All had gone right with Ash’s plans thus far—Dillsworth’s financial document, his perfect scheme, his new affiliation with the Spare Heirs, and last but not least, that kiss with Lady Evangeline. He hooked his hand around the oak banister cap, swinging around the corner to the main stairs with a spring in his step.
Ash had arrived at headquarters for the Spare Heirs Society yesterday and had been immediately welcomed and offered one of the available rooms upstairs for his stay in town. The grand home was quite accommodating, with a number of guest rooms, comfortable beds, and ample storage. Personally, he didn’t require the shelf space since he never unpacked anything from his trunks, but the other gentlemen who resided under St. James’s roof seemed quite settled, with living quarters for valets as well as space for horses in the mews at the rear of the building.
Stapleton had been shown to his room, and space was made to store the carriage. “Ah, London life,” Ash muttered to himself with a grin. Moving from inn to inn, he wasn’t used to living in such style. He’d best not get too comfortable, though.
Hearing footsteps along the hall at his back, Ash turned and saw the very man he needed to meet with this morning—Fallon St. James. As much as Ash would rather carry on with his business in town alone, a job this size required discussion and planning.
“Interesting place you have here, St. James,” he called out while waiting for the gentleman to catch up with him on the stairs.
Ash’s gaze lingered on the set of cherubs painted on the ceiling far above his head as he leaned back against the stair rail. The headquarters for the Spare Heirs Society was a strange place—pleasant, but strange nonetheless—much like the group itself. Ash had seen a great many buildings across England and Wales, and he could honestly say this was the first time he’d encountered such a concentration of gentlemen huddled within a building decorated in such a feminine style. But it wasn’t just the fact that the home was at odds with its occupants. These gentlemen in particular were all of a similar ilk—secretive, risk-taking individuals willing to use whatever skills they possessed to better their situations. It was a bit disconcerting to think there were so many other gentlemen with similar minds for business, when he’d spent so much time on his path alone.
He had to admit that it was an interesting idea, this notion of banding together when society gave no assistance to those gentlemen born after the first in a family. An interesting idea, but not one he wanted to dive headlong into for the foreseeable future.
Ash’s gaze fell across the large paintings in ornate frames depicting various ladies in front of landscapes and gentlemen seated in libraries, none of whom bore a resemblance to the mysterious head of the secret society. How had St. James obtained such a property? Ash glanced up at the man as he neared. “I’m certain there’s a story behind the acquisition of a home such as this. I’ve relieved a fair number of women of their—we’ll call them unnecessary—possessions, but a house? That’s impressive.”
St. James didn’t answer as he descended the steps. From what Ash knew of him thus far, Fallon St. James was a man of few words, even though Ash suspected the man’s thoughts were unceasingly spinning. His dark eyes flashed even when he said nothing. That, of course, only made Ash’s curiosity about the leader of this group of misfit gentlemen increase. St. James joined Ash at the bottom step and studied him in silence, just as he had done when Ash had arrived yesterday. Was staring the man’s only form of communication?
Ash raised a brow, a smirk drawing the corner of his mouth up. “You don’t have to get squeamish on my account. I understand.” He pushed off the stair rail and took the final step down into the main hall. “It was won in a fair card game, was it not? Signed over in a deathbed promise, was it? Listen, I’m sure it was obtained in complete honesty. Have I told you the story of how I got my carriage?”
“This has been the headquarters for the Spare Heirs for a number of years now. It suits our needs. Your accommodations are to your liking, I presume?” St. James waved a hand toward the double doors near the base of the stairs, indicating for Ash to follow him.
Ash threw his hands up in surrender and grinned. “Secrets are what lives like ours are built upon. You may keep yours, for now. Whoever she was, the lady had a fine home. My rooms are more than adequate for my stay here. As I mentioned before, I’ll be gone in no more than one month.”
“If you’re certain you can accomplish your task in that time,” St. James said over his shoulder as he moved across the hall.
“If you knew of my quick work in the Welsh towns, you wouldn’t be concerned.”
“I do know of your reputation in Wales,” St. James said with enough confidence to make Ash wonder exactly how much of his past this man knew. “I think, however, you’ll find the ton to be a more difficult group to persuade away from their purses.”
