The Price of Temptation (19 page)

The door opened. “I had no idea you had a visitor,” Marianne Westlake said as she entered. “Aren’t you Lady Evelyn’s footman? I recognize the livery.”

Sinjon bowed, and Westlake kissed his wife’s cheek. “Ah, my dear. Home at last. Are Isobel and Phineas safely away, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said distractedly, still looking at Sinjon. “What is the reason for this special visit? I assume there’s something wrong, since you are in my husband’s library instead of waiting at the kitchen door. Is Lady Evelyn ill?”

“She’d have sent me for a doctor if she was, Countess,” Sinjon said.

“He came to deliver a book, my dear. A gift for you, from Evelyn,” Westlake said, and held out the mutton cookbook. Sinjon noted the other two books had quietly disappeared from view.

Marianne looked baffled. “Recipes for mutton pies?” she asked. “Why would she send me this?”

“Lady Evelyn especially recommends page thirty-six,” Sinjon said quickly, hoping that page didn’t contain instructions for disemboweling a sheep or boiling the head.

Marianne flipped through the book. “Mutton pies with apples, chicken, and sausage,” she read, frowning. “Well, it might be palatable, I suppose, if you left out the mutton.”

Then a slow smile spread over her face. She blinked at him. Then she laughed.

“Is there something amusing about mutton I’ve failed to see?” Westlake asked.

“Of course there is!” Marianne giggled. “It’s Evelyn’s way of making a joke. Yellow. Her sisters named this Season’s most fashionable colors after yellow foods. We were laughing about it over tea last week. I assume this a continuation of the jest.” She looked at Sinjon. “Is that it?”

Sinjon wondered how much time and energy Evelyn would need to come up with such an elaborate jab at her sisters. “Exactly, my lady,” he said, grinning charmingly.

“Who could have imagined Evelyn was so witty?” Westlake asked, and Marianne sent him a sharp glare.

“Of course she is! She’s a lady, Adam, but she’s also a woman.”

Sinjon agreed. In the salon, in the library, and especially in bed, Evelyn was the most incredible woman on earth. His woman.

Marianne shut the book and clasped it to her bosom. “I must think of a suitable jest to send back in reply. Wait, if you please.”

Westlake resumed his seat as the door closed behind her. “You have the potential to be an excellent spy, Captain Rutherford. You think quickly. It is not easy to best my wife. I feared you were in for a hard grilling, and would end the afternoon a broken man without a single secret left to you.”

He tapped the cover of the blue book, which had miraculously reappeared. “Now if you were to find Philip Renshaw, I would know you were as good a spy as—” He stopped without saying the name of Sinjon’s predecessor. “You can wait in the hall for Marianne’s reply,” Westlake said, dismissing him. “I’ll expect to hear from you very soon with further news.”

Sinjon sat in the hall and sighed. He had work to do, righting all the wrongs in London, it seemed. He was Westlake’s spy, Evelyn’s lover, Creighton’s nemesis, and everyone’s servant, and one mistake in any of his roles could end in disaster. Was he Sam or Sinjon?

He hardly knew anymore. He was playing a dangerous game, and one wrong move would see him hanged. He had no choice but to play it through to whatever conclusion fate brought him. He hoped luck—and Evelyn—were the ladies he thought they were.

Chapter 28

S
tarling opened the door to announce Charlotte’s arrival, but she bowled past him before he could speak and hurried into the salon. Evelyn rose, her heart clenching when she saw her second sister’s anxious face.

But Charlotte turned to Miss Trask first. “Penance, dear, do go down to the kitchen and have the cook make some cream buns. I am simply starved.”

She looked around the room. “Where is your footman? Has another servant quit your employ?”

Evelyn sank back onto the settee. “My footman is merely out running an errand for me.” She glanced at the clock. He’d be back shortly, but there would still be eight hours to wait until midnight. Her breath caught in her throat in anticipation. “To what do I owe the honor of today’s visit, Charlotte?”

“Can’t I pay my sister a visit without facing an inquisition?” Charlotte asked.

