a breath. Good lord, he was huge. She was ridiculously rangy for a woman, yet he still loomed several inches over her. Hair the color of dark, polished copper curled into a wide brow over deep-set green eyes. His clean-shaven face was all hard angles and harsh rugged lines, except for his mouth, which looked full and inviting and… remarkably kissable.

Goodness, where had that thought come from?

Her pulse thrummed in her veins. Stop thinking about kissing!

"I'm looking for Lady Evangeline," he said in a voice so deep it made her skin tingle. Was that a hint of a Scottish burr? "Is she here?"

Vesper made a humming noise in her throat as she pretended to inspect the rambunctious kitten who'd jumped off her lap and darted a few feet away. Evangeline blinked. Why was he looking for her ? She tempered the urge to smooth her hair, which she knew was a mess from the boisterous kittens who'd used her braid as a chew toy. She could feel the wispy strands glued to her cheeks and then remembered that Vesper had said something about her dress being coated in fur.

Evangeline bit back a groan. Of course when a gentleman of obvious means dropped in at the shelter, she would be a rather sweaty, fur-covered hot mess, but there was nothing that could be done for it. The rescue home was funded through her own resources as well as charitable donations, and if he was a philanthropist who had seen her pamphlet and intended to contribute funds, her appearance would not matter. She hoped.

"Who may I say is asking?" she asked primly.

"The Duke of Vale."

Vesper's eyes grew wide and her hand fluttered up to her throat, her startled gaze flicking back to Evangeline. "Your Grace," she murmured, rising to dip into a curtsy.

Evangeline blinked and fumbled through a curtsy of her own that resembled more of an awkward squat than anything remotely refined. Hadn't she read in the newssheets a year or so ago that the Duke of Vale had died in a tragic carriage accident? She hadn't known him well even though their estates shared a border—the family had not spent much time at their ancestral seat, preferring to live closer to London. If she recalled correctly, the parents had been estranged and the two young children were shipped off to Scotland with their mother.

The ducal title would have passed to the younger brother. Was this him, and if so, why would he be looking for her?

"Congratulations on your nuptials, Your Grace," he said to Vesper with a short bow. "My mother mentioned seeing news of your wedding in the papers. I am an old friend of your brother's. How is the earl these days?"

Vesper smiled and canted her head. "Thank you. Lushing is well."

"Good to hear," he said and then turned to her next. "Lady Evangeline, I presume?"

She pressed her lips together and nodded, even though a part of her wanted to deny it for some ungodly reason. "You found me."

"Ah, how wonderful." He beamed so brightly and so widely she could almost see his back molars. A person smiled like that only when they wanted something, not when they intended to give something. Evangeline narrowed her eyes. If he hadn't come to make a donation, what on earth did he want? And why did his smile suddenly remind her of a wolf from a children's fairy tale?

Suspicious, she peered down the length of her nose at him. "How can I help you?"

An odd, nonplussed look crossed his face, as if he hadn't quite expected her flat, chilly reply. Evangeline supposed she could have been a bit more gracious and included his honorific, but something about his manner seemed too… obsequious. "I'm looking for a companion for a friend's daughter. Something small and not too troublesome. Like a fish."

"A fish?" she echoed. "Sir, this is a foundling home for lost and starving animals, not a pet shop."

He cocked his head, studying her with that deep green gaze that made her think of forest-wet leaves after a rainstorm, though why she would even draw such a comparison was peculiar. The man had green eyes, the end; there was no need to wax poetic on their extraordinary color. "Are you saying that fish are not deserving of assistance or rescue?"

"Well, they might be, I suppose, but not here ," she replied with some confusion.

"That seems rather selective. Shouldn't lost or compromised fish be included?"

Evangeline couldn't quite tell if he was being serious or not, but most people of her set tended to mock her passions and her efforts toward the causes she championed. Her lips flattened. "Should they be in need of rescue, then certainly, sir," she replied, a rising edge to her tone. "However, at the moment, we currently have five kittens, four dogs, two rabbits, a goat, an owl, a three-legged lamb, and one surly hedgehog with a penchant for pricking. But might I direct you to the pond behind the neighboring field, where you might find the fish you seek?"

Surprising her, he chuckled, and she felt a bolt of electricity travel through her at the sound. Gracious, what an odd reaction! Distressed, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Noted, my lady," the duke said, that unctuous, too-bright smile appearing again. If she didn't know better—and she did know better—Evangeline would think he was attempting to charm her. But there was no reason for some strange man, a duke no less, to seek her out for a bloody fish. So what then was his true purpose?

"Is that all, Your Grace?" she asked. "We are rather busy arranging for the adoption of our rescues from serious patrons."

