Miss Dower's Paragon (27 page)

Evelyn broke apart from her partner, a small sob escaping her.

The gentleman looked at her in astonishment. “Miss Dower! Have I offended you?”

Evelyn suddenly realized that others were turning their heads. More than anything else she did not want to be the center of anyone’s attention.
She shook her head quickly, summoning up a trembling
smile for the gentleman. “Oh no! No, nothing of the sort. I—I have the headache. I tried to ignore it, not wishing to spoil the pleasure of this d-dance. I
am
sorry!” She put her fingers to her temples, which had genuinely begun to throb.

The gentleman took her elbow, looking down at her in concern. “You’ve gone all pale, Miss Dower. It is the heat, I daresay. I should have seen it at once. Come, I shall take you at once to your mother.”

Evelyn was inordinately grateful for the gentleman’s forbearance. He returned her to her mother’s safekeeping and then went off to summon their carriage while Mrs. Dower exclaimed with soft distress over Evelyn’s wilted figure.

Evelyn managed to smile and straightened in her chair. “I am sorry, Mama. I do not mean to be a nuisance. I shall be perfectly all right once I am home. Why do you not stay and enjoy yourself?”

“Of course I shall not stay!” said Mrs. Dower indignantly. “I would be the most selfish creature alive were I to do so. No, I shall return with you. I am certain that Lord Hughes understands the necessity.”

“Of course, Amanda.” Lord Hughes spared Evelyn a sharp, penetrating glance. He was apparently satisfied. “I will do the proper with our hosts if you wish to take Evelyn straight out.”

“Thank you, Horace. I knew that you would understand,” said Mrs. Dower gratefully. She placed her arm about her daughter’s waist and was very astonished when Evelyn actually leaned on her. Concern rippled over her face, but she said in a light voice, “Come, my dear. A cup of chocolate and a cold compress will undoubtedly do you a world of good.”

Evelyn allowed herself to be led out, too spent to notice the glance that Lord Hughes and her mother had shared before his lordship went off to make their excuses to their hosts.

The headache that she had excused herself with had become a full-blown reality. Pain assaulted her with every heavy heartbeat and her eyes ached from the force of the tears that were dammed behind them. She was scarce aware of it when Lord Hughes returned, nor that Mrs. Dower relinquished her to his lordship’s support.

However, Evelyn did raise her head at the sound of Mr. Hawkins’s voice. She had just emerged into the entry hall on Lord Hughes’s arm, her mother on her far side. The headache momentarily receded, so that Evelyn saw with perfect clarity that Mr. Hawkins stood with Viscount Waithe, Miss Woodthorpe, and Sir Charles. Lady Pomerancy was seated in her chair, the footman standing attentively behind ready to push it once the maid had finished tucking a wrap over her ladyship’s narrow lap. They were apparently preparing to leave as well.

Miss Woodthorpe came across to Evelyn at once. Her green eyes were shining with a surprising degree of happiness as she reached out to take Evelyn’s hand. “Oh, you are going home early, too? I shall come to call on you tomorrow.” She lowered her voice. “I have something rather exciting to divulge.”

The softened smile that she directed in Viscount Waithe’s direction, and his response to it, was all that Evelyn required in order to guess what had transpired. Tears trembled on her lashes as she smiled. “Oh, Pol.”

Behind Miss Woodthorpe’s shoulder, Evelyn met
Mr.
Hawkins’s hard, shuttered glance. His expression was devoid of anything but polite interest, and suddenly Evelyn had the overwhelming urge to strike him. She wanted to see his face crack and see something—anything!—in his eyes but that close-held civil mask.

Evelyn deliberately closed the distance between herself and Lord Hughes. She turned a brilliant smile to that gentleman and said, “I, too, have something to tell you, Pol.”

There was a gasp, to be quickly covered by a sharp curse.

Evelyn did not look around, but stared rather desperately at Lord Hughes.

Lord Hughes had started visibly. He glanced down at Evelyn’s white face, his lids drooping abruptly to hide his expression. He raised his free hand to place it proprietarily over hers where her fingers rested on his arm. “It is quite an extraordinary evening,” he said smoothly. He bestowed a jovial smile on the young lady who clutched his arm so tightly.

