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Richard cleared his throat. “I… I am Viscount Sempill.”

“Yes,” said Evelyn quietly. “Yes, I see that.”

There were no further words. Richard waited for a moment, wondering whether she was stunned from the delight of discovering his true identity, and decided he had to say something. “I am Richard Sempill, Viscount Sempill.”

“As I said. I see that.”

“You do not look happy.” The words had spilled from Richard’s mouth before he could stop them.

Only then did Evelyn’s eyes snap back to him, and he was horrified to see that instead of delight, or shock, or surprise, or laughter that she had been caught out… she looked furious. Her lips positively trembled as her eyes narrowed.

His Evelyn, furious? At him?

“So, you are a liar,” she said conversationally.

Richard’s head throbbed. “No, not a liar, I—”

“You kept this a secret from me—you were probably laughing at me all the way through this tour,” Evelyn said quietly.

“No!” Richard could not understand it. How was this going so wrong?

“And you were undoubtedly laughing at me at the art gallery—oh, I spoke of Viscount Sempill then. You could have told me!” Evelyn had taken a step back as though remaining close to him were untenable.

Richard took a step forward, maintaining the gap between them. This was all going wrong—but he hadn’t done the speech. Yes, that would solve everything. The speech.

Rapidly dropping to his knees on the carpet, he said in a rush, “Evelyn, the last few weeks with you have been so wonderful that I want to make them last the rest of my life. Will you do me the honor of—”

“You have had plenty of opportunities to tell me the truth,” Evelyn said, speaking over him and breaking Richard’s flow. “Why did you not tell me?”

Richard stared, aghast. “You said you didn’t want to know anything about me!”

Two pink dots had appeared on Evelyn’s cheeks now. Mrs. Anstruther was peering at them from the other end of the corridor. Richard attempted not to notice her.

“I said I wanted a blank slate, not a liar!” Evelyn’s cheeks were brilliant red now. “You know how I feel about liars, Richard! Or should I call you ‘my lord’?”

The words sounded stilted from her mouth, wrong, utterly unpleasant.

This was supposed to be the day they became engaged.

“You can call me whatever you want,” he said, rising from his knees. “Look, your father did not mind that I—”

“‘My father’? When have you spoken to my father?”

Ah. That was a mistake . Richard was not sure why, or how, but it was. “It was… just a few words exchanged at the Dalmerlingtons’ ball.”

“That was the night that we—that you bedded me,” Evelyn whispered. “What did he say to you?”

But now, a prickle of anger was forming in Richard. “That was the night you decided to take your clothes off—Mrs. Anstruther, go away!”

There was a gasp and a scurrying sound at the end of the corridor, but Richard did not look around. “You gave yourself to me. I made no demands,” he said in a low voice.

“Because my father had already offered me to you on a platter, hadn’t he?

” Evelyn hissed, her eyes full of pain. “I should have known. My God, he hinted at such—that he thought I had something to tell him. How could I not have guessed? He expected you to ask me for my hand days ago! Of course little Evelyn can play at being an artist because the men in her life will just marry her off, anyway.”

“You asked me to keep the truth from you,” Richard pointed out, trying to find logic in the argument, knowing he was partly in the wrong—but not entirely.

Evelyn’s eyes were flashing. “You told me that you had worked at the docks! How many viscounts do that!”

“You guessed that and I—I mean, I have spent time at docks. It wasn’t a lie.” God, his words were getting twisted in his mouth. “You asked if I’d traveled and I have. You never asked—”

“Did you not think I would wish to know if you were conniving with my father, tricking me into feeling—into thinking I felt—”

“I love you!” Richard said desperately.

He had expected that to work—or if it did not work, at least shock Evelyn into agreeing that they were in love and could muddle through this misunderstanding together.

A shadow flickered over Evelyn’s face as it became stony. “A man who loved me would not lie to me—a man who loved me would not barter for me with my father behind my back.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I am a free spirit, an artist!” Evelyn said fiercely. “And I won’t be lied to. I won’t be passed from one man to another. I won’t do it, Richard.”

“Evelyn, wait!”

She did not heed him. Without waiting for him to say another word, Evelyn had flown down the stairs, skirts whipping back in her haste.

Desperate though he was to catch up with her, Richard could not do it.

She left even her bonnet and parasol behind.

She left even her maid behind, unless the woman was waiting outside for her.

By the time Richard reached the hallway, the door had slammed, leaving him alone.

Alone. Alone? How could he be alone, when Evelyn was in the world?

Richard slumped onto the floor. Oh, hell. How had this gone so wrong?