Amusement bloomed in that bottle-green gaze. "I am quite serious and can be convinced. What does adopting a kitten entail?"

Vesper was watching them both intently, her blue eyes wide. Evangeline shot her a look that broke her friend out of her unusual spell.

"Heavens, look at the time! I must be off. Greydon is expecting me back at the manse. Effie, may I have a word before I leave?" With another curtsy to Lord Vale, Vesper took Evangeline's hand and led her toward the door. In a lowered voice she said, "Are you truly so opposed to going to London? It's my first birthday ball as Aspen's duchess. I need you there. Please come."

"You have Laila, Nève, and Briar."

She pouted sadly. "Yes, but the Hellfire Kitties are not complete without you."

Evangeline bit back a snort. The unique nickname had grown on all of them, even Laila, though their friend would deny it to her last breath. Evangeline spared a glance at Vale, who seemed entranced by the litter of kittens. "Vesper, darling, you know how I feel about London, or I would. And besides, I have nothing fashionable to wear. I would be an embarrassment."

"Nonsense, it's weeks away. Surely you can commission a gown in that time." Vesper's gaze shifted to Lord Vale, who was now being batted by the tiny kitten he'd lifted in one enormous hand. Evangeline followed her stare and bit her lips to keep from smirking as her friend went on. "Please say you'll think about it?"

"First Viola and now you. Neither of you seems to consider my feelings on the matter."

"I do, of course I do. You managed last year in London, and even seemed to enjoy yourself." She joined their hands. "Please, Effie. It would mean the world to me."

Evangeline stared down at their linked palms. "Huntington intends to court Viola. That's why this is different. You know what happened with him."

Vesper's eyes widened with empathy. "I do, but if you keep letting that ferret turd hold such power over you, Effie, he'll always win."

"But Viola—"

"Is a smart girl and will see him for who he is." She squeezed their palms. "Eventually, Huntington will show his true colors. People like him always do. Besides, I'll be there, and if you're truly worried about that horse's arse doing anything untoward, the girls will intervene. Hellfire Kitties for life, remember?"

Evangeline huffed a small laugh. That was comforting, at least.

Vesper, Laila, and Briar, and more recently, Nève, were her closest confidantes. At least they knew who she was, and they had made it easy to avoid Huntington and his toxic set. Maybe Vesper was right. The few events she'd attended during the last season hadn't been so terrible with them at her side.

She sighed. "Fine, I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

After Vesper took her leave, a furious volley of mews reached her ears, and Evangeline turned only to clap her hands to her mouth in a fit of laughter. The utterly astonished Duke of Vale was covered in kittens. Two clung to his trouser legs while a third hung onto his coat sleeve for dear life, the fourth was held by its scruff in his hands, and the fifth, Buttercup, was valiantly climbing his lapel to his shoulder like the queen of the castle. Evangeline's nose burned from trying to stanch the giggles.

"They're swarming," he whispered, his mouth barely opening as though he were afraid to move. She snorted and the suffocating tightness in her chest from a minute ago suddenly loosened. A clear green stare met hers. "I prefer not to be climbed like a tree."

"Here," she said, rushing to his side. "Let me help."

With careful fingers, she detached three of the adventurous kittens one by one, extracting their tiny claws and popping the little miscreants back into a box, where they would not get into trouble. Though she couldn't blame them… the Duke of Vale was rather climbable. Evangeline pushed that ludicrous notion far out of her head.

She buttoned her lips, took firm hold of her untoward urges, and retrieved another kitten. Buttercup she saved for last, though she had gamely climbed around the duke's nape and was cheerfully batting a loose auburn-brown tendril hanging over his collar. The curl caught the light and gleamed like molten copper for a moment.

"She likes hair," Evangeline said in a breathy voice that hardly sounded like her own. "Hold still and I shall attempt to detach her before she sinks those nails into you. They haven't been clipped."

"I don't mind being scratched," he said, and something in his tone made her eyes dart to his. The green depths had darkened, and for a moment, she wondered if she was overstepping by standing so close or misunderstanding the suggestive nature of his reply. Good God, was he flirting with her, after all? That made no sense—she was not a lady whom gentlemen went out of their way to charm, or at least she hadn't been since Huntington had deemed her Lady Ghastly.

She cleared her throat and tore her gaze from his.

"You will if the scratches get infected," she said. "The kittens might also have parasites, and they haven't been checked yet."

He lifted a brow. "Checked?"

"By the local veterinarian, Mr. Dawson. He'll have a look to make sure they are healthy and haven't got worms, fleas, or any infections themselves. They're quite feral, as you might have guessed."

