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Over the meal she'd drawn out her noble guest about his family and interests. He'd remained in town through the winter, he informed her, because of his work for the Army Department, something to do with the always-tangled supply routes for Wellington's forces. She learned he was the sole protector of a mother and a younger sister soon to make her come-out, that he had estates in three different counties, that he loved riding and hated peas.
"You've discovered all my secrets," he remarked, taking a sip of the strong brew, "and yet I know almost nothing of you. Your late husband was with Wellington, I understand?"
Careful, her inner voice warned. "Yes. He fought in almost every peninsular battle."
"And you followed the drum?"
"Yes."
"You must have been very young when you married."
That brought a smile. "Indeed. I was but sixteen."
"Sixteen! I'm astonished your family permitted you to marry and hie off to the Peninsula at such a tender age."
Her smile faded. "Neither family approved the match. We eloped. After our scandalous runaway marriage, my father cut me off completely, so I had no choice but to follow the drum. Though never did I regret it, I assure you! I cherished every moment with—" Biting her tongue, she stopped herself before she made any rash disclosures. "More coffee, my lord? Or can I pour you some port?"
"Port, if you please."
She took a glass from the tray and poured the deep cherry liquid. "What sort of work do you do at Horse Guards, my lord? Or are you not permitted to discuss it?"
He smiled when she handed him the glass, as if amused at her diversionary attempt. "I don't discuss it. Though my silence has more to do with avoiding boring you to death than any real need for secrecy." He took a sip. "Did your father never forgive you?"
"No. He's dead now, so it doesn't matter."
"And your husband's family?"
She suppressed the urge to return a sharp answer. Better to respond pleasantly than reproach his curiosity or attempt to evade, she knew. "My husband's father was just as autocratic as mine. His plans for his youngest son did not include soldiering in the Peninsula with a child-bride, especially one in disgrace who brought him not a groat of dowry. Even when I contacted him that his son lay d-dying—'' she choked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice ''—he did not relent. Where he is, and what he is doing now, I neither know nor wish to know."
She realized she was gripping her cup so tightly the fragile handle was likely to break, and she loosened her hold. A demand that she give up her son had been her father-in-law's only reply to her frantic message, but his Inquisitive Lordship didn't need to know that. The less he knew of her, the less he might divulge in careless gossip at his club.
Cheverley was gazing at her thoughtfully. "Have you been in London long? I wonder I've not met you before."
"I returned to England only a few months ago."
"But—that means you remained abroad for years after your husband's death! How did you manage?"
"When he was wounded I took him to the closest town, a small Portuguese village. He'd taken a ball in the lung and there was no doctor to remove it. He lingered for a time before... Well, I had done some painting, and after...it was over, the local lord, Don Alvero, commissioned me to do a portrait. It pleased him, and he was kind enough to recommend me to other nobles. Eventually I amassed sufficient funds to return to England and open my shop."
"Alone, unprotected, a new widow in a war-torn country?" Cheverley shook his head in wonderment. "Madame, I'm appalled! 'Twas exceeding dangerous, was it not?"
She smiled at the dismay on his face. "On, no! The villagers were wonderful to us. As the widow of an English hero who died fighting the French invaders, I was everywhere treated with the utmost respect. And I wasn't alone. Francesca has been with me since I arrived as a bride."
"You are the most courageous woman I've ever met," he said flatly, awe and respect in his voice. "The English lady who stayed behind to nurse her dying husband. I expect you became nearly a legend."
She shrugged uncomfortably. "Hardly that."
“A legend,'' he repeated softly. “And no wonder. I have trouble myself believing you're real." Slowly, as if he couldn't help himself, he reached a hand toward her. "You are so very beautiful."
She forced herself not to flinch from the warmth of his gloveless fingers when they touched her cheek. "Be assured I am quite real," she replied somewhat unsteadily. "And safe, thanks to you."
She thought for a moment he might kiss her, and swallowing hard, closed her eyes. But he removed his hand, and relieved, she looked back at him.
