S
omehow Evangeline managed to get through all the interviews with Ben without further embarrassment. The nerve of him—playacting the invalid in the conceited belief that she would somehow fall on top of him again in his own house with all his servants spying. Ben was mad, as mad as the Mad Marquess of Conover she’d written about a time or two. There must be something in the air lately that made privileged men lose their minds and inhibitions and think they could do anything they damn well pleased.
She
must
stick to her principles.
If she could find them.
Evangeline had gotten along perfectly well without any dependable man in her life longer than she could remember. Gentlemen of the ton were disappointing creatures, ruthless and feckless by turns, with no respect for anything but their own pleasures. Gaming, whoring, doing whatever suited them to fill a few hours of idleness. She had no time for Ben’s games—she had a business to run, even if it wasn’t really hers any longer.
As she had suspected, a short line had already formed when she got back to the newspaper building, the applicants hours ahead of the posted time. Unemployment and unrest since the war ended were a dangerous combination, and many men were out of work. Times were changing, and not always for the better. Evangeline was very interested in politics, but had chosen mostly to report softer, more sensational stories on the front page, because that’s what sold. Education took a distant second to titillation—why, most of her readers probably knew more details about Lady Imaculata Egremont’s aborted elopement to France last winter than they did about the Cato Street Conspiracy.
But the men waiting did not look like dangerous revolutionaries, just cold and hungry. There was no ruthlessness or fecklessness to be seen in this ragtag lot. Half-a-dozen huddled up against the bricks, stamping their feet against the frigid temperature, so of course she had to let them in early. Most of them knew each other through their guild—London could be a small world. They spoke quietly in the far corner while she tried to go about her business, sorting letters and greeting a few people who came to check their postboxes and taking two ads. But the image of Ben on the chaise, disheveled and delicious, kept intruding.
Damn him.
An hour after her return, the devil himself arrived with the furnishings and hired all the prospective employees on the spot to help move things upstairs. Even if all of them save one was to be disappointed, they had earned something for simply showing up early, and Ben had burnished his reputation as an all-around fine fellow. She looked on as he effortlessly organized them, hefting boxes himself on his broad shoulders and racing up the stairs as if he were carrying air. Along the way, he had enough breath to joke with his impromptu crew. Democracy in action, and Evangeline felt the slightest twinge of jealousy.
Ben was friendly when others of his class would not be, and almost too open-handed with his money. She knew he was rich, but at this rate he wouldn’t be for long. She and her newspaper were costing him a great deal.
No—it was his newspaper now. And she really had to find a way to continue her work and avoid his embraces. She was
not
going to be his mistress until Christmas or New Year’s or St. Valentine’s Day. She would have to be more successful at keeping her distance. This morning was a mistake. This afternoon had not been much better. Lying on top of Ben’s hard body with its particularly hard member had turned her mind to mistressy mush. She could so easily have leaned in and kissed him into “good health” again until her instincts somehow alerted her to his ruse.
Why did he want her? For he had. The jutting evidence of his arousal was unmistakable. Because he’d been without Veronique for too long? Was Evangeline simply a convenient substitute? She knew his appetite for female flesh approached legendary status—she’d trailed after him long enough to see him at play.
How pathetic of her, really. Like a puppy in a shop window, forlornly watching everyone else’s freedom outside on the pavement. She’d been little better than a Peeping Tom. But, she reminded herself, Ben had been the reason her sales had expanded—he was always good for a lark.
By the time Ben came downstairs, she was thoroughly blue-deviled and kept mostly silent. Ben asked surprisingly pertinent questions during the interviews, as if he hired pressmen every day of the week. He encouraged the applicants to keep scouring the pages of
The List
for other opportunities and pledged to find an older man less strenuous work, reminding Evangeline a little of herself. She always tried to find a silver lining among the clouds.
