The Price of Temptation (5 page)

“It’s a warm day. Perhaps they’re former soldiers like myself, and in need of refreshments. Look at the one on the left watching that lad eating the apple.”

She looked at him in surprise, her green eyes wide and clear, but he wanted more. He wanted to see her smile. He grinned at her, but she did not smile in return.

“Charity is a kindness, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he picked up the tea tray and balanced it on his shoulder.

She looked baffled, but the fear had left her eyes for the moment. He strode down the hall with the tea cups rattling. He marched down the front steps and crossed the street.

“ ’Morning, lads. Fancy a cup of tea?” he asked, lowering the tray before the first agent, keeping his eyes on the second.

“What’s this?” the man growled, eyeing Sinjon suspiciously.

“Compliments of the lady inside. She thought you looked thirsty.” Sinjon leaned closer and caught the stale fug of cheap gin on the first spy’s breath. “Perhaps she’s wrong.”

“Clear off!” The second man took a menacing step toward Sinjon, his fist curling. He stopped at the look in Sinjon’s eyes. He might be holding a tea tray, but he was an officer, a gentleman, and socially superior to either of the inept louts before him.

“Who do you work for?” the first one demanded.

Sinjon held the man’s gaze without replying, letting him draw his own conclusions, make up his own name.

The spy dropped his eyes. He jerked his head at his companion and they slunk away down the street.

With a grin, Sinjon turned toward Evelyn Renshaw’s window and bowed.

The lady was smiling, and he’d wager it was the first time in months for that.

Chapter 6

S
injon had grown up in a house with two hundred servants, but he had never considered what the staff actually
did
in the world belowstairs. Until now he’d had no reason to.

He looked around the kitchen of Renshaw House with a twinge of guilt.

The blond kitchen maid called Annie was polishing copper pans, using salt and lemon that made her hands as red as her runny nose. Cook, a jolly ball of a woman named Mrs. Cooper, was peeling the last of the winter apples for pie. She presided over the process with all the consequence of a queen signing a declaration, and the room smelled deliciously of cinnamon and fruit. His mouth watered. At Chelton Hall, he’d often visited the kitchen to charm tarts from the cook, but as mere footman at Renshaw House, he didn’t dare steal one.

Sal, the maid of all work, was ironing table linens in a cloud of steam, her hair frizzing in the heat.

John the Coachman, who also served as groom, stood inside the back door on the excuse that he was waiting for the apple parings and cores for the horses, but in truth he was making sweet eyes at Annie, who blushed at every wink.

Sinjon was trying to remember the instructions Westlake’s footman had given him for polishing silver. His hands ached from rubbing, and still the metal refused to shine.

He straightened his legs under the table. The knee breeches and the formal blue and gray coat of his livery were old fashioned and ridiculous, and the powdered wig was itchy and hot, but in the uniform of a servant, he was quite invisible.

Until he went out.

On the street his footman’s garb marked him as a member of Lady Evelyn’s staff, and he was accosted by strangers who wanted to know what
she
was like, and if there’d been any sign of the traitor.

The upper classes did not deign to speak to him directly, of course. The people he’d once danced and ridden and gamed with as Sinjon did not even glance at Sam. Instead, they sent their servants to make bold inquiries. Once the maid had gotten the details on her mistress’s behalf, the lady would serve up every salacious morsel to the
ton’
s most notorious gossips.

He developed a new respect for servants, if only because they knew the secrets that could raise or ruin their masters. If lords and ladies suspected, they might treat their maids and footmen better, be more careful about what they said and did in front of them. But to most of his class, the humble folks who saw to their every need were completely invisible.

He continued to polish, wondering if his hands would look like Annie’s by the end of his time here. Weeks, Westlake had predicted, possibly less, if he found what they wanted quickly. So far, he hadn’t discovered anything but sore muscles and blisters.

The kitchen door opened and Evelyn’s lady’s maid came in and poured herself a cup of tea.

