Never Turn Away (Kellington Book Six) (8 page)

He wondered if her life was as lonely as his.  At
one point, he’d believed the wealthy did not have real problems, but he’d long since
learned that some things were universal:  the need for acceptance, the longing
for love and the ache of loneliness.

He wanted to know more about Lady Evelyn.  He would
never have a lifetime in which to make his inquiries.  But he would at least
have dinner.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The figures didn’t lie.  The debts had mounted.  The
income had dwindled.  There was no escaping it.  Without Evelyn’s fortune and
land, it would be ruination.  But so far, she’d resisted all efforts at wooing
her.  She seemed determined to go her own way in life, even if she lost her own
fortune by not meeting the deadline.

How could she be brought to heel?  She wasn’t like
other ladies.  Didn’t respond to flattery.  Had little use for fashion,
considering she kept herself holed up on her estate most of the year.  Didn’t
she realize how ridiculous she was, remaining unwed at her age when any number
of men would have had her given her fortune?  Some would have taken her with
even half the dowry.

But what use was half the dowry when all of it was
available?

There was no doubt about it.  The field was growing
crowded.  And if she did choose to marry, it was anyone’s guess who the groom
would be.  There must be some way to manipulate things to their optimal
conclusion.  Some way to get hold of that money and land.

Perhaps, if she felt threatened she would realize
what little good her independence was to her.  She needed a man to protect
her.  Not forever, of course.  Once the marriage was consummated, all her
worldly goods would belong to her husband.  And he could do what he liked with
her.

But just what kind of threat would work?  And how
could it be accomplished without her suspecting?  She was all together too
smart for her own good.  It wouldn’t do to be found out.  So the plan had to be
a good one.  And it had to succeed.  There was too much at stake to fail.

With luck, Evelyn would never know what hit her.

*                   *                    *

“Your cook is excellent,” said Joseph, as they
finished the dessert.

“Thank you.  She has been with me almost as long as
the Thompsons.  She knows what I like almost more than I.  Although I must say
there are times when she still thinks I am a young girl.  On more than one
occasion, she has sent my plate back from the kitchen when she feels I have not
eaten enough.”

“It sounds like your servants are your family.”

“They are in many ways.  My mother died when I was
six.  Unfortunately, I have few recollections of her.  Sometimes I smell her
perfume and it will take me back to dim memories of being held and playing in
the nursery.  I remember the love, if that makes sense.  I remember being loved
and loving her very much.”

“Then in that way you are fortunate.”

“What of your parents?”

He hesitated for a moment, but he could not tell her
that story.  Not now after a good dinner and pleasant conversation.  Perhaps
not ever.  “That is a story for another day.  What of your father?  He passed
away shortly after your come-out?”

“Yes.  He was a very good man.  An excellent
landlord.  His tenants liked him very much.  He was an important man in the
county, both for his contributions to charity and his willingness to act as the
go-between with the farmers and the local gentry.”

“Yet your father outranked the gentry.”

“He did.  He was respectful of the title – he said
he owed it to his ancestors who’d no doubt had to do unpleasant tasks to
impress whatever King had bestowed the earldom.  But he believed no man was
better than another simply because he’d been born with a title.  And no man was
inferior simply because he had to do back-breaking labor every day.”

“He sounds like a radical.”

“He was,” said Evelyn proudly.  “I don’t think it
made him any friends in the House of Lords.  But he got along well with the old
Duke of Lynwood.”

“Is that why you stay in the country?  To continue
your father’s work?”

“Partly.  The local gentry doesn’t always look after
the concerns of the community all that well,” she said carefully.  “It’s not
that they have malicious intent.  It’s just that they get caught up in their
own power and aren’t always considerate of those who don’t have any.”

“Are you talking about young Kensington’s father?”

“He and some others.  They’re not bad men, just not
forward thinkers.  And if it were up to them, they would sell the entire county
to the mining concerns.”

“Why don’t they sell their own land?”

“They tried.  The company wasn’t interested because
their holdings were too small.  It was an all or nothing situation.  They’ve
made it clear that if they do not get my land, they will have none in the
county.”

“Have they pressured you?”  If they had, they would
soon regret it.

She shook her head.  “They have just been patronizing. 
I’ve been told I shouldn’t worry about business because it is no concern for a
lady.  I should just entrust my affairs to them and they will make the right
choices.”

“But you won’t.”

“I’m a lady, not an idiot.  Would you care to retire
to the library with me for port?”

“It would be my pleasure.”  He rose, then pulled
back Evelyn’s chair.  He did not miss the shiver that went through her when his
fingers brushed against her shoulders.

And he did not miss his own reaction, either.

He followed her into the library, then for the first
time since entering her house, his attention was drawn to something other than
his hostess.

“It is magnificent.”  He looked at the
floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with books.  “How many are there?”

“I am ashamed to say I do not know.  I have not read
all of them yet.  And I am continually adding to the collection.  Some women
have a weakness for bonnets.  I cannot be happy unless I have the latest
novel.  Though you will not find just frivolous works here,” she quickly
added.  “There are tomes on the sciences, philosophy and mathematics.  And I
have spent many an hour in the history section.”

Joseph walked to the shelves and reverently touched
a volume.  “Your family must have been collecting for generations.”

“Yes.  It is another reason I seldom go to London. 
I do not have my own house and the current earl’s library is not well stocked.”

“There are lending libraries that are not as well
stocked as this.  My own library would fit into a small section of yours,
though I add to it whenever I can.”

