Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Lord knew that Gage was holding on to his composure by a thread—being alone with her, even out in the open, was too much of a temptation. Not now, when he knew how divine she tasted and how good she felt in his arms. He kept his distance for both their sakes until her groom returned with help from the manse.

When the meager handful of Gage's servants arrived on the hill, armed with buckets of water from the nearby stream that cut through the lower part of the property, it was already much too late for what was left of the barn. Gage led them to douse the earth around the structure so the blaze would not spread. And then, they could only watch the fire burn itself out, which thankfully didn't take long. Dark plumes of smoke curled into the sky, lessening in intensity, until only wisps remained.

But despite the arduous work of soaking the perimeter, Gage was consumed with thoughts of the willful hoyden who didn't give a hoot about her own safety or for listening to instructions, nor did she seem the least bit affected by the kiss that had hurtled them both into stupidity. He hadn't meant to kiss her, but once she'd given her consent and his lips had touched hers, nothing could have torn him away.

Hell, the taste of her. Tart and fresh, like sweet mulled wine.

He preferred to abstain from spirits, and yet, he could have drunk from her forever.

Even now, he watched as she peered through the tiny portion of the barn that still remained standing, and made a sound of satisfaction before scooping up some furry creature from a corner of the unburnt but crumbled beams. To his alarm, upon further inspection, it was a very plump and well-fed rodent.

Still a bit muddled from the smoke as well as the unexpectedly ardent kiss, Gage stared at her when she carefully put the mangy thing into one of her saddlebags. "That's a rat," he pointed out.

"I am aware."

"It's a rat ."

She peered at him as though she was worried that he had been hit by a falling beam and was confused. "I can see it's a rat, Vale," she replied slowly as if speaking to a young child. "But just like the lambs, it requires care as well."

"They're pests. Those things will survive anywhere. It doesn't need your help."

That diamond bright gaze turned mulish. "Well, I say it does."

With a wince, Gage rubbed his throbbing jaw and shook his head. What kind of highborn woman saved rats? Most of them would clutch their skirts and run screaming. She'd be lucky if her little shelter didn't end up with an infestation of the rodents within the week.

The rat wasn't even the last of it. She ordered Philip to search for more wounded. The groom didn't even blink at the request, which made Gage wonder how often she collected injured creatures. Very often, it seemed. By the time Gage sent the servants who had valiantly come to help back to their duties at the manse, she'd also collected what looked like a fox kit that must have been abandoned in a den under the south side of the ruined building.

He watched as she cradled the baby fox to her breast, crooning softly. Once more, as it had with the kitten, the pulse of envy took him by surprise. He frowned at his reaction. That wasn't envy… it was concern that she might be mauled by a wild animal, even one so little.

"Don't hold it too closely," he warned her. "That kit could be diseased or covered in vermin."

She scoffed at him. "He's not, and besides, I'm wearing gloves. Look how scared he is. They're usually born in burrows in the spring. His mother must have been desperate to get her babies to safety, and somehow he got left behind. Or perhaps he was the only survivor."

"How do you know it's a he?"

Pale blond eyebrows winged skyward, a sly smile tugging on one corner of her wide lips. They were not overtly full, but something about the voluptuous width of them drove him wild. "The usual way, Your Grace. Do you require an instruction in anatomy?"

"Are you offering your services, my lady? I do believe you might have been educating the Duchess of Greydon in such matters when I visited your shelter." He met her smirk with one of his own, and to his utter delight, she didn't back down. Instead, she favored him with a quiet stare, something like mischief flashing in those eyes as she, too, recalled the event in question and the hushed descriptor she'd used.

"You poor, untutored thing," she said primly, gaze glinting with impish humor. "Good gracious, it is rather sad that you have come so far in life, Your Grace, without such rudimentary knowledge of your own body. A travesty to be sure." She shot him a look dripping in over-the-top sympathy. "You see, the male sexual reproductive organ is called a penis, though there are many other names, like prick, truncheon, rod, tallywag—"

The groom who had been walking toward them with a small bucket for the fox kit gave an about-face and made a choked noise, cheeks going red. Only Philip's mortified spluttering stalled her mid-lesson, but Gage found himself wickedly eager for her to continue. The sound of such uncouth words falling from those lush, aristocratic lips was unbearably suggestive. She might have looked like a demure angel, but she had the tongue of a sybarite.

