Twice the Temptation (6 page)

 
Connoll laughed. God, she was witty. “Unfortunately, I must remain in your company.”

 
Her pace increased as they reached the park. “And why is that?”

 
“Because we kissed. You’ve infatuated me.”

 
This time Miss Munroe snorted. “If I infatuated you, you would do as I ask and leave me be.”

 
“Is that how you generally dispose of infatuated males?” he asked, tipping his hat as the Duke of Monmouth trotted by on his morning ride. “An odd method of courtship, Gilly.”

 
Evangeline didn’t seem to notice what he’d said. Rather, her gaze followed the path of the retreating duke. “You showed him respect,” she noted. “Who is he?”

 
Mild annoyance touched Connell, and he brushed it away. Women found him charming; he knew that, because he’d seen ample proof. In spite of what had happened with Daisy, he was the one who generally broke off relations with a chit rather than the other way around. “That is the Duke of Monmouth,” he said, “an altogether unpleasant and overly opinionated fellow.”

 
“I see. He’s quite distinguished-looking. Is he married?”

 
“Extremely so.” Connoll put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her forward progress and in the same motion turning her to face him. “You’re walking withme , Miss Munroe.”

 
“Not by choice. You invited yourself along.” She returned her gaze, and apparently most of her attention, to the passersby around them. The well-dressed ones, at least—and the men, specifically.

 
He eyed her. “Are you hunting?” he asked after a moment, beginning to wish that he didn’t find her so interesting.

 
“Hunting?”

 
“You look predatory.” Actually, she looked enchanting, all hazel eyes and honey-blonde hair beneath her prim blue bonnet, but considering the forthright way she had of expressing herself, he would not mistake her for an angel. “I would think you’d find more fertile hunting grounds in aton ballroom.”

 
Her fair skin flushed. “I am being observant. Anything else is your brandy-soaked imagination.”

 
“For the last damned time, I am not a drunk.”

 
She pulled away from him and resumed her race along the southern boundary of Hyde Park. “I don’t care.”

 
“And you’re not being observant. You’re being…
calculating.”

 
“I am not! I go walking every morning. I did not appear on someone else’s doorstep and insinuate myself into their daily exercise regimen.”

 
Perhaps she had reacted a bit too stridently to Monmouth’s appearance, but for heaven’s sake, he didn’t need to stir such a tempest over it. She should have realized the duke was married, because he’d never made even a brief appearance on her list. Evangeline set her attention on the bridge that crossed the Serpentine. If Lord Rawley would leave her alone or at least stop being so…distracting, shewould have realized that.

 
She was only following her mother’s advice, anyway. No one had proposed to her yet, and until someone did, she had an obligation to herself to assess every eligible man. She did not, for instance, wish to end up married to a man as demanding of her wits and her attention as Connoll Spencer Addison was proving to be.

 
“You know,” his cool, masculine drawl came from beside her, distracting her from her thoughts yet again, “if you favor ‘distinguished’ men, the show you’re putting on now by sprinting along the walking path probably isn’t helping you.”

 
“I beg your pardon?” she snapped.

 
“A ‘distinguished’ gentleman seeing such athletic ability and youthful exuberance in a chit might think twice about forming an attachment to her. You could very likely kill him on your first night of wedded bliss. And though you might consider that a fortunate happenstance, he most likely would not. Any imaginings along that path might even cause him to seek out a meeker, less fit chit than yourself, if only to preserve his own health.”

 
“That’s awful!” she blurted, slowing a little to give
him a hard glare. “I am not some black widow or other spouse-eating insect. I am only looking for a gentleman who fulfills certain requirements. Age is not necessarily one of them.”

 
“Which requirements are they, then?”

 
“Why?”

 
“I’m curious. And quite possibly intrigued.”

 
“Well, become unintrigued this instant, because all I will tell you is that you fulfill absolutely none of those requirements.”

 
He lifted an eyebrow, handsome and collected and less out of breath than she was. “Not one?”

 
“Not one.”

 
That wasn’t entirely true, of course, because he was wealthy and did have a title. In fact, he actually fell quite well into certain categories she hadn’t heretofore considered. Lord Rawley spoke to her as though he expected her to be able to keep up with the conversation, for instance, which was actually nice, even refreshing, compared to the gentlemen who called her “my dear” or “my Aphrodite” and then allowed her to lead them about by the nose while they settled into the visions of their own superiority. Ha.

 
“I think you need a different list of requirements,” he said easily, “because I have it on good authority that I am quite the catch.”

 
Daisy hadn’t wanted him, but Evangeline refrained from saying that aloud. “If this is your method of courting,” she said instead, “I would have to dispute that. I am not impressed.”

 
“You will be.”

 
He said it with such conviction that it startled her. Goodness, did he mean to court her, then? Why? She’d been as rude to him as possible, because earning his af
fection was utterly pointless, and because having him about was very flustering. She didn’t like being flustered.