“What kind of mood is her ladyship in today, Mary?” Mrs. Cooper asked.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Same, of course. Never a hair out of place, never a complaint or a harsh word.” She threw herself into a chair. “Downright boring, it is. What’s the point of working for the wife of a traitor if there’s never anything to tell when someone asks?”

“Lady Charlotte’s maid knows plenty,” Annie said. “And she’s happy to tell anyone who’ll listen.”

Mary sniffed. “Half of it isn’t true. She hears things from Lady Eloisa’s lady’s maid, who learns it from Lady Frayne’s butler. Lady Evelyn’s sisters are better informed than she is about her own husband. Or better liars.”

“Is her ladyship going out today?” Sal asked, setting the iron in the fire.

“No. She’s writing letters.” Mary sighed. “Yesterday, it was reading, and the day before that she was sorting linens for the Foundling Hospital. She hasn’t been out in four days. What am I to do? She puts on a morning gown and leaves it on until tea. Why change into a walking dress or a riding habit if you never leave the house? There’s no requirement for evening gowns either, since she’s never invited anywhere, or any need to dress her hair. My skills are growing as stale as yesterday’s bread.”

Annie sighed. “Poor lady.
Could
she go out for the evening, even if she wanted to? I heard from Lady Charlotte’s coachman that Lord Philip took all her jewels.”

“She has a few good pieces left,” Mary said. “There’s a string of pearls with a ruby clasp, and a locket with an emerald in it.”

The green stone would match her eyes, Sinjon thought, picturing her at a ball, the locket around her slender neck, glittering in the candlelight as she laughed. Speaking of glittering, he could see a shiny spot on the silver platter now, and felt an unexpected surge of accomplishment. It fizzled when he looked at the pile of unpolished pitchers and serving spoons piled up beside him.

“Any callers expected today?” Cook asked. “There’s no point working my fingers to the bone baking scones or tarts. She won’t eat ’em, and she should. She’s too thin.”

“Too thin! A lady can never be too thin!” Mary countered. “You’re looking at her next to Lady Charlotte, and
she’s
too fat!” Everyone laughed.

The merriment ceased abruptly when Mr. Starling entered the room. “That will do, if you please. Mrs. Cooper, try making strawberry tarts. They’re her favorites. Mary, I understand she’s been invited to the opera tomorrow night. Best make sure everything is ready if she decides to accept.” He looked at the clock. “Sam, the post is due to arrive. You may go up and wait for it.”

Sinjon got to his feet and wiped the polish off his hands, and Mary grinned. “No wonder she hired you. You fill your stockings well, don’t you?”

“Mary!” Mr. Starling warned.

Mary blinked innocently. “What? When I worked for Lady Trimble, she hired
her
footmen on the basis of how well they looked in livery. They had to be handsome, of a particular height, and with a fine leg. She had twenty-four of them, all identical, like a set of lead soldiers. Once they had their wigs on, you could scarcely tell one from the others. They called them all ‘James’ for simplicity.” She cast an appreciative eye over Sinjon once more. “Since Lady Evelyn only has one man about the place, it’s a good thing you’re pleasant to look at.”

“What about John Coachman and Mr. Starling?” Annie asked. The other women frowned at her, then looked back at Sinjon, their eyes softening.

He missed his boots and his army uniform. He missed the dignity and deference he was used to, and he needed a graceful exit.

He gave them a dazzling smile, the kind that made debutantes and dowagers swoon. It appeared to have the same effect in the kitchen as it did in the salon. “Excuse me,” he said, bowing low.

Giggles followed him up the stairs, and so did Mr. Starling.

“Don’t open the front door unless you’re certain it’s the post, Sam,” he instructed. “And you’re not to answer any impertinent questions from passersby or stand about gossiping on the step.”

“Why doesn’t Lady Evelyn go out?” Sinjon asked. He knew the answer, of course, but perhaps Mr. Starling knew things he didn’t.

For a moment the butler’s mouth tightened stubbornly, but Sinjon held his eyes and made his curiosity look like concern. Truth to tell, it was. He hadn’t seen Evelyn outside the library since he arrived here.

