A Notorious Countess Confesses (PG7) (33 page)

“Really tremendously rude of me,” she said brightly.

Lord Lisle laughed. “After the life she’s led in London, she needs all the rest she can muster.”

“Oh, yes,” Adam said, after a moment. “I’ve heard a good deal about her life in London. Her life in Sussex has been rather active, too.”

Funny. He’d just discovered one of the pleasures of innuendo.

It could be used to punish. To lash out when one was wounded.

“Has it now? And Eve was telling me how very little there is to do in Sussex that doesn’t require … healthful exercise. Perhaps you’d fancy a card game, Vicar? Or are you allowed to gamble?”

“Frederick,” Evie’s voice was clipped. It was unmistakably a warning.

Which meant she unmistakably understood his intent.

“I don’t see the point in gambling, Lord Lisle, when what I want is simply given to me without even asking.”

Adam said this easily. He chased a few peas about his plate and coaxed them onto his fork.

Eve turned her head toward him then, slowly. Her eyes were flints, and as dangerously cold and hard as the dangling shards of chandelier overhead. Imagine that. So she understood his meaning, too. He perhaps had rather a knack for innuendo. He was loathing himself more and more by the minute, too, but that seemed neither here nor there.

“Did you know that Evie once winked an eyelash from her eye and caused a duel, Reverend Sylvaine? Two men each thought she was winking at them, and jealousy ensued. It’s a rare woman who can inspire that kind of primitive competition in two sane men.”

“Swords or pistols?” Adam asked, if he were measuring Lisle for one or the other. Perilously like he was calling him out.

Enough so that Lisle paused. And Evie’s eyes had gone wide with disbelief.

Eyes that had been so warm and vulnerable last night, then heated and slit, then closed with wild pleasure.

“Swords,” Lisle said finally. “Nearly a gory end to that one.” Implying that it was just one of many, many others. “Did they teach you to how to fence at Oxford, Reverend Sylvaine? That’s where I learned.”

“Oh, I learned that from my brothers. And from my cousins, the Everseas. We practice rather a lot. I learned how to fence, as well as sense for what and who was worth dueling over. Very little, it seems, is actually worth it.”

She hadn’t stopped staring at him. Each word he said was a deliberate blow, and he saw her go paler as he said them, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Of course. You likely haven’t dueled. But then I suppose dueling is a pastime generally confined to gentlemen,” Frederick said offhandedly, then flashed a brilliant smile

“Oh, of course,” Adam agreed cheerfully, sawing off a piece of lamb. “Then you don’t know anything about it, either.”

He said it so casually, with such an easy smile, that it took even clever Freddy a moment to hear the words.

And then his smile froze as if he’d just realized a stiletto had been slid between his ribs.

The smile drifted from his face. It was like watching a lake disappear in a thaw.

And suddenly he seemed to begin to really see Adam.

“Perhaps we ought to discuss something other than guns?” Evie suggested rapidly. Her hand had closed over her napkin, and she was squeezing it as though she were imagining someone’s neck between her fingers instead.

“But there’s not much to do in the country other than shoot things,” Adam explained to Freddy.

He smiled faintly. Almost disinterestedly.

Frederick was staring thoughtfully at him. He leaned back in his chair, his elbow resting on the table. He remained in that position of repose, entirely as if he was lord of the manor

And then he leaned toward Eve, and very familiarly lifted her cross delicately in his fingers, rested it on his thumb, which skimmed her silky skin.

Adam’s knuckles went white on his knife.

Frederick smiled slowly, enjoying this. “I admit it’s been too long since I’ve seen her, and I’ve never seen her looking lovelier. So fresh … so deceptively innocent. And I must compliment the necklace, Evie—how it adds that necessary flare of innocence. But she’s so artful about appearing to be whatever she’d like to be. A talent all actresses share.”

Adam slowly, deliberately laid the knife down next to his plate.

And then he pushed out his chair, stood abruptly.

“Reverend, are you leaving us?” Lisle was all feigned innocence.

Despicable bastard.

“Parish business never ends, Lord Lisle. I apologize for my abrupt departure. I hope you enjoy your visit.” He got the words out without spitting them like a furious animal.