His fingers were trembling, as if he were holding himself under rigid control. "And so you shall remain. I spoke with Mr. Manners late this afternoon, and he's already amassed quite a dossier on the, ah, enterprising Mr. Harding. Indeed, so full was his account of that gentleman's activities that I'm told the man was moved to book passage on a ship leaving next week for the Americas.''
Before she could thank him yet again, he waved her to silence. "His master is under scrutiny as well. Even if Mr. Harrington is indeed involved, I doubt he'd be foolish enough now to find another tool to implement his illegal designs. Though we plan to continue the surveillance another few weeks, to be sure all danger is past, I think you may feel safe in truth."
"I cannot adequately express my thanks for all your efforts. Indeed, your consideration quite overwhelms me! You must allow me to reimburse your expenses. I could not cover them all immediately, of course, but—"
"Out of the question!" He held up both hands, as if warding off the suggestion. "Dear lady, under no circumstances whatsoever could I take your money. Knowing you are safe is reward enough."
He would not take her money. As the full implications of those words sank into consciousness, Emily barely heard the rest. Could she not leave it at that? Oh, how the thought tempted! Mayhap he'd never press for repayment. Mayhap he'd smile, and leave, and 'twould be the end of it.
Mayhap he'd be back next month or next year with a proposition she was in no position to refuse.
No, she mustn't risk it. Conjuring up the image of her son's face, she took a deep breath. Her heartbeat accelerated and she felt light-headed.
You can do this. You will do whatever you must to keep Drew.
Tentatively she put her hand on the Earl's arm. She felt his muscles tense, heard his rush of indrawn breath even as she spoke, her voice near a whisper. "To express my gratitude in any way that pleases you would be my greatest honor."
She looked up into his eyes, praying he understood, that she would not have to utter words any more explicit. Her heart thudded in her chest and a flush of shame and anxiety heated her cheeks.
His eyes searched hers. She forced a smile, though her lips trembled.
He placed his hand over hers and gripped it tightly. "There is no compulsion." His eyes glowing brighter, he made a move with his other arm as if to embrace her, then dropped it back to his side. "I don't wish you to think—"
"I don't. I know you would never force me."
Though he retained her hand, he sat back a little, his eyes dimming as if affronted. "Of course not!" He gave her a twisted smile. “You cannot help but know it is my fondest hope to establish a more...intimate connection, but I would have you do so from desire, not out of—gratitude.'" He almost spat out the word.
Though the statement nearly choked her, she made herself utter the lie. '"Twould be my fondest hope as well."
His body tensed again, his gaze so heated she felt she must go up in flames. "Are you sure?"
Unable to voice another affirmation, she merely nodded.
It was enough. He seized both hands and brought them to his lips, kissing them fervently. "If you truly wish it, you make me the happiest man in England."
So the die was cast. She felt detached, as if observing the scene from a vast distance. What should she do now? She couldn't bear the thought of coolly choosing a date and time for the assignation. No, better it begin tonight, lest she be tempted to renege on the bargain.
Gently she disengaged her fingers. "Let me pour you another port." She was proud that her voice wobbled only a little. "Now, if you'll excuse me a moment?"
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Evan watched her as, with a sensuous sway of hip, she disappeared through the doorway across the hall from the little parlor. He moved the glass to his lips with shaking hands, then set it back down.
No, best not drink more of that mind-dulling liquid. He was already too close to losing control. When she'd touched him, it had taken every bit of restraint he could muster to avoid sweeping her into his arms.
But she'd just invited him to do so, hadn't she? Normally he'd know just how to proceed, but now... With his body on fire and every nerve screaming at her closeness, he couldn't be sure he wasn't misinterpreting her response, was only imagining she shared some part of the enormous desire that consumed him.
After all, if her story could be believed, and he had no reason to doubt it, she'd been a virgin bride and a faithful wife. Despite what must have been severe pressure to do otherwise, she seemed to have remained chaste even after her husband's death. Certainly her rejection of the lures cast out by St. Clair and his set confirmed that assessment.
