Page 11 of The Spinster's Seduction(The Lover's Arch #4)

For one elongated, ungodly moment, Charles stared down into Evelyn’s face. His body was poised to enter hers, and she lay relaxed and open underneath him. Just for a heartbeat, his baser needs threatened to get the best of him; he almost thrust inside her so he could know how she would feel.

Then he rolled off her, ignoring the call of his cock as he reached for his trousers. Quickly, quickly. He could not afford to dally. “Tell her you will be down shortly,” he muttered curtly to Evelyn, who had not yet found her composure. Dread was written across every feature. “Evie.” Her eyes snapped to his. “Tell her. Be calm.” He knew, in this moment, he could not afford to give her kindness. If she had too much leeway, she might not act as she should.

Her father had returned from the country. What sort of poor timing was this?

To his relief, her eyes sparked with understanding and awareness once more, and she sat up, drawing a blanket over herself. “Tell my father we shall be down in a moment.”

“What shall I tell him of Lord Rotherham, ma’am?”

“That—” She hesitated for the briefest of seconds. “That he is currently refreshing himself and I will wait for him. ”

Charles would have smiled at her resourcefulness had he not been so occupied in dressing himself. “Nicely done,” he said. “Now come here. What items of clothing do you need assistance with?”

“Most of them.” She snatched at her chemisette and tugged it over her head. “My corset. Not too tightly, if you please.”

“Of course.” He put all amorous thoughts from his head as he tied the laces behind her, then handed her the discarded petticoats and drawers. While she dressed herself, he addressed himself to his neckcloth, grateful that the styles had changed considerably since he was a boy.

“My hair,” Evelyn said, turning to him with a stricken expression. “I cannot go downstairs with my hair in this mess. What will Papa think?”

“Calm, Evie. He will think nothing of it because he will not see it like this.”

“My cap!” She found it on her dresser and snatched it up. “At least I shall have this to hide the worst of the offences.”

“That is an offence in itself,” he muttered, but he found himself grateful that she preferred such a severe, simple knot at the back of her head, and he set to work replicating it. This was not his first time repairing a lady’s hair after an assignation, but although usually he prided himself on this attentiveness, now he found himself preoccupied with the movement of her bosom underneath the tight confines of her dress. The dusky bud of her nipples. All the things he now knew about her. His fingers still smelt of her, and once he had finished dressing her, he left her to administer some more perfume as he poured some water into a basin and washed his hands with soap.

“My father will have been waiting over ten minutes,” Evelyn said, pinning her white cap in place. “We must descend. Do I look the part?”

She did, if especially flushed and lovely.

“No guilt,” he said, coming to stand before her. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Remember what you told me? That every person has the right to experience pleasure once in their lives, at least. Just because you have not married does not mean you need die chaste.”

“It is a sin,” she whispered. “And my father, especially, will consider it so. ”

“Your father need know nothing of it.” He smoothed out a wrinkle in her clothes. “Are you all right, Pidge?”

“I’m nervous. Are you not?” She glanced at his crotch. For a moment, he had been concerned about presenting himself to her father in his condition, but their urgency had cooled the strength of his arousal. He did not usually find himself in a predicament of this nature, and far less often with a lady of virtue.

Well, former virtue.

The prospect of marrying her hardly struck fear into his heart, but he did detest the idea of forcing her into anything she didn’t wish for, and she had been adamant about not marrying him. If he pressed things, he might risk losing her forever, and that would be more than he could bear.

Then again, this alone might have lost her to him. His eagerness, his desire, the knowledge they now had of one another.

He could not bear to lose even one piece of her.

He worried that he already had.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

Her gaze flicked to his, then away again. The pause that followed near broke him in two. “Yes.”

“Then do not worry. I will ensure all is well.” He offered her his arm. “Come, my darling. Let us greet your father.”

To her astonishment, Evelyn found she was able to walk into the drawing room with more composure than she might otherwise have supposed. Charles’s arm was tight around hers, and she had the unsettling thought that she would be all right so long as he never let her go.

Her father sat in his regular chair by the fire, a shawl over his bony shoulders and his eyes distant as he stared into nothing, probably reminiscing somewhere far away .

Charles patted her hand reassuringly. “I told you he would not have noticed the time of our absence. He spends more time in his memories than he does in the present, and I can’t say I blame him. Are you all right?”

“I am.”

His gaze searched hers, and then he grinned. “Of course you are. Redoubtable to the last.” But despite that, he squeezed the hand in his arm, offering her silent comfort as he led her before her father, who blinked up at them in apparent surprise.

“My dear sir,” Charles said cheerily, sweeping into a bow. “I had not expected to find you here, but I am exceedingly glad I have, and in such good health.”

