Twice the Temptation (2 page)

 
“To the bank, you mean. Oceans and lakes have shores. Rivers have banks.”

 
“You’re missing the point, Gilly. Sensing his imminent death, the companion tossed the diamond to his friend. Immediately a branch broke from a tree just downriver. The companion reached it and was saved. From then on, unwilling to part with the gem but little by little realizing its deadly power, they traded it off until they found civilization and the sailor who’d discovered it put it safely away. That sailor was your great-great-grandfather’s uncle. Over the years your ancestors have had it cut and put into this setting. And now it comes to you.”

 
Evangeline looked at her sideways. “If you actually believe that nonsense, why are you gifting me with a curse?”

 
“I am passing on an heirloom and a responsibility. Now that you’ve set eyes on it, I strongly suggest that you immediately put it away somewhere safe, so that you’ll enjoy its good luck and protect yourself from the bad. Oh, and it’s called the Nightshade Diamond, because of its poisonous nature, I suppose.”

 
It made a very good children’s bedtime story. Being nearly nineteen and not the least bit gullible, Evangeline tucked the necklace back into its box and stood to kiss her aunt on the cheek. “The Nightshade Diamond. Don’t you think the name could be because it’s tinted blue like twilight?”

 
“No. And you should take what I tell you seriously, Gilly. A lack of passion and imagination might save you, and it might not.”

 
“I do take you seriously,” Evangeline returned absently. “Thank you for the very lovely gift. I will treat it well.”

 
“Gilly—”

 
“And don’t fret, Aunt Rachel. You’ll be back to your usual self in no time at all.”

 
Rachel Tandey watched as her niece left the bedchamber. “I daresay I will be now,” she muttered, shifting as a sudden attack of the vapors caught her.Ah. Better already , she thought, then wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Good heavens. Bess! Come in here and throw open a window at once!”

 
Evangeline opened the wooden box again as her coach rolled into London proper. She lifted the necklace, admiring its sparkle again as muted, blustery daylight danced
along hundreds of beveled edges from the fourteen main stones and the dozens along the chain. Such a pretty thing, it was. The most breathtaking necklace she’d ever seen.

 
“Goodness gracious,” her maid exclaimed from the facing seat. “That is the most beautiful bauble I’ve ever set my eyes on!”

 
“It’s hardly a bauble, Doretta. It’s a very valuable family heirloom. Aunt Rachel thought me the most worthy to receive it.” Well, not precisely worthy, but she hardly meant to repeat that her aunt found her unimaginative and that the item was purportedly cursed.

 
With an admiring sigh she returned the necklace to its box and closed the lid.

 
The next second she crashed to the floor. Her maid, the box, and her book and reticule flew about her. The coach lurched sickeningly sideways in the opposite direction, then with another hard jolt landed back on all four wheels again.

 
“We’ve hit something!” Doretta shrieked unhelpfully.

 
“It seems we have.” Evangeline narrowed her eyes as she looked at her maid sprawled along the seat. “Are you injured?”

 
“No, Miss Munroe. I don’t think so.”

 
“Then help me to my feet, if you please.”

 
Outside the coach two male voices spoke angrily over each other’s commentary, while above that horses whinnied and snorted. It sounded like absolute bedlam. As soon as Doretta pulled her upright, Evangeline pushed at the door. With a reluctant groan it swung open.

 
Bedlam indeed. A coach of tremendous size had locked wheels with hers, tilting both of them crazily and tangling the horses into a morass of neighing bay and black bodies. “Good heavens,” she muttered tightly.

 
The step remained tucked under the coach body, so Evangeline grasped the doorframe and jumped the two feet to the street. “Maywing!” she called to her driver, using her most annoyed voice. “Cease arguing with that idiot and untangle the horses!”

 
Either Maywing couldn’t hear her or he chose not to do so. At any rate, he and the other coachman continued bellowing at one another. Evangeline squeezed around to view the opposite door of the other coach. It hadn’t budged.

 
“You there!” she tried again, jabbing a finger at the second driver. “See to your passenger!”

 
No answer. Some of the insults were becoming rather colorful, and now Maywing’s parentage was being called into question. With an irritated sniff Evangeline awkwardly flipped down the large coach’s step and climbed up. The curtains were closed, but she grasped the door handle and pulled.

 
In a flash of blue eyes and dark hair a large figure collapsed forward as the door gave way. Unable to do anything but gasp, Evangeline fell backward, landing hard enough on the street to bruise her backside. Her bottom, though, immediately became the least of her concerns; in fact, she scarcely noticed it as the blue-eyed lump—man—thunked face down on top of her.

 
“Get off of me!” she shrieked, shoving at his broad shoulder and trying to scramble free.

 
“Ah, Daisy,” his low voice murmured, the tone shockingly intimate. The man shifted, but only to bring his face even with hers. Then he kissed her, soft, deep, and tasting of brandy.

 
She froze, deeply surprised at the sensation of his mouth expertly plying at hers. For a fleeting heartbeat she acknowledged that though she was no expert, this
man kissed like sin itself. Then she brought her hand around and awkwardly slapped him across the cheek.

