“I hear you write a lovely letter. Quite the penmanship,” Ash accused in lieu of a greeting as he strode across the empty parlor toward Evie early the next morning.
He’d been up half the night considering why he didn’t want another secret added to the pile between them, and he still didn’t know what to make of it. Until recently his life had been devoted to the prospect of revenge…and it was still, wasn’t it? It needed to be. He’d made a promise to his dying mother, and that wasn’t something that should be easily forgotten.
Certainly he’d had an enjoyable time on the road—the freedom, the thrill of the sale, and the fresh start of a new town where no one knew him. But revenge on Rightworth had always been his driving force. Now, after years of work, he was closer than he’d ever been before to his goal.
But then there was Evie, the lady he should be using to have his revenge on her father.
Instead, every day he looked forward to Evie’s company, even glimpses of her at a ball. Any thrill he gained from his life as a con man paled in comparison to how his heart raced when he was near her. And for the first time, he wasn’t looking forward to a fresh start where no one knew him.
Instead, he wanted Evie to know him further. He wanted to spread the ugly truth of his life out on the table for her to examine, and then perhaps she would do the same for him. He had to pull himself together. A small serving of the truth—that was all he could offer her now. He must remember that. But when he saw her look up from her embroidery and meet his gaze here in the parlor, all of his complicated thoughts of last night faded away.
“The letter! I found your family, then?” Evie exclaimed as she stood from her usual seat in the front parlor in front of the windows, not looking ashamed by her correspondence in the least.
“Shhh! Do you mind?” He spun on his heel to see if anyone was about, but thankfully found the hall behind him empty other than the young maid who was slipping back to her usual corner of the room. She already knew far too many of their secrets, but Evie seemed to trust the girl. He prowled closer, reaching Evie in only a few strides.
“Claughbane… That’s your true name? Ash Claughbane?” she asked in just above a whisper.
“I’m Crosby to everyone in London, and I would like to keep it as such,” he murmured in a low voice with a finger to his lips.
“Apologies.” Without warning, she hit him hard on the arm with her small fist.
“Ouch!” He drew back from her reach. “What the devil was that for?”
“I’m sure I have no idea, Lord Barnish. I mean, Lord Crosby.” She shot him a narrow-eyed glare that might have melted flesh if her rosy cheeks and pouty lips hadn’t made the look more adorable than frightening.
He’d longed to be honest with her. He could tell her all—it’s what he wanted. But she wouldn’t easily dismiss what he was doing to her father, her family. Telling her everything would seal his own fate. However, sometimes schemes had to change and adapt. He would simply have to find a balance between complete honesty and what he was accustomed to—a life of lies.
“Very well, I suppose I deserve your beatings,” he finally said with a grin, his gaze still on her lips. She was perhaps more beautiful today than she’d been in his thoughts last night, if that was possible. “If you must hit me, I’m at least grateful that this time you avoided my face,” he added, intending to tease her over her continuing abuse. Even as he spoke, his smile slipped away and the air around them grew warm. The memory of their kiss in the servants’ hall surrounded them as if he’d described every second of it in great detail.
Clearly, she was thinking the same, because a silence fell between them and her gaze dropped to his mouth. If he kissed her again, would she hit him? Would the young maid finally sound the alarm? Kissing Evie again would be worth the risk. It might be too soon to not get slapped again, but he was never one to shy from a challenge. He shifted forward a fraction, closing the gap between them.
“My lord,” a footman muttered from the open door, making Evie jump beyond his reach and the maid leap to her feet.
“Pardon my interruption,” the man said, with eyebrows creeping toward his receding hairline. “Your phaeton seems to be blocking the street.”
The blasted phaeton. And Brice had said it would be a good idea to bring the contraption. “Ladies like being seen in the park,” he’d suggested. Idiot. He’d cost Ash that moment with Evie and what it could have promised. Ash nodded his thanks to the footman nonetheless as the man turned to leave the parlor.
“You drove a phaeton here?” Evie asked, looking around him and out the front window. “A phaeton that makes red apples look dull?”
“Yes, it’s quite red. I borrowed it from my friend, Mr. Brice,” he muttered, as he tried to force the bitter thoughts from his head. He could still have time with Evie today. “I thought you might like to enjoy the weather. I know you’re a supporter of such things.”
“I talk of the weather. Experiencing it is another matter altogether.” There was a sadness about her expression as she spoke in the soft voice she always seemed to use when others were about. “I might freckle in Mr. Brice’s conveyance.”
Ash paused, watching her and trying to understand her hesitation. “This means you’re not willing to take a ride in the park with me? Due to the threat of sunshine.”
“I’m told it’s perilous,” she replied, but the strain around her eyes seemed to diminish a fraction.
“There’s only one way to know for certain.” He extended his arm to her and waited. Would she come with him? A thrill of uncertainty sent a chill down his spine.
Evie turned and looked at the young maid in the corner. “Jane?”
“Go. I’ll say you’re in your bedchamber with a headache if need be,” the maid replied with an encouraging smile. “You have no social engagement until this afternoon.”
“If you’re certain,” Evie said before turning back to him. “But we must hurry before anyone notices I’ve gone. If rides in open carriages at a fashionable hour are frowned upon, I certainly don’t want to have to explain this.” She took his arm and let him lead her back to the hall. Her eyes darted about in search of some threat he couldn’t see.
What was she afraid of? He’d only wanted to speak with her for a few minutes without interruption, and this seemed the best tactic. At least if his friends in the Spare Heirs could be believed. “Am I causing you trouble?”
“Always.” She looked up at him with a tentative smile. “I’ve heard Mr. Brice’s phaeton is quite the conveyance.”
“You know of it?”
“I know of the man who owns it,” she corrected.
“How do you know Brice?” Ash asked with an unexpected pang of jealousy.