“I expect I shall,” Lisle said. Leaning back away from Evie, content as a cat curling up next to a fire. Satisfied he’d won. Whatever winning meant under these circumstances.

“I’ll just escort you to the door, Reverend.”

Evie’s voice was a glacial warning as she pushed her chair back with significant force that nearly tipped it to the floor.

But he was walking so swiftly she nearly had to run to catch up to him.

“Adam …” she hissed. “What in God’s name … What on earth makes you think you have the right to—”

He halted abruptly then and turned, with a finger to his lips.

She fell silent instantly.

They stared at each other for a moment.

And then he leaned down slowly, deliberately, and whispered in her ear:

“I hope you took the time to wash the scent of me off your body, my lady, before you rode him.”

She reared back, eyes blank in shock.

Her breath gusted from her as though she’d fallen a great height.

For a moment they stared at each other. Pure, cold fury snapping between them.

Her eyes narrowed, and her hand flew up to slap him.

Effortlessly, he caught it in midair.

Effortlessly, he held it. To prove that he could. And that he quite simply wouldn’t allow her to hurt him. Ever again.

“Slapping me would be redundant, Eve.”

And then he dropped her arm as if he were dropping the carcass of a snake and walked away.

OF COURSE, BY the time he’d returned to the vicarage, he felt like a thoroughgoing bastard, a raving infant, a spoiled innocent. All of these were entirely new sensations.

Then again, he told himself mordantly, allegedly you like new experiences, Sylvaine.

“I don’t want to see anyone this morning,” he said abruptly to Mrs. Dalrymple.

Since he’d exhausted the possibilities of the woodpile, it became plain there was simply no escaping himself. The best punishment for his despicable behavior, he thought sardonically, was to be alone with himself and really, truly dwell on it.

Such a delightful panoply of emotions she’d introduced into his life. Everything heightened and intensified, thrown into stark relief. Every emotion possible unearthed, presented to him to juggle, to absorb, to combat, to savor, to wonder at.

She was part of him now. With an intensity, an irrevocability, a sweetness, a fire, a torture, that had transformed every cell of his being until he was now and forever a different person entirely. There could be no one else for him.

This, he realized, was entirely his problem.

She’d given him pleasure, she’d promised him nothing, she’d asked for nothing—unless one counted a little assistance obtaining friends.

Which was just as well, as he could give her nothing, and likely Lisle could give her everything.

I thought I might never be whole again, is what Colin had said when he’d thought he lost Madeline. And he thought of Lady Fennimore, living a life divided, which wasn’t far different from never being whole.

She would never again be at the mercy of any man, she’d said.

And round and round his thoughts went, chasing each other and never catching, never solidifying into any conclusion.

“Reverend Sylvaine.” Mrs. Dalrymple’s voice was so gentle it took some to penetrate his emotional morass. She’d already said his name twice.

He looked up.

“Jenny has sent for you. It’s Lady Fennimore’s time.”

“I WANT YOU to go, Freddy,” Eve told him the moment she returned to the table. She didn’t sit down. She stood hovering over him. She was tempted to give him a good prodding with a fork.

He looked up, genuinely shocked.

“Eve … why, Evie, you’re upset.”

“How observant you are, Freddy. I was upset all through our meal, and you’ve only now just begun to look at me.”

“Come sit beside me … I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to … you know how I hate to lose. I could see that man—”

“Reverend Sylvaine.”

“I could see he means something to you. Or you mean something to him. And I couldn’t help it, Eve. Old habits of competition die hard.”

She remained icily silent.

“I couldn’t help myself, Eve,” he repeated. “The man is a gorgeous bastard, and my pride was abraded, I suppose I just took it a bit too far.”

“You’re hardly a gargoyle, Freddy, but that’s neither here nor there. You humiliated me. I don’t like the game anymore, Freddy. I, in fact, never did. I don’t want to be a bloody pawn in any man’s game!”

Her voice rose and rose and rose until the last three words were wince-level pitch.

Frederick eyed the candelabra, certain one was about to be hurled across the room.

“It’s almost as though you don’t know any other way to be, Freddy.”

“I don’t understand,” he tried soothingly.

“I know, and that’s the trouble.”

