Page 8 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)

CHAPTER 7

E velyn had a grand time watching and learning more about the sport that Rochester played daily. She thought about the competitive diversion of words they played every time they were in the same room. And she considered the rule-breaking game she’d asked him to play almost a week ago.

But no matter how hard she deliberated over the wisdom of her actions or the reasons for his, she still could not vanquish the feeling of his mouth on her neck. The moment his breath grazed her skin, she was lost. And when he kissed her, she wanted to die, to lean into him and turn around in his arms so he could kiss her true. He wanted her. She felt it. But since the night at the theater, the vision of this Lovie on his arm haunted her.

Was she too close to the problem, or was it jealousy? And who names a woman Lovie? Rochester might look to keep her at arm’s length, but the game he played with his eyes and his mouth kept her guessing. She hadn’t asked for that kiss. Certainly, she’d tried to enlist his help, but kissing her was not a game. So why, then, didn’t he fix this? She could understand if he wasn’t ready for marriage, a wife, children, and all the responsibility that brings. Truth to tell, she wasn’t so sure about it herself. But he would inherit a title that demanded an heir. The man would have to marry sometime, and he wanted her. Her . Perhaps he thought he could do better. She was not so delusional to believe he loved her.

Mayhap, this Lovie was indeed his mistress, and he didn’t wish to give her up. The thought put her stomach in a sickly knot. And he’d said the woman was his cousin. Bah.

Yesterday’s failure was tomorrow’s fuel.

Evelyn hopped out of bed, inked a quill, and wrote.

The Honorable Dalton Rochester,

Please come quickly. I have found myself in a most awkward position.

Lady Clover and I had planned a night at Vauxhall where the duke had agreed to champion us, but alas, he has other plans, and neither of us care to miss out on the festivities. If this should be my last Season as a single woman, I’d like a taste of everything.

I expect Sullivan to be there and anticipate a rescue at dusk in the Pleasure Gardens. One tiny scandal should do it, don’t you think?

Do not delay.

Respectfully,

Miss Evelyn Markham

Since he had failed to answer any of her correspondence, she did not expect him to answer this one. But he did seem to show up in all the right places at just the right time.

By dusk, the Pleasure Gardens were lit. Some paths were darker than others, and Evelyn knew the risks of fading into any of them. She and Clover braced themselves for fireworks, and Evelyn’s father, who had agreed to act as escort, took a seat and bid them be careful while they enjoyed a night out. He allowed them a tiny escape to visit the acrobats and stroll the Grand Walk. But they were expressly forbidden to converse intimately with any man without an ample crowd of friends, and they mustn’t enter the dark serpentine paths.

Evelyn soon realized why when she met the man whom she’d spoken with at the theater a week ago. The one who’d fumbled through his name.

“Mr. Beasley.”

The gentleman bowed over her hand and grappled through an introduction to Clover. Unfortunately, the bungle wasn’t quite so incomplete as at the theater when Mr. Beasley became Lord Cumberland, as in Baron Cumberland. The one Evelyn referred to as the simpering baron.

“I apologize, Miss Markham. I seem to have found myself in the devil’s own scrape, haven’t I? I’ve newly inherited and flailed about between exclamations of my presumptive name and the title.”

“Mister and honorable are a far cry from lord. But understandable, Lord Cumberland. No harm done, I’m sure.”

“You are the kindest of souls. Your father has spoken so well of you that I almost feel I know you.”

“My father?” She felt disoriented, and an awful realization hit her. “How long ago did you speak with my father?”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, Lady Clover,” he addressed Evelyn’s friend, then turned his adoring gaze on Evelyn. “I’ve requested the… the time for us to get to know each other.”

“Courting?” Clover burst out.

Evelyn bit her tongue to keep from groaning out loud.

“That is my hope.”

“Excuse me, Lord Cumberland, I’m feeling faint.”

“Yes, let’s find a seat.”

“No.” Evelyn put a hand on Clover’s arm. “Lady Clover has promised to take me home. I fear I’ve not been at my best all day.”

Clover nodded, her bright blue eyes wide circles. “Yes. We had a rather large piece of cheesecake and rum pudding.”

Evelyn would have pierced Clover with a speaking look for that comment but for her desire to depart immediately.

“I anticipate, with great pleasure, our meeting at Rosewood Manor next week.”

Rosewood Manor? Her family’s country seat? This did not bode well at all. Evelyn’s throat convulsed, and she wobbled a sickly smile, making the idea of fainting appear more real than she’d meant.

“Clover,” she said when they were out of earshot. “You must tell my father that I’m spending the evening with you at your home. That your brother has come to retrieve us.”

“I can’t. How should I explain that?”

“We sent Kingsley a note”—she looked wildly about— “because we wished to spend more time together since Adeline is in her confinement.” She searched the outermost dark shadow of trees with her eyes, almost hoping to see Rochester there. “We’ll hail a cab. My father wants to keep me happy for this ridiculous betrothal.”

“What betrothal?”

“I’ll tell you later. Just do this for me, please.”

She nodded. Between the three women—Adeline, Evelyn, and Clover—Clover looked the most innocent but was perhaps the most keenly aware and wily. She could lie her way out of a flour sack in a wheat field. On more than one occasion, her innocent blue eyes had been the door to mischief when they were girls.

“Thank you,” Evelyn breathed.