 
Any female entered a marriage at a disadvantage—the money was the husband’s, as were all of the rights and rules and properties. Her choice would allow her to even those odds, and perhaps even come out in the lead. Anything else, anyone else, was unacceptable. Period.

 
Chapter 4

 
“Who was that I saw you walking with, mydarling?” Lady Munroe trilled as she swept into the library. Halfway to the chairs arranged in a semicircle before the fireplace, she stopped. “Oh, he’s still here.” She smiled, dipping into a curtsy. “You’re still here, my lord. How wonderful.”

 
“Yes, he won’t leave,” Evangeline commented, leaning against the back of one of the chairs and folding her arms. “I have asked him to go. Several times.”

 
“I’m perusing your library, my lady,” Lord Rawley contributed, running his fingers along the titles stacked in the grand bookcase. “No Wollstonecraft?” he queried, pausing in his viewing only long enough to nod at the viscountess. “What about Swift? He’s progressive, for an Irishman and a male.”

 
“We are not a household of anarchists, my lord.” The viscountess put a hand over her heart. “What in the world makes you think us so?”

 
Drat. Evangeline frowned, pasting an affronted look on her face when the marquis glanced at her. Advertising
to males how much she knew of female rights rather defeated the goal of having unexpected information to use to her advantage. “I have begun to realize,” she said carefully, “that Lord Rawley is very difficult to decipher.”

 
“Yes, I am.” He set a book back on the shelf as he faced her. “Abominably so. But Miss Munroe is too kind. I’ve been called much worse than difficult.” He inclined his head in the viscountess’s direction. “I did not mean to offend.”

 
“No offense taken, my lord. Shall I send for tea?”

 
“No, though I thank you for the offer.” His sensuous lips curved into a smile that reminded Evangeline abruptly of kissing. “And despite Miss Munroe’s reluctance to let me leave,” he continued, “I do have an appointment.”

 
“I did not—”

 
“Do you attend Almack’s tonight?” he cut in, as though Gilly hadn’t spoken.

 
“We do, Lord Rawley,” her mother supplied when Evangeline clamped her own lips shut.

 
“Then I shall, as well.” Rawley crossed the room to Evangeline and reached down for her hand. Slowly he lifted her fingers, brushing her knuckles with his lips. “Until tonight.”

 
“I will not dance with you,” she grated, before she remembered she should probably be grateful that he hadn’t mentioned kissing her.

 
“I haven’t asked you to. Yet.” With a last, fleeting smile he strolled out of the room.

 
Belatedly realizing that she still had her hand held up in the empty air, Evangeline clenched her fist and lowered it again. Impossible, distracting, arrogant man. Thank goodness he’d finally left.

 
“Well, this is unexpected,” her mother said, looking at the closed door. “We crossed him off the list.”

 
“He doesn’t signify,” Evangeline returned feelingly. “I think he enjoys aggravating and provoking people, and I’m merely his latest target—all thanks to an unfortunate carriage mishap. He certainly doesn’t do anything I ask of him.”

 
The viscountess pursed her lips. “It’s actually a shame, because he is very pleasing to look at.” She brushed at the front of her skirt. “On the other hand, that’s just another mark of his unsuitability. As you know, a handsome man isn’t the best choice. Once a gentleman becomes accustomed to compliments from the fairer sex, he will seek them out in any bedchamber he can find them. You don’t want a man who preens.”

 
She had a difficult time imagining Rawley as a preener; he had a multitude of other faults, but not that one. “I want a man who will give over his household and his income to my care, and then do what I tell him regarding everything else.” And if she’d already discovered one thing about Connoll Addison, it was that he would never do as anyone else directed him.

 
“Precisely. Now come along, my dear. Leandra Halloway and Lady Mary have invited us to go shopping, and I would like to see you in something a touch more daring.” Her mother smiled. “After all, we don’t have to admire men, but they should admire us.”

 
Lewis Blanchard, Lord Ivey, stood as Connoll strode into the Addison House morning room. “There you are, you rogue,” he said in a deep, booming voice. “I’d begun to think you’d abandoned London again.”

 
Inwardly flinching, Connoll stripped off his right riding glove and shook hands with the earl. “My apologies,
Ivey,” he drawled. “I thought we were meeting for luncheon.”

 
“We were. I wanted to see those paintings you told me about. And I’ve a bit of news that can’t wait.”

 
Connoll could guess what the news was, but he feigned a curious expression anyway. “What news, then?”

 
“First the paintings. I feel like building some anticipation.”

 
More like dread. “Very well. They’re in the upstairs hallway and the library.”

 
With Ivey on his heels, he climbed the stairs. At the top he stood aside, letting his friend proceed on his own. Tall, solid in build and manner, and possessing a surprisingly refined taste, Lewis Blanchard’s only flaw seemed to be that he took people at face value and never changed his opinion of them.