The Rebel Heir (29 page)

The maid stilled at their feet and watched as Lady Rightworth's eyes widened. “I never!” Evie's mother placed a hand over her heart and excused herself from the room, claiming she needed to sit for a moment.

Ash thought it more likely that she was gathering her forces to strike again, but he was glad he had a moment to speak with Evie alone. “Is this what you want?” he asked again with a nod of his head to indicate the gown she was wearing and everything that came with it.

“This is the match my family has arranged for me,” she said carefully in a small voice that was no longer a whisper but not her usual voice either.

He took a step forward. “You didn't answer my question.”

“I require a husband. This is for the best.”

“Is this what's best for you, or what's best for your mother?” Ash asked, trying to shake her from the trance she was in.

“What would you have me do?” She stepped down from the platform, thread trailing from a half-sewn hem, but the maid said nothing of it.

“Don't marry him,” he said with a shake of his head as he searched her face for answers.

Evangeline swallowed and pressed her lips together for a moment before speaking. “Why not?” she finally asked, breaking the silence. “Why shouldn't I marry him?”

Ash's voice faltered. She shouldn't wed Winfield because he couldn't make her happy. Winfield didn't know the real Evie. He didn't know to protect her from her mother. He didn't know what she liked, or how to make her truly smile. Ash did, and he'd gone and mucked everything up with his lies.

“You used me,” she said, her voice thick with emotion that barely showed in her eyes. “You lied to me. And we both know you won't stay.”

“I made a terrible mistake—it's true. You don't have to forgive me for that. I don't deserve your forgiveness. But you don't have to marry Winfield either.” How could he make her see? If he couldn't have her, he wanted to think of her smiling and laughing somewhere—not with a lord who didn't even know her.

“It's best if I don't make my own decisions just now,” she stated as if she'd repeated the words to herself many times over to memorize them.

“Just now is when you do need to know your own mind, Evie.” He muttered a curse and ran a hand through his hair. “You're to wed Winfield? Only two nights ago—”

“Don't you dare,” she warned, finally finding her voice. “We both know what that was about, and I'm fortunate to have this opportunity.” Evie turned to the maid and dismissed her with a nod of her head before turning back to him.

“Actually, I don't know what that was about the other night,” he said, cutting off anything she'd been about to say. “I don't know what any of this between us has been about.” He motioned between them with his hand. “But I do know I don't want you to marry blasted Winfield!”

“Revenge—that's what this is about,” she retorted, mimicking his hand motion between them.

“No,” he said, even as his heart began to crush in upon itself. “I wasn't honest with you about why I was here, but it was
never
about revenge where you were concerned. Never.”

“Then what do you want with me?” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and pulled her spine straight with some sort of mental warning he couldn't hear. “Why are you doing this?”

“I want you to be happy.” He sounded like he was begging, and in many ways, he was. He needed her to go on to live a happy life without him if he had to lose her. He couldn't bear the thought of her married to Winfield. The man was too polished and pompous. That couldn't make Evie happy…could it?

“Do I look happy? Do I look pleased with this conversation?”

“No. You look like your mother's creation, and I know you're more than a bit of silk and lace.” He sighed, fisting his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her. “Evie, don't marry him.”

“Everyone tells me what to do.” She raised her hands to twist around a bit of loose ribbon at her waist before dropping the ribbon and clasping them together in a white-knuckled grip. “Who to be,” she continued. “They tell me what I like, what to wear…” She swallowed and looked him in the eye. “You don't get an opinion, Ash Claughbane.”

The sharp sting of her words hit him harder than if she'd slapped him. “Your opinion is the only one I'm fighting for, Evie.”

“I make poor decisions. Therefore, my family was kind enough—”

“To marry you off for their gain in society?” He reached for her, unable to resist any longer. He wrapped his hands around her arms as he looked into her eyes, begging her to understand. “They're using you.”

“As opposed to what you did to me,” she countered as she fought back tears.

“I love you.”

She took a breath and closed her eyes. “You need to leave.”