After promising to post the name of the new employee on the storefront window tomorrow, he overpaid each of them for aiding in the move. Then they were alone, the gas lamp lit against the gloom of the deserted office. Evangeline felt the weariness she’d kept at bay for days wash over her. Ben stretched back in the chair, his hands behind his golden head. She hoped he wasn’t getting too comfortable. She was ready to agree to any decision he made concerning the new employee so she could go home to her father. True, she had her preferences—two of them, in fact. A pair of young brothers had turned up together—Joseph and Matthew Corrigan. But hiring two men when really only one was needed was a foolish extravagance, so she waited for Ben to speak.
“I liked those boys,” he said, getting right to the point.
“The Corrigans?” she asked in surprise. They had come from the north to seek their fortunes, and thus far hadn’t found a ha’penny.
“Yes. They seem steady. Quiet. They learned their trade at their grandfather’s knee at his print shop in Carlisle, and I gather he was a hard taskmaster before he died. And they need a place to live. I think they’ll work hard for us. Be grateful. And they’re unmarried, so there will be no pitter-patter of little feet above our heads and no wife shouting when her man has drunk up his pay.”
“You’ve given this some thought in a short period of time.”
“You should have seen the reverence with which they handled my old castoffs upstairs. I believe they would have even liked the teapot you so fiendishly threw at the wall.”
Evangeline found herself smiling at the thought of the two muscular young men sipping from flowered teacups. “I liked them, too.”
“Perhaps with two men we might think about publishing the paper two or three times a week.”
Evangeline’s jaw dropped.
“Well, it’s either that or expand the number of pages. We can’t fit everything in as it is, even if you’re settling the affairs of so many needy people yourself privately. We might charge the nobs more for their subscriptions, too. We’ll have to work out a business plan.”
Ben was absolutely full of surprises. If she had thought that he would remain an amateur publisher, it seemed she was mistaken.
“If we can increase the value and scope of the paper, it might be easier to sell. I’m not sure that’s what I want to do, but it doesn’t hurt to keep one’s options open.”
Evangeline nodded. She had thought about producing more than one edition a week, but she and Frank had not been equal to the task. It would be fair to say that Ben was taking her breath away, and not for the usual reasons.
“So, it’s settled then. You put the sign up—your handwriting’s better than mine. If anyone comes in tomorrow disgruntled that they didn’t get hired, let’s see if we can’t find them something else. Come on—you look fagged to death. I’ll see you home.”
Evangeline didn’t argue, didn’t assert her independence, didn’t object to being escorted through London’s dark streets by its most infamous rake. Tonight she was simply too exhausted and miserable to say a word. She climbed into the hackney, smelling sweat and an undercurrent of onions from previous passengers, and didn’t even wrinkle her nose. Settling back into the squabs, she even allowed Ben to pull her scarf up and wrap it securely around her throat.
“You need a holiday,” he said gruffly.
“I haven’t time for one. Even with the new hires, you can’t run the paper by yourself yet.”
She saw a flash of white teeth in the swinging lantern light. “I bet I could.”
“It is a bet you would lose, my lord.”
“Let’s put it to the test. Take tomorrow off. Come in Thursday and see how badly I’ve mucked everything up.”
It would be heaven to lie abed—alone—and spend the day darning her father’s socks and drinking tea. She couldn’t do it.
“I’ve got to break in the boys. And you know we publish two days early because of Christmas next week.”
Ben rubbed his chin. “The paper will go out on Sunday?”
“It’s the only way. And then there will be no new edition until after Twelfth night.”
“Then take Thursday off, especially since we’ll be working all day Saturday.”
“How can I?”
“You can. Promise.”
A day away from Ben might be just what she needed. She could not seem to resist him with sufficient fervor. “All right. I promise.”
“Good.” He leaned back, arms folded in repose. She wished she could relax herself, but felt coiled as tightly as a spring.