“I know someone who speaks of little else,” she said, taking a shawl from her faithful maid who’d followed them into the hall. “He drives a bright-red phaeton, wears only the best waistcoats, and apparently is quite the dancer.”
“Ah, I should warn the poor man,” Ash replied, watching a wordless exchange between Evie and her maid that ended with the woman giving her a nod of encouragement.
“He should be so fortunate.” Evie stuffed a hat onto her head and turned toward him. “I didn’t realize you were friends with him.”
“We’re members of the same club,” Ash said, distracted by the strain on Evie’s face as she shot one last look at her maid.
The maid mouthed “I won’t tell,” and gave Evie another nod.
“Oh? Which one is that?” Evie asked.
Which what? He blinked, realizing she was asking about the Spares—one of the many topics he couldn’t discuss with her. Ash was spared having to find an answer by the butler’s murmured “My lord,” as he opened the door for them to leave.
They were almost to the garden gate when he noticed she was watching him. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head. “My lord… You aren’t a lord of anything, Ash.”
“That is true,” he admitted, holding the gate open for her.
“You don’t seem troubled by the distinction.”
“I’m attempting honesty. It’s a rare occurrence for me. One would think you might appreciate it a bit more.” He stepped close to her, closing his hands around her small waist. He lifted her from the ground and into the high perch of the phaeton. It hardly seemed like a private place for a conversation, but Brice had insisted it was. Ash shrugged and moved to the opposite side, taking the reins from Stapleton with a nod.
Stapleton gave him a knowing grin when Ash told him to take a walk until they returned. Ash knew he would hear about it later, but for now he would be alone with Evie. Climbing onto the seat beside her, Ash waited until they were well out of view from her home before he shifted closer to her and relaxed a bit for the drive.
“You have family on the Isle of Man,” she said, peering over at him as if he were a riddle in great need of solving. “A brother?”
“Several, actually,” he corrected. He shouldn’t provide her with information that could lead to his downfall if she turned him over to her father, but that bridge had been crossed some time ago, hadn’t it? Or was it merely the faint, flowered scent of her as she sat beside him that forced him to speak? Whatever the reason, his normally guarded words tumbled from his mouth with her, reeking of truth. He sighed.
“Several. Truly?”
“I’m the youngest of four.”
She studied him, nodding as if he indeed looked like the young, reckless little brother his family claimed he was. He suppressed an irritated growl and guided the horses around a corner into the park. Then he glanced back to her, almost amused that she was still watching him in an attempt to assemble the pieces of his life.
“And they live on the Isle of Man—which you claim as home,” she mused.
Was that home? He had no home any longer. It had been emptied of all memories and sold years ago. A shell of a building didn’t equate to a home. “I haven’t been back there in quite some time.”
“Why are you in London? It’s not to enjoy the season like so many other gentlemen, is it? Is it even business, as you claimed?” she finally asked, dancing terribly close to the central truth that stood like a wall between them.
“What, no lengthy commentary on the state of the weather today?” he asked, glancing up into the sunlight that slipped through the leaves of the trees overhead.
“You use a false name. You spend your spare time ingratiating yourself with the gentlemen in town. You stole a document from poor Lord Dillsworth, and then there was the way you slipped away last year.”
“Ash Claughbane truly is my name,” he said, sounding rather lame in the face of those damning facts.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Crosby, however, is not.”
Damn. This was normally the point at which he would either redirect the conversation to safer territory or escape town, regroup, and try again in the next town down the road. Yet, here when it mattered most, he was considering other options, even though he knew how horribly this conversation could end. What would happen if he told her? He could hardly tell her everything, but perhaps a bit of it.
What was wrong with him? It was rule two of only two. Could he not even follow his own regulations? But then, he couldn’t stop himself. Like powerful waves pulling him into uncharted waters, he couldn’t fight against the current with her.
“If you would rather discuss the clouds in the sky…”
“God, no.” He chuckled and sank back a fraction on the seat. “I am originally from the Isle of Man. As I said, I’m the youngest of four brothers, though I haven’t returned home in years. I’ve made my own path since my school days.”
“You would have to, as the youngest boy in the family.”
“Hmmm,” he said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He needn’t mention his oldest brother’s recent acquisition of a title, did he? It didn’t affect Ash’s life, although from the sound of that letter he’d received, it had made a difference on the island.
“What does one do as the youngest of four?”
“I am in the business of sales. At the moment I’m gathering investments in personal steam machines.” He guided them onto a more secluded path. There was no way of knowing where it led, much like their time together. That seemed fitting. All he knew was that Evie sat tucked close beside him and no one was able to interrupt their conversation.
“And before this moment?”
“It depends on the town and the people—what they need, what I have, what they desire.” He glanced at her, the word desire filling the air between them.
She pulled her gaze away from his with a jerk of her head and stared ahead. “And you change what you sell, just like that. From town to town, always moving.”
“I do.” He wanted to look at her. Having this discussion would be difficult enough with…anyone at all, but especially Evie, without having to steer horses at the same time. He needed to look at her, to see the effect his words were having. Just ahead there was clear ground where the path curved around a grouping of trees. Pulling the horses to a stop, he shifted until he had one arm resting on the back of the seat. His forearm grazed the back of her shoulder, and his legs were stretched closer to hers as he searched her face.
She almost moved away to keep a proper distance between them. He watched as she glanced down at the crossed ankles of his boots that brushed against the bottom of her dress. He’d been so focused on weaving the vehicle down the path that only now did he notice how she sat impossibly straight and maintained a tight grip on the seat on either side of her legs. Was she frightened of their height, being alone in the park with him, or the turn of topics between them? He didn’t know, but he scooped up the hand that clenched the seat between them in an attempt to push the troubled thoughts from her mind.
