Passion and Pride (A Historical Romance) (2 page)

It was at that moment that Evan’s heart was no longer his own.

Two minutes before, Marian Willows had been convinced she would die.

Now she was staring at the most handsome man she had ever seen.

He had wavy dark hair, a rugged jaw, and soft brown eyes. His nose was strong and straight, his cheekbones well-defined, his lips sensual yet manly. His face struck the perfect balance between classical beauty and rugged masculinity. He wore a black riding cloak that framed broad shoulders, and the cravat at his throat and his exquisitely tailored waistcoat did nothing to hide the powerful chest beneath. His hands were large and perfectly sculpted, worthy of Michelangelo’s David. Though perched atop a powerful black horse and thus difficult to judge, he looked to be at least six feet tall.

And brave, so dashingly brave! As he maneuvered his horse closer and closer to the runaway carriage, then taken the reins and slowly brought it to a halt, the terror she had felt for him outweighed her fear for herself.

She had read about heroic exploits in novels and poems, but she had never expected to see them in real life – much less to have them done on her behalf!

When the danger was past and he looked into her face, her heart stopped in her chest. Then relief crashed down upon her, and she laughed with the abandon of one who has just cheated death.

“Sir, I believe I owe you my life,” she said breathlessly.

He did not answer for a moment, as though he could not think of anything to say. When he finally spoke, his voice was like a dark red wine, strong and full and intoxicating.

“It was my honor and my pleasure, my lady – though I fear your companion may not yet be out of danger.”

Immediately she gasped, ashamed that she had been so overcome by the man’s beauty. She looked at the front seat where the driver lay slumped to one side.

“Poor Mr. Stone! He cried out in pain and fell over, and the horses ran out of control. Oh please, sir, can you help him?”

Suddenly a second horseman rode up. He was younger than the first – most probably his brother. They shared the same features and coloring, though his face was more delicate, his mouth and jaw more feminine, and his bearing not nearly as powerful. He was a boy, whereas the first rider was unquestionably a man.

“Evan, what the devil? And you call
me
impetuous!” the boy laughed.

Evan (she ran the name over her tongue without speaking it aloud) dismounted his horse and stepped up into the carriage. “With your permission, I will take you to our home, where we can attend to the gentleman?”

“By all means!” she exclaimed. “Please help him!”

“Andrew, go to the village and get Dr. Harrick, and for God’s sake, hurry,” he ordered the boy.

“What about Bucephalus?”

“He’ll find his way back. Go!”

Andrew took off at a gallop down the road. Evan straightened the old man up and felt under his jaw, then looked relieved.

“At least he has a pulse. Mr. Stone? Can you hear me, sir?”

The old man made no answer.

“We must get him back without delay,” Evan said as he took up the reins and cracked the horses into a fast trot.

Marian watched as the great black beast Evan had ridden upon began to follow behind them. “Bucephalus… that’s your horse’s name?”

“Yes.” Evan looked over his shoulder and gave her an embarrassed smile. “It’s – ”

“ – Alexander the Great’s horse,” she finished.

He looked impressed. “I see you know your Plutarch.”

She smiled. “The benefits of a classical education. Well… of a great deal of reading, anyway.”

“And what else have you read, m’lady?”

M’lady.
Her face blushed at the word.

“Mostly novels…” She paused, as though trying to think. “Mr. Defoe’s works, as well as Voltaire’s… and I adore Shakespeare and Molière.”

He grinned. “Well, perhaps not so classical as modern, but impressive nonetheless. Especially for a woman.”

Marian frowned at the slight. “A woman cannot sit around and read Paine and Rousseau
all
the time. Or whatever it is that you fine,
intellectual
gentlemen do.”

Evan looked around, his eyes wide. “
Thomas
Paine?”

“Of course.”

He groaned playfully. “Don’t tell me you approve of the colonists’ war for independence!”

“Whether I approve or not, it would seem they have already settled the matter several years back.”

He grinned. “That was rather slippery of you, Miss…?”