He wanted that tongue in his mouth… on his body .

And he'd never craved something so viscerally. Until now.

"You are a menace, Lady Evangeline," he said, chuckling under his breath as she sauntered back to her horse with her impromptu menagerie adorning her person and in tow.

She shot him an arch look over her shoulder. "Only to those in dire need of menacing, Your Grace."

He was quite certain that menacing had absolutely nothing to do with kissing, but his brain was too far gone to listen. He was in dire, dire need.

Blinking stars out of his vision, Gage scowled at the Earl of Lushing, who was wearing an infuriatingly smug expression. Gage swallowed and tasted the metallic hint of blood before running his tongue inside his mouth to check for anything loose. No slack teeth though his jaw ached. Normally, no one could get the drop on him in the ring, but he'd been distracted.

Distracted enough to almost get himself knocked the hell out.

By Lushing .

The earl boxed for sport, never for competition as Gage had, and while he was competent with his fists and his footwork, there was no way he should have been able to land such a blow. Not without Gage seeing him coming from a mile away. But nearing the end of their friendly bout, Lushing had gotten in a wallop to the side of his chin that had near crashed his head around.

All because of that fucking kiss.

Although, admittedly, Gage had more on his mind than just the softest pair of lips in England. One of the western walls of the manse had simply given up the ghost. Luckily that part of the castle had been empty, so no one had been hurt, but the funds needed for repair were beyond measure.

Fulfilling his agreement with Huntington was now essential if he had any hope in hell of keeping the bloody ducal seat habitable. He supposed he could marry a wealthy heiress, as his solicitor Boone had suggested, which was an option for many impoverished peers. But marrying an English heiress meant staying in London.

And that was not an option.

Neither was letting Lushing get in another lucky shot. For days, Gage hadn't been able to work or focus, his mind too preoccupied with trying to figure out a solution. He had the savings from the Scottish property he'd sold, which would help with repairs, but it wasn't nearly enough.

He'd thought a round of boxing would center his head and ground his emotions. And it had succeeded in putting his financial problems and the kiss with Evangeline from his mind at the start, but in a moment of weakness—of pure lust, to be fair—she had resurfaced like a bad rash. One he couldn't help wanting to scratch.

Evangeline Raine was a mystery, one that he did not have the time nor the wherewithal to unravel. But by God, the lass captivated him. And that was what had made him falter in the ring, allowing his opponent's fist to collide with his face. Trust Lushing to take full advantage of the moment to land a right hook that had rattled his skull.

"So tell me, Vale, what was that look for?" the earl asked, unwrapping his gloves and moving to murmur to a footman who hovered just outside the room. "If I had to guess, I'd say a pretty piece of muslin had just flitted across your thoughts. Who is she?"

More like a pretty piece of razor-edged lace.

And Evangeline wouldn't flit … the lass would strut and leave terror in her wake.

"No one," he said, cupping his jaw and wincing. Lushing's lucky wallop was going to leave a hell of a bruise. "Where'd you learn that move?"

Lushing grinned and gave him a wink. "If I recall, that's the one-two combination you used in your last fight in Edinburgh when you knocked your opponent on his arse in the first round. I might not be a champion like you, but I'm a quick study." A footman entered with a tray containing a decanter and two glasses.

Pouring himself a whisky, the earl shot Gage a sidelong glance before handing him the second glass that was already filled with water. "If you're serious about London, would you be interested in an exhibition fight at Lethe? Could be worth your while with all the toffs back in town."

The offer was… provocative. It could be the solution to all his money problems. No, no, no. That was a slippery slope and one he knew he couldn't be on.

"You know I don't gamble."

Lushing nodded, peering at him over the rim of his glass. "I know. You would not be betting. You'd be the main attraction. I'd be the one betting and winning."

"I see how it is," Gage grumbled. "I'm a milch cow to you now?"

"Well, not if you're going to get distracted. Then I'd have to bet against you, and that would be much too risky for me. On that note, don't think I've not noticed how you evaded my question about said distraction."

"I didn't evade the question, I said, no one ."

"Didn't you say you were having a look this season?" The earl shot him a sly look and lifted his glass. "To distractions named No One then."

