Part 15 (1/2)

The duke stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Evangeline come into the room. He'd never seen a more beautiful woman in all his life. She looked exquisite in Marissa's cream satin and lace gown that banded snugly beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and pushed them up. Pushed them up too high. They were too much on display. Her cleavage didn't seem to stop. He frowned. He supposed he would have to speak to her about that. He didn't want her insulted. That made him shake his head at himself. If he had but a moment alone with her, he would walk right up to her, and very gently ease the bodice of her gown to her waist, and then he would look at her and feel her and taste her. He couldn't seem to look away from her. Then he saw her eyes. She looked desolate, yes, that was it. But why? It made no sense unless she was unhappy here, in London, with him. He was aware that his mother was looking at him. He had to get hold of himself.

He had to say something, something that had nothing to do with jerking down her gown and taking her right here in front of the fire. He cleared his throat and took two steps toward her, stopped because he quite frankly couldn't trust himself, and said, ”You're late, Evangeline, but I won't remark upon it because you were tired. At least you're here now.”

”I am not at all late, your grace. Grayson even remarked that I was quite punctual, just as is her grace.” ”Well, you were almost late,” he said, and knew he was being a fool.

”Your grace,” she said, ignoring him, and curtsied deeply to the dowager d.u.c.h.ess.

”Oh, goodness,” Marianne Clothilde said. ”My dear, you will have to protect Evangeline. She looks utterly ravis.h.i.+ng. I fear the gentlemen will lose their heads.”

”They will have every right to. Just look at her neckline, Mother. It's nearly to her waist. There is too much flesh on display. Since we're all gentlemen here tonight, they should endeavor, at least, not to ogle her openly. However, if any one of them goes beyond the line, I will smash him into the ground, back by your rose bushes.”

”I a.s.sure you, your grace, that no gentleman will even give me a second glance. I'm a widow, I have no money, and surely I'm not beyond ordinary.” But her hands were covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She'd argued with Dorrie and lost. But it was true, no gentleman would be interested in her.

The duke was standing not a foot away from her in but an instant. He said low, just for her ears, ”If you say anything more like that, I will thrash you. Do you understand me?”

Evangeline forced a smile, forced her hands back down to her sides. ”I understand your words, but I don't understand you.”

”You won't ever denigrate yourself again. Surely you can understand that. You will believe me that your gown is cut too low. Have Dorrie pull it up at least two inches. I don't want men looking at your b.r.e.a.s.t.s.”

”Why?”

”Because they're mine,” he said.

She nearly leaped on him, and he saw it and grinned down at her.

”Dearest, are you teasing Evangeline?”

”Oh, no, Mother. I was just telling her what I expect of her this evening.”

Marianne Clothilde frowned at the sound of laughter and voices coming from the entrance hall. What had her son said to Evangeline? It must have been something quite wicked, for Evangeline was red from her bosom to her forehead. Oh, d.a.m.n, she wished she could just ask, and turn red herself. She regretted on this particular occasion that the guests were being so punctual, curse them.

This was the d.u.c.h.ess's idea of a small dinner party? Evangeline stared around the vast dining room table at the twenty-five beautifully garbed, laughing guests. Lady Pemberly had greeted her affably, and promptly told her that she had too much flesh showing, which made the duke, who'd overheard her, frown ferociously. And Felicia, who had been tapping Lord Pettigrew's arm with her delicate ivory fan to gain his attention, turned to tell her laughingly that the duke had been sorely remiss in keeping Evangeline hidden at Chesleigh for so long.

”I needed to remain in the country,” Evangeline had said, then shrugged.

”But no more, I see, Madame.”

Evangeline knew he'd be here, but she hadn't realized he'd arrived, that he was standing right behind her. Slowly she turned to face the man she'd willingly kill. She raised her chin. ”As you see, Sir John.”

Sir John bowed. ”Allow me to lead you into dinner, Madame. Naturally, it is our pleasure that you have chosen to leave the country. I'm certain you will find much to do here in London to provide you entertainment. Perhaps we can discuss the city and all its amus.e.m.e.nts later this evening.”

She was aware that the duke was looking at her, then at Sir John. She kept her eyes down and walked beside him to the formal Clarendon dining room.

To Evangeline's surprise, the duke waited beside the chair at his right hand. He himself held it for her, the footman staring at him blankly until he got hold of himself and stepped back. John Edgerton left her there, his brow slightly arched, and took his place some distance from her, thank G.o.d. The place to her right was reserved for Lord George Wallis, a whiskered gentleman, a retired military man who, she soon learned, had the disconcerting habit of inserting odd remarks into any conversation he chanced to hear. And he hated Napoleon with a pa.s.sion. His two brothers had both been killed fighting the tyrant.

Opposite her sat Lady Jane Bellerman, the eldest daughter of an earl, a lovely girl dressed in pink satin and gauze, who studied her closely and gave her a very cold look indeed. There was nothing she could do about it. She kept her head down and pushed a small bit of salmon around her plate.

Course after course appeared. The footmen were attentive. Her head began to ache. She spoke to Lord George Wallis, listening to his interminable accounts of every battle on the Peninsula. ”The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are still among us,” he said, and drank a very large amount of his wine. ”It won't be over until he's dead and underground.”

”I would like to see him underground as well,” Evangeline said.

