Evangeline leaned away from her cousin to avoid being hit in the face with Isabelle’s new fan. Either Isabelle had yet to get used to the new accessory or Victoria had been correct—she was going to wound someone—or both. Evangeline tried to straighten to the proper posture for standing on the side of a ballroom, but almost had her nose removed for the second time.
“As you can see, it is indeed a fan,” Isabelle said with a flourish of her wrist that almost sent the contraption sailing across the ballroom into Lady Smeltings’s hair. “And I suppose a dreadfully boring fan is better than the broken one I had in my possession before.”
That was debatable, but Evangeline wasn’t going to voice her opinion to Isabelle. That was normally Victoria’s job, but she was currently dancing the quadrille with a gentleman. With Roselyn not in attendance this evening, Evangeline was left to survive her cousin’s new fan alone, at least for the moment. “It isn’t so terrible,” Evangeline attempted. “It boasts a fine handle, quite sturdy looking.”
Isabelle stared down at the fan in her hand. “Sturdy isn’t really what one looks for in a fan, Evangeline.”
“When one’s sister is Victoria, perhaps one should,” Evangeline said with a small smile, turning her attention back to the dancers on the floor.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Isabelle said, dropping the fan to her side and thereby allowing everyone nearby to take a breath of relief. “On a happier note, Lord Winfield has a pleasant-looking body.”
“Isabelle!” Evangeline warned as she pulled her cousin away from a group of ladies who seemed to be only half concerned with their own conversation. The other half would be devoted to listening intently to everyone else’s discussions.
“What?” Isabelle asked as if they’d been discussing something as meaningless as colors of ribbon. “He’s next on your dance card. I’m certain that beneath those layers of evening wear, he has a fit bum. Not as fine as Mr. Brice’s bum, mind you, but not terrible.”
“How would you know what attributes a gentleman possesses beneath his clothing, let alone in his private regions?” Evangeline hissed, refusing to even glance at Lord Winfield’s body to see if she might agree with her cousin.
“Mother tells me I have a vivid imagination.” Isabelle beamed as she twisted a ringlet of blond hair around her finger.
“My mother says you have delusions of grandeur, but what does she know of it?” Evangeline replied.
“Perhaps I do. However, I like it that way. It’s quite a cheerful place, the inside of my head.”
Evangeline often wondered if Isabelle’s thoughts were coated in candies like the display in the bake-shop window she’d seen with her sister years ago. A great cake had been swirled with candies up to the top, like a mountain of sweets with chocolates pouring from the center. Sue hadn’t wanted to leave, but Evangeline had pulled her away.
She gave Isabelle an affectionate bump with her elbow, thinking of the sister she’d betrayed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, even if it does lead to scandalous talk while in the middle of a ballroom.” Evangeline couldn’t help but notice the gentlemen’s forms as they passed on the dance floor, now that the subject had been brought to mind.
Did it matter what features a man possessed? He could have no teeth and an unfortunate disposition, and he would still provide her with an escape from her current situation. She wasn’t in a place to be particular, as long as someone would offer for her by season’s end.
Just then, a gentleman who offered no escape from her current situation walked in the door of the ballroom. Ash was the sort of man ladies were warned about, and tonight he looked every bit the part of the devil-may-care rake. His dark evening wear matched the jet of his hair.
He scanned the room. Was he looking for her? Her heart sped.
It shouldn’t matter, Evangeline, she told herself. He was only playing at courting her—none of it was real. He would soon be gone. Would he return to the Isle of Man? And why pretend to court her while in town? Did his interest have to do with her father? Or perhaps he was only amusing himself out of ennui. She should look away from him, but she didn’t.
“Gentlemen look us over, so why shouldn’t we do the same?” Isabelle, she realized, was still speaking to her.
“It does pass the time between dances, I suppose,” Evangeline muttered, entranced by the cut of Ash’s coat as it fell from his muscular shoulders.
Isabelle followed her gaze. “Lord Crosby has a quality bum. You can tell by the fit of his breeches. Though I’m sure you’ve noticed it already.”