He refused to be baited into a confession. Instead, he tossed back his water in a few gulps, watching as Lushing did the same with his liquor, his ruddy face twisting at the burn.

Gage could not afford to lose sight of his immediate, more pressing goals.

Settle Asher's debt.

Fix the manse walls and roof.

Take care of his tenants.

Being bewitched by a beautiful, icy, sultry-tongued siren beyond the limits of the agreement with Huntington to get the lady to London for six weeks was not ideal, even if hitherto untried parts of him now had other ideas. Then again, why shouldn't he take advantage of a mutual interest? She was clearly attracted to him as well.

Gage hissed out a breath. You know why, fool. A blue-blooded daughter of an earl came with strings— wedding strings —which meant he would have to bury those kinds of needs, no matter how much she tempted him. No woman was worth staying in England for, not even a blue-eyed minx with a saucy mouth and the sweetest kisses this side of Hadrian's Wall.

Well then. He'd simply have to keep his cock on a leash while keeping her in London for a month and a half. Many aristocrats explored courtships during the season—even platonic ones. He could do that for six weeks. It's a drop in the bucket , he told himself. Gage felt a sharp twinge of guilt. What if she thought his interest was genuine? Would she be hurt? The idea didn't sit well with him at all, considering he was walking a fine line between obligation and obliquity.

"Speaking of the season, any luck with the Raines?" Lushing asked.

Gage blinked at the question, considering his current train of thought. "What do you mean?"

"A fortnight ago, you asked me about them, remember? And then you danced with Effie at the assembly. What was that about? Trying to find ways to get the sister by way of the spinster?" He stretched his arms over his chest and shook his head. "It's a good strategy, but I can tell you that there's nothing in Viola's head but rainbows and ribbons. And I'm not being cruel. It's the truth from my sister's own lips. Just let the chit talk about herself—she'll tell you how wonderful she is, sure enough."

Wrong chit , though Gage did not correct him.

Because the woman he was lusting after did not have rainbows and ribbons in her brain. No, she had blades and barbed wire beneath a keen wit that could reduce any accomplished gentleman to a babbling milksop. "I'm not worried," he said to Lushing.

"There's stiff competition," the earl said with a cunning grin. "Will you be at Huntington's house party this weekend? I've heard rumors that he's throwing it in your future bride's honor. And, of course, to mark his territory before the season gets away in London. Perhaps you should do some marking of your own or at least get some practice in. Sow some oats for once."

"No, and you know I'm not like that," Gage said mildly. Not that he was opposed to other people sowing their wild oats; that just wasn't him. When he'd told Lushing years ago, the earl had been surprised but had never thought any less of him for it.

"You should really come to Lethe," the earl said sagely, brows rising. "I've a lovely friend who would be delighted to cure your condition."

Gage laughed. "It's not a condition, it's a choice."

"I suppose Lady Viola would appreciate such a firm stance when it comes to the marriage bed, considering you'll be on even footing vis-à-vis mutual deflowering."

Something in Gage's belly curled at the idea of wedding—and bedding—Viola. "It's not her."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not interested in Lady Viola."

Lushing blinked as the quiet admission sank in. "Wait. Surely you don't mean you're after Effie ?"

"Why is that so hard to believe? She's not unpleasant in looks. She can carry a step, play a passable tune, I imagine, hold a proper conversation, and she's the daughter of an earl."

A troubled look brewing, Lushing opened his mouth and closed it, and then repeated the action. Instead of telling him he looked like a fish out of water, Gage arched a brow with a questioning look on his face and waited him out.

The earl scrubbed at his chin, face going ruddy. "Vale, look… never mind."

"Just spit it out."

Lushing sobered, finding his words. "As much as I've come to esteem Effie myself, she's very set in her ways. She wants what she wants, and that's to manage her shelter and to stay in Chichester."

Guilt dug at Gage. She was devoted to those animals, and yet, he was determined to drag her into this farce all to placate Huntington. Before, when she'd just been an unknown target for a brief, fake courtship, making the agreement had been easy. Though now, Gage felt uneasy. He didn't want to hurt Evangeline. He didn't want to be the one to erase the laughter and the light from those expressive eyes.

"She won't leave England?" he asked, and then wanted to kick himself. Of course she wouldn't. Her life was here. Just as his was in Scotland.

