Part 5 (1/2)

Where Susan was delicate and thin and fair, Mr. Lioncroft was big and muscular and darkly handsome. Susan's opposite in every way, although just as striking.

His jaw was firm, angular, shadowed with a hint of dark stubble, a perfect backdrop for that pale jagged scar. The mark made him overlarge, impossibly real. Human. Vulnerable.

A loud clatter interrupted her thoughts. Evangeline jumped.

Mr. Teasdale fell heavily into a seat near hers before leaning over to scoop up his fallen cane from the floor. His arm stretched. His hand shook. He managed to miss the cane altogether.

Evangeline leaned over to fetch it for him. He reached out at the same time, and she was unable to avoid the pads of her fingers coming in contact with the spotted skin of his wrist. In a flash, she found herself just outside the open door of a strange bedchamber.

”What do you mean, French tutor?” Mr. Teasdale demands, the quaver in his voice more p.r.o.nounced than ever.”I'm just as appalled,” Lord Hetherington replies, looking far more bored than appalled. He stifles a yawn. ”But it changes nothing.””Nothing?” Mr. Teasdale brandishes his cane with one speckled hand. ”It changes everything. The deal is off.”Lord Hetherington's eyes narrow and the ennui vanishes from his demeanor. ”My good man, honor dictates-””Honor!” Mr. Teasdale shrieks. ”There's more honor in my a.r.s.e than in your daughter. I'll not waste my fortune on a chit more interested in giving her charms to a common tutor than a respected member of Society. I leave in the morning.””Now, look here, Teasdale-”

Evangeline jerked her hand back to her side. She shouldn't have worn her mitts after all. She touched her bare fingertips to her temples, hoping to ma.s.sage away the headache before it could overpower her. She winced, shut her eyes, scrubbed her temples harder-and then Mr. Lioncroft was right there before her.

”What happened?” he asked, bending on one knee to better see her face. He lifted her chin with the curve of a gloved knuckle. ”Are you all right?”

”I...” Evangeline stared at him. Tendrils the color of dark chocolate fell across his furrowed brow, his eyes wide and the lines of his mouth taut. He was worried worried about her. And had left Susan standing by herself in the center of the dance floor. about her. And had left Susan standing by herself in the center of the dance floor.

”Dance,” Evangeline hissed, catching sight of Lady Stanton's malevolent stare. ”You're making a scene.”

”I don't care,” he answered, but his face softened as if having her glare at him again was a more a.s.suring indicator of her well-being than just her word alone. ”Come,” he said and tugged at her wrist. ”Dance with me.”

”I can't,” she stammered. ”You have Susan, and besides, I-”

”They're already playing a different melody,” he interrupted. ”Listen to the melody. It's a country dance. For everyone.” When she continued shaking her head, he added, ”Mr. Teasdale is throwing our numbers off by snoring in his seat. You must must dance.” dance.”

”You don't give a fig about dancing,” Evangeline muttered, positive the force of Lady Stanton's glare was singeing holes in the side of her head. ”I saw your face when your sister mentioned it.”

But he pulled her to her feet and onto the floor, murmuring, ”If I have to, you have to,” smiling at her as if they were friends conspiring against a common enemy.

And she was so pleased at the return of both his rakish grin and his good favor that despite her protestations, she found herself in line with the other couples just as they started to move. She quickly discovered country dances were not at all the sort of thing one could figure out as one went along, and spent a good deal of time hopping in and out of line and tripping over others' feet, spinning the wrong direction and flailing to regain lost balance. All of which, luckily, seemed to restore her tenuous position in Lady Stanton's good graces, as Evangeline's clumsiness made her a perfect foil to Susan's poise and confidence.

Unluckily, however, Evangeline stumbled into one person after another, and the constant contact kept up a steady barrage of visions until she was sure her brain would explode from her pounding skull.

Within a very few moments, Evangeline knew Edmund Rutherford had fathered yet another b.a.s.t.a.r.d child, Nancy had permitted Pierre Lefebvre several stolen kisses, Lord Hetherington had severed the relations.h.i.+p with his mistress immediately before the party, blood had been appearing in Benedict Rutherford's handkerchief when he coughed as of late, Francine Rutherford was in an Interesting Condition, Lady Hetherington had been forced into a ”good match” against her will at seventeen, Lady Stanton had been frightened of Evangeline's mother throughout her childhood, and country dances were impossible to execute with any degree of competency while suffering from a savage headache.

Evangeline utterly regretted removing her kid gloves in favor of her mitts.

She took Mr. Lioncroft's arm for the next turn and stopped breathing when she realized she'd suffered visions about every single person present-except him. Not now, and not in the hallway earlier.

How could this be happening?

She'd known such things were possible, although instances were rare. Her poor mother had been unable to glean visions from Neal Pemberton when she'd arrived pregnant and penniless in his small village, and had interpreted the odd immunity as an indication of True Love. The miscalculation had cost Mama her life.