Feral and deviously clever. Clearly, Buttercup did not want to give up her lofty perch atop the wonderful mountain that was her prize. Who could blame her? Huffing an impatient breath, Evangeline reached around the duke's arm, but every time she got close to the little ball of mischief, Buttercup danced out of reach as if it were a playful game.

"Come here, you naughty kitty!"

Moving stealthily, Evangeline crept one arm up as slowly as possible so as not to startle the little ginger troublemaker. It struck her notice again how tall and wide the duke was… and how well those broad and clearly powerful shoulders tapered into a narrow waist, as evidenced by the snug fit of the coat he wore. She bit her lip, unwilling to peruse any lower, though she was precariously close to his trim hips as she reached up onto her tiptoes.

"Goodness, Lady Effie, what on earth are you doing?" her helper, Hannah, bellowed. Her loud exclamation followed by a massive clatter of falling trays made the kitten hiss and leap into the air, her little spine curving upward as she toppled off the duke's shoulder. Lucky, Evangeline's rescue pup, who had been hot on Hannah's heels, darted into the room and made a beeline straight for them.

"Lucky, no!" Evangeline shrieked, ignoring Hannah's slew of muttered curses. "Hannah, fetch the dog! I'll catch the kitten."

Evangeline pitched forward and missed, crashing into a wall of stone. It wasn't stone, of course, because he was a man of flesh and blood, but gracious, the duke had to be made of granite or some such. Instinct made her scrabbling fingers snatch at his waist to stop her ungainly tumble as her skirts got caught in the scuffle.

His rigid body went even more rigid, a grunt leaving his lips at her unexpected and categorically ill-timed handful. Right at his deuced crotch… a location much, much lower than his waist.

Oh. Dear. God.

"I beg your pardon!" Snatching her burning palm away, Evangeline lost both her breath and her balance as her skirts became hopelessly tangled. How she'd ended up mauling a duke while collapsing in an undignified heap of fabric and flailing limbs was anyone's guess. Horrified, muffled snorting giggles erupted from her, even as Vale's large frame twisted like an enormously graceful feline himself, his right hand steadying her and his left hand managing to catch Buttercup mid-fall.

"I've got you, little one," he rasped, his face so close to hers that she could feel his warm breath feathering her cheek. That overbright smile from earlier had hardly had any effect, but his tender, gruff whisper to the kitten had her chest clenching. Once Evangeline had found her feet, Vale released her and bent to lower the wriggling menace to the box with its four siblings.

Good God, she'd grabbed the man's groin ! His unforgettably full groin. Face on fire, she didn't dare look at him. Pulling away, she fixed her eyes on Hannah—a much safer option than the duke who had successfully caught a whining Lucky—and grimaced. "Bested by a puffball," she muttered. "I suppose that round goes to Buttercup, doesn't it?"

Alas, she was distracted by the duke's beautiful mouth pulling into a wicked grin that did unconscionable things to her heart rate. "Buttercup?"

"The kitten, though perhaps Beasty might be better." Good lord, even her voice was affected, emerging in an airless whisper.

"Thank goodness you weren't hurt, Lady Effie," Hannah said after locking Lucky in the next room and returning to gather the feeding dishes she had dropped. Her curious gaze darted to the duke, who had remained at Evangeline's side before she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Who's Effie?" he asked, the low rumble nearly making her leap out of her skin.

"Oh, that's me. I mean, it's a family nickname."

"Much like Buttercup, that name doesn't suit you either," he murmured.

Evangeline stared up at him. "What would suit me then?"

"Your given name. Evangeline." That Scots burr deepened to caress each syllable of her name. Dear God, she never wanted to be called Effie ever again. She renounced it forthwith! " That name reminds me of a powerful fairy queen from the caves of the Schiehallion mountain deep in the Highlands. Effie is too flat for someone like you."

He sounded sincere, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes. Was he making fun? Or did he truly hold her in such high esteem? Heavens, one would think she was as vapid as Viola when it came to compliments, the way she was going all melty inside because a man had likened her to a fairy queen . Then again, that was a far step from a ghastly specter!

She should be preening.

She might in private. Much, much later.

He smiled, a bit less bright than the first few, but something about it still felt off. Why was he trying so hard to compliment her? Of course it was quite possible she was misinterpreting him altogether. After all, it'd been quite some time since any gentleman had been interested in her beyond what her dowry could afford him.

Was that it? Was it her dowry he was after?

Just then Hannah returned, announcing the arrival of the veterinarian, and Evangeline had no chance to further ponder the duke's motive. She'd known William Dawson for years, and besides being a wonderful doctor to animals, he'd been a steadfast childhood friend.

Evangeline greeted him warmly. "How lovely of you to come so quickly."