He made no effort to seduce her on the way home, just whistled tunelessly as the hackney maneuvered through the icy streets. She should be grateful. She
was
grateful. When they stopped at her door, he didn’t even try to act the gentleman and help her get out.
The house was dark and quiet. Her father was keeping country hours, although his days could have been spent anywhere, so little did he notice his surroundings now. In the two short weeks since he’d negotiated the gold from Ben, he’d gone into a steep decline. It was as if his last fully aware act was to secure her future.
Evangeline exchanged a few words with the night nurse and had the impish maid Patsy bring her a bowl of oatmeal. It was all Evangeline thought she had the strength to chew, and since it was her housekeeper-cook’s night off, all Patsy was capable of making.
Patsy was another rescue, a former prostitute who had made her living on the street since she was eleven. She was a terrible maid but she did try hard, and had never batted an eye when Mr. Ramsey who hired her turned out to be Miss Ramsey. Patsy had seen too much in her young life to be surprised by anything.
Without being asked, Patsy brought up hot water for Evangeline’s makeshift bath. Ben’s scent was still on her body, and the sweet ache between her legs a reminder of their coupling. She scrubbed away, too exhausted to work up regret for this morning and even sharper regret for what didn’t happen this afternoon.
She was in trouble, plain and simple. A day off was more than necessary. She’d have time to think and plan and somehow guard her heart again.
Evangeline sank into her bed after getting into the fresh nightgown that Patsy put out, and said her prayers.
Come, blessed barrier between day and day.
She fell asleep almost instantly. Sleep of the wicked, she thought, before the dark came.
December 20, 1820
I
t had been pure torture not to touch her in the cab last night. It was pure torture not to touch her today in the office, but they were now chaperoned by the two eager Corrigan brothers. Evie and the young men were discussing how to set the type in stages, so everything would not be left to one long workday. It had already been decided that they would not work on Sundays—the Corrigans were strict Methodists who took their commandments seriously. What would the boys say if they divined that one of their bosses was a female in trousers?
Evie had broken any number of rules, and Ben had helped her.
There would be no rule-breaking or drinking or carousing upstairs, which was positive in the business sense, but Ben felt a twinge for the young men who would not be sowing any wild oats. But perhaps he’d sown enough for all of them anyway.
Last night as he’d lain in bed struggling not to take himself in hand and give in to his desire for an imaginary Evie, he’d turned his mind to
The London List
. They could increase their revenue by selling more ad space. More pages, more issues—the horizons were expanding just as his need for Evangeline Ramsey was. He’d been a newspaper publisher for only a week and already he was putting his mark upon it.
Where he’d really like to put his mark was Evie’s neat bottom, which was upturned as she bent over the press explaining its idiosyncrasies to Joseph and Matthew in her gruff voice. It must be a chore for her to always be performing, to go against her very nature. Not that she’d ever been one of those fluffy, frivolous girls who’d simpered behind a lacy fan. Evie was more likely to smack him with one.
But ah, how they’d enjoyed themselves ten years ago. Both of them had been innocent as babes. Somehow Ben had avoided the willing tavern maids in Cambridge, and his first sight of Evie knocked him right on his arse when her father brought him home one night. Not literally, of course. She would do that only after they had known each other a little better; as he recalled, she’d once been impressive with her fists when he’d teased her too hard. But with her height and proud nose and wavy raven hair, she’d seemed like a goddess to a gormless boy such as himself.
The years had been kind to her, although the weariness and worry over her father were taking their toll. Which was why he hadn’t pressed his attentions on her again last night when he’d very much wanted to.
Evie had too many responsibilities, he thought, and until recently he’d had none. True, he was good with his money—rather brilliant even if he did say so himself—and provided a handsome life for his mother when she wasn’t berating him to walk a more righteous path. But if he was honest, he’d been something of a wastrel, almost deserving Evie’s censure on the pages of the paper.
