Highway Revenge Page 2

  “Are you listening, child?”

  Her aunt’s screech brought Evelyn’s mind back to the present and very nearly brought her hands up to protect her ears.

  “I apologise, Aunt Millicent, I was wool-gathering, I fear.”

  Aunt Millicent sighed as though she carried the weight of the world on her broad shoulders.

  “Ten years of my best efforts have done nothing to improve you.”

  “Mama, I think—“

  Evelyn silenced her cousin’s words, no doubt intended to defend her, with a discreet shake of her head. There was no point in both of them bearing the brunt of her aunt’s displeasure.

  “You think what, Anna?”

  Evelyn sighed, but quietly so Aunt Millicent wouldn’t hear.

  Anna rolled her eyes, but discreetly so Aunt Millicent wouldn’t see.

  In fact, it seemed to Evelyn that everyone in their household spent a lot of time trying to dodge Aunt Millicent’s senses. Well, everyone except Uncle Geoffrey, who couldn’t care less.

  As had been happening since her recent discovery, as soon as Evelyn’s mind turned to Uncle Geoffrey, her feelings turned to anger, disbelief, and utter despair.

  Evelyn ruthlessly pushed such feelings away. She didn’t need childish crying bouts; she needed evidence. She needed proof of what she’d discovered, and she needed to find a way to get all of this without Uncle Geoffrey ever finding out.

  “You think I should be more tolerant of the girl when she insists on disobeying even the simplest of orders at every turn?”

  It was as if Evelyn wasn’t even in the room.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt. I did not—“

  “Yes, yes. You are sorry again.”

  The sound of a ruckus in the hallway mercifully stopped yet another tirade before it started.

  Jon was home.

  The effect on Aunt Millicent was instantaneous. The Jonathan Effect, Anna had named it. No matter what sort of mood she was in, or whose head she was gleefully ringing a peal over, the second news arrived about Jon, her face lit up like Vauxhall Gardens during the fireworks.

  But then, Jonathan had that effect on almost everyone he came into contact with. He had looked after the girls during their childhoods, often bearing the brunt of Uncle Geoffrey’s displeasure himself when the three of them had been up to mischief. And although Uncle Geoffrey had never, ever been violent toward Jonathan, his bellowing voice was oftentimes loud enough to burst eardrums.

  Anna had always been the apple of her father’s eye. He liked pretty things, liked owning them even more so. And Anna was a stunningly beautiful girl. She had been declared an Incomparable during their Season from the first soiree, and Uncle Geoffrey had practically salivated at all the deep pockets attached to her many beaux.

  Anna could have had anyone. Why she had saddled herself with that god-awful Peter Grant, a man who was a mere few years younger than her father, was a mystery to Evelyn.

  But even Anna, with her blonde perfection and rich-husband-snagging skills couldn’t compare to the godlike Jonathan in the eyes of their mother.

  And as for Evelyn… well, Evelyn was someone who got underfoot and irritated them. They had taken her in, she had realised even at ten, because Society would have frowned upon them if they hadn’t. They had given her a Season for the same reason, although the money had come from Evelyn’s own trust.

  She had dressed well, just not as well as Anna. Had been introduced to all the right people, just not as many as Anna. She had attended numerous events, just not as many as Anna.

  And when beaux came to call, which surprised her somewhat, they were chased off for the most ridiculous of reasons. Evelyn had thought that they’d want to get rid of her as soon as possible. She had been utterly confused at the time. Now, she knew the reason she’d been kept around. And it devastated her. Uncle Geoffrey had been helping himself to her trust fund with alarming indiscrimination.

  “Now remember…” Her Aunt’s harsh tones cut through Evelyn’s less-than-pleasant thoughts. “…Jonathan is bringing Viscount Ashdon.” The way she said his name caused Evelyn to half-expect angels to appear, carrying the man in. “You will be on your best behaviour, understood?”

  Evelyn nodded mutely. She always was on her best behaviour. They just had different ideas of best.

  “Anna, sit up straighter. Although there seems little point in showing you off now. If I had known Lord Ashdon would be returning, visiting here, we could have held out for him. Mr. Grant may be richer than Croesus but he’s no Peer, is he?”

  Anna rolled her eyes at Evelyn and reached for another plum pudding, looking considerably more slouched than she had moments ago. Anna did not heed her mother at the best of times.

  “Still it’s of no matter now. Of course, if Mr. Grant should die—“

  “Mother, really,” said Anna, though half-heartedly. Evelyn had seen her cousin’s tears about the man she’d been married off to. There was no love there.

  “Of course I don’t wish the man ill,” Aunt Millicent continued, “but you are still very young and very beautiful. If you were to be widowed before Lord Ashdon chose a wife…”

  Evelyn couldn’t believe the words spilling from her aunt’s runaway mouth, but mercifully they were brought to a halt by the parlour door swinging open.

  “Jonathan,” her aunt squealed in delight as Jon walked in the door, looking bigger and taller than Evelyn remembered.

  He was blond like her, both of them having golden hair as opposed to Anna’s platinum. But Jon and Anna’s eyes were the same light amber brown, whereas Evelyn’s were a deep chocolate.

  Jonathan hugged his mother, kissing her cheek before sweeping Anna off her feet in a much more exuberant hug, before finally turning to Evelyn and doing the same.

  “Evie, how well you look,” he said kindly, his eyes searching her face. “How have you been?”