"No. Why are you so hell-bent on pursuing her?" Lushing asked suddenly with a narrowed stare as if something else had occurred to him. "Weren't you always opposed to the idea of marriage to an English bird? But now suddenly, you're interested in wedlock with an inaccessible spinster in your sights. It makes no sense. Don't you want to go back to Scotland?"

"Minds can change," he prevaricated. "Perhaps England is growing on me."

Lushing shook his head, suspicion welling in his gaze. "Like a second head on my arse. Something's rotten in Chichester, and I'll get to the bottom of it, mark my words."

"You sound like a thespian scoundrel."

He looked delighted. "Did I? Capital! And I didn't even have to do my villain laugh." Still grinning, he reached for the discarded boxing gloves. "How's your face? Ready for round two, or do you need to get some ice on your contusion?"

Gage rolled his neck. "You're going to regret that."

The weather in Crawley was unbearably humid. Why, oh why had Evangeline agreed to this?

Oh, of course, because her younger sister was exceptionally gifted at turning on the tears like a faucet. Viola should have been destined for the stage instead of born as the daughter of an earl.

"Please, Evangeline," she'd begged, her pretty face distraught. "I know I've been asking a lot of you, but please, let me have this. It's a party in my honor! You know Papa won't let me go without you. Don't be beastly, please ."

The heart-wrenching sobs had started then, and idle admiration had flicked through Evangeline at how delicate and dainty her sister looked with her luminous eyes and her cheeks fetchingly pink and damp. Her sister's sniffles were sweet and adorable, if sniffles could ever be called so. When Evangeline cried, there were splotches and snot, and not an ounce of daintiness in sight. And when she sobbed, it was painfully loud, enough to frighten the animals in her care.

"Stop weeping, you know I'll do it for you." Evangeline had given in with a resigned sigh. "But don't expect me to stay more than an hour or two. And we are not staying overnight!"

Viola had flung her arms around her and squeezed tight. "Thank you, Effie. Thank you! You won't regret it, I promise."

And now, here she was… thoroughly regretting her current life choices.

Evangeline blew a discreet breath toward her sweaty bodice as she descended from the carriage in a gown that felt like sodden blankets draped over her person. She was not made to endure weather like this. Even her hair felt the same, like wet thread clinging to her skin wherever the unruly strands managed to escape the braids that ran over her crown.

Viola looked over her shoulder and smiled. Of course, she looked as fresh as a daisy. "Thank you for doing this, Effie."

Evangeline tamped her irritation down. She couldn't very well be waspish after such sweet sincerity, and Viola was quite earnest… especially after she'd gotten her way. "You're welcome."

Viola smiled and turned around, her gaze scanning the crowd, and Evangeline felt a beat of unease, knowing who her sister was looking for. "Viola?"

"Yes?"

Her words tripped over themselves. "Be careful with Huntington."

Viola's eyes narrowed to blue pinpricks, all trace of her earlier sweetness fading away, her mouth turning down. "I'm not a child for you to fret over, Effie."

"I didn't say you were." She pinned her lips, sorry that she'd said anything at all. Viola was going to do whatever Viola wanted to do. "Just watch yourself with him."

"Huntington's perfectly harmless." Huffing a breath, her sister rolled her eyes. "Do try to have fun, Effie, if you can allow yourself to relax for half a sorry minute. Don't concern yourself with me. I'm not one of your sad little strays."

And then Viola was off. Within moments, she was surrounded by admirers, including their host, Lord Huntington himself, whose unctuous face made Evangeline want to kick it. He only coveted Viola because she would most likely be named the jewel of the forthcoming season. But deep down, self-centered men like Huntington only cared about themselves.

Evangeline tugged at the muslin bodice of her gown, the embroidered roses there starting to pill and fray from her constant manhandling. It was hot, but she was also on edge. She had more important things to be doing than sipping champagne on a lawn or playing cricket or croquet, or whichever sport was de rigueur at this absurd lawn party.

She should be at the shelter making sure the animals that she and the Duke of Vale had rescued from the barn had proper nutrition and care. Speaking of that redheaded giant, where was he? This was exactly the kind of bride buffet that would draw any gentleman's attention, especially an unattached duke. Though was he on the hunt for a wife?