”Doubtless you know that a very good friend of the duke's was murdered-Robert Faraday. Poor Robbie. If the duke finds the man who murdered his friend, the fellow will be dead before he can even begin to beg for his miserable life.” ”That's true enough,” the duke said. Lady Jane Bellerman said in a low, quite enticing voice, ”What's true, your grace? That you much enjoy the waltz? I vow you're very das.h.i.+ng when you dance. Perhaps you will indulge me later?”

”There won't be dancing tonight,” the duke said, his eyes on Evangeline, who looked so pale he was afraid she'd faint in the veal tureen. It was all the talk about Napoleon, the death of his friend. Naturally it would be upsetting to a lady. Then he frowned.

Evangeline looked at him in that moment, and he saw the cold anger in her eyes, cold and quite hard. No, she wasn't about to faint. What was going on here?

Evangeline knew he too easily saw through her. She wiped the rage from her face, but it was difficult to hear about all that Napoleon had done. She was looking at Grayson, who was standing like a guard behind the duke's ma.s.sive high-backed chair, when she heard Lady Jane laugh and saw that the young lady was looking at her. She raised her eyebrows. ”I beg your pardon?” she said, smiling.

”Lady Jane is speaking to you, my dear,” Lord George informed her as he took a large bite of Cook's specialty, Melton Mowbray pork pie. He'd told her that when it was served, sighing deeply with pleasure. ”All come here,” he'd said, ”when Cook is bringing out her pork pie.”

Lady Jane said when Evangeline looked across the table at her, ”I was just telling the duke that you don't appear to be enjoying yourself. It must be depressing when a guest appears so completely bored, do you not agree, Madame de la Valette?”

Evangeline said easily, ”I must admit that my thoughts were otherwise occupied, Lady Jane, but my mind is back now, at attention and ready to be charmed and hopefully to respond by replying in a suitably charming manner.” The duke grinned over his fork at her. ”His grace said you are recently arrived from France, Madame.”

”Oh, no,” Lord George said, staring at her as he were seeing her for the first time and didn't like what he was seeing. ”But you sound so very English. I don't understand.”

”I'm half English, Lord George,” she said. ”I was raised in Somerset. It's true that I was married to a Frenchman, but he was a loyalist. He hated Napoleon, as do I.”

”I was just telling his grace,” Lady Jane said, ”that such a topic is scarcely appropriate for the dinner table. His grace doubtless feels that you're depressing his guests.”

The poor twit, Evangeline thought. Lord George was very red in the face at her insult, and the duke had his head down. She knew he wanted to laugh and was, with difficulty, holding it in.

”I'm a bad guest,” she said, and smiled over her winegla.s.s.

”That's true,” said Lady Jane, then added in a very low voice, ”Perhaps you should leave. Perhaps you should return to France where doubtless you'll be more at home.”

Evangeline shrugged. She carefully laid down her fork. She smiled again at the lady, showing all her white teeth. ”If the duke wishes it, all he has to do is turn to others who will more readily amuse him.”

”He will soon enough,” said Lady Jane, and patted his black sleeve with her white fingers. The duke gave her a lazy look, his dark eyes promising immensely wicked pleasures.

But wicked pleasures weren't in his mind at that moment. Why the devil had his mother placed Lady Jane at his left hand? Of course she'd had no idea that he hadn't wanted to amuse himself with Lady Jane. He looked toward Evangeline, who sat silently, her eyes on her Melton Mowbray pork pie that sat cold in the middle of her plate.

”I suppose it's because of your English blood,” Lady Jane said, her voice as sweet as an angel's.

Evangeline c.o.c.ked her head to one side. ”Very possibly,” she said, not knowing what the ax was, but knowing it would fall.

”You're not small and dark like most of your countrymen or countrywomen.”

Evangeline looked down at the remnants of her pork pie. She had only one bite. It didn't look at all pleasant now. She shook her head when a footman softly asked her if she wished for an apple tart. That was her ax? It didn't seem all that sharp to Evangeline. She said merely, ”Whatever you say, Lady Jane.” ”Yes, indeed,” Lady Jane said. ”It appears that mixing blood in you came to a bad end. The ladies here feel positively tiny standing next to you.” Evangeline wondered why this particular lady, at this particular time, had to reduce herself to very lame insults in order to gain the duke's attention. Her voice was warm with laughter as she said, ”It's quite remarkable that you should say that, Lady Jane. I'd noticed the same thing myself; only I was thinking along squat lines, not tiny.”

Lady Jane sucked in her breath, her eyes narrowing with spite. ”It's unfortunate that you're a widow. Unlike Frenchmen, Englishmen rarely seem to be drawn to ladies who have already known the married state, except, of course, for the obvious reasons.”

The duke said clearly, ”Jane, did you know that my mother is taller than Evangeline?” Lady Jane looked at him helplessly. Oh, no, Evangeline thought, don't make me feel sorry for you. She said, ”Ah, your grace, but your mother is unusual in all ways. To be your mother she would have to be.” What the h.e.l.l did that mean? the duke wondered. As for Lady Jane, she subsided. Now she felt pure hatred for the woman, not simple jealousy.

As if she knew she'd been too kind, too generous to Lady Jane, Evangeline said, ”You know, I don't feel the least need to secure an English gentleman's attention. I'm merely a visitor to England. I'm not in search of another husband. You know, I can imagine no more repellent an idea than that a gentleman would find me unacceptable because I am widowed. If English gentlemen are such blockheads, then you may keep them.”