The Rebel Heir (5 page)

“Do you think they could spare a measure for me?” Victoria mused. “The only drink offered in the ballroom was lemonade. Dreadfully dull gathering this evening.”

“That is not why we are here, Victoria,” Evangeline whispered.

“Why do I get the feeling that you are not here for the same reasons as Isabelle and me?”

“I'm sure I have no idea what you mean.” Evangeline lifted her chin higher at the accusation in her cousin's voice.

“Don't you?” Victoria asked, cutting her eyes in Evangeline's direction.

Evangeline didn't answer and Victoria said nothing further. Thankful for Victoria's rare silence, Evangeline focused her gaze and her thoughts on the group of gentlemen ahead.

She could see Crosby standing alongside the gentleman he'd taken the stairs with. It seemed he had a fondness for dimly lit halls during a ball. The ballroom was most likely too bright for his tastes. No dancing and chatting for him, no—he couldn't deceive anyone under the bright light of the ballroom.

“Evie,” Isabelle whispered at her other side. “Is something wrong? You look as if you might start bashing gentlemen on the head at any moment. I don't think that will help us to find husbands.”

“I'm quite well, thank you. I'm simply not accustomed to such environs.”

“We could go back,” Isabelle offered.

“No, we've come this far.” After risking the worst her mother had to offer for leaving her post in the ballroom, she at least wanted answers for her effort.

They stepped from light to dark once more as the gentlemen chuckled at some jest Crosby made. If only she could hear, she might learn why he was in attendance tonight. But from the looks on the men's faces, the conversation was not as serious as that.

She watched as Crosby stirred a lightness in the crowd, making them seem less inhibited than they had been moments ago. It was the same as he had done with her last year. Was it simply his way to tug people out of their day-to-day lives and submerge them in a dream? Back then, she had foolishly followed along.

His words from last year rattled around in her memory:
It seems I require assistance. Do you mind lending a hand?
But he hadn't needed her assistance at all. Had he ever truly needed someone's help? He seemed the sort who had backup plans for his backup plans.

“Always consider the doors,” she whispered, remembering her mother's rule about where to stand at a ball.

“What was that?” Victoria asked as she sauntered down the hall at her side.

“Nothing,” Evangeline replied.

Last year, Lord Crosby had been considering the door he'd walk through while she was still in his arms outside that parlor, and again the other night in the service hall. She should have known on both occasions, should have seen it in his eyes, but he'd revealed nothing.

“Evangeline, you're scowling at the gentlemen we're here to hunt,” Victoria said, cutting into her memories. “Or perhaps your prey is someone specific this evening?”

“Apologies.” Evangeline pasted a pleasant look on her face so that no one would guess the directions of her wayward thoughts—no one except for Victoria, apparently.

As they crept nearer, she could hear bits of the conversation of which Lord Crosby was the center.

“…I told her all the pies she wanted were hers if she would only be so kind as to remove her goat from my carriage. Of course, her goat had already eaten his way through the pies I was delivering. That was the last time I visited the tenants on my estate, and the last time I trusted my driver to close my carriage door after I stepped out of it.”

There was a round of laughter before one gentleman asked the same question she was wondering herself. “Where is your estate, Lord Crosby?”

Evangeline stilled, listening.

“Northwest of here, where the goats grow to the size of horses by feasting on stolen pies,” he answered with a grin.

Another round of laughter filled the hall, but Crosby was no longer paying attention to the gentlemen he was entertaining. His gaze met hers through the crowd and didn't let go. She watched as a smile lit behind his intense shade of blue eyes. He was pleased to see her. He shouldn't be. He should have left town while he had the chance, with his secrets intact.

“Ladies,” Crosby offered with a bow, drawing the group's gaze to where she stood with her cousins.

“My lord,” Evangeline offered in return, forcing a confidence she did not feel into her voice. “Do continue with your tale. I find I'm now quite curious what happened to the woman you encountered after you made your undeniably heroic escape.”

“Evangeline?” A familiar voice spoke from the fringes of the group—too familiar. “Is your mother unwell?”

“Father,” she managed to say, every part of her body tensing in an instant. Isabelle shifted at her side, but Victoria didn't flinch. Evangeline's eyes had been locked on Crosby with such force that she'd missed key pieces of information, just as she had last year. Curious gazes had turned in her direction, including her father's. What was her father doing outside the card room listening to Crosby's story about a pie-eating goat? He was supposed to be discussing some terribly boring parliamentary matter with Lord Tottings downstairs in the man's library.

