Page 17 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)

CHAPTER 16

“ G ood, you’re alone,” Evelyn said the following morning while Rochester worked at his desk. He looked up without moving his head, a questioning quirk of his mouth.

“I want you to know that I’ve taken into account all that you said last night.”

He sat back in his chair, his hands steepled at his lips, his eyes sharp.

She swallowed her apprehension. “This whole debacle can be remedied.”

“How so?”

“I don’t care about reputation. I don’t care about anything but you. So, I suggest you stop dillydallying around and take me to bed once and for all.” For emphasis, she planted her fists on her hips and raised her chin in defiance. She had expected a roll of eyes and laughter. She had not expected anger.

He stood and moved to stand in front of the desk. His feet braced wide, and his arms crossed. “You think you’re the catalyst to fix it all? Yes, Evelyn, your perfect idea to break a rule will make it all go away.” His arms expanded to encompass the room. “And my reputation means nothing, of course, because we can live on your missing dowry. You know the one your father will no doubt rescind? I hope you like scrubbing pots, or God forbid, you don’t know how because we won’t have a shilling to our name. I suppose Lovie could take us in. Hudson, too, because God knows he has nowhere to go.” He poked a finger to the desk with emphasis. “This isn’t about you and me. You’ve created a little safe world in this house, but it’s about to get a whole lot bigger because the week is up, my dear. Reality is on the way.”

“Reality is standing right here in front of you. Why not take it, Rochester?”

“We cannot, Evelyn. We’ve talked about this.”

“Why? Why not? I don’t understand.”

“You do understand.”

“Because it’s too far? Because it will ruin me? In my opinion, Rochester, the things we’ve done together are far more intimate than the act itself. I dare you to prove me wrong.”

He stared at her, chewing his bottom lip, his hands on his hips like that darn pirate she couldn’t stop envisioning. “Legally speaking,” he started to say.

“I don’t give a damn about legalities, I assure you. You want a mistress? Is that it? Fine. Because I’m not leaving this house until you’re mine and I’m yours. Do you understand that, Rochester?”

He just stood there, frozen, his cheek twitching.

“Well?”

“Well, then, I guess you should start calling me Dalton.” He moved forward with two long strides, grabbed her hand, and pulled her forcibly along. She tripped to keep up with him, her wrist smarting at the vice grip he had on her.

When they reached his bedroom, which had belonged to her for a week, he shoved open the door with enough force to send it crashing into the wall. He pulled her along, propelled her into the center of the room, then turned and kicked the door closed.

“Everyone within the walls of this house will have heard that.”

“Perfect. Then your plan has worked. Now, take off your clothes.” He jerked out of his dress coat and threw it over the back of a chair.

“You don’t want to hang that up? It’s not like you to throw your fine clothes about.”

“Why are you still dressed? I thought this is what you wanted?”

“I suppose it is, but I will not stand here and just strip out of my clothes.” She tried for indignant, but his mood was changing quickly.

“Then I guarantee you won’t last long as a mistress, darling. They are paid to strip on command at the discretion of their benefactor.”

“I know you say things you don’t mean when you’re angry, Rochester.”

“Dalton,” he yelled, demanded.

She resigned herself to a grimace. “All right, Dalton. Why are you doing this? It’s not like you.” She took a step back. “You love me. I know you do. And I love you to the bottom of my scheming soul.”

That got a loud hiss, a slight roll of the eyes, and a reluctant grin from him. His hands fell from his hips, and his shoulders lost their stiffness.

“I do love you, Evelyn Markham, and that’s why I’m doing this, to dissuade you. You silly goose.”

“You failed because I don’t care how or where. I just want you. You think you’re doing me a noble service by leaving my maidenhead intact, but I’m not a virgin.”

“What?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Who do I need to kill?”

“No one, you oaf. You’ve put every other part of yourself inside me, so why not that one?” She pointed to his groin. “I haven’t been a virgin since you kissed me, since your fingers were inside me, since your mouth possessed me completely, since your tongue tasted every inch of me. You think adding that piece of your anatomy to the process will ruin me? Dalton Rochester, you ruined me a long time ago.”

The look of shock and outrage left his countenance replaced with compassion and kindness. “I know what you’re saying, Goose, and believe me, hearing you say such things makes me wonder what kind of fool I am not to tear off your clothes and make love to you right there.” He motioned to the bed behind her.

She pulled in her chin and smiled wickedly, stepping toward him. “Dalton, I want you. I want you to make love to me.”

He shut his eyes.

“I want you to fornicate with me, join me in bed sport, tumble me, collude with me in convivial society, a stitch, a tiff, riding St. George right into amorous congress. All of it.” With every proposal, she took another step.

At her last suggestion, his eyes popped open, and he searched her with humor.

“I don’t care what you call it. It’s all the same to me because it will be with you. You make it all a pleasure, a good deed, a loving word. You’re all I want—all I’ve ever wanted.” She stood directly in front of him.

His fingers crawled through her hair, her face cradled in his hands. He touched his forehead to hers. “I am either the luckiest man in the world or the stupidest.”

“Or both?”

He kissed her. “Yes.”

She wrapped her arms around his middle, feeling the muscles under his shirt ripple and flex with her touch. His body was warm, his heart like music under her ear, and he smelled like home.