“I’m aware of the difficulties involved.” The thought of what lay ahead washed over him again, just as it had on the road to London. His jaw tightened in the face of the challenge before him. Ash had to succeed. He’d waited long enough, practiced long enough. It was Lord Rightworth’s turn to pay for what he’d done to Ash’s family. This time he would be the one left in ruin as Ash rode away in his carriage.
He’d tracked Lord Rightworth ever since the day he’d taken everything from Ash’s father. After all, one must know his target well. Ash knew the man’s information from his home in the country, and the one in town, to the fact that he was married with two school-age daughters, to his interest in politics and his propensity to cheat at cards, …at least he knew the man on paper. And it would soon be time to know him personally.
He patted the document he’d acquired at the ball last night, still in his pocket. Obtaining Lord Dillsworth’s financial statements had been the first step in the process. The men of the ton followed that gentleman’s lead in all monetary matters. Ash had seen that during his visit to town last year. Convincing Dillsworth to invest in Ash’s false company was the first and most important step in bringing his long game to fruition. Then it would finally be time to set things to rights.
A steam engine small enough for everyone to own one—ha! He would make people believe it was the next move in society. Once Rightworth had placed all his funds in Ash’s care—far more than that of any other gentleman involved—Ash would vanish just like…well, just like steam! It was brilliant. His father’s fortune would finally be back where it belonged: with his family. And it all started with the document held safely in Ash’s pocket.
He followed St. James into the main gathering space of the Spare Heirs Society. It appeared to have been a drawing room in a previous lifetime, an open space that ran the length of the large home. Now billiard tables sat in the center of the room, while representations of every style of leather chair were scattered across the floor. Was this one drawing room or five mashed together into furniture stew? The mismatched seating seemed to swim within the large, pale-pink walls, while golden swirls of paint made bows on the ceiling. Ash shook his head and followed St. James until they reached a table in the corner of the room, situated to overlook the street below.
After signaling for drinks, Ash settled into one of the chairs and regarded St. James. The man was secretive, but Ash supposed that made him the perfect leader of a secret society of second, third, and in his case, fourth sons. It was an odd line of work. Ash had been on his own so long with only Stapleton for company that remaining in one place, never mind being surrounded by a brotherhood of sorts, was like treading on foreign soil. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life trying to escape the brothers he’d been born with, the next seven dodging their notice while on the road, only to come here and join more?
He shifted in his seat. One job. He would see this one plan through to the end, and then he would leave.
“You didn’t need to go to such lengths last night, you know,” St. James began. “Kelton Brice is Dillsworth’s youngest son and a member here. Had you informed me of your plans, I could have made arrangements.”
Ash bristled. “How did you hear of it? There was a bit of a chase when I departed, but I’ve escaped worse.”
“I assume you retrieved the investment and financial information you needed.”
“How did you…”
“Dillsworth’s knowledge of investments is hardly a secret. And his current holdings point to how you might gain his support. However, if you need anything further, Brice can retrieve it without breaking into the man’s home.”
“It was no trouble,” Ash replied with a grin. Evangeline, he repeated to himself. At least he’d learned—and vowed to remember—her name. No matter the blunders, it had been worth the venture into the servants’ hall. That kiss had distracted him for the remainder of the evening.
Who was he bluffing? It was morning and he was still thinking of it.
“To be clear, Dillsworth is only to be involved to a minimal degree in your business here, only as much as absolutely necessary.” St. James nodded to a footman and a tea service was placed before him, while Ash accepted his glass of liquor. “There have already been enough brawls within these walls without you swindling a member’s father.”
“You think me a swindler? St. James, you wound me.” Ash took a sip of his drink, allowing the burn of it to simmer through his limbs. If he had been honest about his plans while in town—which he hadn’t been—St. James would have known that Ash only skimmed the surface of any individual’s wealth. He could never take everything away from a family as Rightworth had done. Of course the exception to that rule would be Rightworth himself. Ash planned to take everything from that man—down to the last crown. He settled back in his chair with a grin, stretching his legs under the table. “I am but a peddler of the future, a purveyor of hope and destiny.”
St. James shot him a glance as he poured his tea. “How long have you been working on that last bit?”
“The carriage ride to London.”
