The Rebel Heir (7 page)

Right on cue, footsteps sounded in the hall outside the door and she jumped away from him.

Only a second ago she'd held her hand to his upper arm, but now she moved it to her hair as if adjusting something there. There was nothing to adjust. He'd never seen a lady so put together while at home midmorning. The only evidence of their dance around the library was the rapid rise and fall of her breasts and the quick blink of her eyes. She was outwardly perfection, but beneath the shine of her perfectly placed hair and the well-pressed folds of her dress, this was a lady who was affected by him. He took a step away from her.

“Lord Rightworth,” Ash said in a businesslike tone as the man entered. “I was just discussing the many benefits of risk-taking with your daughter.”

“Calculated risks can produce reward.” Rightworth moved to his desk in front of the windows. “I do find it curious that my daughter has such a keen interest in financial investment all of a sudden.” The man's gaze slid to Evangeline to study her in search of answers to some riddle.

Evangeline didn't flinch under such scrutiny, only turned toward him with a pleasant smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “What type of risk are you proposing today, Lord Crosby…if I might ask?”

“A profitable one,” Ash offered, tamping down his thoughts of who would profit from this particular man's risk today. It was time to begin. He had fished a great deal as a child, and he likened this stage of his play to that first cast of the line. The fish in the water only needed to become curious and swim closer to the shiny metal of the lure. Today wasn't for reeling anything in—that would take time. Today was simply about establishing curiosity.

“Evangeline, I believe your mother was looking for you in the hall,” Rightworth said. “You may converse with Lord Crosby later. Right now, we have business to discuss.”

Ash was somewhat disappointed that she was being asked to leave. True, Evangeline clearly enjoyed picking him apart, which added a layer of difficulty to the situation, but he didn't mind her questions. Of course, since that line of thinking would make his situation even more complicated, he ignored the desire to insist she stay. He was supposed to distract her, not the other way around.

Evangeline's eye twitched ever so slightly with her clear desire to argue about her summary dismissal. When she opened her mouth, however, all she said was, “I'll leave you to it, then.”

She was gone in a swish of skirts, and Ash was left with the true purpose of his appointment here today—to sell mist to the man who had destroyed his family.

“Lord Rightworth, have you ever considered the possibilities of steam?”

Evangeline gave herself one final nod in the mirror and turned to leave her bedchamber. The noise of an argument could be heard even at this distance. She sighed, preparing herself to face the battle at the bottom of the stairs.

Her father hadn't attended any of the events in town last season, and her mother had pronounced that Evangeline's unwed status was on his shoulders. Of course, she placed the same blame on Evangeline's shoulders, but her father seemed unaware of their mutual fault. And so it was that tonight he could be found in the hall below, stuffed into his formal attire and waiting to leave for the Rutledge family's evening of poetry. This fact also accounted for his grunts of complaint at being pried from his library, as well as his irritation with everyone of the female persuasion in his near vicinity.

“And it would do nicely if you could befriend Lord Winfield and bring up the subject of your daughter,” her mother commanded.

“We're going to this event to sit and listen to Joseph Rutledge's daughters recite poetry. What would do nicely is if I were able to keep from sleeping.”

“Important members of the peerage will be there.”

“The ones daft enough to accept an invitation to an evening of poetry?” he clarified.

“Nevertheless…”

“I'm attending. That is what is required of me to see Evangeline wed and out from under our roof, and that is what I intend to do.”

Evangeline stopped listening, still poised at the top of the stairs. Tonight, she would sit and listen to poetry. She would smile at every available gentleman at least once, and by the end of the season, she would be smiling at only one gentleman. Glancing down one last time at the gown that had been selected for the occasion, she patted the folds of fabric. Everything was in place. Even her father, it seemed. This evening would begin and end with no issue. She kept reciting similar words to herself as she descended the stairs.
You will smile. Some gentleman will offer for you. All will be fine.

“Evangeline! Stop muttering to yourself and come downstairs at once.”

“I'm coming. I only had to find the hat you wanted me to wear with this gown.”

“Hmmm, much improved. I don't know where you found that pale-green one you were going to wear. It needs to be thrown out with the rubbish.”

“I liked it,” Evangeline muttered. The green hat had been Sue's, but she didn't dare mention her older sister's name. Not in front of her mother.

“Your hair is displayed to your advantage now.” Her mother studied her. Evangeline knew that unsettled look in her mother's eye, as well as the meaning of her guarded compliment. She was going to make another change. Evangeline was presentable, but not yet up to her mother's standard of beauty.

“Might we leave today at some point?” her father asked, bringing the examination of Evangeline's looks to a close. “I would like this evening to end, and that doesn't seem likely as long as we stand around here.”