Starling sighed. “You seem like a good lad, Sam. You’re quiet, unlike those hens downstairs. I’d never tell
them
, of course, but we’re men, and she needs a man’s protection. I’m glad she hired you. I’m hardly likely to deter trouble at my advanced age.”

“Has there been trouble?” Sinjon asked. Surely she was safe enough in her own home. He doubted the Frenchman from the park was bold enough to come pounding on her door.

“Yes. They came and searched the house after they arrested Lord Philip’s partner in crime, Charles Maitland. They come back to ask her questions every so often too, and always the same questions. There’s some that watch the house, but they keep their distance for the most part. But the other day, Sam . . . I don’t know what happened.” Starling’s face creased with concern. “Something happened in the park, though she wouldn’t say what it was. All I know is that she came home with blood on her clothes.”

“She must have been hysterical,” Sinjon said. Hysterical ladies babbled, and said things they weren’t even aware of. His cousin had fallen into a pond once, and came out crying and confessing to stealing a biscuit, as if the two things were connected.

Starling shook his head. “She wasn’t upset at all, and that’s part of the trouble. She doesn’t talk, or scream, or cry.” He leaned close. “She must be beside herself, poor lady. She stands to lose everything. The Crown could take Lord Philip’s lands and this house and every penny he has. She’d be left with nothing.”

Sinjon’s mouth tightened. “Is she guilty?”

Starling glared at him. “Of course not! She’s a lady to her fingertips. I’ve been in her service since her marriage to Lord Philip. She’s kind, charitable, and gentle. She doesn’t have a single sin on her conscience. She doesn’t even gossip!”

“But she’s afraid,” Sinjon said, recalling the fear in her green eyes the day he arrived, and how she’d tried to hide it.

“Yes, terribly afraid, every day, though she’d hate that any of us knew,” Starling said. “She gave us a brave speech after Lord Philip disappeared, about how she’d see we kept our jobs and would make sure we were safe. Us! We’re the ones who should be protecting her.”

They reached the upper hall that led to the front door. Lady Charlotte’s maid stood there, also waiting for the post, an outgoing letter in her hand. Starling’s features stiffened into a butler’s formal hauteur. “I trust you’ll remember I’ve told you this in confidence, Sam,” he said, his eyes on the maid. “There’s to be no gossip about her. Not outside or inside this house.”

Sinjon nodded to the maid and took her letter. Was she watching Evelyn, reporting what she saw to Lord Somerson? Guilt twisted his stomach. Was there anyone who wasn’t watching Evelyn Renshaw?

The lady was under siege, and it was only a matter of time before the walls she’d built to protect herself would crumble around her. It was no wonder she guarded every word, every look, every emotion, even here in her own home.

It would be a harsh blow, losing everything, even if she were guilty, as Westlake suspected.

Sinjon opened the front door and blinked at the spring sunshine. He wasn’t here to get involved. He had his own innocence to prove, his own neck to save. He didn’t have the time to fall under the spell of Philip Renshaw’s pretty wife.

The warm breeze brushed his face like a caress, and he frowned.

If Evelyn was innocent, then why was she so afraid?

Chapter 7

E
velyn watched her new footman open the door to admit her eldest sister. He stood to attention as Eloisa swept in, his military bearing evident, even in livery.

She was so busy staring at Sam that she took no notice of her sister at all until Eloisa stopped in the middle of the room and shrieked.

Sam was instantly on alert, reaching for the sword that wasn’t there, and Evelyn hid a smile as he colored. He shot Eloisa in the back with a killing look as he straightened his wig and resumed his post inside the door, close at hand in case Evelyn or her guest should need anything.

Eloisa didn’t even notice the alarm she’d caused. She was staring at Evelyn. “Good heavens, Evie, what are you wearing? Charlotte told me your wardrobe was a dog’s breakfast, but I thought she was exaggerating, or hungry, but she was perfectly right. Is that
last year’s
gown?”

