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“No.”
She frowned her puzzlement. “Then I do not see why he should suffer a moment’s disquiet because of me.”
“Do you not?” the other woman teased.
“No.” She was genuinely at a loss as to what Lady Margaret was implying.
Hunter had not so much as attempted to have a private conversation with her since the morning after their…theirintimacies. Not that she could blame him after she had burst into his study the following morning and wrongfully accused him of intending to send Harker to the gallows.
It seemed rather a stretch of imagination now to think that his current taciturn mood was in any way due to her.
“You are such a dear child.” The older woman’s smile was full of affection.
“But I truly do not understand.”
“I know you do not,” Lady Margaret indulged. “Go to your duke, Evie,” she encouraged. “But remember what I have said about the intensity of his passions. He is like…like an iceberg, with only one tenth of him showing above the surface.”
“That does not sound very pleasant or in the least enticing. Nor is he my duke,” she defended.
“Oh, I think you will find it to be very enticing, if you let it,” the older woman drawled.
Evie’s jaw tightened. “I have told him, and I shall tell you the same: I have no intention of becoming any gentleman’s mistress, not even a duke’s!”
Lady Margaret’s eyes widened. “You told Lincoln that?”
“I did,” she stated uncompromisingly.
“Of course, you did.” Lady Margaret stood up to give Evie a hug before lightly grasping her arms and holding her slightly away from her. “I should have noted before this that you are now a fully grown and beautiful woman with a mind of your own rather than the normal childish rebellion you had shown in earlier years.” She smiled encouragingly. “But you can have no idea what the duke’s plans are for you once we reach London.”
“I believe he intends to find me a husband,” she snapped.
“Perhaps he does,” the other woman murmured softly.
“I shall not marry anyone I do not love.” As she now believed herself to be very much in love with Hunter, that meant she would never marry.
“Being an old maid is not pleasant, Evie,” Lady Margaret assured seriously. “It is lonely at best and precarious at worst when situations change and one does not even know where one will reside next.”
“No matter what, you shall always have a home with me,” Evie maintained firmly. “We shall find a cottage in the country to rent and be two old maids together.”
“Idyllic as that might sound,” her companion said with a chuckle, “I sincerely doubt that will be your fate. In any case,” she continued briskly, “I have no doubt this evening, at least, I shall be fast asleep in my bed by the time you return.”
“I intend to stay only long enough to ensure that Hunt…the duke, is not suffering from any emotional or physical malaise.” Her cheeks warmed at her familiarity.
Lady Margaret looked as if she were about to make a comment, but then changed her mind. “Intentions can change on a whim.”
Evie was almost certain she knew what Hunter’s intentions were regarding her. She really had become something of a nuisance to him these past few weeks, severely upsetting the even tenor of his life. No doubt the sooner he rid himself of the problem of her, the happier he would be.
Then why was she going to inquire as tohishealth and state of mind when it was her own heart that was breaking at the thought of being parted from him?
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Evie took the time to straighten her peach-colored gown and her hair before entering the private dining room. After which it took her several moments to acclimatize her vision in the gloom of the small room lit only by the flames of the fire. The candles had either burned themselves down or been deliberately blown out.
A jacketless Hunter was slouched in one of the wing-back armchairs placed either side of that fire, his long legs stretched out before him. He held a glass of brandy in his hand, the now half-empty decanter on the table beside him. His hair was disheveled, his face flushed, his eyes a dark unfathomable green. His necktie was undone, as was the tie at the top of his shirt, his waistcoat unfastened.
He looked totally unlike the usually impeccably dressed and haughtily distant Duke of Lincoln.
He gave Evie a disinterested glance, then turned his gaze back to watching the flickering of the flames. “What do you want?”