Evelyn raised her brows and waited.

“Actually, I’ve come for two reasons, other than to see how you are. I am simply beset, and I need your help
desperately
. But first of all I must ask you what you did to upset poor Lucy so. She is considering leaving London for the country,
now,
in the middle of the Season! She asked me if I’d heard from Philip, as if he’d dare write to me! Lucy hasn’t been out of her house in days, and she’s positively languishing without the nourishing light of male attention.”

“It has nothing at all to do with me,” Evelyn said calmly. “I have no idea where Philip is. Perhaps Lucy wishes to enjoy some time outdoors. The weather is lovely in the countryside now.”

Charlotte snorted. “Lucy detests weather of any kind, fair or foul, and other than plowmen and country bumpkins, there’s no one at all in the country at this time of year. She says she
must
see Philip. Are you sure you don’t—”

Evelyn raised her chin. “Very sure, Charlotte.”

Charlotte sighed like an ill wind. “Actually, despite Lucy’s ennui, I am glad to hear it. I dread Philip’s return, if he returns at all. Somerson says the betting book at White’s has been revised again. Most gentlemen are now wagering Philip is dead, and even you must admit it would be better for all of us if he were—”

“Was that all you needed my help with so desperately?” Evelyn interrupted. Would her sisters expect her to wear black or yellow for mourning? She touched the lace collar of the pink muslin she was wearing. Sam said he liked pink. It reminded him of her—

She suppressed a smile as that part of her grew warm, and snuck another glance at the clock. She’d get there first tonight, be naked, waiting for him.

“Pay attention, Evie. I have a favor to ask.” Charlotte’s tone indicated it was going to be more of a command than a plea.

“Oh?” Evelyn said hopefully. Perhaps her sister needed Miss Trask to return to Somerson House. Penance had set herself the task of saving the soul of the traitor’s wife, but Evelyn had found her own salvation. She had Sam. If Penance had been a moment quicker this morning, she would have caught her in the corner of the library with her legs wrapped around Sam’s hips. The punishment her sisters would visit upon her for that sin would be far worse than just Penance. The longer the woman stayed, the greater the chance she’d catch them.

“Somerson’s half sister is coming to Town,” Charlotte said, as if announcing that the plague was coming back and likely to kill everyone.

“I had no idea he had a half sister.”

Charlotte sniffed. “We rarely mention her. Her mother was the late earl’s second wife, and Somerson was grown by the time his father married her. He did not approve, since the lady was barely older than Somerson himself, and a mere miss without a title. As a matter of wifely devotion, I could not like her either. After his father died, Somerson banished his half sister and her mama to the most distant of his estates. It was a kindness, and we were all happier for it, to be sure, but the dowager has decided to inconvenience us by dying.”

“Oh,” Evelyn said, unable to think of anything more appropriate under the circumstances.

“The girl has been staying with
neighbors
since her mother’s death, and they have decided to bring Caroline to London to be thrust upon
us
. They seemed to think we were joking when Somerson suggested they could keep her. It is his responsibility to see her married off. It’s too soon to give her a full Season, since she is still in mourning, but
something
must be arranged.”

Evelyn bit her lip, remembering the heartless way Eloisa’s husband had arranged her own marriage to Philip. Poor Caroline. As the half sister of a wealthy earl, there would be a bidding war for her hand, but she would have no say at all in her brother’s choice, since Somerson was a bully, and Charlotte was worse.

“What is it you wish me to do?” Evelyn asked. Surely Charlotte didn’t expect the girl to come and live with her, did she? The only bedroom she could offer would be the one she shared with Sam. She pursed her lips on the premature refusal that threatened to burst out.

Charlotte sighed. “As you know, I am busy with my daughter’s debut. I have no time to amuse dull little Caroline now. Somerson insists he requires a few weeks to find her a suitable husband. I can hardly let her languish in the meantime. I have obtained suitable reading material for her—books on cookery, housekeeping, proper behavior in good society, and even pattern books so she can sew her own clothing. I understand country ladies enjoy those activities, since there is so little else for them to do.”

