The Price of Temptation (21 page)
T
he servants flew around the house, happily preparing for the dinner party.
Evelyn stared down at the elegant table, set with costly dinner plates that bore Philip’s initials in gold, and was tempted to throw them against the wall, one by one.
Instead, she clasped her hands at her waist and smiled and murmured praise to her devoted staff.
She didn’t see Sam, but there was work to be done belowstairs. She wondered if he was thinking about her. If she went back to the room tonight, would he come to her, beg forgiveness? She doubted he was the kind of man who begged for anything.
Nor did ladies apologize to their footmen.
So where did that leave things?
Charlotte had claimed Miss Trask back again after all, having fired her own maid. Evelyn paid little attention to Mary’s choice of gown. It wasn’t until she was fastening the buttons on the back that she realized she was wearing yellow. She had no idea which shade it might be. Dry stick or old hen would fit her mood.
“You look beautiful,” Mary assured her.
Did she? Evelyn hardly knew, didn’t care. She felt like a lump of lead, or perhaps fool’s gold was a better comparison, given the yards of insipid yellow satin that covered her.
She pasted a smile on her face, but her stomach trembled at the possibility of meeting Sam in the hall. What if she made a fool of herself by bursting into tears? She pursed her lips. She hadn’t let a single teardrop fall all day, and there wasn’t time to feel sorry for herself now. Her guests would be here in a few minutes. She didn’t have time to think of what might happen when the clock struck midnight in the little bedroom.
Evelyn drew a fortifying breath, straightened her spine, and left the false sanctuary of her bedroom.
“I
t’s going to be a very exciting evening!” Countess Elizabeth said as the coach set off from Somerson House. “I’ll admit I’m looking forward to getting a look at Evelyn Renshaw, so I can go home and tell everyone I actually dined with the notorious traitor’s wife!”
Caroline Forrester glanced at her friend in the darkness, dreading the evening already.
“I hope you won’t ask her embarrassing questions, Mother,” Lord William said, shifting in his seat. “I can’t see why you’re so excited. There are a dozen more pleasant ways to spend an evening in London, and that list includes suffering the attentions of pickpockets and predatory
ton
mamas looking to wed their daughters to any man with a title, so long as he’s breathing and has a thousand a year to his credit.”
“You aren’t enjoying London?” Elizabeth asked her son.
“No,” William said sourly. “Too many parties and inedible dinners.”
“And no wife,” Caroline said sympathetically. “Poor Will.”
William sighed. “I wonder if it will be too late to go to Somerson’s club after dinner?”
Elizabeth swatted her son playfully. “You are our escort tonight, and a poor one at that. You have not even told Caroline how lovely she looks. Did you notice she’s put off mourning?”
Caroline resisted the urge to touch the yellow ribbon that adorned the pale cream-colored gown. Charlotte had insisted she wear color in hopes she’d quickly find a husband.
Despite the prompt, William remained stubbornly silent.
“Did you know I have been given rules for tonight?” Caroline asked, and patted her reticule. “Charlotte wrote them down for me.”
“Truly?” William asked, looking at her at last. “Are we expected to observe them as well?”
“I suppose not, or she would have given you a copy,” Caroline said.
“What are they?” William asked.
“I’m not to mention Lord Philip’s name, for one.”
“Then what are we to discuss over dinner?” Elizabeth objected. “The weather will not even take us through the soup course!”
Caroline shrugged, then remembered not to. No country manners was the second rule, and that included smiling with teeth showing, tapping her feet, and laughing out loud. “I doubt it will be a problem, since the third rule warns against chattering needlessly.”
“You? Talk too much? No one can get a spare word out of you, Caro,” William interrupted. “How unfortunate you didn’t bring a book tonight.”
Caroline ignored the jibe.
“What other rules did she give you?” he demanded.
“No singing, even if invited, but if I am invited, I am to limit myself to one of three songs. Charlotte wrote down the titles.”
“Does Lady Evelyn have a pianoforte?” Elizabeth asked.
“Apparently she does, but according to Charlotte it is unlikely the instrument has been tuned since ‘the incident that cannot be named.’ ”
“The incident that cannot be named?” William asked.
“The
treason
, dear. It is how Lady Charlotte refers to it,” Elizabeth explained.
“I’m not supposed to know anything about it,” Caroline whispered, giving William a warm smile, though it was probably too dark in the coach for him to get the full effect.
“I understand there is a vast collection of art at Renshaw House. May we mention that?” Lady Elizabeth asked. “I hope it is not too extensive. I have been charged with committing every detail of her house to memory, so I can give my friends accurate details.”