“You should have ridden a bit longer.”
“Hmmm…too much? I’ll work on it. I’ll need everything in place in the next day, if I’m to begin tomorrow night.”
“With no documentation, no prototype? Your words will only take you so far.”
“It’s 1817, St. James. The future! These men can either fear change or benefit from it.” He leaned forward, waving his hand through the vapor that rose from the man’s tea. “Steam—it’s all around us. And the future will be dominated by it. Soon every home will be transformed by it. An investment in steam is an investment in tomorrow.”
“That’s going to convince gentlemen to give you investment funds?”
Ash lifted the teapot from the table and encouraged more steam to escape the top of the pot. “It will if they fear for the security of their estates and livelihoods.”
“You require more than a bit of vapor if this is to work,” St. James replied. “And kindly put my teapot back on the table. I happen to be fond of it.”
Ash placed the piece of pink floral china back on the table with a roll of his eyes. He hadn’t answered to anyone in the last seven years, and he hadn’t been known for listening well before then. Was joining the ranks of the Spare Heirs a mistake? He swallowed the retort that lingered on his tongue along with his whiskey.
“You knew what I was after when you invited me here,” Ash said after a long minute’s silence.
“It’s my duty to ensure all endeavors of the Spares find success—success beyond the destruction of one lord in town. If Lord Rightworth’s demise is the only thing of interest to you, then by all means, show him a hot cup of tea and talk about hope for the future. I’m certain he’ll come around.”
“Look, St. James, you can either be involved or I will continue on without you and the Spare Heirs.”
“Am I interrupting?” A somewhat familiar-looking giant of a man in a bright-blue coat sank into an open chair at their table, not waiting for an answer to his question. “I had a hell of a night trying to catch up with some gent causing a row at my family’s ball.” He leaned his blond head back and closed his eyes, raising one hand to signal for a drink without looking to see if it had been noted.
“Chased the man through the streets until I lost his trail, and wasn’t even told what he’d done. I don’t mind doing a bit of running for the Spares, but when the order comes from my father, you know how that can irritate. And at the end of it I lost the bastard. Of course, that was when I ran into Harriett. You remember Harriett, St. James. It was dawn before I could remove her talons from my—”
“Brice,” St. James said, trying to gain the man’s attention. “Brice.”
Brice opened his eyes and looked around the table for the first time. “Who the devil are you?” he asked Ash.
“Lord Crosby, purveyor of the future, and the future is steam,” Ash offered, lifting his glass in salute.
“Still needs work,” St. James muttered.
Brice looked from Ash to St. James and back again. “Bloody hell. You were the man I was chasing last night. St. James, you could have mentioned a Spares operation happening at my family’s ball. Not to mention why the devil there was anything occurring at my family’s ball last night. I thought we’d established this wasn’t to happen after that incident a few years back with the—”
“Calm yourself, Brice. Crosby here didn’t know of your affiliation, or he would have involved you. Isn’t that correct, Crosby?”
“Of course, mate,” Ash said, knowing it would be easier to get the man’s father on his side if Ash had his assistance. Not to mention that Brice’s involvement would save him some effort. As for last night, Ash regretted nothing. If he hadn’t gone to the Dillsworths’ ball, he wouldn’t have seen Evangeline again. Ha! He still remembered her name. “I don’t want to upset the balance of things, having just arrived and all.”
“Crosby, is it?” Brice asked.
“It is,” Ash said with a grin. “You know, I have a healing tonic upstairs that would make last night all but disappear from your memory.” He gave a wave of his hand as he said it—an affectation he’d picked up from a fortune-teller last year. People seemed to like the drama it added to his words.
“Do you?” Brice asked as he took a drink from his glass.
“No, but the tonic will get you foxed to the point that you don’t mind the memory so much.”
“I like him, St. James.” Brice released a hearty laugh that shook the windowpanes. “We could use someone with a sense of humor around here, after enduring your secretive glares.”
“Good to know I’m not the only recipient of that look,” Ash said.
Brice leaned closer even though he made no attempt at lowering his voice. “You didn’t ask him about the house, did you? He doesn’t like to talk about that at all. Clams up tighter than ol’ Harriett’s nether regions, if you know what I mean.”
