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And Ollie had complied, adding one solitary frilly pillow, to tease his overbearing housekeeper. Technically, he’d complied with her request and she could no longer pester him about it.

Evelyn had to cover her mouth to resist a giggle.

She casually strolled her way around the end of the bed to slide up against the nightstand. Unable to help herself, she ran her palm over the surface of the pillow. It was soft and cool to the touch. Very different from her overly frilly bed back home.

With a swallow, Evelyn allowed her mind to wander over to what she was most curious about. How many other women had rested their heads upon the other pillow? How many had lain beside him, and how many had cried out into the night? How many days had it been since another woman had been here?

Her face flamed at the thought, and jealousy twisted her stomach into a knot.

Evelyn had never been intimate with a man before for obvious reasons. How could a woman who hated being touched have been intimate with a man? She couldn’t.

But she found herself rather curious about it in the moment. What it would be like if her head lay upon the second pillow, in the dark beside Ollie, his arm over her waist, the front of his body against the back of hers as he pressed a slow, soft kiss to her neck?

Now practically feverish, Evelyn placed cool palms at her hot cheeks and swallowed the hard lump in her throat.

She jerked her mind back from the strange fantasy.

Because that was all it was, a fantasy. Yes, she had accepted Ollie’s touch under situations when she’d needed his help, but otherwise, it had practically burned her.

And even if that weren’t an issue, she wasn’t one to incite passion in a man—if one didn’t count the earl, of course.

Degas had been so kind as to inform her of that previously.

That evening, the famed artist had told Evelyn in front of all their friends, “I couldn’t even paint you if I wanted to.

You have the warmth and desire of the jagged edge of granite.

” Degas had then knocked over his absinthe as he’d passed out on the floor.

Evelyn ran her hand over Ollie’s pillow again. He was so different from her in that regard. Devilishly handsome, he oozed sexuality. He was a human magnet.

Evelyn didn’t ooze anything except being a stuffy, old academic type.

The human equivalent of jagged granite.

As she studied his pillow, she made a funny observation.

The pillow she assumed Ollie used was flatter than the other one, as if the other hadn’t been used in some time, if ever.

She then realized the nightstand on his side of the bed had a photograph.

She hesitated. Surely, if she looked closer, she would see the face of the most beautiful woman in the world.

But perhaps, if Evelyn saw the woman Ollie lusted after, it would finally clear her head of him.

Evelyn leaned closer, her heart quickening. The silver frame housed a photograph behind glass. Briefly, her own reflection stared back until she focused on a very unamused black-and-white Hambone with a Christmas present bow atop her head.

Evelyn let out a gasp, realizing why this house felt so empty and odd.

One of the most important things to aristocrats were family lines, tracing back familial roots to the nobles of yore.

Evelyn had been through hundreds of houses that belonged to such families, most of which had been in the same family for countless generations.

And in every room and hallway of these houses, no matter what style the house was in, there was one aspect shared across every single aristocratic household.

Portrait after portrait of family members, some dead for hundreds of years, hung with pride in every room and hallway.

Furniture used by generation after generation worn with love and time.

Family lore and history was soaked into the bones of the structures and furniture.

Family crests were displayed where all could see.

Meanwhile, there wasn’t a single item in Ollie’s entire house that was tied to his family. Aside from anything related to Hambone, of course.

Sadness washed over Evelyn. It never really hit her how isolating being an orphaned child would be, much less that it would follow into adulthood. Ollie rarely talked about it, but he had made a few frustrated comments in passing that his brothers had known their parents, but Ollie never had.

But why was there nothing here from Ollie’s grandparents? She knew they were Scottish nobility. Surely, they had portraits or family heirlooms they would want to pass on to him?

A noise at the bedroom door caused Evelyn’s heart to stop and the resulting jolt of fear that zapped her threw her to the floor. Someone was entering the bedroom.

From here, she could see under the bed and watched the bottom of the door swing open.

Please don’t be Ollie. Please don’t be Ollie , she repeated to herself.

The door opened to reveal a dark, woolen skirt.

Whoever the woman was took two slow steps into the room while leaving the door open. She stopped.

Maybe she would leave, thinking the room was empty. That would be quite fantastic.

“Do you plan on spending the entire day in here, Miss Sparrow?” Mrs. Chapman’s voice was unamused.

Evelyn shut her eyes tightly against the mounting humiliation. Maybe if she didn’t move, or didn’t breathe, Mrs. Chapman would go away and they would never speak of this.

