Twice the Temptation (3 page)

 
“M’lord?”

 
“Nothing, Epping,” he said to his coachman. “Take me home, and for God’s sake don’t hit anything else. It’s been the devil of a night, and I do not wish my sleep interrupted again.”

 
“Yes, m’lord.” The driver climbed back up to his perch. Connoll returned to the coach’s dim interior, tossed the book onto the seat opposite, and sank back to resume his sleep and try to forget about a certain mistress who’d decided to marry—though thankfully not him. Blasted Daisy Applegate.

 
Abruptly he sat forward again. He’d kissed the chit,
Miss Mun…Mun something. Yes, he’d kissed Miss Someone, and that could be bad. Not unpleasant, but bad. Kissing a Miss in public was always bad. He was generally much more careful about the setting for that sort of activity.

 
Finally he realized that the coach had stopped rocking, and that the usual noise of London seemed rather subdued. And his head ached like the devil. “Damnation,” he muttered, and thumped on the ceiling with his fist. “Epping, if we’re lost, I will toss you out of my employment on your bloody backside.”

 
Nothing.

 
“Epping!”

 
Frowning, Connoll stood and shoved open the coach’s door. They were indeed stopped. They were stopped to such a degree that the horses were gone from their harnesses, and a pair of geese waddled between the near coach wheels in his stable yard.

 
He grabbed up the chit’s book. Avoiding the geese, he stepped to the ground and stalked around the side of the house to his front door. It swung open as he topped the steps.

 
“Good afternoon, Lord Rawley.”

 
Afternoon. “Winters, how long was I asleep in the damned coach in the damned stable yard?”

 
“Nearly three hours, my lord. Epping said you’d expressly requested that you not be disturbed.”

 
“By his wrecking the coach again, yes, that half-wit. I didn’t mean for him to leave me boxed up and ready for delivery.”

 
“I shall inform him of his error, my lord.”

 
Connoll headed for the stairs, shedding his coat as he went. “And send me Hodges. I want a bath.”

 
“Very good, my lord.”

 
Heneeded a bath, and a shave, and a change of clothes. With a glance at the book he carried, Connoll shook his head. However much he would have liked to busy himself in his office study until nightfall, he’d done some damage—and he needed to determine its extent. The chit was a Miss with a good-quality carriage, and she read progressive literature. And that was all he knew about her. That and the fuzzy memory of frighteningly intelligent hazel eyes, a soft, subtle mouth, and curling honey-blonde hair.

 
“Winters!”

 
“Yes, my lord?” echoed up from the foyer.

 
“I want to have a word with Epping.” He could hear the unspoken query in the ensuing silence. “No, I don’t mean to sack him, but I make no promise about murdering him.”

 
“I’ll send him to you at once, my lord.”

 
He wanted an address—to return a book, and to inquire after any damages to a coach. And to discover whether that female’s dismissive practicality had been a ruse to set him off balance while she chose a wedding gown. Women had attempted to trap him into marriage over the Seasons, but he’d never made it so bloody easy for any of them before. Damnation. And still he continued to contemplate that kiss.

 
“If you knew Aunt Rachel had a diamond necklace sitting in a box in her attic, why did you never say anything?” Evangeline looked beyond her own mirrored reflection to her mother’s.

 
Heloise, Lady Munroe, stood at her daughter’s shoulder. “It wasn’t actually in the attic, was it?”

 
“Oh, I don’t know. I only said that for effect. It’s a hundred and sixty-nine carats, Mama.”

 
“As far as I knew, the Nightshade Diamond was nothing but a silly rumor. My Uncle Benjamin used to talk about a cursed diamond, but no one ever listened to a word he said. The old fool lost a leg in a billiards accident, of all things.”

 
“Did he like to wear diamonds?” Evangeline joked, shifting to see the glint of the one around her throat.

 
“Oh, please. He was a clumsy fool. He did clumsy, foolish things like trying to ride an old billiards table down a flight of stairs.” She leaned down, caressing the stone with her forefinger. “But look at you. A fourteen-diamond pendant. You shone before. Now no man will be able to resist you.”

 
She’d heard that before, and she usually rolled her eyes as she and her mother laughed. This time, though, a tremor ran through Evangeline. Someone this morning had been unable to resist her. And what a kiss that had been. “I would hope the men are more worried about me resisting them,” she offered. “Thus far only Lord Dapney and Lord Redmond have survived on our list.”

 
Straightening, the viscountess tapped her chin. “Dapney or Redmond, hm? Good choices, both. You’ll find wealth, titles, and prestige with either of them, but Dapney’s the younger by far. He’s what, one and twenty?”

 
Evangeline nodded. “Only two years my elder.”

 
“That appeals to me. Young men are often more malleable than older ones. Does he dote on you?”

 
“He seems to. My thinking, though, is that Redmond will take less effort.”

 
“Either way, we’ll have to make certain. Men have a notorious tendency to not show their true dispositions until they’ve already tricked a lady into a disadvantageous union.”

 
Evangeline smiled. “Except that we know better than to be tricked.”

