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If he followed through on his promise, and she had no reason to doubt the sincerity of that vow yesterday, for these few moments in the park she would be closer to him than she was fated to be for the rest of her days.
Tethering her mount to a secluded bench near where they'd walked yesterday, she sat and lifted her face to the pale sunlight. Close her eyes and she could still feel the strength of his hands lifting her from the saddle, taste the touch of him on her tongue.
For how long would the memory be so vivid? Would its inevitable fading bring increase or surcease of pain?
At least to temper the heartache of Andrew's death she could relive their happy days together, fellow adventurers rejoicing in their mutual love. Her time with Evan had always been fettered, her emotions on a checkrein, her head telling her not to acknowledge or trust a joy that must be fleeting. Never had she experienced the delight of watching his eyes brighten as she whispered her love.
Perhaps, given how it must end, that was for the best.
Despite that conclusion, tears welled under her tightly closed eyes and dripped slowly down her cheeks.
A moment later she tensed. Without having to open her eyes, she knew Evan watched her.
Chapter 17
Through a watery haze she looked up to see him standing a few feet away.
Afraid he might misinterpret her presence, she stuttered, "I c-cannot d-do it."
He smiled slightly. "I know, sweeting."
"Then—why are you still here?"
He shrugged. '"Twas the last place we'd been together. I couldn't seem to leave it. Why did you come?"
Her own smile wobbled badly. '"Twas the last place we'd been together."
He sighed. "We are a pair, are we not? I'm glad you're here, if only so I can apologize. Honor could not tolerate a relationship such as that I proposed to you—not even mine. I suspect I only asked because I was so sure you'd refuse. But I should not have, and I'm sorry. You were right."
"Right? About what?"
"Almost everything. That what I wanted has always come too easily. That I arrogantly believed I could arrange people, events, principles to suit my own convenience. Giving up what I want more than life is a sacrifice bitterer than I imagined." He laughed shortly. "You married a hero who answered duty's every call, who didn't quail at any sacrifice, even that of his life. 'Tis small wonder you never really loved me."
"You're wrong, Evan," she said softly. 'Twas little comfort perhaps, but at least she would offer it. "I did—I do love you."
He'd been gazing off into the distance, but at that he snapped his head back. "W-what did you say?"
"You put aside your own desire to honor your commitments and fulfill your duty. Which takes as much courage as facing an enemy's guns. More perhaps, as no one will ever applaud the sacrifice. None but we two will even know of it. So I want to tell you now I don't regret the time we had together—I rejoice in it. I grieve for what cannot be. And I love you."
He stared at her as if he could not really believe the words. At last he whispered, "Thank you."
"I'll not see you after—"
"No. I'll contrive it so we do not encounter one another. But I will carry you forever in my heart."
Swiftly he untied her horse's reins and held them out. Her eyes blurring once more, she reached for them, and their hands touched. He wrapped his fingers around hers and gripped them hard.
"One more favor before you go," he said, his voice uneven.
"W-what?"
"Tell me again you love me. Say the words with my name. I want to store up the sound in my head, be able to listen to it the rest of my days. 'Tis the only thing will keep me sane."
A hot steel band was tightening around her chest again, cutting into her flesh, constricting her lungs until she could barely draw breath. "I l-love you, Evan."
He closed his eyes as she spoke, his jaw clenched, his face taut, as if memorizing each syllable. He gave her a short nod.
Then in one swift movement, he pulled her up from the bench and tossed her into the saddle. Face expressionless now, he released the bridle. "Goodbye, my heart."
Before she could drag a reply from her constricted throat, she felt the slap of his hand on her mare's flank. Felt cold wind on her wet face as the horse set off at a trot. At the turn of the carriageway, when she at last marshaled strength enough to wipe the tears from her eyes and look back, he was gone.
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Reaching the wide expanses of Hyde Park, Evan set his stallion to a hard gallop, not slowing until the black's heaving sides and blowing breath signaled the animal was spent.