She stifled a small gasp and looked down at their joined hands. Would she pull away? For a second he held his breath, as if in the presence of a wild animal that might run from him. But when she tangled her fingers with his and looked up at him, she appeared more thoughtful than afraid. Part of him was glad his attempt at reassurance had succeeded, while the other part wondered what the blazes he was about with this lady.
“Gypsies who lived in much the same way as you do once stopped at the border of our estate. They told fortunes and gave out tonics said to heal any disease—for a price. Is that what you do?”
And there it was standing before him—truth. Lost in the depths of her eyes, he stammered, “It’s a bit more complicated than that. I…”
“Ash, I speak of only the weather and fashion to everyone I know. Your secrets are safe here.”
“That is what you say now,” he said, knowing everything would change between them soon. For the first time ever, he dreaded the day that he would collect his reward and take his leave. “What about when it comes time for me to leave?”
“I’ll point out how positively leafy I find a tree while you walk away.”
“Why?” She shouldn’t promise to protect him. She wouldn’t if she knew the full story.
“Because I want to know the truth.” She twisted slightly in her seat and brought her other hand to his, capturing his palm between hers.
“No.” He shook his head, trying to regain his good sense. That was pointless while he was in her company, but he attempted it nonetheless. “Why would you assist me when I leave?”
“Because leaving is what you want,” she said with resignation negated by the fact that she clung to his hand as if he were the last ship in the harbor.
“Do you wish me to leave?”
The moment slowed between them like cold honey clinging to a spoon. Neither of them was quick to speak, neither quick to look away. She clearly lacked the preparation required to answer.
He gave her a warm smile, letting her know there was no need for words. He wouldn’t push her. Not yet, anyway. The more he knew of her, the more he understood that there was more truth in what she left unspoken than in what she said. She spoke through the look in her eye, the clinging of her hand. It was nuance, and he examined every piece of it. What had frightened her to make her so fearful of expressing her thoughts? He would peel away her layers until she was laid bare before him, but today that meant revealing more of himself than he cared to admit. It was a risk—but one he couldn’t walk away from.
“How did you begin in this particular field of study?”
“Field of study?” He laughed, breaking the tension between them. “It began in school, I suppose. When I left home, I was able to become someone else. For the first time, I wasn’t irresponsible Ash, youngest of four. I was whoever I chose to be—the benefit of calling an island home, I suppose. Off the island, no one knew me or my family. I could begin anew, be anyone. That was when I discovered that people—people other than you—believe what they’re told.”
“What do you tell people other than me?”
“You already know, Evie.” His gaze dropped to where the end of one ribbon from her hat caught in the breeze that had picked up in the past few minutes. The length of shining blue satin tickled the exposed skin along the top of her shoulder. Lifting the ribbon between his fingers as he spoke, he moved it away from her neck. Then, because he wasn’t one to resist temptation, he traced the path that the ribbon had taken, the backs of his fingers brushing across her pale skin. “I haven’t been honest with you either, yet somehow you guessed the truth.”
“That is true,” she said, not shying from his touch. “I believe you may need to hone your skills.”
“This has been my life for seven years, and you think now my skills need work?” he asked, his fingers continuing to follow the line of the back of her neck down to the ridge of her shoulder. She didn’t flinch under his question or his touch. In fact, the only sign that he was having any effect on her was the hold she now had on his other hand. He was sure she didn’t realize that she was caressing his fingers and gazing into his eyes as she did so.
“You should consider improvements. I wasn’t taken in by you for a moment, Lord Crosby.”
“Not even for a moment?” He grinned. “What about last year? What of the servants’ hall? I thought I was quite compelling on that occasion.”
“Those are different skills entirely.” She seemed to become aware of how she was holding on to him because she made to pull away—at least until he tightened his grip and held her still. How could she tease him about kisses while maintaining such a prim facade?
“A shame. I think I would prefer honing those skills with your assistance.” Right now in broad daylight with every chance of being seen. He wanted her. He couldn’t sit here, allowed to touch her shoulder, her neck, even that tendril of hair that escaped her hat, and not want to feel her lips against his. He wanted to touch every part of her, to taste her, and discover every secret she held beneath that veil of perfect ladyship.
“I-I don’t think… That won’t be necessary,” she stammered, yet she didn’t move away.
“Later, then,” he promised, more to himself than to her.
She looked down, focusing on some benign point on his shirt as she spoke. “I’m sure you practice such things in every darkened hall across England. I was simply the lady present that night.”
Did she think that was true? All right, perhaps there was a hint of truth in it. Very well, a great deal of truth. But that had been before he knew her, before… He couldn’t put a finger on what had changed, but it had. She was different. “You were not simply the lady present.” He moved to lift her chin with a knuckle until she was looking at him again. “You’re Evangeline…Evie,” he added.
“I suppose the fact that you remember my name now is something to be pleased over,” she murmured, still looking troubled.
He’d pushed too far. With others he could always judge that line and where he stood in relation to it, but not with her. And now she was pulling away from him. He dropped his hand to the seat behind them. “I did forget your name, Evie. I admit that much, and I am sorry for it. I did not, however, forget you.” He remembered everything about her. Everything, it seemed, but the one detail that mattered.
She cleared her throat and glanced away, allowing the subject to drop with a curt nod of her head. When she turned back, all emotion had been stripped from her face. Whether she’d forgiven him or didn’t wish to discuss it further wasn’t clear, but everything about her stated that they were to move on. “Even with the pleasant change from your home, why choose to be a…”
He blinked at the sudden change of subject for a second before finishing her question for her. “Salesman? …Swindler?”
“I was searching for kinder terminology, but yes. Surely there were other professions that appealed to you.”