“I suppose those are cheap words from a swindler like me, but they're true nonetheless.”

She opened her eyes, but stared straight ahead at his cravat instead of meeting his gaze. “Go.” Her body shook beneath his hands as much as her voice did when she said that one word.

“Evie,” he tried, but fell silent.

“Please go,” she whispered.

“I wish you all the happiness in the world, Evie.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He couldn't bring himself to say good-bye, but only to nod farewell.

Then he did what he should have done over a month ago and walked out the door.

A selection of dresses had been slipped over her head, examined, pinned, and discussed while she stood in the modiste's shop on Bond, yet Evangeline hadn't really seen any of them. The sun dipped lower in the sky, streaming light into the front window of the shop. The tea that had been offered when she'd arrived with her mother had grown cold on the table in the corner. And Evangeline's mind could not be further from the small shop where she was destined to spend the remainder of the day draped in various silks. Today didn't matter.

Yesterday he'd said he loved her. Ash's face swam before her as it had for the past day, but as she did every other time, Evangeline blinked it away.

She would find a way to continue breathing without him. She would move her feet forward in the hope that they would meet solid ground. And one day, long from now, it would no longer feel as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. That day would come, wouldn't it? As she stared unseeing into the shop mirror a full day after he'd claimed he loved her and she'd told him to leave, she doubted it.

Her body ached for just a glimpse of him, just one more moment in Ash's presence. Had she been wrong to send him away?

He'd lied about her father's involvement in his past. He'd lied about his plot of revenge against her family. He'd stolen her virginity. Only…that last bit didn't feel precisely true. She frowned at herself in the tall mirror that stood before her as the dressmaker shook out the skirts of her gown. That night at the theater with Ash had been one of mutual desire. She'd wanted that night every bit as much as he had. And he hadn't intended things to go that far; he'd told her that and she'd understood. She'd felt the same as he did. He hadn't taken anything from her—she'd handed him her heart on a platter.

The next day while angry and confused, she'd accused him of compromising her as a means of revenge against her father, but today she couldn't quite make the claim ring true in her heart. The way he'd looked at her yesterday as if she were the only lady in the world…

Then he'd said he loved her. Was it true? Could she trust him? He'd told her about his family—about being the youngest of four brothers. That had been proven true. He'd even admitted he was a swindler, and that—now that she was aware of the details—had been quite a dangerous move. But beyond specific examples of truth versus lies, when he looked at her there was an honesty in his eyes that even now she trusted. But could she trust herself? Theirs was never meant to be the happily-ever-after sort of romance. He was always going to leave her.
But I made him leave when he wanted to stay
. She pressed her lips together and forced herself to take one breath, and then another. Everything about her life was wrong.

“No, no, no. That gown is all wrong,” her mother complained at her side. “Would you have my daughter's betrothal to Lord Winfield be announced while she walks about in raaaags?”

She blinked into the mirror, noticing the gown she was wearing for the first time. It was actually…pleasant looking with simple lines and a lack of ornamentation. “It isn't rags, Mother.” Evangeline smoothed her hands over the pleats at her waist. “It only needs to be hemmed and taken in a bit here and there.”

“It's all wrong for you, Evangeline. My special daughter needs a suitable gown for her special evening.” Her mother sang the last bit in a voice that made Evangeline feel nauseated.

The gown had an understated grace that she appreciated, all soft creams and pale-green trim. “The color is—”

“Awful, I know.” Her mother shuddered. “Do you have anything in a nice blue?”

“I like this color,” Evie said in a small voice, but no one was listening to her while her mother was bellowing orders.

“A
nice
blue! Not that.” Her mother drew back from the woman holding the rich blue gown draped over her arm. “We aren't in the tropics. Indigo, really.” Her mother sighed and touched a hand to her head to secure an already firmly attached lock of hair. “Perhaps we should visit the shop down the street—this one seems to be on the decline.” Although the comment was directed at Evangeline, it was intended for the two women who bustled around the shop in an attempt at making her mother happy.

Evangeline shot the woman holding the blue gown a sympathetic look in the mirror, hoping her wordless apology was understood.