Charlotte paused eagerly as the door opened and Starling entered with the tea tray, which included a heaping plate of cream buns. Charlotte licked her lips, momentarily distracted. She helped herself to a cake, and devoured it in two huge bites.

“Anyway, I must do something to keep the girl busy. I am counting on the charity of my sisters.” She batted her eyes in entreaty. “Would you be so kind as to host a small dinner party for her? It would get Caroline out of the house for an evening, without making too much of her in public.”

“Here?” Evelyn asked. She imagined the country-bred young lady’s shock when Caroline heard of her scandal.

“It will just be little Caroline and her friends from the North, a viscount something-or-other and his mother. As country peers, they won’t know it isn’t a truly elegant evening. Oh, sorry,” she added when Evelyn frowned at the barb.

She had once been the
ton’
s most envied hostess. Her parties had been famous, her invitations coveted. Her sister seemed to have forgotten that, along with the rest of society.

“What I
meant
is that they’re not likely to have heard of your difficulties, and by the time they do, the girl will be wedded, bedded, and packed off back to the country where she belongs.” Charlotte plopped three cream buns on her plate, one each for “wedded,” “bedded,” and “packed off.” She settled back to enjoy them as if the tasks were already accomplished.

“How efficient,” Evelyn murmured.

“I’m glad you agree,” Charlotte said around a mouthful of cream. Yellow custard ringed her lips, making her look like a rabid fox. “She is arriving within the week. I suppose she’ll need a few days to settle in. Shall we say a fortnight from today?” She picked up another bun, and swallowed it whole in her excitement. Evelyn watched it slide down her gullet. “It needn’t be a bother for you. I shall ask Penance Trask to arrange everything.”

Evelyn dug her nails into her knee and forced herself to smile. “I’ll see to it myself.”

Charlotte shrugged. “Well, I suppose since you have nothing else to do—are you going to eat that last bun?”

“Please, enjoy it. You are a
guest
in my home,” Evelyn said pointedly, but Charlotte didn’t notice. When the cakes were gone, she rose to leave.

“I cannot tarry. I must go and pay a comforting call on poor Lucy, and visit my modiste. I believe my maid washed several of my best gowns incorrectly and shrank the lot of them. None of them fit the way they did a few weeks ago. I cannot tell you how I long to have Miss Trask back with me again, but she is, of course, now indispensable to you.”

“I’m sure she would be glad to return to Somserson House. Her talents are going to waste here, ” Evelyn hinted.

But Charlotte had already set sail toward the door, full of cream cakes and empty of further conversation.

“Do send me a copy of the menu for dinner, Evelyn. I shall advise you if it is lacking in any way.”

“I believe I can assure you that the evening will go off without the slightest misstep, Charlotte.”

“I do hope so. Somerson’s half sister has been raised in strict seclusion in the country. She has no knowledge of treason, sin, or fancy dishes. Plain fare and dull conversation are what’s wanted.”

Evelyn forced a smile. How could it be dull, with the traitor’s wife entertaining a viscount, a countess, and an unwanted girl who had just lost her mother, all strangers to her?

Fortunately, Sam would be there, helping to serve the meal, teasing her with secret glances, waiting as eagerly as she for the tedious evening to be over so they could go upstairs. The strictures of a formal dinner party would only heighten their desire.

Evelyn smiled. She would gladly put up with a dozen dull country viscounts for dinner if she could have Sam for dessert.

Chapter 29

S
injon was trimming the wicks of a dozen lamps and packing up baskets of candles to be distributed to each room. The rich fragrance of beeswax, a luxury that Evelyn insisted upon, reminded him of the scent of the bedroom they shared, the honey sweetness of the wax mixing with her perfume and the deeper odors of sex. He glanced at the clock and tried to think of something else.

“Her ladyship has been in a very fine mood of late,” Mary said. “She gave me a dozen yellow ribbons this morning, and she was smiling as she did so!” She patted the golden band around her bodice. “I hear every lady at the Somerson ball was dressed in yellow. Who could be melancholy dancing the night away in such a happy color? That ball did Lady Evelyn a great deal of good, if you ask me. I’ve never seen her as happy as she’s been lately.”

