Eloisa made a face. “Whoever she was, how dreadful to engage in an
amour
with a mere footman! He certainly couldn’t afford to buy her the kind of jewelry and little delights a lady is entitled to.”
“There are other rewards,” Lucy said pointedly.
Evelyn dared to glance at Sam again. Her cheeks were on fire. Any moment someone would remember she left early, or notice Sam in the corner. His gaze was heavy-lidded, careful.
Charlotte gave an exasperated sigh. “Why is it acceptable for a lord to diddle every maid on his staff, while a lady must keep to her own class? No one thinks any less of Somerson for having an occasional liaison with the upstairs maid.”
“Only
one
of the maids?” Lucy asked. Charlotte glared daggers at her sister.
“Who would be more discreet than a servant?” Marianne asked, her eyes glowing with mischief. “Not that I would ever consider straying from Westlake, but just think. He’d be afraid of losing his post if he didn’t please his lady, so he’d work extra hard at both jobs.”
No, it wasn’t like that
, Evelyn told Sam with her eyes.
“Who would be more dangerous?” Isobel countered. “Servants see everything, know the most intimate details. One indiscreet comment and things have a habit of spreading through the kitchen, out the back door, and all over London. Just look at the poor lady who dared to embrace her footman in the dark. What if she simply tripped, or lost her slipper?”
Or fell.
Sam’s expression didn’t change. She couldn’t imagine him bragging of his conquest to Starling or the footmen next door. He was steadfast and honorable, and she had nothing to fear from him.
Or did she? She squirmed.
“Still, it would be very convenient, wouldn’t it?” Charlotte said. “It could all take place behind closed doors in your own home. Who’d know?”
The ladies all nodded in agreement. Evelyn swallowed, imagining Sam in her bed.
Eloisa smiled archly. “Well, whoever she was,
everyone
knows now, since she was indiscreet enough to be caught a-kissing her servant in broad daylight—”
“I thought you said it was too dark to see her clearly,” Evelyn croaked.
Eloisa waved a dismissive hand that sparkled with yellow diamonds. “Of course it was dark. It doesn’t make any difference. It’s only a matter of hours before her identity is winkled out and her reputation is ruined.” She lifted her chin. “You needn’t look so shocked, Evie. The one lady in all England we can most certainly rule out is
you
.”
She didn’t dare look at Sam now. She felt a blush creep up from her ankles.
“Of course it wasn’t Evelyn! She is a lady to her fingertips,” Marianne defended her.
“Might loosen her up,” Lucy said. “Especially now that Philip isn’t here to play stud.”
“Lucy!” Evelyn protested, but Eloisa opened her reticule and waved a piece of paper.
Evelyn’s heart skipped a beat. Had her sister somehow gotten hold of last night’s note?
“You know we adore you, Evelyn, but Lucy is quite right. You are our baby sister, even if you do behave more like an elderly spinster.” Evelyn swallowed the lump of indignation and the sharp retort that filled her throat. “As I promised, I have compiled a list of potential lovers for you to consider,” Eloisa went on. “You simply need to choose one and Wilton will make the introduction. I will arrange everything else.”
With a squeal of delight Lucy snatched the list. “Oh, how delicious! And to think I was dreading this afternoon would be a bore.” She squinted. “Oh, not Lord Morton! He’s exceedingly dull.”
“She wouldn’t have to talk to him!” Eloisa argued.
“I wasn’t suggesting it was his
conversation
that was dull!” Lucy shot back, and Eloisa’s mouth shut with a snap.
Marianne squeezed Evelyn’s arm. “I had no idea you were looking for a lover.”
“I’m not,” Evelyn replied through clenched teeth, furious with her sisters, but they were too busy haggling over the merits of the gentlemen on the list to pay attention to her.
Her eyes strayed to Sam again, somewhat desperate for a teasing grin, a reassuring nod, but there was ice in his gray eyes now. He was positively glaring at her. Her breath caught in her throat. Did he think she was actually considering Eloisa’s ridiculous scheme? She blushed and looked away. She didn’t want a lover. She could not imagine any other man in her arms, in her bed, but him.
“Viscount Hazlett won’t do either. He’s just taken that wretched little yellow-haired actress as his mistress, and she’s bedded
everyone
,” Lucy said. She looked at Evelyn. “She was with Philip for nearly four months.”
Evelyn blushed anew.
“You see, Evelyn?” Eloisa crowed. “I told you yellow was the color of fashion!”
“What about Lord Elkins?” Charlotte suggested.
“No,” Lucy said. “He’s getting married and going to Scotland on his wedding trip. He won’t be back for several months. Still, if Evie could wait that long, he might do.”
“No,” Evelyn said.
Lucy mistook her meaning. “Well then, fetch me something to write with and a fresh sheet of paper. There are at least a dozen other men I can think of who are available now.” She looked at Isobel. “Are you quite certain Blackwood has given up other women?”