No other profession would gain back what his family had lost, not to mention that no other would fit his temperament so well. It had been a natural decision. But did it still fit his temperament? He’d never stopped to ask the questions Evie was now posing. He shot a glance at the horses, which were growing restless beneath their harnesses. The reins still lay wrapped around the edge of the phaeton as the horses shifted and pawed the ground. He should retrieve the reins and continue on, but he remained still, not wanting to leave just yet.
Looking back at her, he said, “It suits my needs…and it simply came about. Have you ever had something come to you so easily that you didn’t think about the decisions that led you there?”
“Yes, once. Or I suppose twice, now.” Her gaze dropped to his lips for a second before she blushed and looked away.
He kept quiet, sensing that he was about to cross the line again. He didn’t want her to pull away just now.
“Younger siblings do have options beyond a life of crime, you know,” she said after a moment.
“Ha!” he let out, thinking of the large headquarters across town filled with other gentlemen just like him, younger siblings who had come together for survival in society.
“You could have joined the ranks of the military,” she suggested. “Their uniforms are quite smart. A life lived to the beat of the drum and all.”
“Do you know how early they must rise in the morning?” he asked, drawing back in shock.
“You live a life of crime so that you needn’t rise early?”
“Of course. Isn’t that how everyone makes life decisions? Don’t enjoy rising early? Life in the military or life as a baker, for that matter, are off the table.” He shrugged and gave her an unrepentant grin. He had other reasons for choosing his path—his promise to his mother, for one—but he’d never considered the military as an option. His choices certainly ran deeper than when he would be forced to rise in the morning, but regrettably not by a large margin, he was beginning to realize.
“And the pay in the military is not vast,” he added in an attempt to sound more reasonable. “I don’t earn a king’s ransom, but I do well enough to enjoy a certain style of life. I was brought up with an appreciation for certain niceties. Niceties not often found on the field of battle.”
“Very well. Not the military, then. What of the vicarage? Dedicate your life to serving others and doing the Lord’s work?”
He started laughing. He hadn’t an answer. Ash—a vicar. Another round of laughter shook his body and brought tears to the corners of his eyes.
“I didn’t find the notion nearly that amusing,” she grumbled, but a hint of a smile threatened to show on her face.
He continued to laugh for moment before wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “A vicar,” he muttered.
“I suppose a swindler is the only option for you, then.” She shook her head in clear exasperation.
“I don’t take advantage of people, if that’s what you’re imagining. I find people with excess means, people who have wealth and are doing no good with it…those who don’t deserve it. And even so, I don’t leave town with all they have. I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to an unsuspecting gentleman,” he said in all honesty. That’s what her father had done, and Ash would not rob from another family in the same fashion.
Another family other than her own. But he wasn’t willing to think about that now. Not with Evie here.
“Only those who have earned the loss of their funds through their misdeeds? There are quite a few of those people in society, aren’t there?”
“I’m good at it, Evie. It’s simply who I am,” he tried to explain.
“I disagree.” Her words were quiet as she spoke in the small, frail voice she used when others were about. “You are capable of much more.”
He looked into her eyes, hanging on to the belief in him that resided there. It was odd that such strength could come from such softly spoken words. Was he capable of more? For now, he only wanted to be capable of the task before him. He would think about more in a few weeks, once he was on the road out of town. “Perhaps,” he finally muttered. This was to be his largest scheme. He needed to be capable of more than he had been in the past, even if he knew that wasn’t what she’d meant.
“You’re courting me as cover for your plots, aren’t you?”
Her question was sharper than the slap to his face had been that night at the ball. He didn’t know what the devil he was doing with her, but it certainly wasn’t helping his plots—or his plight, for that matter. “It’s never been my intention to use you, Evie.”
“If you are in such a line of work, what dealings do you have with my father?”
There it was—the question he’d been dreading. “That’s business of another sort.”
“Do you have another sort?” she asked, concern filling her eyes.
“Evie, I’ve been disgustingly honest with you. The thought of it makes me a bit ill.”
“And honesty isn’t a requirement for rides in the park. This isn’t conversation over tea, after all,” she said, but not with the same light tone she would have used only a few minutes ago. She directed her gaze forward down the path. “It was wrong of me to ask. Of course you aren’t taking advantage of my father. You wouldn’t be here with me if that were true. It was a silly question. I shouldn’t suggest such things.”
He wrapped her hand within his and squeezed it. If he stayed he would eventually have to tell her the truth. He inhaled a sharp breath at the ease with which staying had crept into his thoughts. He didn’t stay—ever. He couldn’t, could he?
“Ash, are you courting me in truth?”
“I have no idea what I’m doing.” Courting Evie was by far the worst idea he’d ever had, and yet he couldn’t walk away. Not yet.
“Do gentlemen like you often accidentally court ladies without a purpose in mind?”
“It would seem so,” he grated out.
“Not even a purpose that involves business with my father?” she clarified. The intent look on her face almost bordered on haunted.
He’d been honest with her, more so than he had been with anyone perhaps ever. Therefore, it pained him to do what he must. He gathered the reins, turned to her with a kind smile, and lied. “Of course not.”
* * *
St. James,
Although my last report was positive in nature, I have encountered a delay. The gearing necessary for the machine we discussed is of a nonstandard size and must be fabricated. I found a blacksmith in Leeds…
Ash looked up from the paper in his hand, but as usual, St. James’s face revealed no information. “Gearing for what machine? What is this about? Oliver Dean—is that who drew the diagrams?” he asked, handing the letter back to the man and shifting the large rolled-up diagrams in his arms.
St. James had stopped Ash in the main hall of headquarters. His meeting with Lord Rightworth was in less than an hour, and it wouldn’t be wise to make the man wait, let alone for a letter Ash didn’t fully understand. But it must be of some importance for the leader of the Spare Heirs to share it with him because St. James wasn’t prone to sharing anything at all.