“Just a moment.” Her mother held up one elegant finger. Her focus was still on Evangeline, from her pinned-up hair to her beaded slippers. “I'm not entirely sure of Evangeline's gloves.”

“I thought they matched the ensemble well,” Evangeline said just above a whisper.

“I suppose.” Her mother touched the gloves with a single finger, her face contorted in disgust as she considered them.

Her mother was disgusted by most things in life and offended by the remainder. But as long as Evangeline made no move to disagree, her mother would weary of her critique and move on to something else. Evangeline held her breath. Standing in the manner her mother preferred, she waited. Soon. Soon she would only have a new husband to please. Surely that would be an easier task than dealing with her mother.

When the woman finally turned without making additional changes, Evangeline released the smallest sigh she dared and moved past her to the door, grabbing her pelisse as she left. The night air was cool against her skin, pushing away thoughts of hats and proper gloves. Truth be told, she cared little for such fripperies. It was a fact that would surprise most who knew her. She was known for her appearance, and fashion played a large role in how she was presented in society, but she wouldn't call it an interest.

She knew of several appropriate pursuits for a lady her age, but none seemed to hold her attention. She'd always envied her sister's love of art, even if Mother hadn't approved of her paintings. Sue had something to hold dear. She had a passion. Evangeline had a list of hobbies she could live without. And yet she was as perfectly dressed as any fashion-conscious lady would be; she practiced embroidery at first light every morning; and now she was on her way to listen to poetry. The lackluster thought of tonight's entertainment churned within her, but she tamped it down as she descended the steps to the garden. She would simply dedicate herself to the pursuit of a husband this evening. That was the purpose of this outing—not the Rutledge ladies' recitations, even if they were cousins by marriage now.

“Evangeline, ladies do not go striding out into the dark of night,” her mother commanded from the door.

“Yes, Mother.” She was stopped at the garden gate, prepared to wait there for her family, when it swung open from under her hand. “Oh!”

Jumping back a step, she heard a familiar voice.

“Good evening, Lady Evangeline.”

She blinked into the night. Lord Crosby? What was he about, scaring her out of her wits in such a manner? “You know my name. What a surprise,” she bit out to cover the racing of her heart.

“How could I forget?” he asked. Even in the dark she could see the hint of a grin playing about his mouth.

“It can be accomplished quite easily, it seems.” She took a breath, trying to regain order in her mind.

“Allow me to make amends. I was passing by and thought to call…”

“After nightfall?”

“Your father asked me to call this afternoon, but I was detained elsewhere.”

“As you can see, we're on our way out for the evening.”

“If you would rather I leave…” he started but then fell silent, watching her from the opposite side of the gate.

The word
no
flew to her lips, but she kept silent. She didn't know what interested her in life; she didn't know what she liked or disliked. What she did know, however, was for whatever mad reason, she didn't want Lord Crosby to leave again.

“Crosby,” her father offered as he reached them.

“Lord Rightworth,” Crosby stated, his jaw grinding out the name without the teasing note he used when he addressed Evangeline. “I was just discussing my poor timing with your daughter. I should have called hours ago.”

“Evangeline, darling, I hope you didn't insult his lordship.”

“No, Mother. Lord Crosby enjoys a good jest. Why, he even pretended to forget my name at a ball last week,” she said in the smooth voice her mother preferred. “His jest was ever so amusing.”

This time she could see the entirety of Crosby's wide grin, shining in the dark. Did he think this was a game? And if it was, had she just made the first move against him?

Her mother took a step forward, scowling at the man who had invaded their evening. “I don't recall witnessing your introduction to my daughter, Lord Crosby.”

“You were busy with Lady Smeltings in the parlor when we were first introduced,” Evangeline stated, grasping the first excuse that came to mind.

“At the Tottings' event?”

“You said yesterday you danced together at the Dillsworths' ball,” her father interjected.

“Aren't we in danger of being late, Mother?” Evangeline asked, cutting off her father's perceptive comments.

“Indeed,” her mother replied, clearly sensing that details were being omitted.

“Apologies for rushing off, Crosby. We're on our way to the Rutledge event at Torrent House,” her father said as he swung open the garden gate that separated them.

“The Rutledge event at Torrent House,” Lord Crosby repeated. “Of course, I was about to go there myself.”

“Then why did you come here?” Evangeline asked before she could think better of it.

Her mother pinched her arm under the guise of adjusting the sleeve of her gown, making Evangeline suppress a wince of pain. She should have known better. Asking a lord any question with an air of impertinence was against Mother's rules. Something about this gentleman made her forget them all.