“Brice,” St. James interrupted. “Before you arrived, we were discussing a bit of business.”
“Never mind me, then. Continue. I’ll stay silent as the grave.”
“That would be a feat,” St. James replied as he raised his hand and signaled for a footman to come forward. The man laid a large piece of paper in the center of the table, then backed away with a nod. Crosby Steam Works was printed in large, official-looking letters above a drawing of some sort.
“I believe this will lend some credence to your words, beyond waving your hands about to suggest vapors.”
Ash looked down at a sketched diagram with intricate wheels, lines connecting them, and notes scribbled in pencil around the borders. It did seem technical, but what was it? He looked up at St. James. “This…whatever this is…will produce steam?”
“At the moment it produces squeals and the scent of burning hair.” St. James took a drink of his tea. “Of course, the ton doesn’t need to know the details.”
“It does give the impression of actual scientific advancement,” Ash offered as he studied the paper, spinning the drawing to look at it from all angles. If he was to use this document, he would have to memorize it and give the marks meaning in his own mind. “How did you come across such a diagram? And the name at the top…Crosby Steam Works.” It did sound as if it would be a legitimate organization. He ran a hand over it in admiration.
“I know a scientist of sorts.” St. James shot a look at Brice that Ash didn’t quite understand. “I paid him a visit after I last met with you. The Crosby name was added after your arrival at headquarters of course, but the remainder of the diagram was completed a month ago.”
Brice leaned forward to study the paper with them. “This was what that visit was about, then? Steam? And I thought we were only there to wish Dean well with his upcoming leg shackle.”
St. James shrugged and looked across the table at Ash.
“How did you know I would come to London?” Ash asked. He hadn’t even been sure, and yet this man had taken a trip to have scientific-looking sketches drawn.
But St. James only twitched the corner of his mouth up in a hint of a grin, revealing nothing.
Ash glanced to Brice, but the large man only shrugged and said, “Welcome to the Spare Heirs.”
As for Ash, he still wasn’t sure about the entire thing. If the group could assist him with his plans, then he was glad for that, at least. But one month of belonging to any sort of group would be long enough. The last thing Ash needed was something tying him to London society. One month and he would be gone, no matter how great the temptation to stay.
* * *
Her mother had insisted that she stand just so in order to tempt every gentleman present into a dance. Evangeline pursed her lips and moved her fan to her waist where she’d been instructed to keep it to accentuate her shape beneath her gown. She paused, waiting for someone to notice. Her arm was growing numb, but she didn’t dare move from her statuesque position.
Her mother had left her side to chat with a well-connected lady she’d spotted in an adjoining parlor. This was Evangeline’s first small piece of freedom from the woman’s watchful eye since the last ball, and she was not going to fail.
“Evie, don’t you agree?” Isabelle pleaded at her side. “Tell Victoria she’s being ridiculous about the rules of the card rooms.”
“Don’t bother her, Isabelle,” Victoria responded. “Can’t you see she’s too busy posing for an invisible portrait? She can’t possibly answer questions at a time like this.”
Isabelle shifted beside her. “You simply know that she will agree with me. Ladies do not belong in the card room with the gentlemen.”
Evangeline kept her gaze on the swirl of movement on the ballroom floor, wishing Roselyn had been able to attend this evening. In Sue’s absence, Roselyn seemed to be the only voice of reason beyond her own. And Isabelle and Victoria required constant reasoning. She blinked as she’d been taught to do, allowing her lashes to fall with grace to her cheeks before opening her eyes wide again.
Victoria gave a snort of derision in a most unladylike fashion. “If you were truly hunting for a husband, you would go where the prey is plentiful. Gentlemen congregate together over a hand of cards. It’s logical to walk up the stairs and join them.”
“Where Mother would surely catch you gambling again? Victoria…” Isabelle’s voice trailed off in concern.
“I’m not gambling. See?” Victoria stepped forward into Evangeline’s field of vision with extended arms. “I am here, bored out of my wits at the side of a ballroom where sweet young ladies such as myself belong.”
Evangeline sighed, abandoning her pose and turning toward her cousins. “No one is going to be caught gambling, because no one is planning to gamble this evening. Isn’t that true, Victoria?”