When Evangeline was a child, Mama had pointed out that the visions were always of emotional moments in people's lives. She'd said Neal Pemberton didn't care enough about anything or anyone to have have emotion. After all, he prided himself on his cruelty and indifference. But unlike her mother, as Evangeline grew older she'd endured horrific visions with every strike of her stepfather's hand. His endless trips to the taverns where he'd rut in nearby alleys with a serving girl, his perverse pleasure in beating her mother for her ”witch-like” ways. The occasions when he drunkenly confessed to his cronies what he most wanted to do to his stepdaughter was-No. Best not to think of such things. emotion. After all, he prided himself on his cruelty and indifference. But unlike her mother, as Evangeline grew older she'd endured horrific visions with every strike of her stepfather's hand. His endless trips to the taverns where he'd rut in nearby alleys with a serving girl, his perverse pleasure in beating her mother for her ”witch-like” ways. The occasions when he drunkenly confessed to his cronies what he most wanted to do to his stepdaughter was-No. Best not to think of such things.

But what could it mean for Gavin Lioncroft's skin to be so relentlessly silent? A twist of fate? Or more proof that he was even more like her monster of a stepfather than she had at first feared?

Before she could come up with a satisfactory hypothesis, the music ended. Evangeline stumbled from Mr. Lioncroft before he could do more than toss her a quizzical glance.

Just as quickly, Lord Hetherington inclined his head to his wife, bowed to the rest of the party, and excused himself for the evening with a murmured explanation of ”business matters.”

Still slumped in a wooden chair, Mr. Teasdale awoke, blinked at the non-dancing people standing awkwardly before him, and tottered out the door, his cane clomping with each step.

Lady Hetherington frowned after him. ”Now we're six women and three men. This won't do at all, if we're to continue dancing.” She glanced at the pianist, the open door, and then her brother. ”Gavin,” she whispered, ”Would you please ask them to return? I'd go myself, but I...”

Mr. Lioncroft made eye contact with Evangeline for a split second before inclining his head to his sister and disappearing through the door. She had the sudden suspicion he'd gone to bludgeon his brother-in-law to death, not beg him to continue dancing.

With a loud bark, Benedict Rutherford erupted into a vicious coughing fit. When he regained control, he mumbled, ”I've had enough music for one evening.” Before Lady Hetherington could coax him to stay, he bowed and left.

Francine Rutherford affected a huge yawn, covered her red-painted mouth with a chartreuse-gloved hand, and said, ”I ought to retire with my husband.” She followed shortly behind him.

Evangeline was afraid Lady Hetherington might burst into tears.

”Mama.” Nancy tugged on Lady Hetherington's arm. ”If there's to be no more dancing, and Mr. Teasdale isn't even here to talk with me, may I go, too?”

”Fine. Go.” A muscle pulsed in Lady Hetherington's temple above her bruised cheek. ”Get some sleep, and I'll see you at breakfast.”

”In that case, I'm going back to the library.” Edmund Rutherford inched toward the door. ”I believe I abandoned a delicious port.” Within seconds, he was gone.

Evangeline glanced about the almost empty room. All that remained were Lady Hetherington, whose hands clenched at her sides, Lady Stanton, who stood cold and unmoving, and Susan, who appeared thrilled with the entire debacle.

Lady Stanton gestured toward the dance floor. ”Will Lioncroft be right back, then?”

Lady Hetherington's face crumpled. ”Tonight was a disaster. You might as well go to your rooms. We can save the dancing for next time. If there is a next time.”

”Tonight was lovely,” Evangeline a.s.sured her, when neither Stanton spoke up.

”Thank you, dear.” Lady Hetherington reached over to pat Evangeline's arm and once again the room disappeared, replaced with the same bedchamber as in the vision with Mr. Teasdale. Except this time, Mr. Teasdale was nowhere in sight.

Lord Hetherington sits at a small desk, scrawling on parchment. His head snaps up as Lady Hetherington comes into the room. ”What now?””I saw your handkerchief.””What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?” He turns his attention back to his scribbling.”You said you lost it weeks ago, and then there it was. With rouge stains.”His pen falters. ”What are you implying, Rose?””I don't have to imply anything! Red stains on white linen speak for themselves.” She places one hand on her slender stomach, the other on his stiff shoulder. ”Must you really-”Lord Hetherington stands so quickly his chair shoots backward. The sudden movement sets his wife off balance. Rather than right her, he sets a palm to stinging the side of her cheek. She collapses to the floor in a heap.The supper bell rings. Without bothering to help her up, he steps around her crumpled form.When she lifts up her head, he is gone.

Lady Hetherington removed her hand from Evangeline's arm in order to give little hugs and cheek-busses to Susan and Lady Stanton. She then turned, chin down, and trudged from the room.

Evangeline gazed after her, half-wis.h.i.+ng Mr. Lioncroft really would plant his fist in Lord Hetherington's face.

Lady Stanton harrumphed behind her painted fan. ”Well, Susan spent time with Lioncroft, and that's what's important. But what in the world were you thinking to join the dancing, Miss Pemberton? You are not one of us. Forget yourself again and I'll have half a mind to toss you to the streets. You're to be encouraging an engagement with Susan, not angling for attention of your own. Not that he'd be interested in the likes of you.”

Evangeline's jaw clenched. Lady Stanton had no idea what kind of attention Evangeline had managed to garner on her own.

”Oh, Mother,” Susan said with a sigh. ”Leave her be. I told you I don't want to get compromised until the end of the party. I'm not used to him yet. Just dancing with him was horrible enough.”

Horrible! Evangeline stared at her in disbelief. She'd never waltzed before, but she was quite certain if Mr. Lioncroft had whirled her about the floor like he whirled Susan, it would've been anything but horrible.

”Get some sleep, Susan,” Lady Stanton commanded, snapping her fan closed. ”You want to look your best in the morning.”

And with that, she too strode from the room.