Page 12 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)

CHAPTER 11

A fter taking inventory of her surroundings and the luxurious bed she’d apparently been sleeping in for almost two days, Evelyn decided to put things to rights partly because she needed the distraction and partly because she expected to be shipped out posthaste. So far, she’d seen a maid named Miss Margaret Kelly and the housekeeper Mrs. Nithercott, who looked at her with questions but never voiced them. She barely remembered being bathed, dressed, and put to bed. Still, she did have the odd memory of Rochester hovering over her, the scent of his clean hair, the feel of his night beard, even though she had no memory of seeing him since he essentially carried her into the house.

His house.

The thought brought no comfort as it had in the coach when she’d mortifyingly bawled like a baby. Except Rochester’s treatment had not been parental, he’d paused with concern and spoken with aching regard.

In her haze, she had heard another woman’s voice and had a foggy recollection like she’d recognized it or her. The memory was a phantom blurred by her sleep-starved mind; it could have been anyone, even a man, for all she knew. But for some reason, the idea conjured a vision of the woman at the theater. She prayed to God the woman was indeed Rochester’s cousin as he’d said she was because Evelyn’s heart had melted in that freezing rain, and she couldn’t abide it if the beautiful redhead were his mistress.

Since Rochester, without complaint, had chosen to bring her safely to his home, she put the whole idea of a mistress from her mind.

Evelyn washed her face and cleaned up with the lavender soap and toiletries that someone had the good graces to leave for her, like hair pins, combs, and lotion for her wind-parched skin. On the chaise lay her peach gown, ironed, clean, and wearable but for the unremovable stains and the somewhat tattered hem. Someone had left her a new chemise, and she was eternally grateful regardless of where it came from.

Refreshed and ironically feeling better than she had in weeks, she straightened the bedclothes and began folding the extra blankets. She spread out a beautiful quilt at the end of the bed, something a loving aunt might make a bride, and marveled at the stitches.

She heard a scratch at the door.

“May I?” Rochester’s muffled voice permeated the closed door.

She hurried across the thick blue carpet, her heart pounding an extra beat, and took the door handle, opening the polished oak to find him standing there.

He took a step back, a concerned frown between his brows. His soulful eyes, usually so full of spark, looked as tired as she felt even after two days abed.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

“It’s been two days, so I understand,” she said as she motioned him in. She turned her back, strolling to the bed, and sat upon the quilt she’d just laid out, the stitches a comfort under her fingers.

He gestured toward the open door. “Do you mind if I close this?”

“I can’t see what difference it makes at this stage, can you?”

“Hardly,” he answered while shutting the door softly as if that were less condemning.

Honestly, she didn’t care a whit. Neither could she know what Rochester meant to do with her. She supposed he’d take her home or at least deposit her at her father’s town house. To some extent, he looked harassed, with his hair tousled like he’d been randomly combing his fingers through it.

“I’ve been worried about you. I’m not often confronted with a weeping woman in my arms or sharing a bitter cold coach ride through the country in a hurricane.” Nervously, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry for acting like a ninny. I think I was just exhausted.”

“I’ve no doubt that’s so.” He walked to the bed and then sat beside her.

She avoided his gaze, pulling her hands into her lap. These past weeks, she’d schemed over which rules to break and begged him to participate in her downfall, but she’d never dreamed of anything quite so scandalous, and she wondered what he thought of her now.

“It’s obvious you needed the sleep. I’m glad you took the two days to recoup. My housekeeper, Mrs. Nithercott, tells me you’ve eaten very little, so I’ve had her prepare a tray of meat, cheese, fruit, and broth. A bit of everything. You’re welcome to take it here if you’re not ready to leave this room.”

She nibbled her thumb, her mind racing through options and finding decisions difficult. Although she was grateful for his help, she felt befuddled sitting next to him on a bed she suspected might be his.

“If you don’t mind.” She looked meaningfully at the place between them. “You’re not my brother, and I wouldn’t wish anyone to assume the wrong thing.” Honestly, she allowed that the staff might have already come to their own conclusions. Her statement made little sense after all they’d been through, but her nerves caused her to play out the formality.

“Of course, you’re right.” He stood without delay and retreated to the other side of the room.

“Did Winn ask you to watch over me for the Season?” she asked hesitantly while his back was turned, afraid she’d see the truth on his face when she’d rather believe a lie.

He pulled the chair from the secretary, pivoting it on one leg, and then sat facing the ladder back. He regarded her with his chin propped on his arm resting on the top rail. The picture of him was so roguishly charming she almost forgot her question.

Extending his thumb, he rubbed his eye. “Absolutely not. I’ve had little contact with him these past months, and I assume he’s rather preoccupied.”

“What about the house party at Kingsley’s two Christmastides ago?”

“Yes. Out of brotherly concern, he did ask me to keep an eye on you there.”

“I wasn’t a child then, nor am I now.”

“I never said you were.”

“No. You just call me goose. And I’m not a ninny.” When she first mentioned being a ninny, he hadn’t disagreed with her. She wanted to hear him disagree with her now.

“I never said you were a ninny.”

“You’ve called me foolish,” she countered.

“No, Evelyn, you’ve called me foolish.”

She couldn’t dispute that. She shrugged a half smile. “I concede. You’re correct.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I’m sorry if goose offended you. I meant it as a pet name. Nothing else.”

She shrugged, sorry that she’d brought it up because, in truth, she loved it. The conversation was merely a distraction except for the part about him watching her like a nursemaid. She sighed. “It doesn’t offend me. Not when you say it.”