“Only thought to call for a moment along the way,” Crosby explained in a matter-of-fact tone, but his eyes danced as he looked at her as if she'd just been allowed in on some secret only he knew.

“Come with us,” her father offered. “We can talk in the carriage.”

“Surely Lord Crosby will want his own conveyance available to him at the Rutledge residence,” her mother attempted. It was clear she didn't want to arrive with such a gentleman, most likely because she thought he was of a lower rank than Father.

“I'll have my man follow along after us.” Ash turned and gave a nod to the driver of his carriage.

“Then there is no reason for you not to ride with us,” her mother said through clenched teeth that were meant to resemble a smile. “Come along, Evangeline.”

Once inside the carriage, she had no choice but to stare at Lord Crosby because he was seated opposite her and beside her father. His eyes glittered with mischief as he returned her stare in kind. This was going to be a long journey, despite being only a few blocks.

“Lord Crosby, what brings you to London?” her mother asked in blatant inspection of the man.

“Business brought me to town, but I've found myself quite distracted since my arrival.”

“The entertainments of town do that to the best of gentlemen. I still remember my first time in London.” Her father smiled over some memory of his youth. It was hard for Evangeline to think of her father as anyone other than the man she saw today, but even he must have had a past before her mother.

“This is your first visit to London, Lord Crosby?” Evangeline asked, knowing it was not, and also knowing he wouldn't tell the truth.

His eyes crinkled at the corners in challenge. “Actually, I was here on a brief visit this time last year. Perhaps you recall attending the Geddings' ball last season?”

“Only vaguely, my lord,” Evangeline choked out, knowing that was when they'd first met.

“It was quite the crush, as they say. Lady Evangeline was a vision in yellow. Her hair was swept up with some sort of pins.”

“Pearl-tipped,” her mother supplied.

Evangeline couldn't move beyond the fact that Lord Crosby remembered the color of the gown she'd worn last year. She couldn't recall what color gown she'd worn last week. He was an equation whose parts refused to add up to the proper amount. Her gaze met his in the dark carriage as they bumped down the street. He remembered her hair and gown, but not her name. And if he had taken such notice of her, why leave town? Even more puzzling, why return a year later using a different name and repeatedly seek out the one lady who knew that everything about him was a lie?

“Darling, you remember that yellow gown, don't you? It was the one I was pleased with from the third shop we visited. The second one was a disaster. Dove-gray silk…”

“Certainly.” She did recall there had been one gown out of perhaps twelve that her mother hadn't despised. It must have been yellow.

“Lord Crosby, I admire your taste in fashion,” her mother complimented, making Evangeline tense. Her mother never said a pleasant word unless it was followed by something awful. As if on cue, her mother continued, “I can't recall hearing of your familial background. Where is your estate?”

“My family has always been quite private in nature. They don't frequent London, preferring life back at Crosing…tonitch to the city life.” His eyes darted out the dark window before landing on her mother with a hint of a smirk.

“Crosingtonitch? I've never heard of it. It must be small.” Evangeline didn't have to turn to the side to know the look of disgust that was written on her mother's face as she made the proclamation.

“Or it's a well-kept secret. Perhaps they don't care for visitors,” Evangeline offered, drawing Crosby's attention once more. She didn't know why she was assisting this man in what was clearly a ploy, but doing so there in the dark carriage, where no one could see to any degree, made her smile.

From the other corner of the carriage her father cleared his throat to gain her mother's attention. “I'm sure it suits their needs quite well, my lady.”

“Hmmm, quite,” her mother muttered, but it was clear she'd lost her momentary interest in his lordship. Neither a smallish estate nor a secretive large one helped her climb to the next level of the
ton
, and that was her only concern.

“Lord Crosby, you'll have to come see me to discuss our business. It's clear the only conversation to be had in the presence of ladies revolves around fashion and travel destinations.”

“There are only so many suitable topics for a lady to discuss. Evangeline is saving her most interesting conversation for Lord Winfield. Aren't you, darling?”

“What do you plan to discuss with Lord Winfield?” Crosby drew back in mock dismay that would have been quite believable if not for the twinkle in his eyes. “I admit I feel cheated by the slight.”

“I have quite the discussion about the weather planned,” Evangeline said. There was nothing wrong with the words she'd said, but she blushed all the same. She had plenty more interesting topics to offer, but none she was permitted to discuss.

“The weather.” Crosby nodded. “Lord Winfield is fortunate, then. I don't know if I could manage such a topic.”

“There is no shame in being out of one's depth, Lord Crosby,” her mother said as the carriage slowed in front of the Rutledges' home and the light of candle-lit windows flooded their carriage.