“Was that the other choice?” Eve asks.
“No, that’s my actual name. Unfortunately.”
“Oh, well, you don’t look like a Cyril,” she soothes.
“That’s because I’ve got all my own teeth.” The thirtysomething gives a resigned shrug. “I was named after my grandfather.” He takes a deep breath before beginning again. “On behalf of the establishment, may I offer you both my congratulations?” He beams Evelyn’s way, but she’s already shaking her head.
“Oh, but we’re—”
“Keeping it to ourselves for the time being,” I interject. “And thank you, George. That’s very kind of you. We can count on your discretion, of course.”
“Of course,” he agrees, puffing his chest out. “You’ll want champagne?”
Eve’s eyes dart my way. “That is ...”
“An excellent suggestion.”
“I have just the thing,” he announces before bustling off again.
“The smiles begin to make sense,” I murmur, plucking an imaginary piece of lint from my trouser leg. A woman in a wedding dress? Of course that must mean I’ve gotten hitched! As if I’d bring my bride for a pint and a cheese-and-pickle sandwich to celebrate. As if I’d ever shown interest in tying myself to one woman.
When I glance up, I find Eve looking at me, doing her inquisitive-terrier impersonation again. “Why did you tell him we’re married?”
“Did I? I thought I just went along with his assumption.”
“Yeah, but why?” she asks, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“I didn’t want to cause you any more discomfort.” It’s a simple explanation but one I find, on reflection, is true. I acted on instinct rather than with any kind of ulterior motive. I did it because I find I want to make her day a little better. Or at least, not any worse. How uncharacteristic of me. I suppose everyone has an off day now and again.
“Well, thank you.” She presses back into the seat, and I watch as her teeth begin to worry at her lip. “What happens next time you’re here and they ask how your wife is?”
I glance the viscount’s way. “I’ll just pull that face. He’s been married for fifty years and has spent forty-nine of them in here hiding from his wife. I can get away with the ruse for at least that long.”
She gives a tiny shake of her head.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I was just thinking how, less than an hour ago, you were going to ditch me. Now look at me, your sham bride.”
“I told you—you’re the most interesting thing that’s fallen into my lap this year.”
“As opposed to the kind of lap action available in those other gentleman’s clubs?”
Desire tightens my skin. Eve in my lap would be something. She’d be hypnotic, my hands on her hips, encouraging her gentle rhythm. Mouths sliding, skin slipping against skin. The insight is blissful and short as I blink. Atherton’s ex should not interest me. “That’s not my style.”
She doesn’t answer for a beat, though she studies me. Which suits me fine. It allows me to reciprocate.
“Why are you being so nice?” she asks.
“Curiosity probably.” There is bound to be some use in it for me.
“Are you hoping to get back at Mitchell by fucking me?”
“Are you?” I volley back, ignoring the flare of heat in my gut.
“What did he do to you?”
“Let’s just say as well as understanding why you’d leave him at the altar, I’m also coming to understand why he’d chase you.”
