Page 12 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue (Wicked Widows’ League #18)

After spending several weeks of nights in bed with Angela, hours of shared pleasure and intimate talks, Evan still hadn’t been able to get her to relax and trust him enough to discuss the real reason for her visit to England.

And this was his one duty. His task.

His superior, Mr. Abney, would be in Brighton for a few days so that Evan could report to him what he had learned about Angela.

He had tried. That was when he had the time in between bedding her as often as humanly possible for the two of them and the necessary basics like eating, sleeping, and bathing.

But when he asked, she still kept telling him nonsense about having come to England to find distraction and to have fun.

She could have done all of that without crossing the Atlantic.

Her eyes glistened with unusual brilliance in the candlelight. Tears. Evan’s heart rate increased. He’d been plying her with wine all evening, hoping to get her intoxicated enough for her to let her guard down and give him an honest answer.

He turned to her. She held her half-empty wineglass to her lips, kissing the rim but not drinking at the moment. She studied her lip print on the glass. “You have the most wonderfully delicious wines.”

“Angela, why did you come to England?” he asked, then he grimaced inwardly.

He was supposed to have warmed her up with more conversation, not just blurt it out like that.

But he’d been distracted by watching her lush, red lips pressing the glass so suggestively.

Was she doing that on purpose to make him think about kissing her or think about her kissing him in places she had yet to kiss?

Was she distracting him so that he wouldn’t ask her the question?

Ridiculous. She didn’t know that he was going to ask. Perhaps she guessed?

He held his breath, willing her to answer completely this time. Once he knew the real reason she was in England, this thing would be over one way or the other. And then he could decide how best to protect her. At that thought, he blew out the breath he’d been holding.

Protect her?

Wasn’t this all about protecting Britain from a possible industrial spy? Well, it certainly started that way. But things had changed since then.

Yes, he’d protect her. God, yes. He wasn’t going to turn in the woman he’d fallen in love with. Never.

Astonishment fell over him. Yes, he was in love with her.

Yes, he’d do or give up anything to protect her, even from the consequences of her own willful actions.

She was more precious to him than anything else in life.

His life would be meaningless without her.

Yes, he’d even give his life for her if it came to that.

As it turned out, ironically, the wine they had drunk this evening had wrung truth from him and not just Angela. But would she tell him finally, fully, what he needed to know?

They had been discussing the death of her dog.

Then, her wedding night. She’d told of countless times Jacob Berry had made fun of her in front of his associates and how he had taken her love and trust and used it to humiliate her.

And now Evan felt like a brute. She was sobbing now, quietly, with her forehead against her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs.

That tightness in his chest seemed to break.

He caressed her head. “What is it, my love?”

He could hear the hoarseness in his voice. He had barely choked the words past the huge lump that had seemed to lodge in his throat. “Trust is so important,” she said, her voice filled with aching sadness.

His stomach lurched, and he swallowed hard against the rise of acid in his throat.

If he confessed to her now about all of his deception towards her, she would only hate him.

She would likely run from this hunting lodge as fast as she could.

And then parted from her, how would he be able to protect her? “Yes, Angela, trust is important.”

“Especially between lovers.”

His stomach lurched again, harder this time, and the ache went twisting all through him. “Yes, especially between lovers.”

“I lied to you, Evan.”

He caught his breath again. Here it was. Her confession. She was really a spy. They would have to flee England. That much was clear. He would be abdicating his title. No matter. One of his distant cousins could take his place as his uncle’s heir. What did it matter to him now?

Without Angela, his life would be meaningless.

“It doesn’t matter, Angela. Tell me, whatever it is, please tell me.”

“My father.” It wasn’t easy to understand her. She was as hoarse as he was.

“Your father?”

“My father isn’t dead, at least not yet. He isn’t an Italian merchant. He’s here in England.” she gulped back a sob. “He’s the Duke of Amesbury.”

“Amesbury?”

“He’s dying. I have never even met him. H-h-he wrote to me. He actually wrote to me for the first time in my life. He’s dying, and he wants to see me.”

The chills that had been crawling over his scalp melted away, and the hard knot of dread in his stomach began to ease.

“Well, that’s not so terrible.” He ran his hand through his already mussed hair.

“I mean, it is not good that your father is dying, but if he wants to see you and you want to see him, we can go there and see him. We can leave in the morning.”

“No, you don’t understand. I went there, to his estate, when I first arrived in England.

His heir told me that he was too sick to see anyone.

The heir, Edmund, such a sweet boy, was quite nice about it.

A little young to be given such a task, I’d thought.

Later that night, my father’s duchess came to my chamber, and she warned me that I had better leave in the morning and never return.

She said that my father had spent quite enough of his money on me already, and I’d better not expect anything else from his estate, or else I’d be sorry. ”

The look she gave him was so tragic that something deep inside him twisted and broke. Then heat surged through him, rage like he had never known.

No one had the right to hurt her like this.

No one.

“I lied to you about something else. I lied to myself because it was too painful. Jacob did tell me why he was disappointed in me. I tried to tell myself it must have been something else. But I know it is the real reason.”

An increased surge of burning anger made him grit his teeth. He didn’t give a damn what Jacob thought or said. But since she sounded so miserable, he asked, “What was that, my love?”

“He said I was not demure. He said a woman should be demure, in her dress, in her manner, and especially in bed.” Her chin quivered, and her voice grew weaker at the last word.

“I tried to be demure for him. I tried to behave in the ways he suggested. But it was too late. He was already so disgusted.”

He could hold back no longer. “He wasn’t right.”

She flinched, and he regretted his tone. However, there were limitations on what a person could hold back.

“Not right?” She sounded confused.