“He’s referring to your steam machine, Crosby.”
“My… Do I need to further explain to you what I do, St. James? There isn’t a real steam machine. I collect investors; we split up the profits—”
“I know how the business works,” St. James grumbled as he pulled Ash to the side to allow a group of gentlemen to pass. “Wouldn’t it appear a more legitimate operation for gentlemen to invest their money in if you had a prototype? I asked Dean for the diagrams, but then he mentioned a model, turning gears and all.”
“Do we need turning gears?”
“It’s a far sight better than you waving your hand over a cup of steaming tea for the effect of it.”
“I thought it rather clever,” Ash said.
“It wasn’t.”
“Very well. At any rate, I have the diagrams now.”
“Nevertheless, I’m going to have Dean continue his work.”
“Until then, this will do,” Ash said, holding up the roll of paper in his hand.
“You memorized the terminology?” St. James asked, nodding toward the diagrams.
“Along with Dillsworth’s financial investments in the past year. I’ve spent every night since I arrived in town poring over the document I retrieved from his library.”
“Anything of use?”
“He sold his interest in corn in the last year and invested in two different factories.”
“His investment in the factories was in the London Chronicle,” St. James pointed out. “I hope you have more information than that for your trouble.”
“Did the Chronicle mention how heavily invested he is in iron and tramways over on the continent? It’s nearly his entire fortune.” Ash whispered the last bit out of respect to Brice, who was about somewhere in headquarters. They were discussing the man’s family finances after all.
“No, it didn’t,” St. James said.
“I plan to use that to point to steam and industry being the future. If Dillsworth is out of farming, others will want to be as well. It’s 1817, mate. If we can cart goods about the continent on iron rails, we can have steam for every home.”
“Is that the new line?”
“Did you like it?”
St. James shrugged. “It’s improving…”
“Glad to hear it. I’m off to meet with Rightworth.”
“Not to call on his daughter?” St. James asked with one brow raised in question.
“No.” Not today, Ash finished to himself.
“Be careful there, Crosby,” St. James warned as he turned.
“This job is why I’m here. You have no need to worry on my account.” Ash watched the head of the secretive club walk away before he moved toward the door. St. James had every reason to worry on Ash’s account. Ash was worried on his own account. He’d spent the better part of last night and this morning thinking about his ride with Evie in the park. But now was not the time to dwell on the man’s daughter.
He took a breath, focusing on the plans in his hands and the words he’d rehearsed. Tomorrow he would seek out Evie. Today…today was spoken for.
* * *
“Evangeline?” She heard her mother call from somewhere in the house beyond the door to the small receiving parlor.
Evangeline hated the way her mother said her name. From the woman’s lips, her name sounded like a weapon, all sharp edges and piercing points. Evangeline didn’t wish to spend the remainder of the afternoon reviewing proper conduct and the many ways she fell short of perfection, but she also couldn’t hide in this parlor forever. Or could she? She pressed herself against the window frame in an attempt to blend into the draperies, allowing the sun to warm her skin for one more stolen moment before stepping back with a sigh. It was pointless. No one could hide from that woman, especially not Evangeline.
“Evaaaaan-geliiiiine!” Her mother’s voice grew shriller the longer she was left alone in her search of the house.
With a sigh, she moved away from the sunny window where she’d spent a precious few minutes enjoying the view of the day on the other side of the glass. She should know better. There was no place for the sun in her life; she could only speak eloquently of it. Her mother’s footsteps grew louder, and Evangeline scurried across the room to grab her abandoned embroidery from the one chair that sat in a shadowed corner far from the touch of sunlight. Falling into the chair, she arranged a pleasant look on her face just as the door was flung open.
“Good afternoon, Mother.”
“Did you not hear me?” Lady Rightworth asked with accusation in her voice as she stepped into the room.
“Apologies. I must have been absorbed in my needlework. Did you call for me?”
“Never mind that.” Her mother marched into the room. Blinking into the bright sunlight for only a second, she went straight to the closest window and slung the heavy brocade fabric over the opening. The room dimmed in an instant and her mother turned to stalk across it. “The moment you finished with your dance instructor, you were to come and see me, Evangeline. We have much to prepare for this afternoon. I daresay you aren’t giving this season your full effort. Now, on your feet.”
“I am trying, Mother,” Evangeline stated as she laid her embroidery aside and stood.
“Yet your attempt is disappointing to me.” Her mother stepped closer, examining her. “You don’t wish to disappoint me, do you?”
“Of course not.”
Lady Rightworth pursed her lips and looked closer at Evangeline’s day dress. “A smaller waist.”
“Pardon?”
“We must increase your appeal to the gentlemen this season,” her mother explained. “I had a nice chat with Lady Smeltings yesterday at that awful garden party. She advised that I purchase stays that lace tighter and have your gowns taken in. Your gowns will still be fashionable, mind you. But tighter nonetheless. She’s quite wise, and her daughter was betrothed within the first two weeks of her first season.”
“That’s quite fortunate for her daughter,” Evangeline said, wishing the same had been true for her so that she wouldn’t be standing here at this moment. Even tighter stays? She was already bound into every gown she wore, none of which were gowns she liked. She never complained about it, but her mother discussing her underthings with a neighboring lady was too much. “You discussed my stays with Lady Smeltings?”
“She only wants to help, darling. You do wish to find a husband, don’t you?” her mother asked, squeezing her fingers around Evangeline’s ribs.
“Certainly. I only…” Want to breath while doing so, she finished to herself.
Her mother’s fingers bit harder into Evangeline’s sides. “Are you complaining? I already allow you too much liberty as it is.”