“Willows. Marian Willows.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Willows. Whatever you do, though, please,
please
do not mention Paine or Jefferson or any of their gang in the presence of my father.”

“And why is that?”

“He’s liable to have a fit, is all. Ah, here we are.”

The carriage roared over a hill, and there before them lay the grandest house that Marian had ever seen outside of Buckingham Palace. It was three stories tall and hundreds of yards wide, with a smaller east and west wing that adjoined the main building. Gables and cupolas graced the slate roof, and winding strands of ivy covered the ancient stone walls.

“Oh my… it’s beautiful…” Marian whispered.

Evan guided the carriage along the circular drive and stopped it in front of the main entrance.

“Harcourt! Johnson!” he called out, and two footmen in fine outfits rushed out of the front hall.

“Sir?”

“We have a medical emergency – help me with this man, take him into the front parlor. The doctor is on his way.”

Evan helped them lift Mr. Stone down from the carriage, then the two footmen carried him – one by the arms, the other by the feet – into the great hall. A maid appeared at the door, looking on in wonder.

“Elisa, go fetch washcloths and a pitcher of water, cold as you can get it, and take it to Harcourt and Johnson in the parlor.”

The woman frantically rushed off into the depths of the house.

Evan turned back around to Marian in time to see her stepping down from the carriage.

“M’lady, please, allow me!” he called, and rushed over to her side.

She put a hand on his firm, muscular arm to steady herself. From that alone she felt a thrill of delight shoot through her body – but when he placed one hand on the small of her back to guide her down, her insides melted and her heart skipped a beat.

“Please forgive our lack of courtesies. I would rather have given you a more pleasant welcome.”

“Saving my life was pleasant enough, I assure you, Mr….?”

“Blake. Evan Blake.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, and looked once again at the giant house. “Is this Blakewood Manor, then?”

“Indeed it is. Were you traveling here specifically when misfortune struck your driver?”

“Oh – he’s not my driver, sir. I mean, he was driving the carriage, yes, but I merely paid for his services to take me here.”

“But he was… bringing you here?”

“Yes. You see, my aunt and uncle work for you. Mr. and Mrs. Chapman. They assured my mother and father in a letter that… there was a vacancy, and that… I might join your household staff.”

As she said the words, she could see the color drain slowly from his face. Just as quickly, she felt all her happiness of the last few minutes slip away, as though she were waking from a beautiful dream.

He took me for a lady. Now I am only a common scullery wench
, she thought bitterly.

To his credit, the gentlemen was as polite as before – but there was a new formality and distance in his tone, and all the life seemed to have been bled from his words. “Well, we shall be happy to have you, Miss Willows.”

His expression stung her, but still she forced a smile as she curtsied.

“Then, sir, I am twice in your debt.”

A servant girl!

Evan stood in the doorway and watched Dr. Harrick attend to the poor village driver, who lay sprawled on a couch in the parlor. It gave him cover while he tried to quiet his turbulent emotions.

A servant girl! And in my own household!

He could not have been more shocked if she had said she was a Barbary pirate just arrived from Tripoli.

A servant girl!

Though obviously intelligent, she was not exactly refined – he should have seen that right away. Not that he gave a damn for ‘refined.’ In fact, it had partly been the impertinence of her behavior that had charmed him, not just the carefree wildness of her beauty.

But a servant girl!

He had thought she was… ah, he didn’t know what he had thought. The very first sight of her had blotted all logic from his brain. Between her smile and the poor driver’s condition, he hadn’t given any attention to where she had come from or who she was.

Damn it all!

He had, in his time, dallied with several girls of common background.

But never from his own household. Never someone who had worked for his family. He had made a rule of that from the time he first began to romance women.

Back in school, he knew classmates who had dallied with servant girls in their households. Evan viewed their stories with disgust – an abuse of power and position, the privileged preying on the weak. He only hoped and prayed that the situations had been more seductive than forced, and that the women had welcomed the advances. Of course, according to his classmates – especially the ugliest, most noxious ones – the women
all
had welcomed the advances.