Isobel scowled at her. “Most certain, Countess.”
Lucy was hardly deterred. “
Quelle dommage!
Blackwood was the most skilled lover in London.”
“How would you know, Lucy? He never bedded
you
,” Charlotte said. “Remember how you tried and tried to get him to—”
Lucy raised her chin. “I remember!” she snapped. Isobel smiled coldly at her.
“Anyway,” Eloisa said, “unless you can think of someone else, we’re down to second sons and Scotsmen.”
“Wait,” Marianne said. “I was introduced to a very pleasant gentleman last night, Lord William Rutherford, Viscount Mears. He’s in London for the Season, and then he’ll return home to the country. What could be better? A few weeks pleasure, and then he’ll go, leaving no entanglements.”
Sam coughed. In fact, he appeared to be choking. Every lady’s eye shot across the room to him.
“Are you well, Sam?” Evelyn asked in concern.
“May I be excused, my lady?” he asked in a dark voice, his eyes flat, his face carefully devoid of any expression at all.
She nodded, relieved to have him out of the room for the rest of the embarrassing discussion. She waited until he shut the door behind him.
“What about Lord—” Charlotte began again, but Evelyn raised her chin.
“No,” she said firmly. “I have no intention of heaping further scandal upon myself by taking a lover. I am not interested.”
“But I hear Lord Downing has made a study of
eastern techniques
!” Charlotte protested. She waggled her eyebrows. “He knows a dozen ways to make a lady—”
“Stop!” Evelyn insisted.
A fleeting memory of Philip’s collection of erotic art and books passed through her mind, but the face she pictured was Sam’s, not Lord Downing’s. She blushed, her nerves at the breaking point.
“You are welcome to finish your tea, but we will discuss another topic, if you please. I am done with this one.”
“We could talk about your wardrobe,” Eloisa said dryly.
“Not that topic either,” Evelyn said sharply. “What about the weather, or where the best strawberries are grown, or the latest news of the war? I hear Lord Wellington has had several recent victories.”
“War?” Charlotte gasped. “Ladies do not discuss war! It is our duty to admire the gentlemen in their scarlet officers’ tunics and wave them off to battle with tears in our eyes, but what they do after that is their affair!”
Sam slipped into the room and resumed his post. He did not meet her eye, but fixed his gaze on the wall behind her, his expression cold and correct.
“Speaking of affairs, did you see how dashing Major Lord Creighton looked last night?” Lucy said.
“He’s quite a hero, I understand,” Isobel added.
“Indeed he is,” Lucy said. “I saw you dancing with him, Evelyn. Are you considering him for the, um,
position
?” she asked.
Evelyn sent her sister a quelling look and didn’t bother to answer.
Eloisa sighed. “Obviously you’re going to be stubborn again today. I will arrange to have my modiste send you the latest pattern books and some samples of silk. I think a walking gown in egg yolk and perhaps a bonnet in mulligatawny would suit you very well. Even you could not object to a shade as lovely as mulligatawny.”
Isobel wrinkled her nose. “What is mulligatawny?”
“It’s soup,” Marianne answered. “One of Westlake’s ships brought a recipe back from India. It’s quite delicious, but the only way I’d wear it is if I spilled it on my gown.”
Eloisa sniffed. “I think it’s time we left, since we can’t be of any further assistance here.” She held up her gloves before putting them on. “Mulligatawny.”
Charlotte rose as well. “By the way, Evie, I have been so busy with invitations since the ball that I shan’t be able to devote myself to staying here in the house with you. Eloisa and Lucy assure me they are also busy.
“Then I shall be content on my own,” Evelyn said quickly.
“Certainly not! My maid shall come and stay,” Charlotte said. “She will make a perfect companion. If you do not wish to have her, then you will have to come and stay with me or Eloisa.”
Evelyn’s heart sank. It was hardly a choice at all. Charlotte’s maid was a spy and a busybody. Still, it would be worse staying with her sisters. She pictured a guest room done over in a dozen shades of yellow, just for her.
Her sisters marched toward the door, but Lucy lingered to finish her champagne, fishing the strawberry out of the empty glass.
“Come on, Lucy,” Eloisa said impatiently.
Lucy sauntered across the room and linked arms with Charlotte. “Tell me more about Lord Downing’s eastern practices.”
Marianne and Isobel rose as well. And Evelyn smiled at Isobel. “You look lovely,” she said. “And happy.”
Isobel grinned as she leaned in to whisper, “That’s because everything they say about Blackwood is quite true. A lover can truly make the unbearable situations of life bearable, Evelyn. Do consider it.”
Evelyn studied her hands and didn’t reply.
Marianne chimed in. “I don’t often agree with your sisters, but you deserve some pleasure, and some happiness, and—”
“Thank you both for coming. We shall have to visit soon,” Evelyn said, ending the conversation yet again.
