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Chapter 12
Evie stood shivering on the doorstep as Gabriel knocked on the door for the third time. They couldn’t be this unlucky. It just wasn’t possible. Somebody had to answer them. She chafed her hands over her arms and was ready to cry in frustration when the door finally swung open, and a tired-looking old man peered at them from the inside.
“The household is asleep,” he said in a pretentious tone, looking them over with a disgusted gaze.
“I am a friend of your master. Please tell his lordship that Gabriel St. Clare is here to see him.”
The butler looked down his nose at him. He was about to close the door when a low, deep voice sounded from behind him. “Who is it, Monroe?”
“A gentleman who claims to be your friend, my lord, and a lady beside him. They do not look respectable.”
Evie narrowed her eyes on the old butler, but she couldn’t even scrounge up any indignation. They truly did not look respectable at all.
Gabriel wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. “You’re cold,” he said into her hair. Evie took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. She was just relaxing into him when a vast shadow appeared in the doorway.
“Ah, St. Clare, it is you!” came the dark voice of the marquess. “And you brought your…” He paused, clearly searching for a polite way to call her a strumpet.
Evie couldn’t fault the man. The way she looked now, especially leaning into Gabriel’s side, in a bedraggled state, she’d mistake herself for a harlot too.
She disengaged herself from Gabriel’s side and curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
“Vane, meet my wife,” Gabriel said sharply. “Will you keep us outside all night, or can we count on your hospitality?”
The man reared back in surprise. “Of course.” He opened the door wide and watched them come in with his brows drawn low over his eyes.
Evie shivered as she entered the house and finally took a look at their host. He was extremely tall, about a head taller than Gabriel. His shoulders were wide, and his demeanor dark and menacing. Evie instinctively inched closer to Gabriel’s side.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady St. Clare.” He took her hand and bowed over it.
“She’s the duchess,” Gabriel said briskly.
“I thought you said—” The marquess frowned from Gabriel to Evie.
“In my own right,” Evie added, and the marquess lifted his brow. “The Duchess of Somerset, a pleasure to meet you.” It was a rare occurrence, to be sure, so his surprise was understandable.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Monroe, tell Mrs. Ainsworth to prepare the best room for our guests,” he addressed the butler, then turned back to Gabriel as the servant scurried away. “I am certain you don’t want to spend the night away from your wife.”
“Actually, we are quite starved. Do you think your servants can send up a meal to our room now and possibly a bath in the morn?”
“Certainly.” The marquess reached out a hand and rang the servants’ bell. “Will you tell me what you’re doing here in the dead of night with a single valise and looking like drowned rats?” He lifted his brow, and Evie struggled to stifle a chuckle.
Drowned rats, indeed.
“I shall gladly regale you with our tale over a glass of your fine whisky,” Gabriel said.
The housekeeper silently appeared by their side at this moment, and Gabriel took Evie’s hand and bowed over it. “I trust you will be pleased to adjourn to our quarters, my dear wife?”
Evie bit her lip as not to laugh. “Certainly, my dear husband. My lord.” She curtsied toward the marquess, who was observing their exchange with an unconcealed look of astonishment on his face. If he was truly Gabriel’s friend, then it must come as a surprise indeed to find him suddenly shackled with no grandeur.
* * *
Gabriel settled comfortably in a large armchair by the fire and shivered pleasantly. Vane passed him a glass of whisky and sat across from him.
“So,” he said, eyeing him curiously. “Do tell. What in the devil is going on? Are you truly married? Or is she some doxy you picked up along the route home?”
“Tread carefully, my friend,” Gabriel warned in a low voice. “She is my wife and a duchess. Nothing I’ve said is a lie.”
The marquess raised his brow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