“I can’t marry you.”

She squeezed him around the waist like she knew this would be the last time she felt truly safe, truly wanted, despite his disregard.

“I wish with all my heart that I could.” He cocooned her against him, his arms enveloping her shoulders. “We already belong to each other. That won’t change.”

She pulled back but not out of his arms. “Talk to him.”

“I have talked to him.”

“But not about me.”

“I know his answer. You know his answer.”

She moved away, walked to the window, and stared out at Hyde Park in the distance. She hugged herself, coldness seeping in where his warmth had scorched her. “Gretna Green. I don’t need permission.” She turned to look at him. “I’m old enough, and I don’t care about money or my dowry. I truly don’t understand this thing you have about your reputation. If you’re a good man, a good businessman, what else do you need?” She pleaded with him. “I am trying so hard to understand. I am trying not to feel slighted or jilted. Can’t you do this for me? Am I not worth it? Is this a frivolous tryst?”

“This was not a tryst.”

“Was? You’d rather watch me wed another man?”

He looked away, his throat convulsed.

Evelyn went to the dressing room and came out with what few items of clothing she had. The apricot dress, all but destroyed like her heart, an extra chemise thanks to Mrs. Hawke and her marginally acceptable stockings from that rainy night. She was wearing Mrs. Hawke’s clothes today, and she’d travel home in them.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m packing. It’s time. If you could have Hudson perhaps purchase me a ticket for Horley, I’ll return to Winn’s and write Papa from there. I can use the time to lick my wounds and find a way to stay a spinster. Fully intact.” She flared her eyes at him. “Papa can use my dowry to pay the baron whatever fine there may be, if any.”

“I’ll take you to Winn’s. You’re not riding post.”

“You?” She pivoted. “We’ll kill each other before we leave the city. Me, because I’m trying to hate you. And you will be forced to defend yourself. Somehow, we’ll both end up in the Times. The mystery of a grizzly murder. Was it a crazed highwayman, or is it Romeo and Juliet?”

“Very dramatic. We’d be famous,” he said, his hands in his pockets.

“And there would go our reputations.” She shrugged. “So you see, fate cannot be changed. I’ve ruined you, and you’ve ruined me.”

He should have taken her to bed. Rochester had been chanting that to himself for an hour since they left London. Her surly attitude remained, and he couldn’t blame her. He was a heel, a fool, an idiot, and a madman.

“The shilling,” Evelyn said after an hour of hellish silence.

He preferred arguing to silence. This had promise.

“I want it back,” she demanded again.

“No. I’ve become rather fond of it, and I don’t think my shoes fit well otherwise.” In truth, it was his heart that would not fit without it. His chest felt painfully empty already, and she wasn’t even gone yet. He rubbed the tightness under his breastbone.

“You didn’t win it. You took it from me.”

“I disagree.”

“Why, because you cheated when you missed that original shot? Or because you insisted I pay to wager with you yesterday?”

He closed his eyes against the word that had haunted him for five years. She hadn’t said it malevolently, but it hurt like hell because that one night, that one mistake put him in this place. He’d give anything to go back to that night and make different choices. Not drink. Not gamble away a year’s income. Not cheat to get it back. They were all three wiser, more sensible now.

But if truth be told, he would do it again if it led to her. Would he be in this scrape otherwise? Would he know her—all of her—if not for those decisions? It was foolish to even wonder.

There was no denying his future sat across from him, and he couldn’t imagine a life without her. So why didn’t he try? True, Winn and Adeline were happy. They deserved it because it was Winn who’d put his neck on the line, almost literally. He and Darrington deserved to face the fallout. Not Winn.

He gazed at Evelyn, her mouth drawn and her arms tightly woven, her green eyes lashing out, resolved to hate him.

“I didn’t cheat,” he said.

“You missed on purpose. Please, for the love of God, just admit it.”

“Which is the greater move? Banking a shot on purpose, or making it? You don’t think I considered my actions? A beautiful woman whispers in my ear, I’ll make your day . What right-minded bachelor would turn down such an offer?”

She raised a brow and smirked. Answer enough.

“I’ll give you another shilling, and you can keep it in your shoe.”

“It’s my shilling. You didn’t earn it. And I want it back,” she said emphatically.

“I’ll think about it.”

“I’m so relieved.” She breathed and rolled her eyes.

“All right, Goose. What’s the plan?”

She looked up at him, suddenly interested. “What do you mean? You’re taking me to Winn’s.”

“And I’m going to speak to him. But I have no doubt your brother is going to beat me to a pulp if he doesn’t shoot me first.”

She bit into an answering smile that pulled at her cheeks. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“He would, and he will. But I love you. And if another man touched you, I’d kill him. That’s the truth.”

“It would be even better if I am completely ruined when we arrive. Right here. There’s plenty of room.”

He started to laugh because he knew she was serious. “Not a chance. If I die in a duel, you’ll need your virtue so everyone will pine over my death at such a grave error.”

“Will you stay?”

“Goose, your brother won’t let me take one step into that house because when he sees your smile and my face, he’ll know. Memorize my nose as it is now because by tomorrow, it will be broken and bruised, and my spleen may be skewered.”

“Not your spleen?” she gasped, then sobered. “Thank you, Rochester.”

“Dalton.”