At last, Evelyn turned her eyes on the company. She met the astonished gazes of Miss Woodthorpe and Viscount Waithe, while Sir Charles stood frowning into space. Dawning horror of what she had done was beginning to seep into her senses. Evelyn steeled herself to look at Mr. Hawkins. She should have been satisfied, she supposed vaguely. He had gone white under his tan, and there was a pinched, stricken look in his eyes. “I should like to go home now, please,” she said in a low voice.

“Of course, my dear. I will escort you to Queen Square, but do not think to invite me in. Your mother will wish to talk with you, no doubt,” said Lord Hughes in a faintly ironic voice.

Evelyn cast a fleeting glance into his lordship’s face, understanding at once. Her heart sank into her slippers. She did not dare to turn her head and meet her mother’s eyes. She was afraid of what she might see. “Yes, my lord.” The headache had returned, more viciously than before, and it was all Evelyn could do but to cling blindly to Lord Hughes’s arm.

Lord Hughes ushered Evelyn and Mrs. Dower through the entry hall and outside to the waiting carriage. Uncharacteristically, Mrs. Dower had not said a word of parting to those left behind frozen in the entry, but her lapse was probably not noted because Lord Hughes kept up a steady stream of amusing tittle-tattle.

Solicitously Lord Hughes aided Mrs. Dower up into the carriage, then Evelyn. When the ladies were seated, he followed, shutting the door behind him. The carriage started away from the curb.

From the dark, Lord Hughes’s voice rolled out rather grimly. “Now, young lady, you will explain how it is that I have come to find myself betrothed to you.”

Both of the Dower ladies burst into tears.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Mr. Hawkins had hoped to avoid Lord Hughes by going down early to breakfast. However, when he entered the breakfast room he saw that the viscount had also risen early. Lord Hughes had his full attention centered on his plate and did not immediately notice his grandnephew.

Mr. Hawkins paused the barest second before making his presence known. “Good morning, my lord.” He walked over to the sideboard to serve himself.

Lord Hughes glanced up and a wicked gleam entered his world-weary eyes. “‘Morning, nevvy. A fine morning, indeed! It is not every morning that a gentleman wakens with the gratifying thought that he is shortly to be wed,” said Lord Hughes expansively.

“I suppose not,” said Mr. Hawkins shortly. He stared at the kippers and steak that he had put on his plate. He found that he was not as ravenous as he had assumed.

“Certainly it is an unusual feeling for a gentleman such as myself. I have never been one to give much thought to the betrothed state, and I do not assign it overmuch importance even now. But it is intriguing, nevertheless. Do you not think it intriguing, Peter?”

“I have not had that salubrious experience so that I cannot judge,” said Mr. Hawkins coldly. He sat down opposite Lord Hughes, unnecessarily clattering his plate on the tabletop.

Lord Hughes laughed as though at a huge joke. “Aye, and likely never will have it, my boy! What a cold fish you are. M’sister has seen to that. I fancy you do not know the first thing about how to make up to a woman.”

His lordship leaned back in his damask-covered chair to study his grandnephew critically. “However, you are a handsome enough devil. There have been a few caps thrown in your direction, I’ll warrant. The question is, what did you do with them when you caught them? Dare I speculate that a fine time was had by all?”

A muscle worked in Mr. Hawkins’s jaw even though he had not as yet had a single bite of breakfast. “I do not discuss any lady with such disrespect, my lord.”

Lord Hughes’s glance was shrewd. “No, of course not. It is beneath you, whilst I have no difficulty whatsoever in discussing the ladies at length and in the most intimate detail. Shall I tell you of my last little bird of paradise? A truly delectable morsel. She possessed a skin of velvet and a provocative bottom that made one’s—”

“Enough!” Mr. Hawkins shoved aside his untouched plate and stood up. His eyes smouldered with disgust and contempt. “Have you no shred of decency, my lord? Can you not even pretend some finer feelings? You are betrothed to a true lady! You should be thinking of her, not dwelling on past peccadilloes.”

Lord Hughes’s lids drooped over his eyes. “You wrong me, boy. I do indeed think of the lady. Since the betrothal I have thought of little else but our wedding day. Or more precisely, the wedding night. My blood runs hotter even at this moment. The lady has much to offer a man of experience and jaded tastes. That lovely hair—spread like so much molten fire over the white pillow, for instance. I do indeed think of my bride to be, believe me.”