Her eyes flitted over the group who were now watching her and her cousins. Crosby seemed to enjoy the attention, but it only served to make her jittery. She needed to say something in response to all the gentlemen's stares. She certainly had enough practice in proper conversation. Yet her mind was blank.

She'd stood here far too long already. She'd acknowledged her father's presence and proceeded to turn into one of the statues her mother was always forcing her to impersonate.

Finally, her brain broke free and began to function. “Mother wishes to leave the event early this evening.” She would pay for the lie later, but it would get her out of this dratted hall.

Her father nodded and moved to leave the group. “Will you excuse me, gentlemen? Crosby, pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise,” Crosby replied, but his tone was icy and the look he gave her father once his back was turned sent a chill down her spine.

As she watched, Crosby's expression cleared and was replaced by the mischievous gleam she associated with him. What was his game?

She may not know his true name, or where he'd gone a year ago, but she sensed he had some greater intention tonight than gaining a laugh from these men.

With one last glance over her shoulder as her father led Evangeline and her cousins down the long hall, she vowed to find out.

Father
?
Lord Rightworth was Lady Evangeline's…father?

But Lord Rightworth's daughters were school-aged, braids in their hair and hidden away in some nursery. Young ladies. Evangeline was none of those things. She was a beautiful lady of perhaps twenty years of age. She couldn't be Rightworth's daughter…and yet she was. Damn Stapleton and his poor reconnaissance skills!

Ash stared at Lord Rightworth's retreating form, moving away alongside that of his daughter. While Evangeline glided down the hall on a wave of long limbs and graceful beauty, her father plodded along at her side in what could only be described as utilitarian necessity. Or perhaps he was stuffed so tightly into his evening wear that a sturdy gait was the best possible outcome.

Excusing himself from the gathered group of gentlemen, Ash followed them at a distance. He stepped down the long hall leading back to the gallery, looking past the twin ladies who had arrived with Evangeline. There wasn't even a similarity between father and daughter in their hair colors. Ash wasn't sure why any of this bothered him so, other than that he'd been caught off guard by their relationship.

He had a past with Evangeline. He could use her to his advantage in this scheme. He should be pleased. Using associations like the one with Evangeline to help his cause was his normal course of action. It's how he survived. She was no different. Did she challenge him unlike any other lady he'd ever met? Certainly. Was he drawn to her refined beauty and shy smiles more than that of any other lady he'd ever met? Clearly, that was true. But her appeal had no bearing on the matter at hand. It couldn't.

He followed the pair to the corner of the gallery, watching as they led the way for the other two. “Of all the blasted ladies in London…” he murmured to himself. He was an idiot.

“You didn't know.” Fallon St. James joined him at the end of the hall.

“An oversight on my part,” Ash ground out, silently cursing Stapleton again as Evangeline descended the stairs with her father. “One that I'll avoid making in the future.”

“You'll avoid the lady? That seems unlikely.”

Ash turned to the gentleman at his side. St. James blended into the shadows in his usual dark attire as, Ash assumed, he intended. But his sharp eyes cut through the darkness, making Ash shift on his feet. “I hardly know her, St. James.”

“Obviously.” His friend's voice was smooth, as if coated in oil. “You do, however, know her better than you'd care to admit.”

“Damn,” Ash muttered. He'd always thought of himself as quick-thinking, but St. James was somehow able to best his abilities. “How do you do it? How do you know every bit of information this city has to offer?”

“It's my business to be aware of everything,” St. James replied, cryptic as always.

Ash retraced his steps mentally, trying to think where he'd misspoken or left evidence where there should be none. “Only Lady Evangeline and I know of our past.”

“The two of you and anyone else who notices the way you look at her.”

“I didn't—” Ash began, but stopped with a scowl for the ballroom below.

“A blind man could see the way you look at her.”

“I'm going to call on her father tomorrow,” Ash ground out.

“Make sure you meet with him about steam and not to negotiate the terms of a dowry.”

“Steam is the only thing on my mind.”

“That's hardly true.” St. James gave a small shake of his head. “Watch yourself,
Crosby
.”

Ash turned back to St. James when Evangeline had disappeared from sight, only to see an empty hall. Even the gentlemen who had gathered there had returned to the card room. He could follow their lead and scout out more potential investors over a game, but that didn't seem wise—not now.