Things had changed since he’d discovered her in her breeches. He’d given up his mistress even if she was still living in his Jane Street house for the winter, and he had taken on a taxing job. To society, working for a living would be more scandalous than any wild carousing he’d done. His friends were bound to be shocked to see him with his sleeves rolled up and ink stains on his fingers.
He was enjoying himself, however. And thinking a little more clearly than he had in a while. Apart from the Christmas ball his mother had dragged him to, he’d not been out in the evenings, not been drinking brandy and playing cards until dawn. Ben had little inclination to do anything but fall into bed at the end of the day, closing his eyes to whirling black postbox numbers and ears to whispered words for help.
The List
was a clearinghouse for many desperate people; no wonder Evie’s shoulders were sagging beneath the weight of so many demands.
Well, he was helping her now, and those two young fellows he’d hired for her looked likely. They’d learn the ropes fast enough. Evie was a good teacher—she’d taught him a great deal in only a short period of time, and he
could
run the office alone, at least for tomorrow. He was adamant that she take some time off, and he was the boss, wasn’t he?
It was a simple pleasure to watch her stride around the office, though, tall and lean and forceful. Her bottle-green jacket was perfectly tailored, her buff trousers tight and topboots shiny. She’d perfected her manly swagger and commanded the Corrigans’ attention completely.
“Ramsey,” Ben barked when there was a lull in their instruction, “let’s lock up for lunch and let these lads get settled upstairs. You can spare an hour for me before you go home, can you not?”
“My father—”
“Is in the good hands of his nurse. I’ll bring you round to check up on him after we share a hot meal at the Witch and Anchor. I have some business to discuss with you.”
He watched Evie war with herself. At length she nodded. “Very well, my lord. You two will be all right?”
“As rain, sir. We be that grateful for the job and the roof over our head. We won’t disappoint, I promise.” Ben was not sure whether it was Joseph or Matthew who spoke—he’d have to learn to tell them apart.
After bundling up, he and Evie were on the street, passing the poor little chestnut seller. Ben dropped coins into her bucket without pausing to buy anything, and heard her call out, “Thankee, guv! A very happy Christmas to you and yours!” That reminded him he’d not gotten his mother a gift yet. She’d been absent from home now for quite some time, taking care of Lady Applegate with her usual warmth and efficiency. Ben doubted she’d leave the dying woman alone on Christmas. He wondered if he’d be eating his flaming plum pudding quite alone this year.
He might ask Evie to join him. She must long for a bit of brightness in her drab life. They could share one of Mrs. Hargreaves’s magnificent meals and then . . .
He pictured Evie with a paper crown on her cropped curls, otherwise entirely naked. What a fine present she would make.
“What do you want to talk to me about?” Puffs of white air burst from her lips, and Ben was struck by her stark wintry beauty.
“I just wanted to get you out of the office. You’ll scare the Corrigans with so many lessons at once, no matter how smart they are. And I was hungry. Aren’t you?”
Evie stopped still on the street outside the public house. “I don’t have time to waste, Ben. I should be home with my father if I’m not at work.”
“Evie.” He touched her sleeve and she skittered backward. “It’s just lunch. Some mulled wine if they have it. And then I want you to go home for good.”
“You’re firing me?”
She looked so outraged he had the sense not to laugh. “No, no. We talked about you having the day off tomorrow. Well, tomorrow starts this afternoon. You’re tired. Give in.”
He shoved her through the pub’s swinging door before she could run down the sidewalk and raised a hand at the barkeep. “Two bowls of your best stew, ale for me and hot wine punch for the l-lad here.” He’d caught himself just in time before he said “lady.” Ladies were not welcome here. The taproom was crowded, but he herded her to what had become their usual table in the back. “Sit. Before you fall.”
“I am perfectly fine! Why do you insist on treating me like I’m some spun-sugar fairy?”