Her father beamed. Evelyn stepped back, letting them have this moment. Charles had always been at odds with his own father, and hers had wished for a son. They had found that, or a version of it, with each other. Besides, Charles’s easy smile came so naturally, and he looked as though he had been there for nothing other than a light tête-à-tête.

To think that mere minutes ago, she had been on the brink of giving him everything, and now they were here, the matter unconsummated.

But perhaps it was a good thing after all. She had been on the brink of handing what remained of her heart to him, and heavens knew that would be a fool’s mistake. He was about to marry another—a lady of irreproachable repute, whose name would ally well with his. Once the engagement was announced, she would lose him forever.

The love that had felt so manageable when they were younger had transformed; no longer comfortable, it ate away at her, demanding more and more. If she allowed it space, she would find herself forever hungry.

Charles had taught her so many things. The sensible thing to do would be to take them now and be grateful.

The thought made a weight sink into the base of her stomach.

“I shall call for tea,” she said, kissing her father’s cheek on the way to the bellpull. “I’m glad you have returned home, Papa.”

“This is a delightful surprise,” her father said, patting her hand as she passed. “I had not thought you would be calling on my dear Evelyn, Charles. ”

“We cannot long be separated from one another.” Charles gave her a wink that made her stomach drop further. “But I also came with a purpose, I’m afraid.”

Evelyn froze, her hand on the bellpull. “You did?” she asked, shooting him a warning glance.

“I did indeed.” Charles smiled at her father, no sign that he was planning anything untoward on his face. She scolded herself for immediately assuming the worst. “My mother wishes to host a small party at Havercroft—only our closest friends and family, you understand—and she hopes very much to see you both there.”

Evelyn’s heart pounded in her throat. She knew of the party, in a way. There had been whispers—and the duchess had herself mentioned this gathering. A small, intimate house party during which time Charles and Lady Rosamund could get to know one another. A house party during which he would propose.

She felt as though she’d been plunged underwater, cold water in her lungs. Had he come here intending to deliver the invitation while they were in bed, sated and lying together? The idea of it made her eyes sting.

She would be nothing but unwelcome at such an occasion—and the prospect of watching him woo another woman in front of her made her want to weep. The chill in her chest extended down to her stomach, dowsing the last of her desire. How cruel of him to apply to her father instead of her. How cruel of him to invite her at all.

“What a generous invitation,” her father said, oblivious to her turmoil. “Especially for dear Evelyn. It’s not good for her to be so cooped up with me.”

Evelyn drew in one final painful breath before recovering herself enough to smile. She gave the bellpull a hearty tug. “Nonsense,” she said briskly, not looking at Charles. “I enjoy our evenings together, Papa.”

“Do say you’ll come,” Charles said, his fingertips brushing Evelyn’s arm as she passed him to the sofa. She took a step back, and his hand fell away. “I’d be honoured to accompany you there, of course.”

“I suspect my health will too indifferent, given how recently I travelled back to London from Eastward Place, but Evelyn must go. ”

“Papa, please!” Fear crowded Evelyn’s throat, cloying and irrational. Her father would be no real buffer, but she could not attend only to watch another lady claim the man she loved forever. For the first time since entering the room, she looked at Charles, taking in the concern on his brow. But instead of the man she’d known since childhood, she saw the man who had hovered above her, watching her pleasure with such tender intensity. She saw a man changed by desire. She saw the lines of his face tight with strain she had brought about with her body, and his eyes heavy with lust.

He could never look at her that way again once he proposed to Lady Rosamund.

Her corset felt too tight.

“Tell me,” she said to her old friend. “Who else is invited?”

“A few others,” he said, eyes hooded. “But none as important as you.”

She could have laughed.

She had long known he didn’t love her, at least not in the way a man loved a woman. Until extremely recently, she had been perfectly contented with matters as they stood. Until she had experienced his hands on her body and his mouth on hers, she had been certain that merely his friendship could satisfy her, as it had all these years.

Baldly speaking, she had been a fool, thinking herself too old to be caught up in the passions of youth. And now, as women so often did, she was paying the price.

He stepped closer. “I want you there,” he said, lower now. His hand reached for hers, and she tucked both hands behind her back so he couldn’t touch her. If he did, she would lose what little hold over her composure she still had. “What say you, Evie?”

“I can see no reason why she’d object,” her father said, breaking Charles’s attention and drawing it away from her. “We’re practically family. In fact, I insist she attend, even if I cannot.”

Evelyn gripped her wrist behind her back, nails digging into her skin, and forced a smile. “Then what have I to say on the matter?” She glanced pointedly at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Don’t you have to visit your mother, Charles? ”

To his credit, he didn’t so much as blink, although the searching look didn’t leave his eyes. “Of course,” he said, and turned to her father. “Forgive me, sir. I shall see you soon enough, I am certain.” He glanced at Evelyn. “Walk me to the door, Evie?”