“Of course it’s true.” Victoria rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows the stakes at this sort of event are dismal anyway.”
Evangeline narrowed her eyes at Victoria, then stretched out her fingers. They’d gone cold from clutching her fan with the utmost intensity. “Comments like that are not helping to keep Isabelle from fretting.”
Victoria’s full lips twisted in irritation. “I only suggested we stroll up the stairs to try to find her some fresh meat for the husband hunt.”
“I’m fairly certain referring to gentlemen as slices of flesh isn’t advisable,” Evangeline whispered, glancing around to see if anyone had heard.
“If society can force me onto the marriage mart like a pig being led to the slaughter, then I can damn well refer to gentlemen in the same terms,” Victoria retorted.
“Shh. For heaven’s sake, Victoria. Someone could hear such talk and then you’ll never find a husband.”
Isabelle stepped between them with a hand laid on her cousin’s arm in a gesture of kindness. “Don’t mind her, Evie. She has no desire to find a husband. I believe she longs to be my children’s unwed, elderly aunt.” Isabelle turned to look at her sister, a rare fond smile passing between them.
“And I shall teach them all the things they need to know,” Victoria added.
“Like how to out-curse a sailor?” Evangeline asked.
“Precisely. I look forward to it.”
“My poor children,” Isabelle muttered, but she was beaming at her sister with obvious affection.
Evangeline sighed and slid her gaze beyond her cousins. And that’s when she saw him. Hair dark as sin, and arrogance that could be seen from across a room. Crosby hadn’t left London. He wasn’t on the road to some other place far away from her… He was here.
Her breath caught as she watched him ascend the open stairs to the balcony above the ballroom floor. He was talking to the gentleman at his side, whom she didn’t know—imparting some secret, she was sure. Secrets seemed the only language he knew; even his name was false. But why? And who was he truly?
He was moving in the direction of the card room Victoria had been so interested in visiting. Soon he would be inside the walls of a room where no lady was permitted, and she would have lost her chance to learn the truth.
Evangeline gave Victoria’s arm a tug to spin her in the proper direction. “On second thought, perhaps the card room is just the place for us this evening.”
“You can’t be serious, Evie,” Isabelle said, attempting to follow her gaze, currently fixed on a point moving up the stairs. “We mustn’t go inside there with the gentlemen.”
“I’m not suggesting we do,” Evangeline replied. There was no need to do something that brazen. She only needed to get close enough to learn why Crosby was still here. “But I think we would be remiss not to take a trip up the stairs. Only for a moment, of course.”
“See, Isabelle?” Victoria said with an air of triumph. “Evangeline understands the rules of the hunt, and I’m only too happy to assist her.”
“Wait for me,” Isabelle cried. “If you’re to go in search of gentlemen, I’m coming with you. Perhaps Mr. Brice is in the card room.”
Evangeline gave the parlor door a fleeting glance. Her mother’s attention was focused on smiling at the appropriate times in the conversation that surrounded her. Things such as smiles and laughter didn’t come naturally to the stern woman, and never had. She wouldn’t notice if Evangeline moved for only a few minutes. And as usual her father had wandered away the moment they’d arrived, no doubt to discuss politics with their host. He’d been quite clear in the carriage about his reasons for attending this evening.
Leaving the ballroom for even a minute, two balls in succession? She would have to be more vigilant with her conduct for the remainder of the season. But tonight… If she could slip away, then return in a timely manner to her position at the edge of the ballroom floor and stand appropriately as if nothing had occurred, no one would be the wiser. Quickening her pace, Evangeline moved through the crowd, gliding around the groups of people gathered at the edges of the room.
The Tottings’ home boasted a lovely ballroom that was open to a gallery above. It was only a few steps to the base of the stairs. For once her mother hadn’t been able to manage a position for them farther from the entrance, and Evangeline couldn’t be more thankful. The staircase to the gallery hung in the corner as if suspended from the ceiling. She led the way, leaving her cousins to scurry up the stairs behind her if they were to keep pace. He’d come this way, and if she hurried, she could catch him before he disappeared into the realm of gentlemen.