What else could they do but acquiesce? They might leave their employers, but only if they could find other work… and by that time, they would have had to surrender multiple times.

If they resisted, they would find themselves fired for some petty mistake. If they complained to the house steward, they would be told to stop spreading wicked rumors. If they went to the lord of the house – which would be absolutely unthinkable for most women – they would most probably be thrown out in the street for ‘slandering’ the lord’s son. Then they would find themselves without shelter, without money, without references to gain a new job, left to starve or beg or prostitute themselves to survive.

No woman in a subordinate position could ever say ‘no’ without fear for her livelihood. And for that reason he vowed never to ask.

Unfortunately, that made this woman – this mesmerizing, enticing creature – off-limits to him. It would be immoral for him to even consider approaching her.

And since she was a servant, he could not woo her the way he would a nobleman’s daughter. There was no chance of marriage, so any courtship would not only be ridiculous, but cruel as well.

Damn it all to hell!

Dr. Harrick looked up from examining the patient. “Well, he seems to have suffered a mild bout of heat stroke.”

The doctor’s words roused Evan from his self-pity. “Is that all?”

“‘Is that all’?” Doctor Harrick repeated in amusement. He was a portly old gentlemen with a bald pate, and well known for his good humor. “I should think Stone here thought it serious enough.”

“Well, yes, of course. I only feared it was his heart.”

“Doubtful.”

“How did it happen? It was warm, but not exactly a blazing hot day.”

“If I know old Harold here – and I’ve known him for well on forty years now – he spent a good portion of last evening in the company of a bottle of rye. And I would bet you a pound sterling that he had a nip this morning, as well. Dehydration leads quickly to this sort of thing.”

“Should we keep him here until he recovers?”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I can take him back with me and return him to the loving bosom of his family. Or not-so-loving, knowing Mrs. Stone’s jealousy concerning her husband’s mistress,” Dr. Harrick said with a wink.

“He’ll be fine?”

“With a few days rest, he’ll be right as rain.”

“What about his carriage and horse?”

“If one of your men can drive his trap, and another can take your carriage into town to escort him back, then all’s well that end’s well.”

“Of course. Thank you, doctor. Could you wait here for a few moments?”

Evan walked through the main hall and into the rear study, where Whittaker the butler was sitting at a tiny desk. Before him stood Mr. and Mrs. Chapman, the Valet and the Housekeeper… and Marian.

He had hoped that his memory of her was over-dramatized by the circumstances, that she was actually just a handsome girl whom he had thought more attractive in the heat of the moment.

Unfortunately for Evan, she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

The single window in the room shone sunshine upon her like a spotlight. The rays lit up her bronze and golden hair, and made her eyes glow like emeralds.

When she saw him, she smiled warmly – and it made him catch his breath.

It was a few seconds later when he came back to reality and realized he was staring at her. Whittaker was asking him something.

“Yes, Mr. Blake? Sir? Sir, are you all right?”

Evan snapped out of his reverie and looked down at the butler. “Yes…yes, I’m fine.” He turned back to Marian and announced, “Mr. Stone had a mild case of heat stroke, but he’ll recover quickly, according to Dr. Harrick.”

The girl let out a sigh and smiled even more winningly. “I am so glad to hear it.”

“Yes…”

He had to force himself to break away from her gaze. Like a drowning man grasping at straws, he turned to Mr. and Mrs. Chapman.

They were a couple in their mid-thirties – he a tall, thin man with a nervous face, she a plump little matron with a disapproving mouth. Every time he looked at them, Evan could not help recalling the nursery rhyme about Jack Sprat and his wife.

“I have had the pleasure of meeting your niece.”

“My sister’s daughter, m’lord,” the short woman said, “and I can never thank you enough for what you did – Marian says you were ever so brave the way you saved her – ”

“Yes, well, it was my pleasure,” Evan assured her. He did not trust himself to look at Marian again, so he kept his eyes trained on Mrs. Chapman.