“Evangeline,” he said, his voice quiet but steady, “you are the strongest woman besides my mother I’ve ever met. But you’ve had a hard week. Weddings to arrange. Bricks. Odd threatening letters. And then there’s me—your arch nemesis—you’ve had to contend with. You’ve had too much on your plate for too long. I’m not even sure going home is the best place for you—you’ll worry too much about your father there.”
“I
have
to worry about him.”
He rested a hand over hers. “I know. It does you great credit when he was not always the father he should have been.”
Ben wondered if he’d gone too far in criticizing—Robert Ramsey had been the best of fellows and a great mentor to him in his inexperienced youth, but he’d been a hardened gambler. Evie had suffered a disrupted childhood, and her young womanhood had not been much better. If she’d been brought up properly, she never would have let him take advantage of her ten years ago. She would not be slumped in an ale house opposite him now, a beaver hat tilted over her scalped head.
It was unthinkable that any lady of his acquaintance would pretend to be a man for two years in order to keep a roof over her head. But what else could she have done? She couldn’t have sought a position as a governess—who would take care of her ailing father while she took care of others’ children? The life of a courtesan was definitely not for her. He tried to picture Evie in one of Veronique’s transparent chiffon robes and failed. Evie would snort over such excess frippery and strip down much more honestly.
And be even more seductive. Ben had always liked her bold frankness.
A serving girl brought their tray. Evie lifted her spoon but stared into it instead of dipping it into the steaming bowl.
“I do look a fright.”
Good. She was coming to her senses. “No, you don’t. But anyone can see you’re knackered. No one expects a gentleman’s skin to glow with dewy freshness, but sometimes you do yourself a disservice ignoring your feminine side. Go home. Put your feet up. Smear some warm honey on your face and slices of cucumber on your eyes.”
Evie’s lips turned up a fraction. “How do you know such things?”
“My mistresses, of course. I’ve dropped in unannounced on occasion and they’ve been very cross with me. I pierced the veil of mystery, you see. Caught them in their pin curls painting their nails. And here I thought they were naturally pink,” he said lightly. She’d seemed interested in his mistresses yesterday, although they were a topic he’d prefer not to discuss with her. Compared to Evie—
Well, Evie had no comparison.
She was studying her own work-roughened hands. She really could do with some pampering. Ben wished he could spirit her away to some exotic location where she’d be fed sweetmeats and given milk baths. Rubbed with lotions and massaged from top to toe. A spa of some kind, minus the vile sulfuric waters. Someone could make a mint owning such a place, and he filed the idea away to run it by his man of business.
Of course, the people who really needed such an establishment couldn’t afford it. Workingmen whose backs ached from ferrying ale barrels. Schoolmasters subject to one too many spitballs. Half-pay soldiers unable to sleep at night hearing imaginary cannons. Chambermaids run off their feet after a house party catering to the whims of the upper classes such as Lord Benton Gray.
He’d have to worry about the lot of them later. Right now he had Evie’s comfort to see to. Ben pushed the plate of bread toward her. “Please eat. You need your strength to keep us men in line. You’ve got three of us now to badger and bully. That should perk you up.”
“I do not badger.” She bit into the bread, flicking a crumb from her lip with her tongue. Dear God, he was in a bad way if the sight of watching her eat a humble slice of bread caused his manhood to swell.
“Well, whatever it is you do, you don’t need to resume it until Friday. The Corrigans and I will soldier on without you.”
“I’ll bring some work home with me. Letters to be considered and such.”
“That rather goes against the point of relaxation, don’t you think?”
“Relaxing does not make me relax,” Evie said, smiling ruefully at the silliness of her statement. “I prefer to be busy. But it might be nice to work from the quiet of my own home for a change. Thank you, Ben. You’re being very kind.”
“It must be the Christmas season.”
But it was more. Much more. Evangeline Ramsey badgered him even when she didn’t say a word, rooting around in his conscience. He could not decide if she was a good or bad influence. He only knew that the damn woman was insidious.
And irresistible.