December 23, 1820
S
he was weak. Physically
and
mentally. Last night she’d barely been able to climb into Ben’s well-appointed carriage her wobbly legs had betrayed her so, and her mind was swirling like the densest London fog.
What had she agreed to? No, she hadn’t agreed—she’d actually proposed this hell-born bargain with Lord Benton Gray. The words had come out of her own now well-kissed mouth.
And
such
kisses. Evangeline wondered that she had any morsel of herself left after Ben had devoured her everywhere,
She felt a flush of what should be regret, but honestly—how could one have resisted what he’d done to her? She was only human.
She waited for him to fetch her, although she was impatient to get started. They had a long day ahead of them, and the thought of him across the tea table later made her especially nervous. The room looked even shabbier than usual to her after the glimmer and sheen of Ben’s study. She had no leather sofa cushions to toss upon the floor, no colorful Ankara carpet to recline upon.
The clock chimed eight. It was soon ten after. Where was he?
Evangeline paced, her long strides making short work of the parlor floor. They had a thousand things to do—she still had to set the front page and her paean to Ben’s quasi-reformation. Maybe she could send him off to a coffeehouse while she did so and blindfold him when he came back.
The door burst open and banged against the peeling wallpaper. Patsy entered, bristling with uncontained excitement, Ben on her heels. “His lordship, Baron Benton Gray to see you, miss. Right this way, my lord. Is there anything I can get you, my lord?”
“How much will it cost me?” Ben asked.
“Not a farthing, my lord. I’d do anything for you for free, I would.”
“Patsy Morgan! That is quite enough. Go away. Far away. We shan’t need you for anything. What kept you?” she asked, wanting to kick herself for letting Ben know she’d been aware of his lateness.
“I actually was doing newspaper business, Evie. I went down to the office—in the dark, mind you, so give me some points. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make good use of my wakefulness to surprise you by getting the front page ready. What the hell is the meaning of this?” He reached into a pocket and shook a folded sheet of paper at her.
Oh dear. He’d found her flattering article, with all its lovely holly berries sketched around it. To her dismay, he tore it into tiny pieces and tossed them onto the cold hearth.
“Every word of it was true, wasn’t it? And positive.”
“I’ll be a laughingstock, Evie! I want no more attention brought to my life—it’s no one’s business what I do or don’t do. And quite frankly I’ve always had a charitable bent, even if
you’ve
never noticed. But I prefer to stay anonymous. Printing this rubbish will set every lad who wants to go home to his mother on my doorstep. Thanks to you, I’ve had quite enough of that kind of interruption to my household already. You cannot publish it. I won’t allow it.”
“But you said I could write anything—”
“Not about me!” he snapped.
Ben’s color was high, his eyes the shade of a storm at sea. He did not look at all like a man who wanted to get under her skirts any time soon, so she sat down. “Would you like some tea or perhaps something stronger?”
“I don’t want any bloody tea! I want you to promise me that you will never, ever write anything about me again.” To her relief, he stopped looming over her and sat down, too.
“Not even when you marry?”
“I’m not getting married! What poor girl would have me after you’ve vilified me in print for two years?”
“Well, the article you object so to went a little way to make up for that.”
It was Ben’s turn to snort. The china clock ticked as they sat opposite each other, both too stubborn to speak further. Evangeline wondered what she would write now. There wasn’t much time, and Ben’s presence had driven out all cogent thought from her head.
“If that’s all then.” She waved a hand toward the door. “We really need to be going.”
“Oh, no, my girl. You’ll not get rid of me so easily.”
“I can’t sit here all day with you glowering at me. I’ve got too much work to do.”
Ben stood up. “Very well. But you haven’t heard the end of it.”
“Oh, I believe I have! Somehow I’ve wounded your feelings because I was nice to you. Don’t worry. I’ll never make
that
mistake again.”
“Nice! Save me from your nice. I’d rather you hurl teapots at my head.”
“That can also be arranged.”
“Four o’clock was the designated time, correct?”
Evangeline’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t mean to keep our appointment!”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because—because we are fighting.”
“I imagine a few hours of hard labor will help me work out my frustrations. And then we’ll continue our discussion.”
“I have nothing more to say.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Evangeline had spent the longest short day of her life working at Ben’s furious, silent pace. She had never prepared the paper in such a paltry amount of time, or written a more banal front-page story. Even her newsboys had worked like little fiends with Ben’s offer of a Christmas bonus to motivate them, and the paper would be delivered well before her patrons spoke their Sunday morning prayers on Christmas Eve.
And now she was home, with serious misgivings and a curious Patsy tripping over her feet with a wooden tray loaded with relative delicacies for their grand visitor. Evangeline could only be relieved that her father had a slight cold and had not left his bed today—Mrs. Spencer was sitting with him, reading a volume of Sir Walter Scott’s. Evangeline had looked in on him when she came home and had weathered the vacant stare he gave her as she squeezed his hand. She was unknown to him today.
She was unknown to herself. What had happened to the crusading reporter of vice? She was wallowing in vice herself.
But just for a few days. Until the new year and all that it would bring.
She had financial independence now. She would leave
The London List
and live quietly somewhere with her father. Evangeline would just have to trust that Ben would see it was imperative to continue her labor on behalf of those in need.
And even if he didn’t do things in quite her style, she would have to give up control. She certainly could not go on working for the man who made her feel so—
Decadent.
Depraved.
Delicious.