She paused at the top of the stairs, glancing to each end of the open gallery. Seeing two dark heads turn the corner at the far end of the room, she followed. Serene-looking Tottings ancestral portraits lined the walls, giving the appearance that they were watching the ladies twirl about to the music below. It was a charming effect, if one didn’t consider that they were doomed to spend eternity living every ball as a wallflower with both an unfortunate visage and an inadequate dowry might be forced to do. Evangeline gave the portraits of the ladies a sympathetic nod as she passed.
“Evangeline, what is your hurry?” Isabelle complained at her back. “I can’t walk any faster in these slippers. They match my gown to perfection, but I cannot say the same for their fit on my feet.”
“Then why did you tell Mother they were divine?” Victoria asked. “I believe that was the exact word you used—divine.”
“Did you not see them? They are divine,” Isabelle replied, her usual dreamy tone back in her voice.
“As long as your plan is to admire them from afar,” Victoria countered. “You can hardly walk, Isabelle.”
“Yes, but look when I point my toe…” Isabelle’s words trailed away as she paused to show off her shoes to her sister.
Evangeline didn’t even slow her stride, much less turn to look at Isabelle’s shoes. She could admire them after she’d found Crosby and learned why he was here tonight.
“Damn if that isn’t divine,” Victoria exclaimed.
“See? I told you.”
Evangeline shook her head, making sure to stay well away from the railing overlooking the ballroom where she could be seen. Her cousins could hobble in her direction when they were finished discussing the finer points of Isabelle’s dancing slippers. She only slowed when she reached the end of the gallery. The portrait of a sour-looking gentleman seemed to be giving her a set-down about the direction she was taking. “Hush,” she whispered to him as she turned the corner toward the card room.
Bracketed sconces provided scallops of light that swooped down the long hall like the trim on a lady’s dress. If Evangeline and her cousins kept to the shadows, they could reach the far end without drawing notice. She glanced around to see if Victoria and Isabelle were coming, only to have them collide with her as they rounded the corner.
“Oof,” Evangeline muttered, taking a step back to find her balance. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If we’re careful, we can reach the door to the card room without notice.”
“Without notice?” Isabelle asked, appearing deflated by Evangeline’s plan.
“I agree with Isabelle. If we’re going to lure a gentleman for either of you, it won’t be done in the shadows.”
“What do you plan to do, walk right down the hall where we know we shouldn’t be?” Evangeline asked.
“Yes.” Victoria smiled. “And with style. This is for your sakes, after all, not mine.”
Evangeline opened her mouth to argue, but Victoria had already linked arms with her and was pulling her down the hall. She was the one who’d started on this path of wrongdoing so she could hardly complain now.
Her nerves jangled like a bell in the hands of an eager child as they slid from light to shadow and back to light again. The gentlemen seemed to be gathered at the opposite end of the hall, still a distance away. A door had been left open, and gentlemen spilled out in a mass of dark coats and rumbling voices. The smell of liquor burned Evangeline’s nose even at this distance.
“Do you think they could spare a measure for me?” Victoria mused. “The only drink offered in the ballroom was lemonade. Dreadfully dull gathering this evening.”
“That is not why we are here, Victoria,” Evangeline whispered.
“Why do I get the feeling that you are not here for the same reasons as Isabelle and me?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” Evangeline lifted her chin higher at the accusation in her cousin’s voice.
“Don’t you?” Victoria asked, cutting her eyes in Evangeline’s direction.
Evangeline didn’t answer and Victoria said nothing further. Thankful for Victoria’s rare silence, Evangeline focused her gaze and her thoughts on the group of gentlemen ahead.
She could see Crosby standing alongside the gentleman he’d taken the stairs with. It seemed he had a fondness for dimly lit halls during a ball. The ballroom was most likely too bright for his tastes. No dancing and chatting for him, no—he couldn’t deceive anyone under the bright light of the ballroom.
“Evie,” Isabelle whispered at her other side. “Is something wrong? You look as if you might start bashing gentlemen on the head at any moment. I don’t think that will help us to find husbands.”
“I’m quite well, thank you. I’m simply not accustomed to such environs.”
“We could go back,” Isabelle offered.
“No, we’ve come this far.” After risking the worst her mother had to offer for leaving her post in the ballroom, she at least wanted answers for her effort.