“I didn’t notice anything,” Evangeline rushed to say. The heat of a blush spread up her neck and burned her cheeks, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Ash. The memory of his body close to hers, his hands on her skin… “I would never think such…vulgar…”
“Evangeline,” Isabelle said in the flat tone one would use to complain about what was being served at dinner. “He came to your home for tea. You said you sat with him and listened to poetry.” She stopped with a dramatic shake of her head. “Poetry,” she repeated as if the one word proved her point.
“It wasn’t as romantic as you imagine it, Isabelle,” she countered. It was true it hadn’t been romantic. It had been something far more intriguing that Evangeline couldn’t define and was quite sure she shouldn’t be reflecting on in the first place.
“You’re staring at him this very minute. Admitting a gentleman has a nice bum is the same as complimenting a lady’s fine parlor décor or the cakes at tea.”
“That is far from the same thing, Isabelle.”
“I’m not suggesting you inform him of your opinion—can you imagine the scandal?” She giggled. “I can see it now. ‘Lady E. informed a certain lord of his fine bum at a ball Thursday last.’”
Evangeline had pulled Isabelle away from listening ears, but if anyone heard the direction of their conversation, she would be shipped away to live with Great-Aunt Mildred for certain. Yet in spite of the serious threat that posed to her future, she had to work to keep the amused smile from her face.
“You’re clearly interested in him,” Isabelle finally stated once her laughter had subsided.
“Am I?” Evangeline breathed.
“Aren’t you?”
What did interest matter in her situation? Somewhere in this room, Lord Winfield or some other gentleman was dancing, drinking, or discussing politics, and he would soon be her husband. Ash was only about because… She didn’t know his intentions, but she knew enough to know they weren’t honorable. “Mother is pushing for a courtship with Lord Winfield,” she finally replied.
“So I’ve heard.”
“Father practically threw Lord Crosby in my path.” She was still working to understand her father’s actions in that regard. She took a breath, knowing that in the end, none of it was her concern. “Mother and Father will resolve the matter between themselves and inform me of the outcome. It’s as simple as that.”
“Are you claiming not to have feelings on the matter of your future husband?” Isabelle asked.
“Of course I have feelings—” Evangeline stopped herself before she admitted too much. She found Ash in the crowd once again, and her eyes followed him as he moved down the opposite wall of the room. Everything about him was wrong. She knew it. Yet, the small rebellious act of watching him from across the room made her skin tingle with warmth. “In my case, feelings can hardly be trusted as a guide.”
Isabelle sighed. “Evangeline, I admire your prudence.”
“However…” Evangeline led in, pulling her gaze from Ash’s fit body wrapped in pristine evening wear for what might be the fifth time tonight. She turned to look at her cousin. “Mother always contradicts her initial statement. I’ve learned to sense a but waiting to emerge in the next statement.”
“But what do you want for your future?” Isabelle asked, making Evangeline blink for a moment.
“I-I don’t know.”
“When I’m unsure of something, I follow my heart,” Isabelle offered with a warm smile.
If only her words were of any assistance in Evangeline’s tangled web of a life. “How do I know what my heart wants?”
“Your eyes always follow instructions from your heart. What do you see?”
Clear blue eyes met hers across the dance floor, and a mischievous grin tugged at Ash’s lips. He had been searching for her. Her stomach clenched at the thought.
“What if my heart can’t be trusted to give proper directions?” Evangeline asked.
“It can always be trusted, Evie. And I notice you have yet to spare a glance for Lord Winfield.” Isabelle leaned closer to whisper, “I don’t blame your heart. Lord Crosby’s bum is of five-rose-petal quality and poor Winfield only has three and one half petals.”
She turned to look at her cousin. “You have a system of ranking gentlemen’s…rears?”
“Of course.” Isabelle nodded, her round eyes wide. “How else are we to decide whom to wed? I keep a chart in my journal—or I did before I misplaced it recently. I got the idea from a chart of horses Victoria kept hidden under her bed. If that much thought is put into which horse to wager upon, we should put at least that much effort into our husbands, shouldn’t we?”
“You’re very wise. You know that, don’t you?” Evangeline asked, knowing Isabelle was often considered the whimsical and even naive one in her family.