“I can see now that we shall go elsewhere for your trousseau.” Mother sank down to perch on the edge of the nearest chair with a shake of her head.

Evangeline turned to face her mother, dislodging pins as she moved. “I would like this gown to be included in my trousseau if I'm not to wear it tomorrow night.”

“That?” Her mother's eyes raked up and down the cream-colored gown with clear dislike. “Evangeline, I thought you had a discerning eye for such things.”

She straightened her spine. Ash wasn't here to hold her hand, and he never would be. She could do this alone. She could face her mother and survive. She'd done it before. “Nevertheless, I like this gown.”

“Absolutely not.” Her mother dismissed Evangeline without a moment's thought and stood and turned to look at a table piled high with bolts of fabric. “You will wear clothing that suits your new station and will make you appealing to your new husband.”

“I should be appealing to my new husband with or without this gown,” she countered.

“Evangeline, don't be vulgar,” her mother hissed, turning to hold a scrap of fabric up to the light from the front window. “Your husband will require heirs of you, but that deed will be done quickly enough. What will
appeal
to him is your ability to carry out your responsibilities as his wife in a proper style.”

Evangeline hadn't intended to be vulgar. She simply wanted to wear a different gown.
Is this what you want?
Ash's voice echoed in her memory. “I'm to wear what you select for me, marry who you select for me, be the lady you trained me to be…”

Her mother turned in a flash, appearing dark and ominous with the light of the window at her back. “I'm here to help you, my darling.” The angry clip of her voice negated the term of endearment and drew the watchful gaze of the shopkeepers. “Without my guidance, you wouldn't know how to handle such situations. You know you can't be trusted to make important decisions.” She lifted the sleeve from Evangeline's shoulder before dropping it back again and rubbing invisible dust from her fingertips. “I suppose you would survive, but not well. We both know that. That is why I will always be here to oversee things for you.”

Evangeline looked at her mother, studying her in a way she never had before. She wasn't the all-powerful creature of doom Evangeline had always envisioned, but a grasping lady out for her own gain. Her mother was never going to relinquish control over her. Marriage had seemed an escape, but it wasn't. The only escape she'd ever experienced had been when she'd followed her own heart. She'd accused Ash of using her, but her own family had used her to a far greater degree than he was capable of doing.

“I will wear this gown,” Evangeline said with a raised chin, relying upon every fiber of defiance she possessed. “Its lines possess a simple beauty.”

“Beauty is never simple, darling.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Pardon me?” Her mother took a step closer as if preparing for battle.

Evangeline swallowed a lifetime of fear and continued, “Daisies have a simple beauty. Swans on a lake. Changing leaves…”

“Swans are filthy, and daisies are horribly out of fashion. Freesia—that's what everyone is using now in their arrangements. You would do well to remember that once you're wed. Lord Winfield wouldn't care for daisies, I'm certain. I'll advise you in such things, of course. We can't have you requesting the wrong flowers in his lordship's home.”

“I don't care for freesia,” Evangeline announced as she turned back toward the mirror, signaling the woman with the pins to take in the waist of the cream gown she still wore.

It was as if floodgates of bold behavior had been thrown open with her mother's announcement that marriage wouldn't end Evangeline's entanglement with her. She was as strong as she'd been with Ash at her side. He believed in her. He had loved her, and that knowledge, even though he was gone now, was enough to steel her against her mother's wrath. She was worthy of being loved, and she would settle for nothing less. “Freesia smells like a brothel, and I will not have it in my home.”

The gasp from behind her made Evangeline fight back a smile of satisfaction. “I've dedicated my life to bettering you in preparation for marriage, and this is how you repay me on the eve of your engagement announcement?”

“No. You're correct, Mother. You deserve much more than this.” She offered her a polite smile in the mirror. She would indeed get much more than what Evangeline was dishing out today. She would get everything she had coming to her from years of mistreatment. Ash had been right—this was the exact time when she should know her own mind.