She watched as Sam opened the door for her guests and led them down the hall without so much as a glance at her.
He did not return to the salon afterward, and she stared at the spot where he’d been standing for a long time.
Pleasure and happiness. How long had it been since she’d had either? Never in a man’s arms. At least not until Sam. She shivered, and wondered if she should ring for a shawl.
But she wasn’t cold. She was desperate and restless and she wanted the one thing she couldn’t, shouldn’t, want.
She wanted Sam.
W
illiam, his own brother, Evelyn’s lover?
As her servant, he would probably be expected to tuck them in at night and serve them breakfast in the morning. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.
Sinjon lengthened his stride, walked faster. He didn’t have permission to leave his post, but he didn’t care. He had no intention of going back. He was on his way to tell Westlake he quit.
Had the earl sent his wife to goad him? Why else would Marianne have suggested that
William
would make Evelyn a perfect bedmate? Had she been watching for his reaction, ready to report to her husband?
He’d do his own reporting.
Evelyn’s sisters reminded him of his father’s hunting dogs, loud, mannerless, and deadly. But these bitches had powerful husbands, and the pack of them was circling, scenting blood. The Crown would be lucky if there was a single farthing or a scrap of flesh left once Evelyn’s family finished with her.
She
needed
a protector. He stopped walking and looked back along the street toward Renshaw House.
Of course he’d think so—he’d been brought up to care for women. Whether they needed his help to carry parcels, to fight off rapists in Spain, or to defend against French assailants in Hyde Park, he served with a smile.
In bed too. He was a considerate, passionate lover. He made sure the lady’s pleasure equaled his own.
He tried to remember a woman he desired with the intensity he felt for Evelyn, but it simply hadn’t happened. The idea did nothing to soothe his rage. There had to be a reason why he wanted her so badly. He leaned against an iron railing and considered.
Perhaps it was the mystery that surrounded Evelyn, and his own disguise, that added spice to the situation.
Or was it the lady herself? She had made it clear enough that she wanted him as well, but Evelyn Renshaw would never act on her desire for a mere footman.
That was a good thing—if he was her lover, he’d want to protect her from Westlake, not entrap her for the wily earl. It wouldn’t matter if she was guilty or not, and that was treason of the most foolish kind.
“You there!” someone called, and Sinjon turned to find a sour-faced butler glaring at him from the doorway of the house he was standing in front of. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Is this no longer a free country?” Sinjon demanded. If the man wanted to fight, then he would happily oblige. It would feel good to punch someone.
“Are you here to see Countess Lucy or Lord Frayne?” the man demanded, and Sinjon looked up and realized he was loitering in front of Frayne House. “If you have a note, I’ll take it now, but next time use the back door.”
Sinjon could imagine the kind of a
billet doux
Lucy received—invitations to secret assignations filled with saucy innuendos and wicked suggestions.
The kind of letters Evelyn would soon be receiving from her own lover.
He gritted his teeth and cursed Evelyn’s sisters again. He felt helpless, and that was a feeling he’d endured long enough.
“No, there’s no note, just a message. Tell Countess Lucy that the gentleman in possession of her locket wishes to return it at her earliest convenience.”
There. That should give Lewd Lucy something to worry about other than Evelyn’s love life. Let her look over her shoulder, and wonder if Philip was coming for
her
.
The butler frowned. “But what does it mean? Who is the message from?”
“She’ll know,” Sinjon said, and walked on.
De Courcey House was only a few blocks farther on. He wondered exactly what he was going to say when he confronted Westlake.
He could hardly tell him he was giving up his post because he desired Evelyn Renshaw.
Nor could he punch that superior expression off the earl’s face and tell him he did not appreciate Marianne playing procurer for his older brother.
Westlake would laugh, if he was capable of such a thing, and then he’d snap his fingers and the burly sailors would drag him to the closest gallows.
He stared up at the magnificent facade of the earl’s London home. It glared back, warning him away.
He wished his jealousy and resentment were enough to topple the elegant granite columns that flanked the front door. As a servant, he wasn’t worthy to walk through that door. But bloody William could, as an earl’s son.
The thought struck him like a body blow. If he was standing here as Sinjon instead of Sam, as a nobleman’s son, a gentleman with an army commission, a hero instead of an outlaw, then it would be
his
name, not William’s, that topped the damned lover’s list. Under his false footman’s livery, his pedigree was as good as Evelyn’s, his blood every bit as blue.
And he knew Evelyn would choose him over William, heir to an earldom, or even above Lord Downing and his eastern techniques. It put a smile on his face.
Then he remembered how she’d turned to flame in his arms, and groaned, wishing he hadn’t thought of it at all.
There was no place to hide, not from Westlake, and not from his own desires.
An hour later he was back at Renshaw House, and this time he entered through the front door.