Tonight, not only had his ability to research his target been disproved, but also his ability to hide his thoughts from those around him. At this rate, he would be a terrible partner in a simple game of whist, never mind the impact those inabilities had on his work.

He'd come to the city prepared to face down the most daunting opponent of all in the largest city in the country. He'd readied himself for this task for years. Years!

Perhaps he'd acted too quickly. If he'd honed his skills a bit longer, he might have seen Evangeline for who she was. At the very least, he should have remembered that he could trust no one but himself.

Stapleton had been right about one thing—Hampshire was nice this time of year. But it was too late to retreat now. All Ash could do was deal with this setback and adjust his angle of attack.

He stewed over his failures as he made his way from the ball.

By the time he'd returned to headquarters a bit later, he knew the truth. It wasn't a lack of concentration that had led to this evening's shock; it was Evangeline's ability to bring his concentration crashing to the ground. He'd nearly lost the document at the Dillsworths' ball because of her. His first instinct had been correct—avoiding her was the answer. The question was how to accomplish that when she was the daughter of the one gentleman he was determined to have invest in Crosby Steam Works?

The man had taken from Ash's family without any thought of the consequences, and now Ash must do the same. He had planned it all. He would accept only small investments from the other gentlemen in town, but then strip Rightworth of everything he possessed. It's what the man deserved. But Evangeline's involvement complicated matters to a degree that made Ash's head pound.

He muttered a curse as he fell into a chair at the table in the corner of headquarters, where everyone seemed to congregate. There was something soothing about sitting in the dim lighting of a room set aside for the use of gentlemen. There would be no surprises here, no unforeseen family relationships that threatened to destroy all that he'd worked for.

“Am I disturbing you?” a large, dark-haired man asked, moving toward Ash across the open gathering space.

“Not at all.” Ash indicated the chair beside his with a wave of his hand. “Have you come to welcome me to the Spares as well? Every day there seems to be more gentlemen to meet. I think they double themselves in their sleep.”

“With the Spares, anything is likely. I'm Ethan Moore, Lord Ayton. I'm new about the place, though I was a member here years ago.”

“I believe Brice mentioned you last time we spoke. Your title is new, is it not?”

“It is. Fortunately the Spares still let me reside here and support the group.”

Ash leaned back in his seat in what he thought to be a lordly posture. “I'm Crosby.”

Ayton nodded and signaled for drinks.

Ash relaxed a fraction, relieved to have something else to think about for a moment. “What is it that you do to support this group?”

“I'm a fighter.”

“I believe it,” Ash said, eyeing the size of the man's arms and his nose that had been broken at some point.

“The Spares trained me in the sport years ago.” Ayton paused, glancing down at the table between them. “Now I've returned.”

“You gained a title and yet you still fight?” Ash asked as two glasses filled with dark liquid were placed before them.

“It's what I do, who I am. I don't know what else…” His voice trailed off and he was silent for a moment before he looked up from his glass. A crooked smile that seemed to match his nose transformed his face into something rather pleasant. “When I see in my opponent's eyes that he's going to go left and I move in for the strike…”

“You're skilled at your craft,” Ash surmised, taking a drink.

“It's the only skill I've ever had.”

Ash understood. Reading people in order to sell them whatever wares he had on hand was the only skill he possessed.

“Have you ever been caught off guard by an opponent?” he asked a bit too quickly.

Ayton chuckled and drained half of his glass in one swallow. “Noses don't break themselves.”

“I would think returning the next day to fight again was no easy task.”

“The next day? It was the next round of pummeling I took that was difficult. I was still sore a week later.” He signaled for another round.

Ash studied the man before he took a long drink from his glass. “But you returned to it.”

“I did.”

The drinks arrived and a companionable silence fell between them. It was true that Ash had been hit with an unexpected punch this evening, but that was no reason to doubt his skills. Just like Ayton had done, he needed to return to his sport. He was here to sell Rightworth and a few other gentlemen on an investment in Crosby Steam Works. Unlike in Bath, he now had diagrams. He knew the terminology. He wouldn't be selling mysterious tonics and potions as he had in the past, but he was ready for this job.

His family's honor was at stake. He'd made a deathbed promise to his mother that he would fix things for his family, and he wasn't about to go back on that. He couldn't allow a pretty face to get in the way of what he'd worked toward for so long, not even if that pretty face belonged to Evangeline Green, the one woman who knew he wasn't who he claimed to be.

