Page 81 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

“I’m sure it’s just a headache, Mama,” Evie assured her, avoiding her gaze and that of Muir, who was watching her with concern. “I just want to lie down in a dark room.”

For a very long time, she added to herself. She was still shaking. Her body was vibrating with shock and… and she was not certain what else. Liar. Oh dear. She did have a fever, and she knew who was to blame. Louis César. The place between her thighs throbbed uncomfortably and his touch still burned her skin, all the places where his mouth had been. Her hand went to her breast and covered the spot where he’d… heavens, what had he done? She’d felt the pull on her skin, a powerful sensation that had been as much pleasure as pain. Had he bitten her? It had not felt quite like a bite, but she did not know, had not dared look, but she felt his mark upon her like a brand, like ownership. Helpless delight and fear rippled through her at the thought, and she did not know which was the right one to heed.

When she had seen him standing there, in that narrow backstreet, she had thought she was dreaming. She had dreamt of him. When it had dawned on her he was real, she had felt nothing but a jolt of pure happiness and then… relief. It was like exhaling after weeks and weeks of holding her breath or living under a thick pall of cloud and suddenly seeing the sun come out. She knew then, in that moment, as she had never really understood before, the effect he had on others. She had loved him as her friend first, had not seen his beauty as others had seen it, for she’d been too young to be interested in him as a man. Not now, though. Oh, not now. Now she saw, and she understood, and she recognised the power he could wield over her with a tremor of fear.

As soon as they arrived back at their hotel, Evie made her excuses, dismissed her maid, and stood in the quiet of her room, breathing hard. Had all that really happened? Had he really been here, in Scotland? Had he come all this way, just for the chance of seeing her?

Evie moved to the full-length looking glass and stared at herself. She touched a finger to her lips and shivered. They felt sensitive still, and she remembered his teeth nipping at her, his tongue caressing. Heat surged through her, and the insistent throb he’d provoked between her thighs had not ceased with leaving him. It had followed her home and now became louder again, echoing her heartbeat, as if calling for him to come and finish what he’d begun. With trembling fingers, she undid the buttons on her gown, drawing the material aside to reveal the swell of her breast. A small but definite red oval marked her skin, and a jolt of possessive pleasure surged through her. She touched a finger to it, her breath hitching as she remembered his mouth upon her, the feel of his powerful, hard body against hers, his arousal pressed so intimately against her sex as his hands explored her. The dizzyingly expensive scent of him had intoxicated her mind until she had thought she would go mad with wanting him, needing him closer, needing more of him. She could smell him still, the heady, masculine scent of him lingering on her clothes and she breathed it in, giddy all over again. Her body had come alive in his arms, had demanded wicked things she had never realised she wanted. She was not ignorant of what happened between men and women, her mama had seen to that, but never had she understood the lengths people went to, the terrible risks they took to be with the one they desired. The words of poets and writers who described the madness and pain of wanting and needing and longing had never really made any sense to her. Evie understood them now.

She had wanted him beyond sanity, needed him to rid her of the hollow feeling that clamoured for him, for his body to fill hers, to take her and use her however he wished, so long as he made her his. She had been mad with it, out of control, willing to give him whatever he wanted because she wanted it too. He could have lifted her skirts and had her against the wall, and she’d not have stopped him, and that… that was terrifying.

Lord, but he was dangerous.

This… This was why his mistresses looked so smug, so pleased with themselves, why they were so eager to proclaim their place in his bed. This was why her father had packed the family up overnight and taken them away to Scotland. Now, finally, Evie understood his concern for her. Louis had warned her repeatedly what kind of man he was, but she’d not really heeded him, because he was safe, her Louis, her friend, but that wasn’t true. Not anymore, at least. Good heavens, she had once been naked in the same room as him at Beverwyck when he had helped her with that awful dress, and she had never realised the danger she courted, though he had warned her. She’d realised it gradually over the months since, had sensed the change in him, the way he looked at her, touched her. The increasingly lavish gifts he gave ought to have been warning enough, never mind the things he had tried to say, and she had refused to let him, refused to hear him.

Why, though? Why her? Of all the women he could choose, why her? Because you were the only one he could not have, you’re a novelty, whispered a spiteful voice in her head. But people grew tired of novelty. Novelty became dull in short order, and what then? Louis had loved no one in his life, save his brother and Aggie, and that was different. He’d never cared romantically for anyone. He left his mistresses without a backward glance and with his heart entirely untouched. And would his wife have to endure that constant parade of lovers?