Sinjon hid a smile.

Mrs. Cooper, aware that Charlotte was upstairs, piled more cream buns on a plate, making ready in case a second helping was needed. “I agree. Her ladyship is looking lovely of late, but it’s good, wholesome food, not dancing. My strawberry tarts are what’s put the roses back in her cheeks, and there’s nothing like fresh eggs, butter, and beef to put meat on her bones and a smile on her face.”

Sinjon looked at the cream buns, imagined other, more daring uses for whipped cream that would make Evelyn smile.

Annie looked up from peeling a turnip. “It’s certainly not turnips. Or beet roots.”

Penance Trask entered the kitchen. “Countess Charlotte will not require any more buns. She has left for today.”

Mrs. Cooper blew out a sigh of relief and set the plate down amid the servants. “Well, then, we mustn’t let these go to waste. Sal, put the kettle on.”

“We were discussing how happy Lady Evelyn is looking, Miss Trask,” Mary said, trying to ingratiate herself with the companion. “What is your opinion of the reason for it?”

Penance preened. “I believe the credit belongs entirely to me. I read to her every day from improving books. They fortify the mind, and do the soul a world of good. Inner strength shows upon the face. I have improved her thoughts, and therefore, her countenance is also improved.”

Sinjon’s lips rippled. If Penance Trask had any idea of the direction of Evelyn’s thoughts, her own countenance would be as purple as Annie’s beets.

Sal set the kettle on the fire. “If you ask me, there’s only one thing that makes a woman sparkle like that,” she said. “And that’s a man.”

Sinjon nearly lopped off his finger instead of the charred end of the lamp wick.

Shocked silence fell over the kitchen for a moment, then laughter erupted. Mrs. Cooper chortled. Annie giggled. Mary snickered. Penance Trask snorted.

“A man! She hasn’t been out of this house for a week, and her only visitors are ladies!” Miss Trask said. She took a small notebook out of her pocket. “Countess Westlake and Viscountess Frayne were here on Monday last. Countess Eloisa has called twice, and of course my own mistress Countess Charlotte was here this morning.
Her
visits are sure to have a salubrious effect on Lady Evelyn. She is a lady who knows how to enjoy the simple pleasures of life—”

“Like a pound of butter and two pints of cream,” Mrs. Cooper muttered.

Penance ignored her. “In fact, I have a treatise on the value of feminine companionship I think I shall read to Lady Evelyn this afternoon—”

“What do you think, Sam?” Sal interrupted, and every female eye in the room turned on him. “Have you got any idea why Lady Evelyn has been so much happier lately?”

Sin.

His chest tightened as he looked at each woman, but there was no suspicion in anyone’s eyes, just simple curiosity.

If he told them the truth, they’d swoon like a pack of overfed dowagers in undersized corsets. Or they’d call him a liar. Who’d believe a lady like Evelyn would keep a secret like
him
?

“We’ve been enjoying excellent weather,” he said. “Her ladyship has been able to ride in the park nearly every morning.”

And at night, she was enjoying an entirely different kind of ride.

His body twitched at the memory of Evelyn, naked in his arms, urging him to go faster.

“But it could be the morning chocolate you make for her, Mrs. Cooper. I have heard that chocolate is very beneficial to a lady’s nerves.”

He served her a pot of steaming chocolate this morning, and had stolen a kiss, right there in the breakfast room, tasting the rich sweetness on her lips, her tongue, and in her sigh of longing.

“I make it with cinnamon and a touch of sweet cream,” Mrs. Cooper said, blushing at the praise.

Sinjon smiled at Mary next. “Dancing
is
a pleasant pastime. There’s nothing lovelier than a country lass, flushed pink and pretty from dancing at a country fete or a harvest ball. More ladies should take up vigorous dancing.”