* * *

Ash moved down the dark street, his boots falling hard on the wet stones. In the past four and twenty hours, he'd told a lady wearing a wedding gown he loved her, and then he had unpacked his trunks for the first time in seven years. Of course, in line with his standard crooked way of life, the lady in the wedding gown was to wed another, and he'd unpacked his trunks into rented rooms in his gentlemen's club. He mumbled a curse. Even when he broke his only two rules in life, he cheated when he did so.

The unpacked trunks—or more accurately what he'd found while unpacking his trunks—had led him toward Rightworth's house tonight—not the lady who was no longer his. It was rumored that Evie's engagement was to be announced at tonight's ball. Everyone would be there, including the reason he was striding in that direction—Lord Dillsworth. He'd taken a page from the man's ledger book, and he should return it. The fact that Evie would be there—smiling a false smile while wearing some ornate gown that didn't suit her personality and being congratulated on her upcoming nuptials—hardly mattered.

“Doesn't matter at all,” he whispered into the damp night as he increased his pace down the street.

He'd told her he loved her, and she'd told him to leave. It was fine. He was fine. He'd survived so far alone, and he would continue to do so.

“Do you mind?” St. James asked as he stepped up beside him. “You're stomping and soaking my breeches in the process.”

Couldn't the man see he wanted to walk alone in the dark tonight? “I'm not stomping,” Ash growled.

“No, of course not,” St. James replied in his usual smooth voice, as if he were making idle chat over tea instead of chasing Ash through the London streets. “You also aren't brooding at all. The fists at your sides and the angry gleam in your eyes are merely signs of your overall indifference.”

“You
aren't
annoying, and
shouldn't
return to headquarters,” Ash countered without slowing down. Didn't St. James have something more important to do than to follow him around town? Everyone at headquarters was talking about the former Spare Heir who'd returned to town to take the secret society down. Shouldn't St. James be in pursuit of that villainous chap rather than Ash this evening? But the man at his side didn't seem concerned with such things at the moment.

“I assume we're attending the Rightworths' ball,” St. James mused, clearly not accepting Ash's dismissal.

“How did you find me, anyway?”

“Your man, Stapleton, told me you set off on foot with the Dillsworth ledger page in your pocket.”

“Stapleton.” Ash exhaled a harsh breath. “He has the unfortunate habit of speaking when he should remain quiet.”

Ash didn't shift his gaze from the street ahead. Homes lined the streets in this part of the city. Rightworth's house was now a block away. When he'd set out tonight, he'd thought the walk would do him good. He didn't feel good. He felt angry and lost. His only option was to keep moving forward, and tonight that would lead him into further heartache. He deserved it. He deserved Evie's wrath and everyone else's for keeping the truth from her. “I suppose you're going to attempt to keep me from attending tonight.”

“No.”

“Good,” Ash replied, taken aback by his friend's response, but not questioning it.

“What we need is time,” St. James mused.

“Her engagement is going to be announced tonight,” Ash bit out through a clenched jaw. “What time do I have?”

“I was speaking of Crosby Steam Works, but it's good to know you aren't attending a ball simply to fall upon your sword with that stolen ledger page.”

Ash looked at his friend for the first time since the man had found Ash on the street. “But that is what I'm doing. I'm making amends for all of my wrongs, St. James. Turning over a new leaf.” He tried to smile, but was certain it looked more deranged than optimistic when he saw the look of concern in his friend's eyes.

Ash didn't care. He was deranged, lost, heartbroken, and angry—which all seemed much the same in the dim moonlight. But if he couldn't set things right with Evie, he could at least set everything else in life back as it should be. “I made light of those hideous cherubs painted on the ceiling of headquarters. Apologies, mate.”

St. James didn't respond.

“And I told Hardaway and Ayton about my scheme and my false name after you said to keep it quiet. Apologies for that as well. Then there was that time not a week ago when we were helping Ayton save his lady and I went to the mews to head off any chances that lord had of escape. I took that hit after I hustled one of the grooms in cards, not because we had a brawl when I acted valiantly on the Spares' behalf. And yesterday when I said—”