Evelyn watched Sam’s eyes flick over her, and felt her skin heat more under his scrutiny than Eloisa’s. She covered her confusion by smoothing her hand over her muslin skirt.

“Yes, but the ribbons are new.” Green now, instead of pink, for a touch of maturity and soberness.

“Has it truly come to that?” Eloisa squawked. “Making over your old gowns? Can’t you afford new ones?”

“I am hardly walking the street in rags.” Evelyn looked at her sister’s outfit. Eloisa was smartly turned out in yellow from the feathers in her hat right down to her half boots. It felt as if the sun had risen in the room, and Evelyn tried not to squint in the glare. “You look as lovely as always,” she said, knowing Eloisa was waiting for the compliment.

“Of course I look lovely. I make the effort. It is exhausting, but it is my duty to set an example.” She patted the glittering gold frogs on her spencer and smiled. “A shining example.”

Her lips pursed in dismay as she looked at Evelyn’s gown again. “Evelyn, it won’t do to have you going around town dressed as if you didn’t know any better, or don’t care what people think. It reflects badly on me.
Do
you have money? Is it as bad as that? Have
all
the modistes closed their doors to you?”

Starling brought in the tea tray and set it on the table, and Evelyn took her place behind the teapot. She was hardly penniless, but economies had to be made in case the worst happened.

She forced herself to smile. “All is well. I simply don’t have the kind of social commitments this year that warrant the expense of a new wardrobe.” What
was
the accepted etiquette when a traitor’s wife appeared in public? she wondered. Did fine gowns make what her husband did less terrible? Of course, if anyone might know the rules of fashion for such a situation, it would be Eloisa.

Eloisa tossed her yellow gloves on the table as if laying down a challenge. “That’s all the more reason to dress well.” Her expression sharpened. “Unless you know something, you sly creature. Don’t keep me in suspense. Have you heard from Philip?”

“No, I haven’t. Tea?” Evelyn tried cutting her sister off, but should have known better. Eloisa ignored the offer and slumped on the settee, crushed.

“How disappointing you are this morning! I came here with such high hopes. My friends are no longer amused by the old stories about Philip. I need something new to tell.” She laid a hand on her cheek. “And my modiste, Evie! I was her favorite client. I didn’t even need an appointment. She hung on every
on dit
I could tell about Philip. But no more. My stories are out of date. Now I must wait for her attention like everyone else.”

Evelyn laughed. “Poor Eloisa! What will you do?”

“I shall be forced to make something up!” She sent her sister a look of entreaty. “Help me think of something, Evie. Do you have a lover?”

Evelyn glanced over her sister’s shoulder at Sam. Somehow, he wasn’t as invisible as he should have been. In fact, he looked as keen to hear the answer as Eloisa. Evelyn felt a blush rise over her face. “I am still a married woman!”

Eloisa made a rude noise. “So is Lucy, but that doesn’t stop her!”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Does Frayne know?”

“What difference does it make if he does? She’s given him an heir and two girls. I doubt he’s still expecting another boy off her.”

“You make her sound like a mare,” Evelyn murmured. “Tea?” she offered again.

Eloisa took the cup only to set it down with a thump. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you, managed to change the subject? You’re very slippery, Evelyn. We were talking about you, not Lucy! And Philip, of course.”

“You brought Lucy into the conversation, not I,” Evelyn protested.

“Only because I think you should follow her example. Why be loyal to Philip now? Who knows what he’s up to wherever he is? Teach him a lesson, I say. Come and stay at Wilton House, and we’ll find you some cheerful company. Oh, Evie! I hear your name everywhere. How can you bear to be tied to that monster?”

Evelyn fixed her sister with a hard stare. “It was
your
husband who arranged the match.”

Eloisa’s eyes widened. “You were Wilton’s ward after father died. It was his duty to see you respectably married. I doubt he expected you’d take your vows so literally! It wasn’t a love match. Philip wanted the land you’d inherited from father, and he was willing to marry you to get it, and why not? Linwood is a valuable estate. Wilton couldn’t think of any reason why the marriage would be unsuitable. I know Philip is old, and a traitor, but he’s very wealthy. At least for the moment, wherever he is.”

