The twin flambeaux on the bottom step gusted in the wind, sending sour yellow streaks skittering upon the columns and shifting the shadows. Pressing her nose to the glass, she spied the Rothwell door swing open to a yawning blackness, before a figure cloaked in scarlet slipped down the steps like blood upon a wall.
The Prince of Clubs.
Why would he be visiting the duke this night?
She dropped her forehead to the chill pane, breath misting the surface. Artemisia had called her brave but tonight that bravery had fled with nary a backward glance. Sorrow at her deceit still played upon her conscience, a pang which refused to quell.
With the darkened hours, that scene enacted in the square had blurred, her agitated thoughts adding fictional glances and false conclusions.
The spiced milk sat in a china cup by the armchair, a comforting sight, so she closed the curtain and crossed to settle back within the plush velvet.
Tilting her head to the fire, Evelyn sipped. Cinnamon, nutmeg and…clove teased her senses, thoughts drifting.
Casper had proclaimed his feelings for her to all and sundry, a spur-of-the-moment anomaly within his scheduled life, she reasoned. In the ferment of chaos, many a man must have blurted out words of devotion that were later regretted – a result of impassioned emotions and stark relief.
But she would never regret the words she herself had uttered. For they had been spoken with truth, hope and love.
Chapter 31
Possession.
Peace, Casper now appreciated, came in many guises.
He’d thought it could only be attained once the estate was tripling its profit or when thousands of pounds lay in the Rothwell vaults.
But peace lay in Ernest, Uncle Virgil and Cousin Lydia laughing and in good health.
Peace lay in his content household, the exhausted servants quaffing a well-deserved bottle or two of brandy from his personal stocks.
And above all, peace stood tonight in this bedchamber doorway, gaze flitting – hesitant but bold, shy but determined and so damn beautiful.
“Evelyn,” he whispered, voice still roughened.
“I thought to wait till the morrow to see you,” she confessed, stepping forward, hands clutched in her skirts, “but found I could not.”
Casper rose and circled his makeshift desk to stand before her.
Eyes downcast, she worried her lip. That would not do at all and so he feathered her chin to lift it upwards. “Every damn hour of this day, I have yearned to be with you. Yet each time I stepped in your direction, an obstacle fell in my path, wrenching me from you.”
“A duke’s time is not his own; I can understand that.”
He shook his head. “’Tis somewhat true, but much is of my own making. Henceforth, I vow to make time for…for the people I wish to have in my life.”
How perfect tonight now felt…
Just a man and a woman. Alone.
But with such thoughts came wicked images so long denied – melding bodies and jagged sighs. Aching unrequited lust in the dark.
“I suppose you have lots of questions,” she stated, straightening her shoulders in a borrowed gown so seductive it dried his mouth to Saharan sand. “I am ready to answer them.”
In fact, she looked ready for the gallows and he grinned. “I have only one question of significance, Evelyn.”
Her eyes, as green and intense as summer leaves, swept upwards, creases upon her brow. “I will answer honestly. I promise you.”
Good…
“Will you marry me, Miss Evelyn Pearce? Be my duchess, my lover, my closest confidante. To stand with me throughout life’s journey.”