She followed him silently out of the room and through the long corridor from the drawing room to the hallway. Her heart ached.

“Trying to get rid of me so soon, Pidge?” he asked in a low voice so the servants would not hear. “Poorly done of you.”

“Was it? I thought it better you leave sooner rather than later, in light of the circumstances.”

“What circumstances? Your father suspects nothing.”

“Nothing now, but we should take that as a sign.”

“A sign of what?” He frowned as he looked into her face. “Yes, he is here, but he is elderly, and I could arrange a hotel if it came to it. No one need know, Evie.”

She inhaled sharply. “I am not—that is not agreeable to me, Charles.”

“No, you’re quite right; I should not have suggested it. But there must be a way in order to—”

“I think our arrangement should come to an end,” she said, keeping her voice soft. He stopped walking, and she paused with him, not daring to meet his burning gaze. “You taught me a great many things, and I’m sorry that you were not able to find gratification in our time together, but better we leave things as we are than attempt anything more dangerous to our reputations and happiness. Besides, we must not forget Lady Rosamund.”

“The deuce take Lady Rosamund!”

She almost smiled at the violence of the expression, though she knew she could not outwardly condone it. “The poor girl.”

“Oh yes, the poor girl who cares not a jot for me and is marrying me only for my title,” he said bitterly. “I’m sure she feels very hard done by.”

Evelyn led the way to the front door, but instead of opening it, she looked up at him. “You chose her,” she said, and he blanched. “You have made your courtship perfectly plain, and whether you like her society or not, you have chosen to spend enough time in it. These are your choices. ”

“And you are another of my choices, Evie,” he said, sounding almost angry. “Now, I am choosing you. So tell me, are you truly satisfied with what we have done and no more?”

No. Of course she was not. She was wildly, terribly unsatisfied. She had not known what dissatisfaction meant until she was denied the very thing she craved more than the rest of the joy her solitary, peaceful life had to offer. For the first time in her life, she knew passion in every inch of its unrestrained glory, and she could never go back to the existence she had known before.

And he had an engagement waiting in the wings.

Perhaps he did not love Lady Rosamund, but all the ton knew a proposal was imminent. He could not turn his back on that just because she had conceived more of an attachment to him than she had thought she might.

“Evelyn,” he started, but she shook her head.

“You have taught me so much, but perhaps it is better that I retain some of my virtue.”

He gripped her hands, holding them too tightly to be comfortable. “For what purpose? You said yourself you did not think it fair that ladies be required to remain chaste and gentlemen not. Have you changed your mind?” His expression darkened. “Or was this all for the purpose of attracting a suitor?”

“There is no suitor,” she said, raising their clasped hands so she could rest the back of his hand against her cheek. “There has never been a suitor I cared about impressing. I am thinking about your welfare.”

“Then do not,” he said shortly.

“I must.” She freed her hands. “As my father is home again, I doubt I shall see you again before the party you were so kind as to invite us to.”

He frowned. “You’re angry.”

“Of course I am. You invited me, you—your mistress to your engagement party. How did you expect me to feel?”

“I had not—” He blinked a few times, looking perplexed by the force of her frustration. He didn’t understand how deeply he had hurt her by such a thoughtless invitation. “She will not be the only person there, and you mean far more to me than she ever will.”

“That’s hardly the point, Charles.” She dashed a hand across her eyes. “You humiliated me. Do you think I would rejoice at the prospect of seeing you commit yourself to another? And you invited me in such a way that I cannot escape it.”

“Don’t cry,” he said softly, smoothing a thumb over her cheeks. “Evelyn, please, don’t cry. Not over me. I’m sorry. I never intended—I never wanted to hurt you.”

Distantly, she knew that he could not have predicted what a blow this would be. She had never spoken of her feelings for him; it would have been futile. But he should have known better. He should have thought for once in his careless life.

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking shamefully. “You will do everything in your power to see to my happiness, no doubt at the risk of offending everyone else there.”

His hand was still on her cheek, thumb smoothing her cheek, devastation in his eyes. At her words or the sight of her tears, she didn’t know. The last time she had cried in front of him had been when her mother had died, and then he had been the source of her comfort, not her pain.

“You’re selfish,” she said, giving free rein to her feelings at last. He stiffened as though she had struck him. “And you hurt me.” She stepped back from him, even though every calling of her heart demanded that she step into his embrace and let him hold her. “You should go.”

Silence as he looked at her. Then he released a long, shuddering breath. “Very well. Perhaps I have already tarried too long.” His voice scraped like gravel. He captured her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it with such gentleness, she almost wept all over again. “Allow me to extend my most sincere apologies, Evelyn.” He released her and turned away, striding down the steps to the street.

Evelyn watched his figure until it turned the corner out of sight. Then she closed the door.