Making love to Evelyn was a kind of dance. In a few short weeks together, they’d learned the steps that best pleased them both, enhanced them. Every night was different, thrilling, an exhilarating waltz.

He looked at Sal. She was waiting for him to confirm that only a man could make a woman feel the way Evelyn looked—radiant and beautiful.
Loved
.

He felt a jolt of surprise.

Loved? Surely there was a better, lesser word to describe what he felt for Evelyn, but his tongue tied itself in a knot. Admired, perhaps? Esteemed? Neither of those polite descriptions captured it.

Starling’s arrival saved him from the need to reply. “I have wonderful news,” he said with a broad smile. “We’re to have a dinner party here at Renshaw House!”

Mrs. Cooper squealed, and was suddenly radiant herself. Her face bloomed like a garden, pink, then fuchsia, then red, then purple with pleasure. “When?” the cook cried. “How many guests?”

She lovingly stroked the scrubbed surface of the kitchen table, as if it was an artist’s canvas awaiting inspiration. “It has been over a year since our last dinner party. I must go to the butcher’s and bespeak a leg of lamb at once! It’s Lady Evelyn’s favorite. We’ll need spices, and I’ll need to send to the country for fresh fruit, and partridges. How fast can we get a Scottish salmon?”

“Six days if he walks fast,” Sinjon quipped, but no one heard him.

“I was not informed that there was anything to celebrate,” Miss Trask sniffed. “Is there an occasion?”

“Indeed. Countess Charlotte has relatives coming to visit. Lady Evelyn has graciously agreed to host a dinner to welcome them to London,” Starling explained.

Graciously agreed, or was coerced? Sinjon wondered.

“Will there be dancing?” Mary asked.

“What about gentlemen?” Sal put in. “They always bring coachmen and footmen with them.”

“I understand there is to be no more than six people for dinner,” Starling said.

Mrs. Cooper deflated. “Such a small gathering! I can recall when fifty made an intimate party in this house.”

Miss Trask tucked her notebook back into her pocket. “I’d better go upstairs at once. Lady Evelyn will want me to write the invitations. I have perfect penmanship.”

“That will have to wait until tomorrow, Miss Trask,” Starling said. “Her ladyship is going out. It is her day to deliver things to the Foundling Hospital. Sam, you will accompany her, carry the bundles.”

Sinjon wiped the lamp oil off his fingers, still wondering what had convinced Evelyn to entertain, and who her guests might be. Dull aunts or cousins probably, foisted on her by her sisters, as one of their “good works” on Evelyn’s behalf.

He went out to order the coach prepared for her errand.

However boring the evening might be, it would end upstairs, in bed, tangled in the sheets.

Sinjon frowned. Thinking about making love to Evelyn had become an obsession. It was almost impossible not to touch her or kiss her when he saw her during the day.

Even now, standing in the yard waiting for the coach, he was sporting an extremely inconvenient erection. He seemed to be permanently in that state, every time he thought of her, or heard her voice, or caught the scent of her perfume in an empty room, or served her breakfast. A hundred ordinary activities, all made erotic by the secret they shared.

By the time they met at night, he was like a starving man who had been awaiting a banquet. Making love a dozen times a night wasn’t enough.

He glanced up at the window of the little bedroom, their secret love nest. How long could it last? He had been with Evelyn longer than any woman. Weeks. Soon, they would tire of each other. There would be fewer and fewer nights together, until there were none at all.

Would she find another man? That idea bothered him more as the days went on.

He climbed on the back of the coach and rode around to the front door to wait for her.

He wasn’t possessive or jealous. In fact, he usually grew bored with his bedmates once the conquest was made. He couldn’t leave them fast enough.

With Evelyn, he was content to watch her sleep, and he actually liked her conversation. He wondered what she was thinking, tried to read each fleeting, fascinating expression that crossed her face.

It was damned uncomfortable, and dangerous, to feel this way for any woman, especially the wife of a traitor.

The front door opened and Evelyn descended the steps, peeping at him from under her bonnet, trying not to smile, and all he could think was how beautiful she was, and how much he wanted her.