“No, ma’am. I…”
“Don’t stammer, Evangeline. It’s so unbecoming.” Her mother’s hands fell away from Evangeline. “I thought you were fashionable. If a much-admired lady like Lady Smeltings believes that you require more tightly laced stays, then tighter stays you shall have. Anything for you, my special daughter. Maid!” she called with a snap of her long fingers.
“Her name is Jane,” Evangeline whispered as she watched the young maid step into the small receiving parlor.
“My daughter requires a tightening of her stays. Take her to her bedchamber and do what you can to cinch in this sack of a day dress. Tomorrow we will buy tighter ones.”
Jane nodded in acceptance of her orders, but then her gaze shifted to Evangeline’s. The maid’s brows drew together as she seemed to read the discomfort Evangeline was feeling despite her efforts to keep it from showing on her face. The young maid took a breath and straightened her spine, a new light turning her eyes bright. Then she shifted her gaze back to the lady of the house. “Am I to do that before she’s to go to the park with Lord Winfield in ten minutes’ time?”
“Lord Winfield…in ten minutes’ time?” Lady Rightworth fairly screamed. “Why was I not informed of this?” She spun back toward Evangeline. “Did you know of this event?”
“I…” Evangeline began, not knowing how to answer. Truthfully, this was the first she’d heard of such, but she could hardly admit that to her mother. Someone must take the blame for the oversight—and it was either Evangeline or Jane. She froze, her gaze going to Jane who still stood just inside the parlor door.
“He left word with Lord Rightworth this morning, my lady,” Jane offered with a kind smile, saving her from her mother’s wrath—for the moment, anyway.
“Oh. I see.” Her mother took a step away as her temper waned. “Well, my husband is a busy man. It must have slipped his lordship’s mind. Go on then, Evangeline. Your tighter stays will have to wait until your return.” She pierced Evangeline with a glare when she didn’t immediately move. “Why you’re still standing here with me, I have no idea. Go!”
“Yes, Mother.” Evangeline moved toward Jane, not understanding what had just happened. Lord Winfield hadn’t seen Father today. Father had been in the library with Ash all morning. Then she saw the maid’s mouth twitch with satisfaction in the same fashion that Victoria’s did when her cousin was planning some scheme. That was when Evangeline understood. There was no plan to go to the park with Lord Winfield. Jane had lied to save her from her mother for the afternoon. If her mother found out…
“Do wear the new gloves I got for you, and the hat that matches that dress,” her mother commanded.
“Mother, those gloves…” Don’t fit at all, she finished to herself. She should stop this charade. She’d get a brief reprieve from her mother’s company, but she would pay the price later. And the price with Mother was always too high.
“Maid, tidy up her hair before she leaves the house.” Her mother tugged on Evangeline’s dress until it hung in a manner that caused the look of disgust on the woman’s face to diminish slightly. “Lord Winfield won’t appreciate her arriving in such a state.”
“Yes, my lady,” Jane said, already pulling pins from her pocket and sticking them in Evangeline’s hair.
“Evangeline, you do recall what you’re to discuss with Lord Winfield?” her mother asked with narrowed eyes.
“How could I forget proper conversation?”
“Quite easily, it would seem, or you wouldn’t require practice every morning. Remember this, no man wants your company for your opinions.” Her mother stuffed Evangeline’s fingers into the too-small gloves and yanked them up over her palms. “You are to look smart on Lord Winfield’s arm and keep quiet. That is all. And you will do as I say.”
Of course she would do as her mother asked—she always did. This woman whose tight grasp left Evangeline tender and somewhat bruised must be kept happy. But that was the problem. Lady Rightworth would never be happy. She would never be satisfied with Evangeline. Evangeline looked down at her hands, crushed into the gloves her mother had chosen for her. Her life was comprised of fashionable appearances made to raise her mother’s standing in society. This wasn’t for Evangeline’s sake. This was about her mother. Evangeline cared nothing for fashionable appearances; she only wanted a moment’s peace and the freedom to feel the sun on her face.
Her mother placed a hat on Evangeline’s head, blocking any sun from reaching her skin and causing her to freckle. “It’s all wrong, of course, but I suppose it will have to do.”
“Jane, didn’t you say we’re to go to the park for this outing?” Evangeline asked.
“Yes, my lady,” Jane said with a sly smile. “And we don’t want to keep his lordship waiting.”
“I do so enjoy the outdoors,” Evangeline replied. “The trees provide nice shade in the park. Good day, Mother.” Evangeline walked to the front door and stepped out into the bright spring afternoon with Jane at her side. If she was to talk of the weather for the remainder of her life, the least she could do was experience it just once.
* * *
Evangeline stepped away from her maid on a wave of whispered encouragements, leaving Jane to sit alone beneath the shade of the large tree.
Her mother would be furious if she knew Evangeline hadn’t come to the park with Lord Winfield, but instead had come to enjoy the day beyond the confines of their home. And Evangeline was quite certain that she would bring the roof down upon her head by leaving the shade of a tree to walk the sunny paths of Hyde Park when she spotted Ash from a distance. But Mother and her rules weren’t present today.
Her maid’s quick thinking had provided Evangeline with a much-needed break from such things even if for an hour or two, and for that she was grateful. Jane, of course, would be gone within the week—kindness never seemed able to survive under the same roof as her mother—but Evangeline accepted the woman’s gesture today anyway.
Her heart pounded in her chest. The grass dampened her stockings at her ankles, and the sun beat down on her head with delicious freckle-causing heat, but she only moved faster toward Ash. It had only been a day since she’d seen him last, but it seemed a lifetime. Their carriage ride yesterday had changed everything, and not in the way she’d imagined.
Although logic told her to avoid him now that she knew who Ash Claughbane really was and why he was in town, she was walking faster in his direction. Granted, Evangeline had been told repeatedly that she made terrible decisions, and perhaps this could be counted in their number. But when he’d explained his decision to lead such an unusual life, when outrage should have filled her, she’d found she only felt a sense of rightness, justice even.