He cares for you, she told herself, knowing it was true. Louis loved her, she could not fail to see that, but how did he love her? As a friend, as the woman who would be his wife, the mother of his children? And if so, how long would it last? If she put herself in his keeping, how long before he grew tired of her? He had never lied to her, and in this she trusted him still. She could not believe he would take a mistress behind her back, but would that mean he would tell the truth, that she wasn’t enough for him, when he realised he’d made a mistake? Or would he simply endure and pretend he loved her still, all the while regretting his decision and resenting her?

No, they were friends, they would always be friends, but Louis was dangerous in ways she’d never truly contemplated. If she loved him, her life would be one of turmoil, for she could not imagine him sitting at home by the fireside with her and a parcel of children, and that was what she had always wanted. Safety, security, a loving home. She had never wanted adventure or excitement, but Louis would bring her that with his secrets and his dark past and all the things she did not know about him. She knew he was a good man, and he had told her she knew him better than anyone save his brother, but she did not know about his life before she’d met him other than that parts of it had been dark and he carried the shadows of it still.

She closed her eyes, wishing she could will away the desire thrumming under her skin, because she could not deny that she wanted him, or that she loved him as her dearest friend, but she was not at all certain she wanted the life he would offer her. Oh, dear. Whatever was she to do?

Darling,

I will be with you again soon. I have missed you so much.

I am happy the children have had such a wonderful time. Morven’s sons seem fine young men and I am pleased Evie seems taken with Muir. I pray something comes from it. Do you think her attachment is strong enough to make her forget the comte? I had feared there was no hope, for she has been so listless of late, but your last letter relieves my mind that I did the right thing.

Helena, I know you think me too hard, but I cannot think of my darling girl married to such a man. Perhaps that makes me the worst kind of hypocrite but even my past was nothing compared to what I have discovered. I know not all rumours ought to be believed, but I already knew his past was complicated, to say the least. He has been a thief, a circus performer, and owns the most notorious club in Paris, this alone ought to be enough to colour my opinion of such a match for our innocent girl. To discover just how murky the waters are is of grave concern. He is dangerous, my love, far more so than his brother. I do not believe he would ever hurt Evie, but he will draw her into his world and that I cannot allow. We must keep them apart. I would do anything to save her from hurt, but this friendship ought never to have been allowed. It is inappropriate and if the man himself cannot see it, that alone must prove he is not a suitable companion for her.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Gabriel Knight to his wife, Lady Helena Knight.

Chapter 38

Sinfully Daring

Louis,

Time passes, and I have heard nothing more from you. I assume you are married by now? I cannot conceive of a woman who would not throw herself at your feet at the possibility of becoming your countess. Tell me the deed is done and I shall announce it to all of Paris and watch the hysteria the news brings to the female population. There are many neglected ladies languishing in your absence, I doubt the addition of a wife will deter them for long. Come, tell me the news. I tire of repeating that I do not know when you will return, though I have done my best to keep them company, naturally. So where are you? Why have I still had no word? You promised me a visit, old friend, or shall I come and see you, after all?

I have in my possession a quantity of exceedingly fine cognac and the best champagne I ever tasted. I sent some over to Rouge et Noir. You may set it against the outstanding debt your brother owes me.

I think Jacques passed on the information, but you must know by now that someone has been digging up the past here. From Paris they travelled southwest. I suspect I know where they went, don’t you? Who knows what they’ll uncover. Watch your back.

―Excerpt of a letter from Wulfric ‘Wolf’ De Vere to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

1st July 1842, Beverwyck, London

“Finally,” Aunt Hester said, casting her embroidery aside the moment the door opened, and Barnaby stepped through. With wry amusement, he acknowledged his company was not what the old woman was so eager for. “I thought I would take root, waiting for you two to show your faces today.”

“Forgive us for neglecting you, my lady,” Louis César said smoothly, crossing the room to where Lady Balderston sat and taking the hand she held out to him. He bowed over it and even pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the devil. To Barnaby’s astonishment, colour rose in his aunt’s cheeks. Good Lord, she was blushing!

“Hmph. Think you can get around me with that pretty face of yours, do you?” Aunt Hester blustered as Louis released her hand.

Louis’ eyes twinkled at her and Barnaby watched in amusement as she let out a sigh. “Well, you’re not wrong. Diabolical, that’s what I call it.”

“You would not be the first to say so,” Louis said, his tone dry. “But I cannot help myself. I seek only to please you.”