“I wonder what notorious ladies serve for dinner?” William mused.
“The heart of an innocent?” Caroline suggested. “Sacrificial lamb, perhaps?”
William missed the joke.
“So long as it’s cooked properly,” he muttered.
“You are always thinking of your stomach, William!” Lady Elizabeth said. “It reminds me of the time your brother hid in the pantry and devoured half a roast beef we were intending to serve for dinner! He felt so guilty, he fed the rest to the dogs to hide his crime. The cook feared we’d been robbed. I shall never forget your father’s face when she burst into the dining room in front of the Duke and Duchess of Welford, shrieking her dismay . . .” Her voice faded away into sorrow.
“We should have seen it then. We might have nipped it in the bud. Now Sinjon is as much a traitor as Renshaw,” William said bitterly. “I know you only came to London to look for him, but I advise you to forget him. Father and I have put him out of our lives. He has caused this family too much embarrassment.”
Caroline bit her lip. It would be quite impossible to forget Sinjon, the dashing, charming Rutherford who had run away to war rather than marry her as their families expected. She missed him as much as his mother did. She shuddered at William’s harsh expression, and wondered how a man could hate his own brother, no matter what he was guilty of. She reached out to squeeze the countess’s hand.
“Sinjon is my son,” the countess said. “He cannot possibly have done the things they say he did. I know it in my heart, William.”
“They say he ravished a woman, betrayed his men, sold secret battle plans to the French. This is not some childish prank that deserves a lecture and bed without supper. He’s a grown man. He has not even written to us to tell us his side of it.”
“How would we know? Your father would have burned his letter, unopened.”
“Rightfully so. Sinjon’s been disowned.”
“Not by me, William. Never by me.”
Caroline hid a smile. Nor by her. They would not marry, but she still loved him as a brother. Or a brother-in-law. She slid hopeful eyes to William.
But he was staring out at Renshaw House as if he expected the traitor to pop out of an upstairs window. “I see we’ve arrived.”
Elizabeth took out her handkerchief and carefully dabbed her eyes. “No more gloomy chatter. I suppose there is a danger in not guarding your tongue after all.”
“Let’s think of half a dozen witty things to discuss as we walk up the front steps,” Caroline suggested. “That way we’ll be fully prepared if the soup is not praiseworthy.”
“A fine idea,” William said sarcastically. “What would most interest a traitor’s wife?”
“I imagine she wonders where he is, and worries,” Elizabeth murmured.
A
dam Westlake settled back against the plush squabs of his coach. For a change he was looking forward to going to a dinner party, since this one was at Renshaw House, and he would be present to overhear any slips of the tongue the lady might make with regards to her husband’s whereabouts. Not that such an occurrence was likely. Evelyn Renshaw was as discreet and careful as he was.
“I’m surprised you agreed so readily to come to Evelyn’s for dinner,” Marianne said.
“Why? I remember Evelyn as a fine hostess with an excellent table. Surely the evening won’t be as dreadful as that.”
“No, it won’t be dreadful. None of her sisters are going to be there. Imagine what an evening it would be listening to them chatter without ceasing.”
“You wouldn’t be able to get a word in,” Adam teased.
Marianne glared daggers at him.
“Has Evelyn heard anything more from Lucy, or from Philip, perhaps?” he asked.
Marianne sniffed. “You know I am not interested in gossip, Adam.”
Which meant she wasn’t willing to admit that she hadn’t heard a word since Lucy’s emotional scene in Evelyn’s salon.
“Yet I predict that by the end of this evening, you will have winkled out every available detail about the lives of Evelyn’s other guests,” he said. “Who is coming, anyway? You merely said they were kin to Somerson.”
“The dinner is for his half sister, Lady Caroline Forrester. She’s coming with the traveling companion who brought her to London, a Countess Halliwell, and her son.”
Adam’s cravat was suddenly choking him.
“Did you say Halliwell?” he croaked.
“Yes, why?”
Sinjon Rutherford’s family was coming to dinner?
Disaster loomed, fangs bared.
Adam wondered if Rutherford knew, and why he hadn’t said something, sent a warning. He made a strangled sound. Marianne crossed to his side as he began to cough and thumped him on the back.
“Whatever’s the matter? Shall I have the coachman return home?”
He gripped her elbow. “I’ll be fine if you stop pounding on me, Marianne.”
He straightened his coat, took firm control of his body and his emotions once again, and gave his wide-eyed wife a bland smile.