“Who else calls you goose? I’ll hunt him down and call him out for his opportunistic boldness.”

That made her giggle. “Is that what you are? An opportunist?”

“Never say it.” He sat straight as if insulted, but his eyes shone with teasing sincerity.

She wet her lips as he watched her. “I’m just nervous.” She willed her hands to be still. “I feel silly because I broke down in tears, and women are often blamed for using tears as a weapon. But that’s not me.”

“Is that what you assume I think? Because I don’t, Evelyn. Men cry, too.” His gentle answer plucked at her heartstrings.

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen a man cry. Not Winn, or my father, at least.”

“I cry when I’m sad. Our hearts break as easily as yours. Perhaps not as often.”

She watched him for a long minute, deciphering what he hoped to gain from such a personal confession. “Apart from your childhood, you’ve been that sad before?”

“Of course.” He spread his arms wide. “I ask you, am I less of a man?”

She felt tears behind her eyes and a thickness in her throat. That he should trust her with such things beat away at her unease. “I think you more of a man for it, and to admit it is even greater.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, that is a relief, Miss Markham.”

And there he was, the flippant Rochester she knew. Except now she knew another side of him. The side that held her close, protecting her with his body against the rain. The man who concerned himself with her tears. Who’d stolen her away instead of taking her home just because of her desperation to escape a fate as large as her entire life. She couldn’t imagine anyone else who would do that. Not even her brother, Winn.

No coddling words, no selfish demand that she stop crying; instead, he had simply listened. She assumed he hadn’t heard her these past two weeks, but he had tucked away her every word until she spelled out the one that saved her.

“Miss,” the chambermaid called just before she kicked open the door with the toe of her shoe. She balanced a tray that bore several covered dishes.

“Let me help you.” Rochester bolted from his seat.

The woman hurried past, allowed Rochester to help her, and then left so quickly that Evelyn hardly had time for embarrassment at being caught privately entertaining a man in a boudoir. The maid’s quick glance held no condemnation, but it didn’t stop Evelyn from feeling a crush of judgment sponsored by her own conscience.

Rochester began uncovering dishes with meats, cheese, and even the broth he’d promised. “Come sit.” Bent to his task over the tea table, he patted the settee behind him.

“Only if you promise not to spoon-feed me, too.” She joined him on the settee while he prepared a plate and set the bowl of beef stock in front of her. With a dubious lift of one eyebrow, he snapped a pristine white napkin on her lap.

“If there were strawberries, I believe I’d have to ignore your request. No one should eat a strawberry from their own fingers.”

She smiled around a bite into a slice of apple. “Sometimes you say just the right things.”

“And sometimes I’m an ass.” He said that while filling his plate, ignoring her snort of laughter.

“I don’t know any other man who would dare say the things you say to me.”

“I should hope not.” He gave her a half smile.

She wiped her hands on the napkin and shyly asked, “Rochester? What’s to become of me here?”

“I’d tease you with a, what do you want to become of you , but I think it’s too serious a question and one I can’t answer. Not yet. But we have a week to work it out.”

“How have you managed that?”

“Because if your father minds the note you left him explaining your trip to Winn’s for a week, and he believes the note my footman delivered of your safe passage, then I can’t see him encroaching on your time with Adeline.”

“I am fighting the guilt. I wonder how Adeline is doing.”

“You have nothing to feel guilty for. I sent the note, and I’ll be the one to catch hell if it comes to light, not you.”

“Knowing my feelings on the matter of birth, Papa shouldn’t send for me for at least a week.” She bit her lip. “How will I get to Winn’s after such a taradiddle?”

“You’ve lied to no one. Remember that. And I’ll escort you back. Until then, you’ll stay in this house and won’t so much as peek out a window.”

“I think I miss the sun already.” She teased but felt more relaxed than she had in weeks.

“I exaggerate but only a little. The back garden is safe enough, but we can’t chance you being seen in London for fear of a real scandal, one I sense that not even you would accept considering your earlier penchant for breaking some rules.”

“Fear not, I am still on the side of breaking the rules, Mr. Rochester. My plan has not changed, but I am not feeble-minded enough to consider a scandal such as this. And with you.”

He gave her a solitary look of disbelief. “Aren’t you the one who begged me a week ago to minorly assault you in an alcove?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’ll remember, you did minorly assault me in an alcove. Unfortunately, there was no one to see it since you scared off Lord Sullivan.”

“No, you are mistaken, my lady. That was not me in the alcove. And Lord Sullivan is a sod.”

“Sounds like a dare. I’d wager the shilling you owe me that it was you who assaulted me. But we’ll need a scientific test, and I’m not certain what or whom we might use for a control subject.”

“Hm.” He sucked in a breath, squinting his eyes at her. “Let me consider it. We have a week, after all.”

If for a moment she thought his teasing had a hint of reality about it, she’d have run from the house straight to Clover’s. Or perhaps not. She stole a look at him, but he didn’t appear concerned or serious. Or interested in kissing her again.

She moved the broth away. “So, do I get a tour of your home? Or will your servants be scandalized as if they’ve never seen you bring a lady home before?”

“A true lady, no.”

“I never know when you’re teasing.”

“Assume I’m always teasing, and we’ll avoid much trouble. Besides, the staff already knows you’re here, and they’ll bury their questions behind their bread and butter.”

She hoped he was right because the gossip mill was as thick between servants as it was with the aristocracy. Everything was news. Everything was fair game. And she didn’t intend to be the goose who got caught.