Rochester rolled his eyes when he found another note had been delivered earlier in the day. After returning from a meeting with Darrington concerning Torrent and Bastian, they’d gone out for a drink and to watch a fight at Strong’s Club. It was well past dusk, and a part of him thought she deserved whatever trouble she made. But his heart could not allow her to make a mistake so significant that it would change her life, her very character. He knew how that felt.

He threw on his coat, grabbed his hat, and left for Vauxhall.

In between smiling kindly at passersby and avoiding lengthy conversations with the slightest acquaintance, he searched for Kingsley. He could not imagine the duke would allow his sister, Lady Clover, out of his sight. His height would make him easier to see, but the greatest giveaway would be the crowds and young ladies looking for his favor. Eligible dukes were always in vogue.

But her note must have been correct because he did not see Kingsley, Evelyn, or Lady Clover. Of all the persons to catch his eye, it was Evelyn’s father he almost fell upon, literally. He walked the aisle of the little theater where a mediocre orchestra made a hash of Mozart and clipped his leg on the back of a bench.

“Excuse me, sir,” Rochester said before his brain registered the older gentleman seated alone.

“Mr. Rochester,” Evelyn’s father said, looking up in a moment of surprise right before he settled into a bland expression of little consequence.

“Mr. Markham, a pleasure seeing you here.”

Markham stood and met Rochester at eye level. His greeting came off a bit gruff, mayhap a little put out, but otherwise friendly. “You like Mozart, Mr. Rochester?”

“As a rule, but not perhaps this,” he said, smiling comfortably, doing his best to instill a measure of cordiality.

“It’s not good, is it?”

Rochester caught a whiff of toffee and craned his head over the crowd as if the very stuff reminded him of Evelyn. “Are you here alone, sir?” he asked, distracted with his search.

“Oh, I wasn’t. My daughter and her friend, the sister of the Duke of Kingsley, had been here for a while, but they’re gone now. Back to the duke’s address for a bit of girlish mischief, I imagine.”

Rochester swallowed. Oh, if her father only knew. “Yes, Lady Clover, I believe. Have you heard from Winn and Mrs. Markham? And how are they?” Small talk couldn’t be further from his mind, but he must maintain a normal veneer.

“Oh, quite well. I don’t imagine you’ve had time to visit them while they are living so far from the city. You and Mr. Darrington will be on your own from now on.” And there it was. The cold goodbye, with a brush of propriety for civility. It had been clear for a while that Winn’s father did not care for Rochester to remain friends with his family. It was true that Rochester had all but dragged Winn down, and no doubt Mr. Markham wouldn’t abide him anywhere near Evelyn. What a damn inconvenience to run into the man, but at least now he knew of her whereabouts. Or did he?

Evelyn tempted fate by a fine line. Whispers and unconfirmed rumors were one thing, but scandal had the power to ruin her. As for the two of them, a complicated relationship it may be, and one he could not clearly define, but she’d called him a friend, and he’d called her a goose. And he couldn’t deny he cared for her.

At least now, he knew her father still held him in contempt. No use wasting time working that angle. It’s not that Rochester refused to help her with her convoluted plan. It was his apprehension and fear of getting entangled and caught—knowing her father would never agree. If he were to act on his feelings, Evelyn would be hurt beyond reason. Whether he could sit by and watch her marry another man was something he couldn’t afford to dwell on.

He had a mind to pay a call at Kingsley’s no matter the hour to make certain the goose was there. But from what he knew of the three women, Evelyn, Adeline, and Clover, the most sensible, quiet, cautious, and maybe honest one was Clover. If Clover had accompanied Evelyn as per Mr. Markham’s words, then it was likely that both of them were currently at Kingsley’s.

That’s what he told himself thirty minutes ago, so why was he now standing on Kingsley’s doorstep?

Because he refused to rest until he saw her with his own eyes.

He handed his calling card to the butler and hoped he hadn’t been too presumptuous. After a short wait, he was shown to the drawing room.

“Rochester,” Kingsley stood. “What brings you at this hour? Looking for a game? Or just bored?”

Rochester breathed a little sigh of relief that the duke sounded almost glad he’d dropped by unannounced. “Or perhaps I’m simply rude. I apologize for the hour, Your Grace.” He faltered for a moment.

“It’s not that late. And please, it’s Kingsley. I hope we’ve come to at least that much.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“A drink?”

“No, thank you. The truth is that I’ve been tasked to keep an eye on Winn Markham’s sister, and I’ve failed to meet that obligation and hoped she might be here. Markham and I are close. If you recall the masquerade at your home two Christmastides past, I had helped Markham then as well.”

“Of course. And you’re still on the hook?”

“In a way, yes. I happened upon her father at Vauxhall, and he suggested they were here. Since I hadn’t seen her there, I was hoping to make…” His words fell away, knowing how absurd they sounded, and Kingsley simply watched him, a bewildered expression knitting his forehead.

The duke held up a hand. “You needn’t say more. They’re here. I wouldn’t like to call them to task, though.”

“No, please don’t do that. Miss Markham would not take kindly to what she refers to as hen sitting .”

Kingsley chuckled at Rochester’s description. “Would you like a game while you’re here? I don’t think you’re in a position to say no.”

After Rochester stepped off the ledge, he was more than happy to trounce Kingsley in a game or two of billiards. He didn’t, however, look for Evelyn. If she discovered that he had implied he was her caretaker, it would not bode well for him, and his life wouldn’t be worth a shilling.

Not even the one in his boot.