It didn’t convince her in the least.
“Why should the Countess Halliwell’s name shock you so?” Marianne asked. “Or is it her son, Viscount Mears, that surprised you? Do you know something about them?”
“I’ve never met them,” Adam replied quickly. “Mears was at several of the parties we’ve attended in the past months, but we have not been introduced.”
“I’ve heard his brother stands accused of treason.”
The cravat tightened its grip anew. “That has not yet been proven. Or so I understand.”
Marianne snorted. “Nor has Philip come to trial, but we both know
he’s
guilty, don’t we? D’you suppose Evelyn invited the countess tonight to commiserate?”
Did
Evelyn suspect Sam Carr was the infamous Captain Rutherford?
Adam’s tongue glued itself to his tonsils.
“
Perhaps it’s a club, like a sewing circle, for the relations of traitors,” Marianne suggested.
“You know Evelyn better than I, but I would have thought her too discreet for such an enterprise.”
“It was a jest, Adam. Of course she is. I can only imagine everyone will find themselves most surprised if the conversation turns to the topic of traitors lurking in family trees. How awkward that we haven’t got one to speak of.”
Even more awkward if one of the named traitors was helping to serve dinner, Adam thought. What would the countess say when she set eyes on her son? He hoped Rutherford had the good sense to absent himself for the evening if he knew. Would a lady tell her servants who was included on her guest list?
“It’s going to be a very interesting dinner indeed,” he said, not realizing he’d spoken aloud until Marianne agreed with him. She fell silent again.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“I’m making a list of safe and interesting topics to discuss, just in case the conversation lapses, or turns to something embarrassing.”
Adam shut his eyes.
It was going to be a disaster.
E
velyn reached the salon without meeting Sam. She wouldn’t see him until their eyes met across the dining room. Would she know at a glance how he felt, what he was thinking? She went to the sideboard to check the supply of sherry and port.
The sherry was for the ladies, the port for the gentlemen. Philip preferred brandy, the drink of traitors.
Evelyn refused to serve the French spirit now that he was gone.
The door opened, and her fingers tightened nervously on the decanter as Sam entered.
She hoped he was here on an errand from the kitchen, sent to ask a question about the wine, or sauce or flowers, but the look in his eyes, dark and earnest, told her that this had nothing to do with dinner. Hope pushed the breath out of her lungs as he strode toward her. She put the decanter back in place and made ready for whatever was about to come.
“I wanted to see you before your guests arrived. I have something to tell you.” He looked down at her yellow gown. “What the devil are you wearing?”
“Don’t you like it?” She couldn’t seem to think of anything more intelligent to say. “It was a gift from my sister, and it is styli—”
He kissed her quickly, his mouth firm and cool against hers, rendering further speech impossible. Hope rose with desire, curled like smoke through her limbs. Weak with relief, she gripped his forearms for strength.
“Can you meet me upstairs?”
“Now?” she gasped. “My guests will be here any minute!” She wanted to go with him. Oh, how she wanted to let the whole world wait. Her body turned to molten liquid at the thought.
“Just to talk.” There wasn’t a hint of passion in his voice. Dread skittered over her raw nerves. This was serious, then, not a reconciliation. He was going to leave her. Her blood turned to ice and she shut her eyes.
“Evelyn, please. What I have to say cannot wait.”
She slid her hands off his sleeves and turned away, hiding her dismay. “I—can’t.” She could see his reflection in the glass doors of the cabinet. He looked frustrated, annoyed. She couldn’t help that. She was holding her own emotions together with fraying threads.
Philip had left her without a word. She had simply woken up one morning to find him gone. There’d been no parting and no ugly words. She couldn’t bear a scene now, not with Sam. She clasped her fingers at her waist, wanting to turn and plead with him to stay, but dignity and fear kept her silent.
“Evelyn, please. You wanted to know about my past—” He stopped, swallowed and glanced at the door.
“Is it as bad as that?” she asked, turning to face him, keeping her voice even.
He looked down at her without answering, his hands at his sides, clenched into fists. His expression was guarded, carefully free of any emotion that might give her a clue. Her heart sank. She was staring at a stranger.
A stranger she’d foolishly fallen in love with. She could list everything she knew about him on the fingers of one butter-yellow glove. Soldier, knight errant, lover, footman and— She tightened her fist so hard the satin squeaked in protest.
She knew nothing else about him.
There was a soft tap at the door, and Sam quickly stepped away from her as Starling entered. She resisted the urge to hug her arms around her body.