Evangeline had seen the evil that lurked beneath the surface of society’s most respected members. She’d experienced it firsthand in the case of her own parents, having been ignored by her father and managed by her mother her entire life. Did the two of them not deserve to have her mother’s pin money taken to afford Ash a nice meal? Let him take it. Evangeline would never steal from her family, but if Ash chose to do so, she wouldn’t stop him. After all of her mother’s schemes, it would be rather fitting to see the woman on the receiving end of someone else’s plot for a change. As for her father, he would no doubt gain from Evangeline’s marriage. What was a bit of money? Even if Ash was swindling her father, she trusted Ash.
She may not have Ash in her life forever, but she certainly wouldn’t turn him in for his crimes and cut her time with him short. She was finding that she wanted this too much to force him away. Perhaps she couldn’t be trusted to make decisions for her life. But she didn’t care about that just now. She neared where he stood in the path and picked up her pace.
He’d dismounted from his horse and was waiting for her on the path. With the reins hanging from his loose grip, the stylish cut of his riding coat, and his hair catching the light breeze, he looked as if he might be posing for a portrait and not simply waiting for her to join him. She suppressed a dreamy sigh that would have made Isabelle proud.
Ash smiled at her as she approached, extending his free arm to her. “I was under the impression that you didn’t participate in the weather.”
“I took a ride with you just yesterday,” she countered as she joined him on the path.
“A ride I had to convince you to indulge in. And now I discover you secretly lounging on a park bench, weather all about you.” He nodded toward the spot where her maid still sat, watching her with a smile.
“Was I secretly lounging?”
“Positively dipped in weather,” he replied, his eyes raking over her for a second before returning to her face.
“Can one be dipped in sunshine?” she asked, focusing on the path ahead to cool her thoughts. “I’m sure Mother wouldn’t approve, if that’s true.”
“You look dipped in sunshine.”
She glanced down at the yellow of her day dress. “Oh, I suppose I do look a bit…”
“Radiant,” he supplied.
Her breath caught. She’d been complimented on her looks before, but somehow his one word carried more sincerity than any other she’d ever heard. Making the mistake of glancing in his direction, she almost stumbled when she saw the corresponding look in his eye. She scrambled mentally to find words to continue their conversation so that they wouldn’t spend the remainder of the afternoon staring at each other in giddy silence—thrilling though that may be.
“I slipped away with the new maid, who will most likely lose her post over arranging for me to have a moment outside the walls of my home,” she explained.
“You make it sound as if a jailer locks you in at night.”
She often felt as if she were locked away. Could she be truthful with him? He’d told her about his family. She never spoke out of turn against her family, but Ash would protect the information she gave him. He might be a swindler, but she trusted him. It seemed odd to hold such confidence in a man who’d given her two false names already, but not when that man was Ash Claughbane.
“There is more than one type of prison,” she finally said with her mind on the overtight stays she’d be wearing by morning. “Mine has ribbons and beads instead of bars, but I feel the cold metal wrapped around me just the same.”
“Surely it’s not all bad. You make it sound as if you’re being tortured,” he said with a cursory glance over her.
He didn’t understand. How could she explain it? “Do you know who selected this dress for me? And what of this hat? These gloves?” She looked down at her hands encased in what felt like vises. “I despise these gloves,” she said with a whisper.
“Do you?” He stopped walking and lifted her hand from his arm to inspect it. Then lifting the other hand, he began tugging on the fingertips. “Blasted tight, aren’t they?”
“They are,” she agreed, watching his face instead of his work on her gloves.
He finally pulled the gloves off and held them with the reins of his horse that was following slowly behind them. “And yet you willingly put them on your hands.”
Or didn’t fight when they were put on her hands—there wasn’t much difference from her position. “I do what I must,” she replied, stretching her fingers to allow blood to flow there once more.
“For fashion?” he asked, inspecting her gloves in the light.
She reached for them, but he pulled them away, out of her reach. He still didn’t understand. “For survival,” she corrected.
“This is what holds you captive? You’re told every detail of what you must wear?”
“And what I must say, how I must stand, and who is allowed smiles,” she added.
“Do I rank high enough to earn a smile?”
“Your smiles are stolen,” she said truthfully.
He shrugged and grinned. “Coaxing things I want from people is what I do.”
“You want my smiles?”
“Always.” It was quite possibly the most romantic comment she’d ever heard, but then he destroyed the effect by adding with a wicked glint in his eye, “Smiles, kisses in service halls, perhaps more when you follow me next at a ball…”
“Might I have my gloves back now?”
“This is no way to live, Evie,” he said, shaking the gloves in his hand.
“They’re only gloves. It’s not the end of life in England.”
“This is about more than a pair of too-tight gloves,” he countered, concern filling his eyes as he looked at her.
“Most of my life is binding.”
“Why would you wear such a painful fashion?”
“Because my fingers are unladylike!” she exclaimed before sucking in a breath as if she could pull the words back into her mouth along with a great gulp of air.
“What?” He grabbed her fingers and lifted them to inspect them. “Who put it into your mind that your fingers are anything less than perfect?”
“Please return my gloves,” she muttered.
“So that you might stuff them back onto your hands and crush your otherwise lovely appendages?” He ran his fingers gently over the red pressure lines her gloves had left on her hands.
“Ash, I must wear them,” she tried to explain, but he didn’t release her bare hands.
“You’re miserable with them,” he said without looking up at her as he continued to smooth the lines pressed into her hands.
“Someone might see.”
“Does it matter if someone sees?” he asked, finally releasing her hands. “It’s hardly criminal. They’re only gloves.” He waved them in the air once before dropping them to his side. “What is the worst that could happen?”