“Are you sure you want to be wearin’
that
?” Patsy sniffed.
Evangeline glanced down at the perfectly serviceable dark blue dress. It was a decade out of style with not a ruffle or ribbon in sight, the wool soft from long years of wear. “What’s wrong with it?”
“You look like a nun, you do. Baron Gray is top o’the trees, he is. You might make more of an effort.”
Evangeline had definitely allowed Patsy to become too familiar, and familiarity bred contempt, as was clear from the look of disgust on her maid’s face. “We work together, Patsy. I’m not trying to impress him.”
“ ‘Work together’? Is that what they’re calling it now? La, in my day, I would’ve made quick ‘work’ of a tempting toff like that. Looks like a lion and roars like one between the sheets too, I’ll bet.”
“That is more than enough, Patsy. You are dismissed.”
This is what came of giving in to a bleeding heart—hiring an impertinent, incompetent maid who got right to the crux of the matter. Did Patsy see something on her face that revealed what she and Ben had been up to yesterday? Evangeline had donned her nun-like dress just to dispel such speculation, apparently to no avail.
The little china clock on the mantel chimed four. Evangeline picked at a lace-edged napkin, wondering how long it would take Ben to swallow his tea and then swallow her up again.
If he wanted to. It was not at all clear after today that he did.
She’d have to lock the room. And they’d both have to take a vow of silence. She could easily imagine Patsy with her ear at the door, a smirk on her face and an “I told you so” as she helped Evangeline get out of her damned corset later.
Oh, today was all wrong, had started badly and could get worse. Her house was the most inappropriate spot in which to conduct a liaison, if in fact Ben intended to keep their bargain. But where
could
they go? His house was little better. He had an army of attentive servants who wouldn’t be fooled forever.
What would it be like to run off somewhere? Evangeline pictured a snug wattle-and-daub cottage. Thatch roof. Roses winding their way around a window. Silly. It was the wrong time of year for roses, but perhaps pansies could survive in a pot at the door. She could practically smell the peat smoke in the crisp country air and taste the snowflakes on her tongue. There would be a huge feather bed in a nook off the kitchen—
How perfectly ridiculous she was being. A visit to Jane Street was much more likely, with all its trappings of gilded sin. Ben was not a man for humble cottages and coziness. He’d grown up in a castle, for heaven’s sake, and his townhouse had every luxury.
A swift glance at the clock told her it was now quarter past the hour, and still her exalted guest had not arrived. After some reflection, he might not be as anxious as she was to resume their carnal relationship—he’d been very angry—and a feeling of foolishness crept into her heart and took hold. She poured herself a cup of steadying tea, willing herself to stay away from the window as daylight faded.
She was a too-skinny spinster, with a shocking lack of hair and a big nose. Somehow these facts were not so problematic when she dressed as a man, and Evangeline had an urge to go to her room and take off the nun-dress and don a pair of inexpressible trousers. Hang it if it kept him waiting—he’d made her wait, and damned irritating it was. She gulped a mouthful of hot tea and burned the roof of her mouth. Maybe he wouldn’t kiss her.
There.
When she heard the bell ring downstairs, she exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding. For the second time today Patsy announced Lord Gray. He had bathed and changed into beautifully tailored clothes, as though he was taking tea with a duchess. Patsy may have been right that she was dowdy in comparison.
“Thank you, Patsy. That will be all. If you wish to take the rest of the afternoon off, I’m sure I can manage. Go visit a friend.”
“Why, that’s right generous of you, miss. But it will be dark soon. The streets of London are not safe for an innocent girl.”
Evangeline stifled a snort. “Then go up to the attic and make me a new waistcoat or something.”
“I reckon I could do that. I found the most fetching purple velvet shot all through with silver in the market last week.”
Evangeline supposed she’d have to wear the thing, hopefully on a dark London street where no one would see it. “Very well. Keep to your room. Please tell everyone that this is a working tea for us and we are not to be disturbed. We have some unanticipated newspaper business.”
Patsy winked broadly. “Aye, miss. Anything you say, miss. Work away.” She nodded to Ben, then slammed the door behind her.
Evangeline was sure she heard the maid laugh out loud all the way down the hallway.
“I’m going to lock the door.”
“Surely you don’t mean to stay and . . .” Her voice trailed away. It was clear he was still furious with her—he didn’t intend to still provide her with pleasure, did he?
“You have some apologizing to do.”
She set her cup down with an audible clink. “Well, I am not sorry I tried to rehabilitate your reputation.”
“Your written words would have been unnecessary if you hadn’t defamed me in the first place.”
Oh, really, what nonsense.
The London List
was not the only newspaper that published blind items about the hijinx of the aristocracy—she just did it better. Evangeline was not going to pretend to feel guilty over what every other self-respecting and ambitious reporter tried to do. “Good grief, Ben, had it not been
The List,
you would have come to the attention of some other journal, and have. Everyone enjoys gossip about the ton. You were hardly a pattern card of virtue.”
“I’ve done nothing that any other unmarried man of means in my class has not done. So I kept mistresses. I gambled. I drank. Notify Satan. He’ll laugh in your face.” He broke a biscuit somewhat violently in half between his ink-stained fingers but did not eat it.
He was right. He could have been much worse. Been like Imaculata’s father, for example, a secret deviant. Anything Ben had done had been out in the open with a wicked smile on his handsome face.
“All right. I’m sorry. Happy now?”