“Your first guests are arriving, my lady. The Earl and Countess of Westlake. Sam, Mrs. Cooper needs help with the large soup tureen. You’d best go down and see to it for her,” he instructed.
Dark blood filled Sam’s face. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her, even to acknowledge Starling’s order. Wordlessly, he pleaded with her to spare him a moment, but how could she now, when she had guests? How could she bear to hear the words he’d say as he took his leave of her for good? She shook her head, almost imperceptibly, and looked away.
His jaw tightened, but he bowed with crisp precision and left the room. Evelyn shut her eyes, unable to watch him go. Her stomach was a jumble of emotions, her nerves in knots. How was she going to eat or make pleasant conversation?
Marianne swept into the room, resplendent in violet silk, with her husband behind her in pristine black and white.
“Good heavens, Evelyn, what are you wearing?” Marianne parroted Sam. “Is it meant as part of a joke?”
She forced a brilliant smile. “Yes, of course. It’s to match Mrs. Cooper’s third course, which is, um, chicken trifle.” She hoped it would turn out to be chicken. She couldn’t remember anything about the menu just now.
Sam was going to leave.
Marianne grinned. “It would have been even funnier if you jumped out of the dish itself.”
“But rather messy, and likely to render it inedible,” Westlake said, bending over Evelyn’s hand.
“I would have worn yellow as well if you’d told me. Possibly a ridiculous hat, with canary feathers and a riot of ribbons.”
“If there’s truly such a bonnet lurking about the house, I will order Northcott to shoot it on sight,” Adam said.
Marianne sent him a look. “Of course there isn’t, but I would have obtained one if Evelyn had told me her plans.”
Lord Westlake smiled distractedly. Evelyn watched his eyes scan the room restlessly, poking into the shadowy corners beyond the candlelight as if he were looking for someone. Philip, perhaps?
“Would you care for a drink, my lord?” she asked. She turned to Sam, to ask him to serve sherry, but he wasn’t at his usual post by the door. Starling was. Sam was downstairs carrying soup tureens, deciding how to tell her he was leaving.
Evelyn felt utterly alone in the company of her friends.
“Countess Halliwell, Viscount Mears, and Lady Caroline Forrester,” Starling announced, his tone plummy, his posture stiff with the pleasure of welcoming guests to Renshaw House once more.
The countess’s gray eyes darted around the room like nervous sparrows before coming to perch at last on her.
Viscount Mears was fair-haired like his mother. He reminded her of someone, she thought. Perhaps it was something about his manner as he came forward and bowed, his expression guarded.
By grace and good fortune, Caroline Forrester looked nothing at all like Somerson, and her beauty spoke volumes as to why Charlotte disliked her.
“How kind of you to invite us, Lady Evelyn,” Countess Elizabeth said as they exchanged curtsies, and Evelyn felt a twinge of anxiety at the undisguised curiosity in the countess’s eyes. She obviously knew she was dining with the most infamous woman in London. It seemed she was doomed to go through the rest of her life with Philip’s shame standing behind her like a ghost. She forced a gracious, welcoming smile.
“It is my pleasure.” She turned away from the countess’s stare. “Lady Caroline, are you enjoying your visit to Somerson House?”
Caroline colored and her pleasant expression set itself in stone. “Very much, thank you,” she said dutifully, and Evelyn wondered what Charlotte had done now.
“We have been quite busy since our arrival, seeing all the sights of London,” Countess Elizabeth put in. She turned to Marianne. “Perhaps you could suggest amusements we might seek out while we are in Town, Countess Westlake.”
Marianne’s eyes lit up. “Nothing would please me more! Tell me, will Viscount Mears be escorting you? I’m sure Westlake would be delighted to—” A glance at Westlake’s subtle frown stopped her. “Or I would be pleased to accompany you.”
“William says he’s already seen everything. He’s been in London since the start of the Season,” Caroline said.
“Dinner is served,” Starling announced, his voice a full octave lower than usual.
They proceeded into the dining room rather awkwardly since there was a very uneven number of gentlemen to ladies. Everyone else Evelyn had invited, including her own sisters, had refused her invitation, pleading prior engagements. With only six people, the evening promised to be intimate.
Evelyn smiled as everyone took their seats. Marianne was chattering with the countess, she realized, and no one else needed to make an effort at all.
Evelyn nodded to Starling, who was waiting to serve the first course.
The evening was successfully under way, she thought. Everything was perfect.
She couldn’t wait for it to end.