The perfect match indeed. She had merely been tossed in as part of a contract entirely based on money and land, something that came with Linwood, like furniture or livestock. Philip had been pleased she was pretty, of course, but from the start there were other things on his mind, plans she was not part of, and she was too innocent, and too afraid of her new husband, to pry. She knew now she should have asked questions. Lots of them.

Evelyn couldn’t look at her sister without making a biting comment, so she searched the room, looking for somewhere to put her eyes, to give her time to calm down. Her glance brushed Sam, and she frowned. Was that sympathy in his gray eyes? She wanted no one’s pity. She sent him a hard glare, but his eyes were soft, deep, and warm, a haven.

Her stomach curled, and she took a breath, forced herself to look away, but she could still feel his eyes on her like a soothing caress.

She had no idea what to do next. Perhaps she should send Sam out of the room for his impertinence, but that would make Eloisa notice him, wonder what he’d done. Eloisa would insist he be dismissed and tell her she was incapable of hiring good help. Eloisa would bring Charlotte and Lucy into the argument when she refused to fire him, and then she would have another battle on her hands.

Evelyn turned away from Sam and changed the subject. “Is that a new bonnet?”

Eloisa grinned. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice it. Do you like it?”

The confection on her head was so covered with feathers, twigs, and flowers that it was more like a funeral pyre for a game bird than a hat.

“It’s lovely,” Evelyn said. Behind her sister’s back, Sam rolled his eyes dramatically. He had the audacity to grin at her, just like he had that day in the park, and shake his head.

The park.

It was a frightening memory, but with Sam here, standing by, it didn’t seem so terrifying. And it was true that Eloisa’s hat was dreadful. Evelyn quickly raised her teacup to hide a smile. Eloisa crossed to the nearest mirror to admire her reflection.

“Madame Estelle makes the most divine hats. I gave her one or two ideas, of course, to set the trend. In a few weeks everyone will be wearing a bonnet like mine. I haven’t decided if it’s to be known as the Wilton Hat or the Eloisa Bonnet.” She turned to Evelyn, her eyes glowing. “I have decided, however, that yellow shall be
the
color of the Season. I’ve ordered my entire wardrobe in shades of lemon, cream, champagne, and butter.”

Evelyn watched Sam’s lips quirk, and she brushed her fingers across her own mouth to still a smile. “Sounds delicious.”

“Doesn’t it? It was Charlotte’s idea to give the colors delectable names. Every lady with any style at all will be wearing butter and cream this Season. I have ordered the most divine gown for Charlotte’s ball, in custard brocade.” Eloisa looked archly at her sister. “It’s only a fortnight off, and you’ll need a gown too. Mustard, perhaps, with an overskirt of buttermilk . . .”

Sam grimaced. He stood perfectly still, properly at attention, his hands behind his back, his chin high. Only his face reflected his thoughts as he played with her, mocked her sister. She knew she should have been shocked, but she was enjoying herself. Had she ever admitted that at tea with one of her sisters before?

Still, she’d have a sharp word with her new footman later, and let him know that decorum was to be strictly—

“Evie! I’ve asked you twice what you’re going to wear to Charlotte’s ball. It’s important you look your best.”

Evelyn swallowed. She could wear silk or sackcloth and it would make no difference. She pictured herself walking through Charlotte’s ballroom, followed by a thousand whispers as she pretended not to notice the scornful way eyebrows climbed in horror at her presence, or how a hundred fans snapped open to hide mockery or pity or hatred as she passed.

“I’ve decided not to attend Charlotte’s ball this year,” she said. “I can’t see why my being there will be of any importance one way or the other.”

“You must come! People will think you have something to be ashamed of if you stay home!” Eloisa spluttered. “There are at least a dozen people who would stand by you.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “A dozen? Out of Charlotte’s usual three hundred guests? Hardly encouraging, especially when six of them will be my own family.”