She wrinkled her nose. Vale had certainly been charming enough with her, not to mention kissed her utterly senseless, but that didn't mean he was interested in wedlock. And if he were, that wasn't any of her business, was it? But the thought of him sharing those heart-stopping kisses with another woman made her stomach twist and sour.

She'd thought of that kiss often enough over the past week—and the passion between them that had burned as hot as the fire they had narrowly escaped. It had awakened other feelings inside of her, and a wild desire to know more of his touch, to have more of those electrifying kisses, to know what his bare skin felt like… how it tasted. Which was absolutely unacceptable .

Vale was a duke who would want a proper duchess. Not a dalliance with a woman who had no intention of getting married. He didn't even truly seem like the dallying type. Though that kiss of his had spoken volumes…

She touched a pair of fingers to her lips.

"Hullo, pretty lady!" a voice said, two bodies bumping into her from each side so she could not escape.

"I do say, I'm surprised to see you here, Effie."

She glanced at Vesper and then at Briar, both gracing her with expectant looks. "Well, I am determined to protect Viola, now that she is obsessed with the most malignant fop of the ton." Her gaze narrowed on Briar. "Weren't you supposed to be in Bath?"

Briar nodded. "I was but Vesper wrote that she needed reinforcements to get you to London."

Evangeline shot the duchess a look, and her friend had the grace to look sheepish. "In my defense, I mailed that letter ages ago before we even spoke," Vesper said. "I knew you were going to be recalcitrant."

"That's a word for it," Evangeline muttered.

"But you're here," Vesper said. "At a house party of Lord Huntington's, your favorite nemesis no less."

She was well aware of the incongruity. The tiniest sliver of silver lining was that Huntington's estate in Crawley was a short carriage ride away from Chichester, which meant that she and Viola weren't overnighting guests. Thank her ever-loving stars. Evangeline did not know what she would have done if that man were sleeping under the same roof as her sister. Everyone knew that country house parties were renowned cesspits of depravity. A girl could find herself ruined without blinking, if she wasn't careful.

"I told you, I'm here to keep an eye on Viola." Evangeline huffed out a breath. "I'm the only one she has to chaperone her, even if she tries my patience on a good day. It's not her fault our mother left, nor should she have to pay the price because her own sister is a complete social pariah."

She felt rather than saw her friends' stares. "You're not a pariah," Vesper said loyally. "And you have us. Besides, even though you're quite committed to being a spinster and I positively respect your choices, what if love finds you when you least expect it? Look at me and Greydon. Who knew he would ever return to London from his travels? Or carry a tendre for me, of all people."

"Everyone did." Evangeline rolled her eyes. "You've always loved him. You just couldn't see past your own nose for a long time."

"Are you calling me conceited?" Vesper said with a huff.

Evangeline and Briar broke into cackles. "Do you even know yourself?" Briar teased.

Sniffing, Vesper waved them off. "One woman calls it conceit, another calls it confidence. Just you wait, Effie dear, your time will come."

"Don't you dare matchmake me, Vesper!" Evangeline warned, knowing her friend's infamous predilection for meddling.

"I won't have to. I have an inkling that love will put you on that smug little arse before you know it, and we shall see who has the last sodding laugh."

None in their small group were unfamiliar with Vesper's fondness for the vulgar tongue. She was part of the reason Evangeline had become so proficient herself.

"Well now, who is that husky specimen of ginger delight with your donkey's tail of a brother, Vesper?" Briar asked as two men on horseback thundered up the drive, and Evangeline knew without a doubt that she was speaking of Vale.

The duke's steed was massive—it had to be to carry the equally large man on its back—yet its rider descended with an agile ease. She'd never seen such a big man move with such lithe grace. Like a battle-honed warrior from another time.

Do. Not. Stare.

Evangeline couldn't help it; she ogled despite her own judgment. A frisson crept up her spine at the breadth of his shoulders, tapering to lean hips and long muscled legs. She had felt the strength of that body when he'd carried her, and his gentleness, too, when they'd danced and he'd held her as though she were something infinitely precious.

Her gaze slid up to his face… and hitched on that sculpted, serious mouth. Her own lips tingled in visceral memory of how those plush curves had hugged and caressed hers, and every single part of her went molten.

Dear God, why were her ears on fire? Why was all of her on fire?