What was the worst that could happen? Surely she wouldn’t be sent away from London for the crime of removing ill-fitting gloves for a moment while in the park. “I’m not sure what could come of this.”
“Want to find out?” The mischievous grin that covered his face made her want to do more than walk gloveless in the park.
She watched him, unable to speak the words. The temptation he presented was too great in every way imaginable. The last time she’d dared to do as she wished, it had cost her every small freedom that should have been hers. Would it happen again? Surely the lack of gloves on a warm afternoon in the park wouldn’t lead to her family’s downfall like before.
With a knowing look in his eye, he tossed her gloves into the air. His horse huffed at his back, but no matron of the ton shot out from the shrubbery to reprimand her.
She watched as the gloves fluttered to the ground like a pair of wounded birds. “Quite dramatic, but I think I’ll put them in my reticule for safekeeping. I wouldn’t want to be caught without them upon my return home.”
He studied her for a moment before asking, “Why are you frightened so?”
She froze with the gloves in her grasp, taking a moment before standing upright again.
“Don’t say you aren’t frightened. I see what you do to keep those around you happy, the way your voice changes when we’re alone. You’re afraid to speak above a whisper when anyone is about. Why?”
She wanted to run. This must be the benefit of Ash’s lifestyle. Anytime someone became close enough to rub the grime from the windows and peer inside, he was able to walk away and start anew. Yet, she stood rooted to the ground in the middle of the path, facing down everything she’d worked to hide for years. “You’re fortunate, you know. You can be anyone you wish to be. You can dress how you see fit, walk outside with the sun on your face…”
“I suppose that is true,” he hedged.
“I must follow the wishes of my family,” she said, willing him to understand.
“Isn’t that true of all unwed ladies?”
“Some more so than others.” Couldn’t he see? She had to do everything asked of her without question. Even this conversation was a violation. She was in the park, gloveless, with the wrong gentleman on a sunny afternoon. She would pay for this misdeed. She would—
“Evie,” he said, claiming her attention. “They may be your family but they don’t own your heart. We’re here in the park on this fine day, and you’re free to wiggle your fingers for the first time in what I can only assume is years. They don’t own this moment. This is yours and yours alone.”
A smile flooded her face as she looked at him. He was right—this was her moment in the sun. Her mother wasn’t here. Today, on this afternoon with Ash, the sunshine belonged to Evie.
“I sincerely hope that smile wasn’t stolen, because I would like to keep the memory of it.”
“I stole it on your behalf,” she said, her heart racing faster the longer she stood here with him.
“Then I shall take it.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Come. Those free fingers need to experience a bit of the park while we still have time to enjoy it.”
She stuffed her gloves into her bag and wrapped her bare hand around his arm. The scratch of warm wool covered the thickly corded muscle beneath her fingers. It wasn’t ladylike to notice such a thing. Of course it was also unladylike to remove one’s gloves in public. Perhaps she wasn’t the lady who had been honed into perfection for years. “Perhaps I could become a lady who walks in the park gloveless,” she muttered to herself.
“Evie, you already are that lady.”
She blinked up at Ash. Did she dare to discover more of who she truly was and who she wished to be? It was a dangerous proposition—one that could cause terrible damage if acted upon. She wiggled her fingers, aware of the flinch of strong male muscle beneath her grasp. This danger also brought a smile to her lips. She could be more than the shell of perfection everyone else of her acquaintance believed her to be. And wasn’t it wise to examine who she was now before she found a husband?
With Ash at her side, she could brave the danger. As long as he didn’t leave her. But as much as she trusted him, staying at her side was the one thing she knew he couldn’t promise.
* * *
STEAMING THROUGH TOWN
“An investment in steam is an investment in tomorrow,” says Lord Crosby of Crosby Steam Works. A scientifically minded gentleman with his eye on the future, Lord Crosby plans to produce the first steam engine for personal use. This advancement in science is poised to be a means of power for every home in the country. He suggests it could change the way lands are farmed and shorten travel times from village to village, perhaps even eliminating the need for horses altogether. While all of London waits for this most anticipated invention to be revealed, the industrious lord has been gaining popularity and investors in town at a rapid pace. This writer found Lord Crosby after the recent evening of poetry hosted by Lord Torrent. Ladies and gentlemen had gathered together in celebration of the written word, an event Lord Crosby tells us he quite enjoyed.
Ian leaned back in the rickety chair near the main door to the inn with a loud creak, pulling the copy of the Times with him as he moved. The article went on to describe the evening’s entertainment and even the style of Crosby’s coat and the quick flash of his smile. But Ian’s gaze drifted over to the small sketch of his lordship that accompanied the printed words. He knew that scheming face. That man’s smile might have charmed the writer of this article, but it only made Ian scowl.
“Lord Crosby, we meet at last,” Ian muttered, clutching the paper tighter in his hands.
Finally Ian had a name and direction. The gentlemen he traveled with would have to listen to reason now. Ian had insisted days ago that the thief had gone to London, and he’d been right. They’d wasted too much time already, making inquiries on the road leading to Oxford. His eyes darted to the date printed at the top of the page. Two days ago. Surely Crosby, as he was now known, was still in London.
“There’s still time,” Ian muttered, abandoning his cup of coffee on the table and taking the paper with him.
“On yer way out for the day, m’lord?” the innkeeper asked as he paused in his sweeping to allow Ian to pass.
“With any luck, my group will be off to London today.”
“Must be good news from town,” the man said, nodding toward the paper in Ian’s hand.
“Very,” Ian said with a smile. Of course Lord Crosby may not think it such good news when he had to face down seven angry gentlemen from Bath. That was the danger of news—it traveled fast, even across the English countryside to small inns where adversaries awaited. Crosby would do well to remember that.