“Well, better to have six people by your side than no one at all! But that’s why you need the protection of an influential lover, a gentleman with a title, a fortune, and a taste for notorious ladies.” Eloisa smiled. “I will put a word in Wilton’s ear. He is not without influence. Nor is Somerson, or even Frayne. They’re bound to know someone right for you.”

Was it her imagination, or had Sam looked shocked for a fleeting instant? His expression was bland and unreadable now, and she frowned, wondering if she’d been mistaken. Why would he care?

“Not Frayne!” Evelyn quipped in mock horror, and laid a dramatic hand on her heart.

Sam’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, and a muscle twitched in his jaw in appreciation, and Evelyn felt warmed by it.

The Earl of Frayne was notorious for his scandalous affairs. It was no wonder Lucy had decided that what was good for the gander would suit her as well.

And if there ever was a goose, it was Lucy.

Eloisa didn’t laugh. “Oh, Evie, you must take this seriously! Come to the modiste with me tomorrow. We’ll use my name, and you can wear a veil. They can hardly refuse to serve you if I’m standing behind you. We’ll get Lucy and Charlotte to come with us. The four of us will make a formidable force against insult.”

“I have a perfectly suitable gown upstairs,” Evelyn said.

“What color is it?” Eloisa demanded.

“Green,” Evelyn replied. She glanced at Sam, and his lips spread in a warm smile, as if he approved. Her heart leapt, and she pursed her lips. It didn’t matter one whit what he thought. “Or blue,” she said. His smile faded.

“No one is wearing green or blue this year!” Eloisa cried. “You will stand out, no, you will
stick
out! Charlotte and Lucy will be horrified!”

“Then I shall stay home.”

“No! No, that won’t do either,” Eloisa said, reversing herself. “You will stick out all the more if you are absent from your own sister’s annual ball! It is one of the most important events of the Season.”

Evelyn kept her expression flat, letting her sister know how little she cared.

Eloisa wasn’t deterred. “I’ll make an appointment with my modiste for tomorrow anyway, and my shoemaker.” She stood up and pulled on her gloves. “I’ll come early, and we can take a turn through the park first. You look like you could do with some fresh air.”

“Not the park!” Evelyn blurted before she could stop herself. Eloisa raised her eyebrows. “I hear it’s going to rain tomorrow. My cook’s elbow aches when the weather is about to change.”

Eloisa sniffed. “Excuses. I suppose there’s a reason why you cannot visit the modiste either. A plague of locusts on Bond Street, perhaps, predicted by your butler’s bunions.” She turned to go. “I despair of you, Evelyn. I am going to consult with Charlotte, see which suitable gentlemen might be on her guest list.”

“No one lower than a marquess, or perhaps a prince, if one of them is between mistresses,” Evelyn quipped, meaning to quell her sister. But Eloisa smiled. So did Sam. A lazy, appreciative grin that made her heart take a slow turn in her chest.

Eloisa pecked Evelyn’s cheek. “That’s the spirit! I shall ask Lucy which prince is currently unattached. She’ll know, if anyone will.”

“It was a joke,” Evelyn protested, but Sam was opening the door for Eloisa. A yellow feather floated out of her hat as she passed, and he caught it and tucked it into his wig with a roguish grin.

Evelyn snatched it out again and gave him a look of censure. He followed Eloisa down the hall and let her out.

Evelyn went to the window to watch her sister get into her coach, newly painted a deep golden yellow. Even her horses had golden coats, and yellow feathers on their heads.

“You have no reason to avoid the park, my lady.”

Evelyn turned to find Sam in the doorway.

“If you wish to go riding, I will escort you, and I promise no harm will come to you.”

She read the truth of that in his eyes. Deep, soft, gray eyes, trustworthy and stalwart.

“I—” she began, suddenly finding herself breathless. She straightened at once. “I really must speak to you about your behavior during my sister’s visit,” she began sternly, but he grinned, tying her tongue in a knot.

“It was good to see you smile.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Still, it was bad of you to mock Viscountess Wilton.”