A Taste of Seduction (7 page)

Mrs. Butler entered and helped Evangeline move behind the screen so she could dress.

“May I call on you tomorrow with the letter?”

It was a little unsettling to realize Hadley had stayed while she changed. Gosh, he was like Sealey's puppy with a bone. Part of her wanted to make him wait, but since he
was
in danger, and now she and Sealey might be in danger too, time was not a luxury they could afford.

She came out from behind the screen, tiredness weighing heavily on her sore shoulder. Arguing took too much energy. “Shall we say three in the afternoon? And bring the forged letter.”

He wanted to say no, but he needed those journals. He wished he'd never told her that he still had the proof of her betrayal. He was lying to himself. The doubt that crept into his head from the doctor's observation was eating at him. He had to know, firstly, if her tale was true, and secondly, who had hurt her.

Plus, he was at least honorable enough to realize that after being shot she deserved consideration.

More annoying was the fact that briefly seeing her in nothing but her sheer shift had his body humming—and not from tiredness. His mind couldn't seem to remember why she was the enemy. Memories of long ago, memories that had taken a long time to forget, flooded back—vividly.

He stood and walked to the door. “My men will see you safely home, and I shall call upon you at three.”

As he pulled the door closed behind him, he thought he heard her say, “Then the truth will be revealed,” and a sickness invaded his stomach.

If her story was true, how could he ever live with himself?

Evangeline had been escorted safely home two hours ago, at five in the morning.

She had agreed to allow guards to be posted in the grounds, with two in the foyer of the house, and he'd sent a missive to the Bow Street Runners requesting ten of their best men to keep the house under surveillance at all times. The Runners had been told that someone took a shot at Lady Evangeline.

This didn't help his second problem.

She had the journals, and she refused to share unless he bared his soul. He shoved his hand into his pocket and fingered the letter, fighting an urge to crumple it in his fist. He was a coward for not wishing to face what he now suspected was the truth—her truth.

What irked him more was that she was now back in his life in a way he could not control. He could not simply ignore her or send her back to the wilds of Scotland.

And she'd found the weapon to wedge herself back into his life without having to prove her innocence. He'd need her either way—because he needed the journals.

He pulled his cravat from around his neck, his throat tightening in anger. She would not let him peruse the journals unless he did her bidding.

Lady Victoria Thompson deserved closer inspection. It would appear Arend's hunch was a good one. What Evangeline had revealed about her husband not trusting Isobel's stepmother confirmed that Arend was wise to focus his attention on her. Victoria had a secret past.

A past she kept hidden.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. It had just gone seven in the morning, and he expected Arend soon. He needed to bathe and change before then. Wearily he stood and looked longingly at his bed; the impression of where Evangeline had lain was evident. He pressed his face to his pillow, loving the scent of her that lingered there.

He drew back. If her story was true, how could she ever forgive him? Either way, there would be no future with Evangeline.

He
was
marrying Claire.

There was no time to rest or to dwell on what might have been. There was a killer he had to apprehend. He moved to the window to watch the sunrise. His rooms looked out over the back garden—ironically, directly into Evangeline's townhouse. He'd had no idea that her husband owned the townhouse backing onto his family's London home.

He was pleased he hadn't known. It would have been too much to bear, as if Viscount Stuart were mocking him.

He stood watching the house over the garden wall. He wondered whose room was exactly opposite his.

He was about to turn away when a movement at the large windows stopped him. A curtain was drawn back and a child's face pressed against the glass, probably looking out to see what kind of day it was. The sun was beginning to shine, but there were plenty of clouds about.

He couldn't make out the child's face; he thought it was a boy with darkish, curly hair, though it could be a little girl. Hadley's hands curled into fists as he realized this was likely Evangeline's son.

The little boy looked up and saw him staring, and a wee hand waved. Hadley waved back. An adult, probably his nanny, came up behind him and pulled the boy away from the window, and just like that, the boy was gone.

A sense of loss swamped him, and he cursed at his own stupidity. How could a simple wave from a child have his stomach in painful knots?

Because it was Evangeline's child.

Later, as he lay in his tub trying not to dwell on what should have been—his son with Evangeline—doubt began to creep in. What if she had been coerced into marriage? It would mean he had been played, duped, and she had paid the price. Paid it with brutality against her person. He pushed that horrible thought away.