“And what do you read?”

“Anything I can get my hands on.  Though, I confess
I have a fondness for novels myself.”

“Never say so!” said Evelyn with a smile.  “Do not
tell me the fearsome Bow Street Inspector likes his gothic romances.”

He grinned.  “My taste runs more toward novels like
Precaution
by James Fenimore Cooper.  I confess to a fascination with America, both its
land and the people.”

“They are a very egalitarian lot, are they not?  The
spirit of its people seems to match the wilderness of its lands.”

“Hal Kellington married an American from Philadelphia. 
I would one day like to see it and New York City, too.  Perhaps even travel to
the Kentucky frontier.”

“What is stopping you?”

He turned to look at her.  It had been a long time
since anyone had expressed an interest in his life.  Truth be told, his work
had become his life.  At times even he could not make the distinction.

“I do not know why I don’t take the trip.  I have
the funds to do so.  Perhaps, I am not a person who goes on holiday.”

“Perhaps you haven’t found the right person to travel
with.”

“Perhaps not.”

But what he wouldn’t give to travel with Evelyn.  To
go to egalitarian America, where no one would care that she was a lady and he a
bastard thief taker.  To walk arm-in-arm with her down the street, seeing the
sights, without worry that someone would accuse him of reaching beyond his
station.  Or, even worse, giving her the cut direct.  It was a wonderful
fantasy.

But not real.

“I have offered you port, Inspector.  But now I
would like to know if you will join me in one of my favorite activities.”

Oh, if it were only one of his favorite activities –
making love before the fire.

She stepped closer to him.  “On winter nights such
as this, I like nothing more than to sit before the fire and read.” 

As it happened, that was also one of his favorite
activities, though it paled in comparison to the other one.  But for tonight it
would have to do. 

“Please, Inspector, select whatever you’d like.  I
have a book I am in the middle of, but I hope you can find something that
interests you.”

“If I cannot find something of interest in the
selection before me, take my gun and shoot me.  I confess that in renovating my
house the first room I finished was the library.”

“Perhaps I can see it when we journey to London.” 

He would like that more than anything.  He pulled a
book from the shelves.

“What have you chosen, Inspector?”

“Please call me Joseph.  Unless you think it would
be improper.”

“I believe it would be nothing of the sort.  As long
as you call me Evelyn.”

“Perhaps when we are alone, but never in company.”

“If that is the only concession I shall get from
you, then I must accept it – for now.  What is your selection?”

Joseph looked at the volume in his hand, not having
remembered reaching for it.  The woman robbed his senses.  How was he supposed
to read when she was in the same room, smelling like a spring day and looking
as beautiful as an angel?  “It is a collection of the journal entries from the
American explorers Meriwether Lewis and William Clark.”  Thankfully his
selection didn’t make him sound like an imbecile.

She placed his port on a table near the wing chair
opposite hers in front of the fire.  She poured a glass of wine for herself,
then kicked off her slippers and pulled her feet up beneath her before almost
immediately becoming engrossed in her book.

Joseph settled into the comfortable chair, then spent
ten minutes thinking about her shoeless feet and the very neat way she was
curled up.  Then he turned the page, lest she think he was the slowest reader
in England.  He stole a glance at her and saw that she was enraptured by
whatever she was reading.  In the guise of taking a sip of his port, he leaned
forward to see what had so fully captured her imagination.  

It was a book on the agricultural practices of
central England.

He knew he should not be insulted that she would
rather read about farms than talk to him.  But, damn it, he had a real interest
in Lewis and Clark’s journals, yet he wished the entire expedition to perdition
because he would rather be talking to Evelyn than reading a book in her
presence.

Which was odd, since he loved reading.

He did not want to consider what that meant.

*                    *                    *

Evelyn made a note of which page she started on
because while she continued turning pages at a regular rate, she was not
comprehending any part of her book.  How could she?  It was a large room, yet
Joseph seemed to fill every inch of it.  His scent, which was a masculine blend
of shaving soap and leather, teased her senses.  And the way he held his port made
her jealous of a glass.

A glass.   She was jealous of a glass.

He’d said he liked reading.  So did she.  She
thought that if she showed him her library and let him engage in his favorite
activity, he might have a more favorable impression of life in the country.  For
it had not escaped her notice that of all the gentlemen she’d considered
marrying, none interested her like Joseph Stapleton.

He was not of her world in the most superficial
sense.  And she knew enough of the
ton
to realize she would be cut from
society if she married him.  But, quite frankly, if her choice was to marry any
of the socially acceptable men she’d met or wed Joseph, she would quite happily
make a life with the man from Bow Street.

But that was another consideration.  If – and this
was a very big if – if he had feelings for her and if – another big if – he
could be persuaded to not have a care for her lost place in society, would he
be willing to give up his life’s work?  She knew it was unfair to ask it of
him.  But she was not at all sure she could marry someone who risked his life
every time he left for work.

However, it was all a fantasy because she could not
imagine him living happily in the country.  To a man who’d devoted himself to
protecting others, her existence in Caversham must seem quite boring.  She must
seem quite boring.  She had none of the wiles of the ladies of London.  She did
not know how to flirt.  She did not think she would care to learn.  She was
very straightforward and could not imagine simpering or hiding her feelings.

But Joseph likely had women falling at his feet
constantly.  Ladies of the
ton
might not want to marry him, but she knew
enough about society to realize there would be no shortage of women anxious to
share his bed.  And his neighbors in Cheapside would surely want to have such a
heroic man as their son-in-law.