He was flailing now. “You know I care for you. Genuinely. I’m hardly a gargoyle, as you said, and I could still have my pick of any of the eligible young ladies in the ton, and yet I’m here, with you, now.”

“Ah, Freddy. Lucky, lucky me. I think I might fall in love with you any minute. Listen to how you woo me.”

He did laugh. Albeit shortly.

And then he said almost tenderly, “That’s why, Eve. When you say things like that … it’s not the plum for an arse, or not only. That’s why I can’t forget you. It’s you I care about, and that’s why I’m here. I’m offering marriage, you know. You and the motley characters you call a family. I’ll take them all on. From a distance, mind you.”

It really only sounded like he was raising the stakes in a game because he wasn’t getting what he wanted immediately.

She sighed. “Oh, Freddy. Go.”

“Are you banishing me, Eve?”

“No. I just want you gone for now. Will you go?”

He considered her. “I’ll give you a fortnight to think about my offer. Come to me in London then … or don’t come at all.”

Ah. An ultimatum. Well. The man did love gambling.

But still. The moment he’d said it she’d felt a clock begin to tick on the option, and what that life would mean for her, and her family.

“Will you think about it, Eve?”

And in truth, she couldn’t in good conscience say any other thing:

“I’ll think about it.”

He came to stand before her. Looked down somberly at her a good long moment.

And then he kissed her on her forehead.

“Then I’ll go.”

Chapter 24

BY NIGHTFALL, A dull ache had settled in behind her eyes and didn’t seem inclined to budge an inch.

Her housekeeper kept quite a selection of jars of ointments and unguents labeled for the complaint they were meant to alleviate, all lined up in a neat row in the pantry. Unfortunately, as none of them said “Disgust with Men” or “Ennui” or “Fear of the Future,” Eve finally accepted a tisane. It made her feel cared for at the very least.

She drank the tisane, which though it didn’t quite cure her headache was so vile surely it ought to frighten off any ailments before they could even think of taking hold. She kicked off her slippers and slid out of her dress, and, clad in just her shift, propped her feet up close to the fire grate, wiggling her silk-covered toes, and bleakly pondered how much longer those stockings would last and whether Frederick was worth a lifetime of silk stockings and finely sprung carriages and the health and welfare of her siblings and nieces and nephews, who were then bound to go forth and breed with the enthusiasm of rabbits.

She rubbed at her forehead, as if she could erase the events of the day. The misery caught in her throat: The white tension about Adam’s mouth, the cold disdain. And how powerfully he’d hurt her, how skillfully he’d lashed out. She sensed he’d never done a thing like that before in his life. Ah, what love—or desire—had taught him. I’m always such a good influence, she thought sardonically.

He could go to Hades, the vicar could. Share the bones of the Nemean lion. Her heart, as far as he was concerned, was a block of ice.

She leisurely unpinned her hair, stacked her pins, and shook it out. She pictured Adam pulling one strand out, tucking it behind her ear. The look on his face …

She shoved the thought away.

Honestly, would anything in her life ever align properly again?

She glanced out the window, thinking she wouldn’t miss Sussex at all should she leave it. She turned away toward her mirror. Froze, whipped her head about toward the window again.

“Sweet Mary Mother of—”

She toppled from her chair, heart in her throat, crashed to her hands and knees. And then she crawled over to the window and slowly raised up on her knees, and peeked out.

Yes. There was a man was standing just outside the gate. She stared; the figure was in shadow, all muted grays. Gooseflesh prickled her arms. Who the devil—?

Whoever it was came no farther than the gate. His coat rippled a bit at his knees, caught and tossed by the win. She stared at him, wondering if she was to be haunted by—perhaps it was One-Eyed William, the highwayman?—in addition to everything else.

And then cloud obligingly moved away from the moon with a flourish like a magician’s cape—Voila!—revealing who it was. He wasn’t wearing his hat. To her weary eyes, his fair hair looked like a tiny twin of the moon.

She really ought to get a dog, she mused, as she stared at the bastard. A large savage, fetid-smelling animal, a bit like the O’Flahertys’ dog, only with sharp teeth—fond of her, mind you, so fond it would curl up in her lap for stroking—but who would keep all men and their demands and caprices at bay.