She seemed so sure she could prove her innocence in the matter, and that sent waves of unease through his limbs.

Scotland, the Highlands in particular, were remote. What if the note he received had been a clever forgery and she hadn't been able to get word to him? He swiped a hand over his face, scrubbing at the dark thoughts assailing him.

He could feel the fortress around his heart begin to weaken.

What did she want with him? If her story was true, there was no going back—not from this. However, no official announcement of his nuptials to Claire had been given; he could still back out. Augustus would simply have to front up and marry Claire if he wished to help his friend.

If Evangeline was innocent, her return changed everything. If she forgave him, they could have a chance at a future, at regaining the past.

But, he thought, she had a son who was a viscount. Her life should revolve around her son and protecting his inheritance. She certainly didn't need a man like him in their lives, a man with little wealth or position.

A man who had not protected her.

Perhaps he and Evangeline had missed their chance. It might be better for all concerned if they acted like grown-ups and admitted that their time had passed. It was too late for them. What they'd once shared was over. Five years was a long time.

You remember every minute of your time with her as if it were yesterday.

He lay back and closed his eyes, a sigh escaping at his cowardice. A small voice echoed in his head, saying that it was never too late.

Marriage to Evangeline would be more pleasurable than marriage to Claire.

Her son was a problem in this plan. He didn't know if he could be a father to Viscount Stuart's son. If the boy took after his mother, it would be easier. He didn't even know the boy's name. Jealousy, deep and poisonous, seeped into his blood. It was too painful to face the fact that the boy should have been theirs. The warmth of the bathwater faded as the impact of Evangeline's return hit home. Already she had him tied up in knots when he should be focusing on De Palma.

With another sigh he pushed the issue of Evangeline from his mind. De Palma had tried to kill him last night. All his energy should be focused on staying alive and putting an end to this deranged woman.

Evangeline was a distraction he didn't need right now. If he didn't keep his wits about him, he could end up dead.

If Arend's hunch that Victoria was their villainess was right, was Isobel involved? Arend had said very little recently about Victoria's stepdaughter, yet Hadley knew Arend was spending considerable time with the young woman. Arend would use anyone to find out what he needed to know. Hadley felt a tad sorry for Isobel.

And God help her if she was part of her stepmother's plot.

Harper, his valet, knocked on the bathing room door. “My lord, His Grace is below.”

Hadley rose slowly from the tub, exhaustion beckoning. “Augustus is in town? When did he arrive? Never mind. Tell Thurston to show him into the breakfast room while I dress. And ask Cook—”

“Already taken care of. Breakfast is waiting for you. I've taken the liberty of laying out your clothes too.”

“Thank you. Inform my brother I'll be down shortly.”

He wondered what Augustus wanted. He hoped his brother hadn't got himself into trouble. Arend was due soon. It was very unlike Augustus to drive all night to reach town this early. Usually Augustus led life at a leisurely pace. He didn't put himself out for anyone but himself.

By the time Hadley reached the breakfast room, Augustus was already partaking of a plate of food. He didn't even look up as Hadley helped himself from the sideboard and sat down.

“You know, you really should have been the firstborn.”

At Augustus's words he realized he'd sat at the head of the table. He usually did because Augustus rarely came to town. He hadn't asked for this quasi-position, but someone had to be in charge, and Augustus simply wasn't interested.

His Grace took after their mother: fair-haired, small of stature, quiet, and withdrawn. He did look the picture of a self-assured duke, always immaculately dressed in the height of fashion, always refusing to get his hands dirty with any menial task. Rather than hunt or box or fence, he preferred reading, music, and of all things, fashion, like a spoiled fop.

Since their father's death, Hadley had assumed control of the family and estates. If he had not, the family would no doubt be in ruins. Augustus had no head for business or estate planning. Furthermore, he refused to take his seat in the House of Lords, saying politics gave him a headache. He was quite happy for Hadley to do everything.

Hadley saw beneath his brother's façade of an indulgent duke to the heart of a man who wished he were anyone other than the Duke of Claymore. Augustus hated the responsibility, the required decision making, and the attention that came with his title. He'd told Hadley that if he could renounce his title, he would. He'd also sworn to never marry, so that the title would go to Hadley. So far he'd kept to that vow.