'Twas not enough, not nearly enough to exhaust his own body or subdue the misery in his heart. Dismounting to walk his winded horse, he thought of what would greet him at home. Clare, Andrea and his mama would be at breakfast, doubtless chattering of wedding details. He owed it to Andrea to enter the discussion with at least some enthusiasm. At this moment he could summon none.
Perhaps he could avoid them and slip into the library. Where the butler would have left a tray of invitations, through which he'd have to thumb, screening out those functions at which Emily was likely to appear. Hardly more appealing a prospect.
By the time his tired horse had rested, he'd decided to go instead to his office. However little he might accomplish there would have to be more satisfying than what awaited him at the town house in Portman Square.
Shortly after his arrival the sleepy orderly surprised him by announcing Lord Blackwell, Chief Officer of the Ministry, into whose august presence Evan was rarely summoned. Never had his superior visited him in his own office.
"Cheverley, good of you to respond quickly. Wasn't sure the messenger would be able to rouse you on such short notice."
Messenger? Instantly he knew it must concern Geoffrey. Skipping an explanation of how he'd happened to arrive so early, he motioned his superior to a chair. “What is it, sir? What have you heard?''
Lord Blackwell, a lean older man with thinning, ash-gray hair, indicated Evan sit as well. "A bad business, I'm afraid. Sorry to bring ill tidings, but Geoffrey Randall was killed over in Spain a day or so ago. We've just gotten the report."
"Killed?" Braced as Evan had been for the worst, hearing it confirmed was still a shock. "How? What happened?"
“We're not completely sure yet. He was found in a back alley in the harbor district, his throat cut."
"Lord in heaven," Evan muttered.
"Indeed. Randall was verifying the discrepancies in supply figures you had both noted for arms and ammunition. He feared someone at the dispersion point was siphoning off arms to sell—did you see his dispatches?"
"Yes. But his instructions were simply to gather information about who had access to or control of disbursements."
"He must have stumbled upon more sensitive information. Information so damning that someone felt it necessary to prevent his ever bringing it home."
First Richard, now Geoff, dutiful meticulous Geoff choking on his own blood in some filthy gutter. Rage at the war and friends it had taken shook Evan.
"Then we must find the bastards who killed him."
"Doing so will likely illumine the supply problem as well," Lord Blackwell agreed. "I wish to move quickly, before the murdering swine figure we've had enough time to determine what to do."
"I've already reviewed all the files—noted quantities requested, who signed for deliveries, who commanded the disbursements. I have a list of names."
"Excellent. We'll turn your information over to our field operatives. Damn, I wish we had someone familiar both with those figures and the supply operation, but I don't." Lord Blackwell sighed. "Of course, 'tis always possible Randall ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time, but my sources say local brigands would have been more likely to have garroted than sliced him, had he stumbled upon a transfer. No, the manner of death suggests the murderer is English, someone who thought Randall might be able to identify him, someone who knows how slow and bunglingly inept the Army Department can often be. Who trusted any investigation would be so drawn out he'd have his gold and be safely back in England before it got anywhere near him. We shall just have to see that he isn't, eh, Cheverley?"
While his superior detailed headquarters' theory about Randall's murder, Evan swiftly reviewed his list. His list and the plan he'd formulated while waiting to learn Geoffrey's fate, one that would give him a chance to redeem the trust he'd broken by letting Richard go off to the army alone. And as it turned out, by sending Geoff to die.
Lord Blackwell rose, his face grimly determined. "Again, my regrets about Randall. He was a college mate of yours, was he not?"
"And a friend as well. Another moment, please, my lord." Evan halted his superior's departure. "I already have a plan."
"Excellent. I'll get it to our field people immediately."
"That wasn't quite my intention—if you'll allow me?"
"Explain then, if you please."
"Of the names on that list, the two civilians are acquaintances and the military officer I know slightly. Once your sources check their current financial situations, gaming debts and the like, I propose you let me go there and flush out the traitor."
"You go? 'Tis unthinkable! You've no more training for this sort of thing than Randall, and I don't need another innocent man's death on my conscience. Absolutely out of the question."