“Shhh, you’ll destroy my carefree image,” Isabelle said with a grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, this amount of thought has me in need of sustenance. I think I saw cakes in the next room…and Mr. Brice was walking in that direction only a minute ago.”
“Enjoy the cakes.” Evangeline lowered her voice to add, “And the view of Mr. Brice.”
“Enjoy your view in my absence,” Isabelle called back as she walked away.
If Evangeline wasn’t already blushing, she certainly would be doing so now with everyone nearby attempting to understand Isabelle’s meaning.
“The moldings in this room are quite lovely,” she said to an older lady who was studying her.
“I suppose,” the woman returned, her wrinkles growing deeper as her brows drew together in confusion. “After your discussion of the gentlemen, I hardly noticed.”
“Excuse me,” Evangeline said as she fled the spot.
She wasn’t certain what her mother would have her do after being caught discussing gentlemen’s physical attributes at a ball, but Isabelle had told her to follow her heart. And right now, her heart was telling her to run.
She moved toward the door with lightning speed. Ash was moving in that direction as well. She shouldn’t have noticed him. Your eyes always follow instructions from your heart. What do you see? It mattered little what she saw. It was, however, quite disturbing that she could find Ash in a crowd so easily. He would leave again. But her untrustworthy heart would only follow after.
The crush of guests was tighter by the door that led to the hall, and she darted this way and that to escape her actions of the past half hour. Discussing gentlemen’s private parts—what had she been thinking? But as she pushed through the throng of people, she knew that wasn’t all she was running from.
She found Ash again, trapped in a passing conversation with a gentleman not ten paces away, yet still watching her.
Pushing forward toward the hall, she bounced off a gentleman who had stepped into her path. She really needed to pay better attention to where she was walking.
“Apologies, Lady Evangeline.” Lord Winfield extended his arm to her. “I was coming to fetch you for our dance.”
With one last glance at Ash, she laid her hand on Winfield’s arm and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. “I was hoping to see you.”
* * *
Ash gave Stapleton a questioning glance and turned the unopened letter he’d been given over in his hands several times. Only one person he knew wrote such scrunched yet precise letters, as if a great weight was pressing down on every line of text. He’d seen that writing many times as a boy, but he had no desire to see it now.
Ash had been in London for several weeks now. Things were taking longer than expected with Rightworth, but had he stayed so long in one place as to allow this to happen? He flipped the letter around in his hand again and stared at the writing once more. “Clearly I’ve stayed here too long already,” he muttered.
“We could leave,” Stapleton offered.
“No.”
Questions of how his brother had found his location so quickly swam in Ash’s head. And there was no way to discover the answers unless he read the blasted letter. Ripping the letter open, he held it up to the light of a nearby candle.
Dear Ashley,
I hope this letter finds you. I received an interesting note from a lady in London today. I’m told one of my relations is heartsick for news of home. She asked for a listing of all known family relations so that she might sew some sort of reminder of the land longed for and give it as a gift. You can imagine my surprise to learn this, since I only have one family member who remains unaccounted for, and he has never shown an interest in his home, marriage-minded ladies, or needlework.
I know why you’re in London, Brother. You needn’t do this. It is true that Lord Rightworth took all Father possessed in repayment of that debt, but it was his right to do so. No one killed our father, Ashley. Father ended his own life. Nothing you do while there in London will make things right for our family. Isle of Man has changed, especially since I gained our cousin’s title two years past. We have no need for you to take funds from a powerful man in London for our survival. Please, reconsider your actions…
Ash didn’t finish reading the words scrawled in ink before him. He balled up the letter in his hand instead, his knuckles turning white around the paper. Ashley—only three people had the nerve to call him that, and he didn’t want to see any of them just now. He exhaled a harsh breath. Brennen knew his whereabouts. The sharp corners of crushed paper pressed into his palm as he squeezed it even tighter. How had he been so foolish as to look into Evie’s eyes and tell her his given name?
He threw the ball of paper across the room. It hit the wall with a disappointing tap and rolled under the bed as he turned, walking to the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. He’d never before lost his sense of commitment to his work, his sense of when to speak and when to listen.