They stepped from light to dark once more as the gentlemen chuckled at some jest Crosby made. If only she could hear, she might learn why he was in attendance tonight. But from the looks on the men’s faces, the conversation was not as serious as that.
She watched as Crosby stirred a lightness in the crowd, making them seem less inhibited than they had been moments ago. It was the same as he had done with her last year. Was it simply his way to tug people out of their day-to-day lives and submerge them in a dream? Back then, she had foolishly followed along.
His words from last year rattled around in her memory: It seems I require assistance. Do you mind lending a hand? But he hadn’t needed her assistance at all. Had he ever truly needed someone’s help? He seemed the sort who had backup plans for his backup plans.
“Always consider the doors,” she whispered, remembering her mother’s rule about where to stand at a ball.
“What was that?” Victoria asked as she sauntered down the hall at her side.
“Nothing,” Evangeline replied.
Last year, Lord Crosby had been considering the door he’d walk through while she was still in his arms outside that parlor, and again the other night in the service hall. She should have known on both occasions, should have seen it in his eyes, but he’d revealed nothing.
“Evangeline, you’re scowling at the gentlemen we’re here to hunt,” Victoria said, cutting into her memories. “Or perhaps your prey is someone specific this evening?”
“Apologies.” Evangeline pasted a pleasant look on her face so that no one would guess the directions of her wayward thoughts—no one except for Victoria, apparently.
As they crept nearer, she could hear bits of the conversation of which Lord Crosby was the center.
“…I told her all the pies she wanted were hers if she would only be so kind as to remove her goat from my carriage. Of course, her goat had already eaten his way through the pies I was delivering. That was the last time I visited the tenants on my estate, and the last time I trusted my driver to close my carriage door after I stepped out of it.”
There was a round of laughter before one gentleman asked the same question she was wondering herself. “Where is your estate, Lord Crosby?”
Evangeline stilled, listening.
“Northwest of here, where the goats grow to the size of horses by feasting on stolen pies,” he answered with a grin.
Another round of laughter filled the hall, but Crosby was no longer paying attention to the gentlemen he was entertaining. His gaze met hers through the crowd and didn’t let go. She watched as a smile lit behind his intense shade of blue eyes. He was pleased to see her. He shouldn’t be. He should have left town while he had the chance, with his secrets intact.
“Ladies,” Crosby offered with a bow, drawing the group’s gaze to where she stood with her cousins.
“My lord,” Evangeline offered in return, forcing a confidence she did not feel into her voice. “Do continue with your tale. I find I’m now quite curious what happened to the woman you encountered after you made your undeniably heroic escape.”
“Evangeline?” A familiar voice spoke from the fringes of the group—too familiar. “Is your mother unwell?”
“Father,” she managed to say, every part of her body tensing in an instant. Isabelle shifted at her side, but Victoria didn’t flinch. Evangeline’s eyes had been locked on Crosby with such force that she’d missed key pieces of information, just as she had last year. Curious gazes had turned in her direction, including her father’s. What was her father doing outside the card room listening to Crosby’s story about a pie-eating goat? He was supposed to be discussing some terribly boring parliamentary matter with Lord Tottings downstairs in the man’s library.
Her eyes flitted over the group who were now watching her and her cousins. Crosby seemed to enjoy the attention, but it only served to make her jittery. She needed to say something in response to all the gentlemen’s stares. She certainly had enough practice in proper conversation. Yet her mind was blank.
She’d stood here far too long already. She’d acknowledged her father’s presence and proceeded to turn into one of the statues her mother was always forcing her to impersonate.
Finally, her brain broke free and began to function. “Mother wishes to leave the event early this evening.” She would pay for the lie later, but it would get her out of this dratted hall.
Her father nodded and moved to leave the group. “Will you excuse me, gentlemen? Crosby, pleasure meeting you.”
“Likewise,” Crosby replied, but his tone was icy and the look he gave her father once his back was turned sent a chill down her spine.
As she watched, Crosby’s expression cleared and was replaced by the mischievous gleam she associated with him. What was his game?
She may not know his true name, or where he’d gone a year ago, but she sensed he had some greater intention tonight than gaining a laugh from these men.
With one last glance over her shoulder as her father led Evangeline and her cousins down the long hall, she vowed to find out.