There's no fire, you raging nick-ninny, only the flames of lust immolating your brain.

"That's the Duke of Vale," Vesper pronounced in a gleeful voice. "Honestly, I'm surprised Jasper even came. He loathes Huntington more than he loathes responsibility, so it must be on Vale's behalf."

Briar's eyes widened. "I thought the Duke of Vale died."

"The old one did. This is his little brother, and he's very much alive." Vesper's smile was so wide, Evangeline could see her back molars. She instantly wiped all expression from her face, but it was much too late—her bloody cheeks were so hot they could be a signal fire to the Continent for how crimson they had to be. Curse her transparent skin! "However, this duke, Briar my love, is our stalwart Effie's downfall."

" Hardly ," Evangeline muttered. "He's a nuisance."

"A sultry-as-all-hell nuisance who's marching over here like a possessive Viking about to toss you over his shoulder and cart you back to his ship for plowing," Briar said out the side of her mouth. "Or perhaps take you to the ground and have his way with you right here."

"He's a Highlander, not a Viking, and no one's plowing anyone, you hussy," she bit out, ducking her head to hide her fiery blush. If not for that heated kiss they'd shared, the idea would not be so damned titillating. Or start a wicked rhythm between her legs. Evangeline did not want to be carted or taken. Or plowed.

Did she?

"Oooh, a Highlander , is he?" Briar teased relentlessly. "If you're lucky, he might show you what's under his kilt and impale you with his mighty sword!"

"Briar!"

Evangeline swallowed a horrified giggle and peered up through her lashes. Vale stopped only when he and Lushing were waylaid by other guests, but she could feel his gaze on her like a brand. Briar fanned herself and exchanged a look with an absurdly delighted Vesper. "Did the temperature just rise a million degrees?" Vesper asked. "That or everyone here might have just gotten with child. It's a close call, truly."

Evangeline rolled her eyes at her friend's antics and fought for calm… and coolness. "Don't you have your own duke to impale you somewhere?"

Vesper grinned. "I do, and if you play your cards right, you might, too."

The throb became indecent.

"I don't want a duke. I don't want a husband. I don't want any man."

It wasn't as though she were lying . Want and need were two very different things, not that she would make that admission to a soul. She wasn't that na?ve or sheltered! Given her sizzling chemistry with the duke and the current dewy state of affairs beneath her skirts, it was patently obvious she was attracted to the man. Evangeline was not so completely ignorant as to what such copious dampness meant, which probably said a lot about her own lewd scruples.

Women weren't supposed to have needs or even acknowledge them, but thanks to Briar and the rest of her forward-thinking friends, Evangeline wasn't ignorant or ashamed of hers. She'd always taken matters into her own hands, so to speak, but now it didn't seem like that would be enough. She didn't simply want release, she wanted to experience what it would be like to be with a man. Without strings. Without complications.

Without the bonds of marriage that high society demanded.

She could certainly do that at Lethe with a stranger, but she could also approach someone she actually liked and esteemed. The question was… what was she willing to do to get what she wanted? Her stare trailed over the handsome copper-haired duke, her mouth fairly watering at the novel idea of using him to satisfy her carnal needs.

The thought was scandalous. Outrageous. Wicked in the extreme.

And yet, the idea, once lodged, refused to be ignored.

Was it so wrong for a woman to seek out her own satisfaction? Men did it all the time. It was easy for them to separate sexual intercourse and intimacy. Women could do that, too. She'd already proved her brain and willpower could equal any man's. Why should this be any different? Would the duke even be amenable?

And why him out of every man in England?

The answer was instant. Despite their rocky start, the plain truth was… in addition to being wildly attracted to him, she felt safe with Vale. He had honor… his gentleness with the kittens and his care for Lucky had been early indicators. Lucky was always an excellent barometer of character. And the fact that he'd run into a burning barn to save those desperate lambs—all because Evangeline had asked him to—was evidence enough. While the idea of a sexual connection with no strings attached held its appeal, she still required a modicum of trust and perhaps mutual fondness for such an endeavor.

Lifting her chin, Evangeline turned toward the refreshments tent, not waiting to see if her infuriating friends followed. A cold drink would quench the surface fires, and then she would figure out a way to get what she wanted.

Without ruination, scandal, or unwanted wedlock.