He ran a hand over his hair, took a deep breath, and attempted to modulate his tone. “There was something wrong in your relationship with him. He wasn’t honest about something. Maybe he wasn’t even honest with himself. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re an exciting woman, in and out of bed.”

She looked at him with dazed eyes, and her face looked pale.

“Did you hear me?” he asked.

She nodded.

“If you ever start doubting what I’ve said, come to me, and I’ll set you right about it again. Promise me?”

She nodded again, more weakly this time.

“I am so tired, Evan.” She sank down on her pillow, face first, her body curled on its side with her legs tucked to her chest. “I just want to sleep.”

He could see how her revelations had drained her. He came closer to her and ran a hand over her hair. “Yes, let’s sleep, my beautiful love.”

The sound of her regular breathing carried to him almost immediately. Feeling restless, as though he would never sleep, he nonetheless reclined beside her. The next thing he knew, he awoke to hear her being sick in a basin.

He felt sick himself for having encouraged her to drink to excess. He went to her and held her hair out of the way as her body spasmed.

Each spasm was like a whip cutting into him.

Damn. What was the matter with him treating her like that last night?

But he had to have his answers, and now he had them.

Once her retching ended, she staggered back to their bed and collapsed. He ran and got another basin, filled it with water and gathered some cloths. He went to the bed and laid a cool, wet cloth on her forehead. He kissed her brow.

“I am so sorry, my love. I should not have encouraged you to drink so much last night.”

She laughed with a fragile sound. “I am the one who drank all that wine like a glutton.” She took a deep breath, but an uneven one, and she moaned.

Please don’t let her be ill again. I couldn’t bear it.

Guilt sliced through him, and an ache spread through his tightened stomach. He wet another cloth and replaced the one on her forehead with it. Perhaps if he could make her cooler, she’d feel better faster. Could she tolerate a tea yet? Or should he give her a little more wine?

He bit his lip.

He’d never had to nurse a lover through the aftereffects of a night of decadence before. No, in the past, after the bedding, he’d be long gone.

She opened her eyes. Her pale face and red-rimmed eyes should have repelled him.

Instead, she had never looked dearer to him.

Hating the news he must tell her, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“My love, I must go to Brighton and take care of some business. But I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise. ”

“Perhaps I should start thinking about returning to Boston.”

He almost gasped aloud with shock. “Why would you say something like that?”

And he might add, how could she say something like that after all they had shared these past weeks? And last night, she had shared the deepest secrets of her heart with him. How could she possibly think of leaving him now?

“I just think that I should,” she said.

“But you promised to attend the Christmas ball with me. The Wicked Widows’ League Ball.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You promised to be wicked with me in the gardens.”

She gasped, her eyes lighting with amusement despite the continued paleness of her face. “I promised no such thing!” She slapped at his arm. “Fiend! To have such an idea. It will be too cold for such antics. We would likely be caught.”

“We will not be caught, and I will keep you warm, love.”

“And just how would you keep me warm in such frigid temperatures?”

“I will buy you a long mink coat.” He stroked her hair. “Though the fur will pale in significance against the beautiful color of your hair.”

“Evan, I think it would be safer for me to go home.” She bit her lip. “I am not as brave as I thought I was. The coward in me grows as Christmas grows nearer.”

“You’re afraid of attending a party with so many people?

I understand. They are not just people but titled people, just like Lady Amesbury, the one who rejected you.

I can understand how you would feel that way.

But it won’t be like that. These people accept others and their differences, and they love to enjoy themselves.

They are very compassionate ladies and their gentlemen friends. ”

“No, that’s not it. I am not afraid of attending the Christmas ball, though I admit to some nervousness. This is something far more important, a matter of the heart, and the consequences of making a misstep would be devastating.”

She sounded serious now. His chest tightened as alarm flashed through him. “No, you stay right here.” He grabbed the back of her neck lightly. “Promise me that you’ll be here waiting for me when I return.”

He’d go mad with worry if she wouldn’t promise. And if she did promise, then he’d have to keep telling himself that she was too good a person to break such a promise. Dare he hope that she might be even a little in love with him? Too in love to break his heart?

He inhaled deeply, then blew out slowly, trying to restrain himself from pressing her further for her answer. Was this what being in love was really like? These ecstatic heights followed by unbearable uncertainty.

“Evan, sometimes I feel afraid. Very afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes, afraid of you.”

“Me?”

“And of this, of us.”

“There’s nothing to fear.” He lowered himself to put his cheek against hers. “We just have to trust in each other. We have to trust in what we have and who we are when we are together.”

“Most of all, I feel afraid of myself and the things that I begin to think about. To dream about.”

“Like what, Angela?”

“Like us, going on after Christmas.”

He paused, wondering how much of his newly self-admitted feelings and thoughts she was ready to hear.

How much she was really ready to face. And especially since she wasn’t well at the moment, he decided to err on the side of caution.

She already had so much to cope with and to come to terms with.

“It’s not out of the question, Angela, that we should continue on as lovers past Christmas.

Perhaps you are not the only one who spins such dreams.” He placed a kiss on her lips, cheerfully tolerating the sourness of her breath.

“You’ll promise me that you’ll be here when I return. ”

It was a definite demand. Did he feel more confident about giving a demand now that she had admitted the depth of her feelings to him?

Admitted the depth of her own fear of being hurt?

Maybe. Love for her had driven him to do so.

And in doing so, he had just revealed to her the depth of his own fear of losing her.

Now, he might pay the price for such a gamble. He took a deep breath.

And he waited.

Her eyes revealed nothing of her thoughts or feelings. He had never felt so powerless in his life.

Finally, she nodded. “I’ll be here.”