 
“Precisely. And as you know, deciphering all of the disadvantages and how to counter them givesus the advantage.”

 
A rap came at her bedchamber door. Doretta went to open it, and Evangeline’s father walked into the room. “I hear your aunt gave you a diamond necklace, Gilly,” John, Viscount Munroe, said with a smile. “I came to see it.”

 
Evangeline started to her feet to show it to him, but the viscountess pushed down on her shoulder to keep her in the chair. “Not now, John,” her mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand, frowning as she faced him. “And you can’t wear that coat this evening; you know I don’t show well with beige around me. Put on the hunter green. It will complement my yellow silk.”

 
He nodded. “Of course, my dear. Apologies.”

 
The viscount left the room again. “Normally I wouldn’t mind his silliness so much, but you know if I tolerate him wearing beige even once, he’ll think he can wear it whenever he pleases.”

 
“He does try, once you point him in the correct direction,” Evangeline countered, focusing her attention on the sparkling diamond again.

 
“I suppose so.” The viscountess summoned Doretta to the large wardrobe. “Gilly must wear blue or green, to set off the necklace.” She faced her daughter. “You know, it’s a pity you can’t wear that diamond every night, for it does look well on you. But we can’t have people thinking you have nothing else to show.”

 
Evangeline reached up to unfasten the jewel’s delicate clasp. Her mother had dismissed the idea of a cursed heirloom even more readily than she had. The carriage
accident had been the result of an overly tired driver and a drunken passenger. As for the kiss—well, she hadn’t mentioned that. It had only been a stupid embrace from an inebriated man, and didn’t signify. Carefully she set the necklace back in its box.

 
Her bedchamber door rattled again. “For goodness’ sake,” the viscountess muttered. “Your father is useless.” She walked to the entry. “Tell Wallis what I wish you to wear, John. Surely your valet knows something of fashion.”

 
When she pulled the door open, though, it wasn’t the viscount who stood there, but the butler. “Pardon me, my lady,” he said, “but Miss Munroe has a caller.”

 
“Very well, Clifford,” Evangeline said, shutting the diamond away. “I’ll be down directly. Who is it?”

 
“The Marquis of Rawley.” He produced an ornate card on a silver salver. Gold filagree in the shape of English ivy bordered the card, the letters bold and black and stylish across the center.

 
Her mother frowned. “The Marquis of Rawley?” She picked up the card. “We crossed him off your list of potential spouses weeks ago. Why is he calling on you?”

 
“I have no idea.” Evangeline stood. “We’ve never even met. Perhaps he’s admired me from afar and doesn’t know he’s already been rejected.”

 
The viscountess chuckled. “Very likely, poor fellow. Clifford, you heard Miss Munroe. She’ll be down in a moment.”

 
“Very good, my lady.”

 
As Doretta repinned Evangeline’s hair, her mother went to the window and pulled aside the curtain. “There’s a lovely black Arabian on the drive.” She faced her daughter. “Lord Rawley,” she mused. “Wasn’t he the one buying up all of those French paintings?”

 
“I heard something to that effect.”

 
“We can’t have our friends thinking we have a Bonaparte supporter about.”

 
“Don’t worry, Mother. We shan’t. And rest assured, if he speaks to me in French I’ll send him away immediately.”

 
She actually remembered very little of the research they’d done on Rawley. There’d been so many names on that first list, before they’d begun the elimination process. French paintings and being a reputed liberal in the House of Lords made him unacceptable.

 
With Doretta trailing behind her, Evangeline descended the stairs. Clifford waited outside the morning room door and pulled it open as she approached. “Lord Rawley, Miss Munroe,” he announced, stepping back to allow her entry.

 
She walked into the room, smiling as the tall, broad-shouldered figure by the window faced her. “Lord Raw…” Evangeline trailed off, an odd thump echoing in her chest.Him . “Oh, it’s you.”

 
Connoll Addison inclined his head. Evidently he’d made quite the impression earlier. Oddly enough, though, even without the pleasant haze a bottle of brandy lent his vision, Miss Munroe was…lovely. Perhaps his uncertain senses had exaggerated her sharp tongue, but since he’d been correct about her other attributes, he doubted it. “I found your book,” he said, taking it from beneath his arm and offering it to her.

 
Her soft lips tightened as she took it, clearly doing everything she could to avoid touching his fingers. “Thank you.”

 
“My pleasure. Have you read it, by chance?”

 
She lifted a fine eyebrow. “Why, do you imagine I carry it with me to quote progressive opinions to the
unenlightened? Or perhaps you think me illiterate and merely trying to gain attention?”

 
A smile tugged at his mouth. No, he hadn’t been imagining her prickly tongue. “I imagined that you would have it memorized, actually.”

 
“Hm. Thank you for its return, my lord. Good day.” She turned on her heel, her maid falling in behind her.

 
Faced with this female, some of his male friends would have fainted in terror by now. Connoll, though, found himself intrigued. “It occurs to me, Miss Munroe,” he said, taking a half step after her, “that you might wish to give me your Christian name.”