Instead Augustus stayed at the estate in Cornwall doing…Hadley didn't know what exactly. Augustus was his mother's favorite, and he preferred her company to anyone else's, even Hadley's.

Hadley was very much the image of his late father: tall, broad-shouldered, brown-haired, and, most of all, determined to enjoy life. He thrived on challenges, and was happy to take over the running of the estates from Augustus. At least then he knew his mother, sisters, and Augustus would be comfortable, and the family money would be protected.

The Libertine Scholars called Hadley “the invisible duke.” No one besides them and Augustus knew that he basically ran the Claymore estates and family holdings.

Their father had named his firstborn son Augustus, meaning “majestic.” But poor Augustus had not lived up to the name in his father's eyes. From an early age their father had made Augustus's life a living hell, always saying he wished Augustus had died as a baby so that Hadley would be his heir. Sometimes it crossed Hadley's mind that their father had purposely treated Augustus in a manner that put his frail life in danger. It was probably Augustus's proudest achievement that he'd managed to outlive their father.

Hadley couldn't remember how old he'd been when he began having to protect Augustus. Originally he'd protected him from their father, taking the birching for any prank gone wrong. Then he protected Augustus from the other children on the estate, and then from the bullies at Eton, who loved picking on the weakest boys. He'd vowed that no one would pick on his brother if he was around.

Looking out for his older brother became their way. Augustus, at thirty-one a year older than Hadley, still expected his brother to drop everything and do anything to help, as well as to generally make Augustus's life easier.

Hadley had protected Augustus all his life, and he would continue to do so as long as he lived. He hated how the strong picked on the weak. That was the one thing he admired about his brother. Now that he was a duke, he could have wreaked vengeance on those who at school had made his life hell. But he didn't. He chose to ignore them and live simply, quietly, and with dignity at his estate, where he was happiest.

Hadley cursed under his breath. He should not have sat at the head of the table. But the fact that Augustus hadn't taken the chair spoke volumes about how he saw himself. His brother might hold the title of duke, but he was only the figurehead.

“It's merely a chair.” Hadley's words rang false. Nothing was “merely” where the
ton
was concerned. Augustus didn't make a fuss, and waved his hand to indicate that Hadley should stay seated where he was.

Hadley decided to change the subject. “Is everything all right? Why the rush to town?”

Augustus looked amused. “I didn't rush to town. I came up two days ago. I just didn't stay here,” he said, then continued eating.

A duke who chose not to stay in his own house? Hell, Augustus was getting worse. Soon the
ton
would begin to wonder who was head of this family, and that could be awkward. Perhaps De Palma was targeting Hadley not just because he looked like their father but because she knew he was, for all intents and purposes, the head of the Claymore family. Without him all would be lost, or at least would run to a loss. “Perhaps, when you are in town, it would be more appropriate to stay here. It is, after all, your house through entail. Where were you staying?”

“With a friend. I do have some, you know.”

His brother was a secretive sod. Hadley's suspicions soared, but he would play his brother's game. “Well, it's good to see you. How are Mother and the girls?”

“They miss you.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And they are all looking forward to the announcement of your betrothal, and of course helping Claire plan the wedding.”

Hadley put down his knife and fork. “I thought we were telling no one until I spoke to Claire. The bride should not be the last to hear that she is getting married. I have not sanctioned any formal announcement as yet.”

“Mother was consistently hounding me about your likelihood of marriage. So I told her why you were not pursuing any young ladies.”

“Why isn't she hounding you about
your
wedding?” Hadley countered.

“She is. But you and I both know I do not wish to marry. I'd never force any son of mine into this role. Your son would be more suited to it.”

How convenient,
Hadley thought as anger sizzled within him. His brother had come to town for one thing only—to ensure he married Claire. Suddenly he was sick of having to constantly be his brother's protector, advisor, manager—he felt more like a father than a brother. “We may have to hold off on the announcement.”

He watched Augustus use his napkin to pat his mouth. He didn't speak until the napkin was back on the table, all neatly folded.

“I did wonder if the return of Lady Evangeline—Stuart, it is now, isn't it?—would make you reconsider our agreement.” He looked Hadley in the eye. “However, if I recall, she ripped your heart from your chest five years ago. Why would you give her the time of day?”

“There may have been more to her marriage to Viscount Stuart than I thought.”