It was Evie. Or rather, the effect she had on him. He lost all sense when she was around. And now, with her assistance and clearly that of Stapleton as well, his brother knew where he slept at night. Damn. By now, the lot of his brothers would know his whereabouts. The walls of his bedchamber seemed to be closing in around him. They would try to stop him. The number of days he had remaining in London had, in an instant, been cut in half.
“That look right there is why I didn’t want to give it to you,” Stapleton said, still lingering near the door as if unsure whether to stay or leave.
“How did his man find you, Stapleton?” Ash asked through clenched teeth. He knew how his brother had learned he was in London—that blame was clearly on Evie’s shoulders. That didn’t explain how he’d had the note delivered to Stapleton in the mews behind headquarters. Ash had told no one about this place, because that was nearly the Spares’ only rule.
Stapleton didn’t answer, but only winced as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. It was a look Ash knew too well after years of living with the man.
“Lady Evangeline is to blame for telling him I’m in town.” Ash moved back across the room and kicked the door closed so they wouldn’t be heard in the hall. “But Stapleton, he had this letter delivered to you—here at headquarters. How exactly did my brother know where to find me?”
Stapleton hesitated for only a second before he admitted the truth. “You know that maid I mentioned from the kitchens back home?”
“You told one of the maids?” Had he learned nothing from his years with Ash?
Stapleton shifted on his feet and stared at the floor. “I only mentioned that we might be back on the isle soon, once we’re finished with things here. She’s always been sweet on me, and I thought…”
Ash exhaled a harsh breath and turned away from the man before he did something he would regret. “You let my brothers know where I am so that you could have a woman waiting for you when you return?”
“Of course it sounds bad when you say it like that,” Stapleton muttered. “You already said that lady of yours told him you were in London. Surely after that, my actions—”
“I will deal with that bit of misfortune later,” Ash cut in as he turned back to face Stapleton. “She only said I was in town. You led my brother’s footman to our doorstep.” Ash ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Do you know what trouble that could have caused if someone like St. James had heard of it?”
“I meant no harm.”
“I know you didn’t, but…” Ash let out a stream of curses that in no way relieved his distress.
“We can leave, return here some other time,” Stapleton offered. “There are plenty of towns in Scotland we haven’t visited.”
“No,” Ash said a bit too quickly. “We stay.”
“Truly? I think this job is getting to you. Or maybe it’s that lady you’ve been spending time with.”
“She has nothing to do with this.” But Ash knew Evie had complicated his thoughts on almost every subject since he’d seen her that night in the Dillsworth library.
“Listen, Mr. Claughbane, I’ve known you nearly all my life. My father was your father’s valet. I’ve served you since you left the Isle.”
“Then you should know why I can’t leave,” Ash returned.
“Aye. I do. But taking from Lord Rightworth won’t bring back your father,” Stapleton said, echoing Ash’s brother’s words.
“It will return to my family what is rightfully theirs. You’ve always known my intentions for all of this.” Ash raised his arms to encompass the entirety of their lives before letting them fall back to his sides. “We’ve had an adventure and it’s lined both our pockets quite well, but this job, Rightworth, has always been my focus. You know that. You’ve always known that. Don’t tell me now that we’re here, you’re siding with my brothers.”
Over the years Ash had forgotten that Stapleton had once been a footman in his family’s home. Before he’d left with Ash that night, he’d had a young lifetime of loyalty to the Claughbane family. It was a fact Ash would have done well to remember.
“I made a promise seven years ago to keep you from harm,” Stapleton said without apology, for once looking the part of footman and not the swindler’s assistant he’d become.
Ash moved to the bedpost and leaned a hip against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “I made a promise to my mother as she withered away into dust and heartbreak that I would aid this family. That is all I have ever tried to do.”
“Your wealth in this game almost exceeds what your father lost. Do you need Rightworth’s coin as well? We could walk away. Your brother says so in his letter—you don’t need to go through with this scheme. Things on the isle have changed…”
“I should have known you broke the seal and read the letter for yourself. You always did have your ear to the door when you were a footman.”
Stapleton grinned. “A quality you’ve always admired.”