 
Blue eyes opened only inches from hers. Their mouths separated, and the eyes narrowed. “You are not Daisy.”

 
“I am not,” she agreed. “Get off of me this instant.”

 
To her growing annoyance, he lifted his head to look about. “This is not a bedchamber.”

 
By now a crowd surrounded them. The lout was going to absolutely ruin her. “It is the middle of the street. If you don’t remove yourself from my person this instant, I will kick you so hard that Daisy, whoever she is, will never wish to set eyes on you again.”

 
“Hm.” Setting his hands on the street at either side of her shoulders, he pushed himself up. Their gazes again caught for the briefest of seconds before he twisted off of her to sit up. “You are definitely not Daisy.”

 
Evangeline climbed to her feet as gracefully as she could, leaving him sitting in the road. “It is after nine o’clock in the morning, sir,” she said, looking down at his upturned face with his black hair falling across one eye. “How can you possibly be this dissipated already?”

 
“I am returning home, I think.” He frowned, the expression lowering his brows and making her notice his sensuous mouth again. “So for me it’s still the previous evening. And it’s lord; not sir. I am no knight.”

 
“Clearly not. Knights are supposed to be chivalrous. They do not fall upon women in the streets.”

 
“I wouldn’t be so certain of that.” With a groan he clasped the coach step and pulled himself to his feet. “Oh, good God.”

 
She put her hands on her hips, having to look up to meet his gaze now, since he stood at least a foot taller than she did. “I will assume you are incapable of rendering
any assistance,” she assessed. The statement on its face sounded odd, because physically he looked supremely capable—except for the drunken swaying, of course. “Kindly stay clear of the coaches.” With that she turned her back on him and stalked up to Maywing and the other driver. “Gentlemen!” she said loudly. “You, set your brake. Maywing, untangle the harnesses and back our coach up so we clear our wheels.”

 
“Epping,” the low, masculine voice came from right behind her, “I don’t recall asking you to stop off anywhere. Clear the cattle and take me home.”

 
The other driver immediately stopped his exuberant arguing. “But m’lord, it wasn’t my fault, and we’ve near lost a wheel. I—”

 
“I don’t recall asking you for details, either,” he cut in. “Home. Now. Exchange information with this fellow, and go.”

 
“Yes, m’lord.”

 
Evangeline stifled a scowl. Very well, the fellow wasn’t completely useless. And considering that the object was to get away from the growing crowd without delay, she was glad for that. Many men, she supposed, returned home very late and very inebriated, and his falling on her had been an accident.

 
A hand touched her shoulder, and she turned around. He did have very nice eyes, though she would have liked them better if they hadn’t been bloodshot and barely in focus. “Yes?”

 
“I assume you are uninjured?”

 
“I am.” No thanks to him. But she wasn’t about to admit to a bruised bottom.

 
“You kiss very well.”

 
Evangeline blinked. She’d been so certain he was going
to apologize for his crass behavior that for a second what hehad said made no sense. “That was your imagination,” she finally fumbled, her cheeks warming. “Pray do not insult me by relying on your faulty recollections of a…sodden and mistaken memory.”

 
His mouth curved. “I know a pleasant kiss when I taste one. Tell me your name.”

 
He was so inebriated he probably wouldn’t remember it. Now that she’d had a moment to gather her thoughts, she could see that he was indeed dressed in formal evening wear—though his cravat looked as though it had been retied, and poorly, and his waistcoat was buttoned wrong. And his hair was wild, pushed up on one side and tangled across his eyes like a thick black spider’s nest. He badly needed a shave, though she had to admit that the overall appearance of masculine dishevelment was rather…appealing. Evangeline took a breath. “I’ll tell you that my name is not Daisy.”

 
“Yes, I realized that almost immediately. What is your name?”

 
“I am Miss Munroe,” she finally said. “Now please climb back into your coach before you fall down again.”

 
He assessed her for a moment, then gave a charming, lopsided smile. “That’s likely very good advice, Miss Munroe.”

 
Before he could continue, Evangeline turned her back and with Doretta’s help hauled herself up into her own vehicle again. He wasn’t actually attempting to flirt with her, was he? Heavens. Yes, he was handsome, but he’d practically crushed her, and then mauled her. She would remember that, even if he didn’t. “Drive on, Maywing,” she said, closing the door on the fellow’s inebriated smile.

 
As she sat, she eyed the box holding her new necklace. If she believed in any of that superstitious nonsense, she would say that Aunt Rachel had it backward. She’d been perfectly fine until she’d set it aside. Bad luck, ha. She would wear it tonight, just to prove her aunt wrong. If the diamond held any luck at all, which she doubted, it wasgood luck.

 
Chapter 2

 
Connoll Spencer Addison, the very intoxicatedMarquis of Rawley, watched Miss Munroe’s coach as it rolled over someone’s cigar—probably his—and a thick book—probably not his. Leaning a hand against his carriage’s wheel to steady himself, Connoll squatted down and retrieved the tome.

 
“The Rights of Women,” he read, flipping it over. “Not a bit surprised by that.”