“Is there a reason you are in Mr. McNab’s bedroom?” The housekeeper was not going to let Evelyn get away with this.

Drat. How would Evelyn get out of this one?

With no other choice, Evelyn stood up from the floor. She was on the other side of the large room from the housekeeper and felt very small. “I dropped something.”

Mrs. Chapman lifted one eyebrow. “What did you drop?”

Evelyn paused before letting out a long sigh. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

The housekeeper crossed the room. “What do you think you’re doing, sneaking around in Mr. McNab’s bedroom?”

“I was merely curious about the home Ollie—Mr. McNab keeps. He did tell me I could go wherever I pleased.”

“Did your family not teach you manners? It is quite obvious he did not include his bedroom in that invitation.”

Evelyn could feel her face turn red. As Mrs. Chapman herded her out of the room, Evelyn hung her head with shame.

The housekeeper followed Evelyn to make sure she was heading toward the stairs. “Just a moment, Miss Sparrow,” the housekeeper said.

Though she wanted to run down the stairs and retreat into the parlor, Evelyn forced herself to face the woman.

“I can’t quite figure you out,” Mrs. Chapman said, her forehead wrinkled as she looked over Evelyn. “To be clear, I know who you are.”

Evelyn tried to keep a level face. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I know you’re the woman everyone is looking for. The runaway bride.”

A long pause. Evelyn finally said, “And you’re going to turn me in.”

Mrs. Chapman’s expression remained pinched.

“No. Frankly, I have no desire to garner the attention that would put upon me. I don’t much care to have my name and face plastered all over the newspapers because of your dramatics.

And I know the cook feels similar. Believe it or not, money doesn’t rule over everyone. ”

Evelyn shifted.

“Mr. McNab has also made it quite clear that if either of us turn you in, we will live to regret it. Of course, neither of us could imagine what, exactly, he could do and have concluded it was an empty threat. However, as we have no intention of leaving our positions, we will have no issue following our employer’s request to keep you hidden.

What I want to know is why he is protecting you. ”

“Protecting me?” Evelyn considered this. “I don’t know if I would put it that way. He is allowing me stay here until I figure out what I’m to do next. I have nowhere else to go.”

“I want to tell you something, and I’m only going to tell it to you once. What you do with it is your business.”

Evelyn swallowed and nodded once.

“I have seen that man return home utterly defeated far too many times.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Chapman huffed. “I shall be more plain, then. Far too many people take advantage of him. His brothers. His grandparents.” She closed her eyes and shook her head with distaste.

“Women. Who bloody knows who or what else. And I’ve, frankly, had enough of it.

” Her eyes opened again and her gaze was sharp.

“Mr. McNab is a good man with a kind heart. He doesn’t deserve to be treated the way he is.

And it’s clear this arrangement you two have is going to end in a disaster and he will not take it well. ”

What in the blazes was the woman on about?

Evelyn took a patient breath. “Mrs. Chapman, forgive me, but I think you may be misreading something. Mr. McNab is a client of mine. He was willing to help me in a desperate situation, and if anything, I would consider him a dear friend. I’m not sure what you think is going on, but if you wish us to speak plainly, that is as plain as I can be.

The only reason I am here is because I quite literally had nowhere else to go.

No one would expect to find me here, and Mr. McNab was kind enough to offer a spare room, as his brother kicked me out of the flat above their pub, where I had planned to stay originally. ”

Mrs. Chapman mumbled to herself, and Evelyn swore she’d said, Of course he did .

“I do not plan on being here a moment longer than I need to,” Evelyn said, completing the thought.

“You say all that, insist you are dear friends, yet I found you sneaking around his bedroom.”

Evelyn forced down her embarrassment. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

“What would you call it, then?”

“I…was mildly curious and it got the best of me. And I had nothing else to do. I was exploring the house and happened to end up in there by accident.”

Mrs. Chapman narrowed her eyes. “You contradict yourself.”

Evelyn thought it best to keep her mouth shut.

“No matter. I see you will not admit to it.” And the housekeeper began to descend down the stairs.

Evelyn huffed and began following the woman, her footsteps rapid in order to keep up. “Excuse me, but what are you insinuating? Not admit to what?”

The housekeeper continued her descent without turning around. “You have designs on him, Miss Sparrow, which is quite the shock for a woman already betrothed to another.”

“I do not have designs on him!” Evelyn retorted. “And he most certainly does not have designs on me!”

But Mrs. Chapman didn’t say another word, instead disappearing into the depths of the home.