“Only when you use it to my gain,” Ash corrected. “You read that drivel from my brother and let him get to you.”
“He was convincing.”
“That’s enough to change your mind?” Ash pointed to the spot where the letter had landed, shadowed by the edge of the bed. “You shouldn’t have written to the damn maid, Stapleton.”
“You would understand if you’d seen her in recent years. You weren’t with me when I paid that visit last fall.” The man shook the wistful look from his eyes and had the grace to appear apologetic for what he’d done.
“If you wish to return home, then go.” Ash had the Spares to assist him, he supposed, although he constantly struggled with involving them. He worked alone with Stapleton at his side, and always had. But he wouldn’t force anyone to stay where they had no wish to be.
“I don’t wish it. I was only…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Haven’t you given a thought to what we’ll do with ourselves after this job is over?”
It was true that he’d always dreamed of the next village, the next scheme. But the road he’d traveled had been leading him here. Beyond this job, beyond Rightworth, was further than he’d ever considered before. It was due to the high expectation of his work here in London—that was all. To dwell on anything beyond this scheme would be a complication, not to mention break his two rules: he couldn’t stay, and he couldn’t become attached to anyone.
Ash put that last rule out of his mind and looked back at Stapleton. “We’ll do the same as we always do.”
“Move to the next town over and attempt it all again?”
“No, make the decision after we leave.” This was the perfect plan. This way Ash didn’t have to consider his life beyond London. He tossed out a casual grin. “Only this time, we’re going inside when an inn smells of sausages. I’ve been dreaming of breakfast meats ever since we left that place in Berkshire.”
“You’ll walk away from this Lady Evangeline?” Stapleton asked, eyeing him in a way that made Ash aware of just how much time they’d spent together over the years.
“I have to, don’t I?” he said, his voice sounding flat and lifeless even to his own ears. “She’s Rightworth’s daughter.”
“Suppose so,” his man replied, but the sentiment didn’t seem to reach his eyes.
“I’ve only called on her to get close to Rightworth,” Ash said with confidence even as the lie caused him to flinch inwardly.
“As you’ve done before,” Stapleton agreed.
“Precisely. Just like every time before. And I’ll leave just like every time before.” But thinking of it made him slightly ill. The truth was, Evie wasn’t like every other lady in every other town. She was special. Perhaps he did need to keep her distracted to protect his identity from her father. And perhaps courting her was a good excuse to see Rightworth and keep the man interested in investing in Crosby Steam Works. But his plan allowed him to see a great deal of Evie at the same time. And that desire was not just like every time before—not in the least.
“Apologies for opening the door for your brothers to intrude on things here. I need to go see to the horses…and see if I can get back into the card game that I left to come find you.” He flashed a smile, but the look slipped into thoughtful concern as he regarded Ash. “Just so you know, this is the first time I’ve ever heard you talk about leaving as if it’s a chore and not a pleasure. You might want to think on that.” He walked out before Ash could reply—a damn trick Ash had taught him.
Ash rolled his eyes and went to the bed to pick up the letter he’d thrown across the room. Dropping into the chair in the corner, he unfolded the paper from the wad he’d formed and ironed it flat on the top of his thigh.
He read it three times through before rising to his feet. He should be concerned about his oldest brother and self-appointed patriarch of the family. Would Brennen make waves for Ash here in town? It was possible, but his family was so far removed from city life that it wasn’t likely. As long as Brennen stayed on the island, all would be fine. Evie, on the other hand, had the potential for making more waves than he could navigate.
She wanted to make a piece of needlepoint about his family, did she? She should make a tapestry that covered an entire wall—his family history was quite the sordid tale. He tossed the letter into the fire, watching it shrink into black as it burned, taking the truth with it.
How long could he keep Evie from going to her father with what she knew of him? Another week? Two if he was careful. Now that she knew his full name, it was just a matter of time. Or perhaps if she only knew a portion of the truth, he could gain her trust and keep her in his life a bit longer.
“You’re breaking your own rules, Ash Claughbane,” he murmured into the flames as a reluctant smile spread across his face. Rules were meant to be bent until they lay warped on the ground behind him. And he knew exactly who he wanted to coax into bending a few rules with him.