“It's a woman, isn't it? Got you in a right tangle.”

“What was that?” Ash asked. Had he said something aloud? If so, his problems were worse than he'd imagined. He couldn't go about mumbling to himself and still sell…anything at all.

“It's a lady that has you tossing back that whiskey and doubting your thoughts on life,” Ayton clarified.

Ash tensed. “What do you know of it?”

“Not a thing. Simply recognized the look of desperation in your eyes.”

“You too, then, mate?”

Ayton let out a harsh laugh. “My situation is rather complicated.”

“We should start a society.”

Ayton raised his glass and looked around at the relatively empty headquarters. “I believe we're already in it.”

Ash didn't know if it was the effect of the whiskey or the knowledge that he'd been selected to join this club for the very abilities he was doubting, but either way his plans suddenly seemed more attainable than they had earlier in the evening.

He would go to meet with Rightworth tomorrow. He would have a backup plan prepared if the man's daughter was at home, but he would not allow her to harm his mission. He'd sold young ladies love potions, old men tonics for youth, and tomorrow he would promise Lord Rightworth financial gain beyond his wildest dreams.

Seeing Evangeline mattered little. The important bit was his meeting with her father…even if his mind kept lingering on her.

“To the Spare Heir Society,” he said, tossing back the remainder of his drink.

* * *

Evangeline straightened her spine and dipped her chin to the proper angle for but a second. “Lord Winfield, how pleasant it is to see you today. Are you enjoying this fine weather?”

She worked to ensure her gaze was engaging without being too direct, as it had been on every other attempt thus far. Holding her breath, she waited. Was that enough without being too much? Her palms began to sweat inside her gloves as she clutched her fan at her waist.

“Not perfect, but I suppose it will have to be sufficient,” her mother finally said. “Once he answers, you reply…”

“I do so enjoy the outdoors. When the trees gain their leaves for the summer, it always reminds me of—”

“What are you doing?” Her mother's voice went shrill, threatening to shatter the glass in the parlor windows. “That is not what you're to say next. It was supposed to be: ‘The trees provide nice shade in the park.' Repeat after me, ‘nice shade in the park.'”

“I thought—”

“Nice shade in the park!” her mother commanded, sweeping around Evangeline, her hawk-like eyes taking in every detail of her daughter's performance.

What flaws her mother had not already buffed to a high shine were on display, awaiting reprimand. Evangeline worked to remain still, because fidgeting under such scrutiny wasn't tolerated. Some lessons one never forgot. Instead she focused her gaze on the corner of the window. She could see a child across the street, sitting on a garden bench and swinging her feet with vigor, while a governess read from a book. Such a simple joy it must be to swing one's feet and listen to a story.

“The trees provide nice shade in the park,” Evangeline enunciated every word before adding in a small voice, “I only thought that if I added a bit of myself to what we practiced, it might sound less…rehearsed.”

“Of course it's rehearsed, darling.” Her mother stepped forward to smooth down a lock of Evangeline's hair that had escaped its confines, the look of displeasure on her face wrinkling her lips into a small, pursed blotch of color. “Such an important thing as conversation cannot be left to chance.” She uttered a humph of disappointment and abandoned Evangeline's hair.

Evangeline took the smallest breath she dared, keeping her gaze on the scene outside the window as her mother continued to circle. “Mother, are you ever concerned that my future husband won't know me at all if I only recite practiced lines?”

“Know you?” Her mother laughed, a rattling hiss of breath from behind Evangeline that sent chills down her spine. “That scarcely matters. We can't allow your future to rest upon a gentleman's interest in your mind.” She'd reached a point in front of Evangeline and stopped her slow, circling pace. Grasping Evangeline's chin between her fingers, her mother examined her face, pulling it this way and that with a painful grip. “You are the favored lady of the season. You have your appearance. That is all that matters.” She released her pinching grasp and continued to move in her slow circle.

Evangeline pulled herself straight. Her marriage would be built upon which gown she wore and a few comments on the weather. She had known that truth for some time. But she still found it as bothersome as a wrinkle in the foot of one's stocking that couldn't be remedied without removing a shoe in public. Only this wrinkle would last a lifetime stuffed into the sole of an ill-fitting boot. There was nothing to be done for it. She'd once acted against her mother's wishes and almost destroyed her family in the process. Years later, she was still paying the price for her rebellion.