Lord Hughes’s words conjured up a vision so unbearable that Mr. Hawkins shot over the table to catch hold of his great-uncle’s throat. He shook the older man. Crockery shattered onto the floor, but neither man heard it. “You bastard,” he enunciated softly, his vivid blue eyes twin blazes. “I should throttle you this instant for defaming the lady in such a base fashion.”

Lord Hughes looked up into his grandnephew’s cold eyes. His smile was disdainful. Not by a flicker of an eyelid did he acknowledge the bruising power of Mr. Hawkins’s hold. “Such a display of emotion, nevvy! One could suspect you of being a disappointed lover.”

The door to the breakfast room opened. Viscount Waithe entered, addressing Sir Charles over his shoulder, and so he did not immediately witness the same startling tableau as that other gentleman.

“Good God!”

Upon Sir Charles’s horrified exclamation. Viscount Waithe whirled around, and an equal look of astonishment came over his countenance. “Peter! What are you about, man!”

Mr. Hawkins let go of Lord Hughes, a rush of color staining his lean cheekbones. He said stiffly, “I shall not stand by to bandy words with you, my lord.”

He turned on his heel, brushing past his astonished friends. His hand was already on the doorknob when his grand-uncle’s mocking voice stopped him.

“No. You are definitely miscast as the jealous lover.”

Viscount Waithe and Sir Charles stood rooted to the spot, appalled. Their eyes went from one to the other of the gentlemen.

Lord Hughes gave a low laugh. His gaze was fastened on his grandnephew’s stiffened back. He said contemptuously, “It would never occur to you that that same passion, played to a woman, would make her heart flutter with delicious desire. No, you’re too much the idealistic fool! You’ll never learn that most valuable lesson—all is fair in love and war.” His voice dropped to a silky purr. “And I assure you, I am a past master of the first, as my lovely lady shall discover.”

Mr. Hawkins yanked open the door and left the breakfast room. He strode swiftly down the entry hall toward his study, barely checking when a strong hand fell on his shoulder.

“Peter! Hold up, cousin.”

Swinging about in the open doorway, Mr. Hawkins shook off Viscount Waithe’s restraining fingers. “Leave me be, Percy. I am in no fit mood and so I warn you.”

“So I can see, so you needn’t glare daggers at me. But Charles and I are your friends. If there is anything that we might do—”

“There is nothing. It is a private matter between myself and Lord Hughes.”

Viscount Waithe shrewdly regarded his taller cousin’s granite-like face. “I’ll lay a monkey that it has to do with that preposterous announcement last night. However that could have come about is anyone’s guess. But I do know this. You have been head over heels in love with Miss Dower for weeks. We have all seen it, so you needn’t deny it.”

“Percy, what my feelings may or may not be for Miss Dower are none of your concern, nor anyone else’s.”

Mr. Hawkins’s voice was cold. It was apparent that he had erected a barrier and would not be brought to acknowledge either the cause of his fury or his friends’ concern.

“Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me-” He turned to cross the threshold into the study.

The fist caught him full on the jaw and set him staggering back.

“What the devil!” Viscount Waithe whirled to stare in shocked disbelief at Sir Charles, who was coolly flexing his hand. “Are you
mad,
Charles?”

Sir Charles did not spare him even a glance. He followed Mr. Hawkins into the study. His narrowed eyes were trained on the gentleman, who was shaking the daze from his head. “Not at all, Percy. Ah, just as I thought.”

With a roar, Mr. Hawkins rushed at Sir Charles. The two connected with a crash of bone and muscle.

The next few minutes were confusing ones. Viscount Waithe looked on with appalled fascination while his two best friends brutally slugged one another without regard to the finer points of the pugilistic sport.

A scream captured his attention, and he glanced around with an irritated frown to discover several servants gathered at the study door. Perceiving clearly his duty, Viscount Waithe pushed them all out and closed and locked the door. He dropped the key into his pocket.

When it was all done, the combatants dropped exhausted into wingback chairs. Viscount Waithe solicitously supplied each with a glass of wine. He grinned as he saw their twin grimaces as the wine burned their cut lips. He replaced the decanter and waited with great interest for the other two gentlemen to speak.

“Thank you, Charles,” said Mr. Hawkins finally. His bloodied mouth twisted as he gingerly examined a bruised cheekbone with cautious fingertips. “I think.”

“Not at all, dear fellow.” Sir Charles grimaced down at his torn and bloodied self. “I do detest exertion of this sort.”

“Your sartorial splendor is no more,” Mr. Hawkins observed.