"My pleasure," William said, blue gaze lit with his usual affability. For the hundredth time, Evangeline wished for her sister to open her eyes and see what was right in front of her—a kind man who held her in the highest esteem. But alas, Viola was utterly obtuse.

She dragged William over to the litter of cats. "Aren't they precious? They were found in the alley next to the haberdasher's. You know the one?"

"I do. Please tell me you did not go in there yourself," William scolded, stooping down to inspect the closest kitten. "It's foul, practically a latrine."

"Fine, I won't tell you." He lifted a knowing brow. Crouching beside him, Evangeline bit her lip, feeling Vale's eyes on her. After the babies had been dropped off, she had to see if the kittens' mother had truly abandoned them. The alley had been worse than foul, but an animal's life was more important than a clean hemline or her olfactory senses.

"Effie." His tone was laced with exasperation.

She rolled her eyes. " William. "

A throat cleared, hard green eyes spearing them as she and William glanced up in unison. "Do you address a lady so familiarly, sir?"

Stunned by the spike of venom in the duke's voice, Evangeline took in his rigid stance and the full lips that were now a hard, grim line and felt herself recoil with astonishment. What in the world had possessed him to react so?

"You should be addressed properly as Lady Evangeline," he ground out when she stared quizzically at him.

A frown pleated her brow. "I'm well aware of my honorific, Your Grace. I've given Mr. Dawson leave to address me thus."

William was a dear friend. He'd never once stepped out of line with her or given her any reason to question his honor. The doctor was a good man, and she would not let some self-important peer disparage their friendship. Or even worse, chastise her as if she were a child to be reprimanded for not toeing the line of etiquette!

"I am a lady, and one of sound mind and capable speech," she said evenly. "Don't presume, Your Grace, to tell me how to conduct myself. I am a grown woman and require neither your advice nor your approval."

"I beg your—"

She held up a hand. Surprise erupted in those emerald eyes, but she wasn't about to let any man, even a duke, ride roughshod over her, not here , not in the hard-won sanctuary that was hers alone. "No need. Perhaps you should leave, Your Grace."

Nostrils flaring, she straightened her spine and stared him down as he studied her in perplexed silence, a muscle flexing in that firm jaw. He looked upset, though it seemed to stem from frustration rather than anger. Evangeline was well aware that she might have crossed a line; however, backing down from a bully was never her forte, not since Huntington had dragged her through the mud in such a horrid, heartless manner.

"No, no, the duke is quite right." William stood, palms in the air between them as though seeking to thwart a war. "His Grace is correct. Please accept my sincere regrets, my lady."

"Nonsense, you have nothing to apologize for. I've given you leave to call me Effie." She said it with a degree of defiance—the nickname might be insipid, but she wasn't—and attempted to control her careening emotions. "That is my name, and I've given you permission to use it, William."

"As you wish," he mumbled, eyes darting between her and the duke, who was now staring at her with a look of intense calculation, as if she were some species of animal he did not recognize but intended to tame nonetheless. He'd learn she had claws and teeth, too, like all the others before him.

"Vale is a duke, you see," she explained. "Which means he likely has a stick of politesse lodged right up his—"

"My lady!" Hannah interrupted from behind them.

"Spine," she said, stifling a snort of pure amusement at Vale's expression. "I was going to say spine, Hannah dear."

See? This was why she would never be able to survive the marriage mart in London. She would be sure to horribly insult some proper gentleman, and the entire ton would riot. Evangeline almost laughed out loud at that. Perhaps that should be her angle—behave so badly that she would have to leave in blissful disgrace! She would never be a mincer of words. Women had voices, too, and they deserved to be heard, not silenced.

While this duke might be nice to look at, deep down, he was just like the rest of the nobility. Highbrow, arrogant, and brimming with his own privileged, male importance. She reined in the rest of her waning temper and smiled at William. "In any case, His Grace was just leaving. He's on the hunt for a special kind of lost fish."

Vale's eyes narrowed at her jab, but he tilted his head. "In hindsight, you're right about the fish. But this visit has been rather enlightening. I do hope to see you again, Lady Evangeline."

She did not miss the rumble of that blush-worthy burr over her name, and her pulse kicked as though a gauntlet had just been dropped between them, just as a truly wicked grin transformed the duke's beautiful mouth into a weapon of utter ruination. Resisting the intensity of that smile was pointless. She'd have a stern word to her good sense later.

For now, Evangeline hiked her chin.

"Sadly, I don't feel the same. Good day, sir," she said pertly, wondering briefly if she'd gone too far in her dismissal when his cheeks darkened and his eyes flashed with the promise of… something . Retribution?

With any luck, she'd never see the man again.