  Evelyn smiled at his obvious concern. Both her cousins had grown up watching her be maltreated and both had tried to vehemently defend her in the past. But Evelyn had always assured them it didn’t matter. She was never struck, or starved, or treated with any real contempt. And she had been given a roof over her head, after all. Besides, without Uncle Geoffrey, she wouldn’t have gained a brother and sister in Jon and Anna.

  “I’m fine, Jon. Truly.”

  “Everyone behaving themselves?”

  Oh, yes, she thought, aside from the fact that your father had mine killed.

  How dearly she would love to confide all to Jonathan. To tell him of the letters she’d found, the letters that had disappeared when she’d gone back for them.

  But this was Jonathan’s family more than hers. And how could she accuse his father of such a heinous crime without a scrap of proof? Plus, Jonathan was never here. If he wasn’t debauching half of Europe, he was living as a hellion in London. What help would he be on the Continent or in Town?

  “Yes,” she said with a smile that she hoped didn’t look as forced as it felt, “everyone is acting just as they should.” Aside from that little inconvenient murder.

  “I don’t believe you, but I know you won’t tell me anything different.”

  “Jonathan, do come here.”

  Aunt Millicent’s nasally voice reminded Jonathan of his manners, and he quickly turned toward his mother, though he kept his arm around Evelyn, no doubt to stop her from running away.

  She wouldn’t, of course. That would be unpardonably rude. But since she always managed to displease her aunt when meeting new people, the idea was tempting.

  “Forgive me,” Jon was saying to his friend.

  Evelyn couldn’t see him yet since her aunt’s considerable frame was blocking her view.

  “Mother, Anna, you remember Viscount Ashdon.”

  “Lord Ashdon, it is so good to see you again. And we are very, very honoured to have you as a guest.” Her aunt tittered in a most irritating, sycophantic way and nearly doubled over, curtsying to the man.

  “Ladies, a pleasure
as always. Marriage suits you, Anna. You seem to have grown even more beautiful.”

  Well, Evelyn thought as the sound of his deep, rich baritone reverberated around the room, he certainly sounds as charming as his reputation says.

  “Andrew, may I present my cousin, Miss Evelyn Spencer? Evie, Lord Ashdon.”

  Aunt Millicent finally moved out of the way, because she had no choice really, and Evelyn got her first glance of Lord Andrew Ashdon.

  Evelyn would never admit it to anyone other than Anna, but she had long had a secret penchant for romantic, gothic novels. Novels full of scandalous plots and dark, mysterious, handsome men. Never in her life had she imagined that she’d meet such a man up close. Yet here he stood, the embodiment of her darkest, most secret fantasies.

  Evelyn stared at the green-eyed, black-haired man as he bowed over her hand. He is huge, was her first thought. Huge and utterly delectable was her second.

  He couldn’t be real, could he?

  Lord Ashdon stood straight again and smiled at her, a smile that very nearly had her swooning like those idiot girls in her books. She’d always thought that swooning about a man was ridiculously melodramatic. Now she thought a well-executed swoon was worth its weight in gold because then he’d catch her. And touch her. And—

  “A pleasure, Miss Spencer. I was sorry not to have met you when you came to Town but am glad to rectify that now.”

  Oh, that voice. That voice and that smile and that face.

  It was definitely getting hotter in this room. Who would have thought autumn would be so unaccountably warm?

  Speak, Evelyn, she told herself as he stood waiting for a response.

  She couldn’t! She could not speak a word. She could barely remember a blasted word. He had rendered her mute.

  Evelyn glanced at her aunt, who looked furious, Anna, who looked sympathetic, and back at Lord Ashdon, who looked polite but a little confused by her silence.

  Oh God, Evie. Say anything! Anything. Just one word.

  “Er, will you be travelling to Town again this Season, Miss Spencer?”

  She watched as his startlingly green eyes moved from her to Jon, a look of consternation on his face.

  Evelyn, remember a word. Any. Word. And just speak it.

  The room was becoming hotter than ever. Except now, it was not merely his presence but her own mortification making it so.

  Evelyn had spoken her first word at eight months old, apparently. That meant she had nineteen years of words stored in her brain, and she couldn’t remember one of them.

  The silence stretched just long enough for Evelyn to wish the ground would open and swallow her whole.

  “Right, well, now that the introductions have been made, I’ll just give Andrew a quick tour of the place.”

  Jon gave Evelyn’s shoulder a supportive squeeze before he led Lord Ashdon from the room.

  The silence continued for mere seconds after they left before Aunt Millicent rounded on Evelyn, her face thunderous, her bosom heaving. Well, this was going to be long. And loud.

  Evelyn sighed and took a seat. At least she could picture Lord Ashdon in her head while her aunt went on at her, she thought, and maybe if she concentrated hard enough, she’d be able to issue a hello when they next met at dinner.

  “I told you she was shy.” Jon grinned as he led the way to his father’s study. This was going to be the extent of the tour because this was where the whiskey was kept, and even minutes in his mother’s company required a drink afterwards.

  Andrew mumbled some incoherent response or other as he tried to clear his mind. And while he cleared his head, he tried to get other less subtle parts of his body under control. Good God, but Jonathan hadn’t warned him half well enough.

  He struggled to think back to Jon’s earlier words: pretty but shy.

  Pretty? She was an angel! Delicate features, heart-wrenching brown eyes, glorious golden curls, and a body the mere memory of which was stirring those unsubtle body parts again. How had she not been eaten alive during the Season? Her uncle must have been beating men away. No wonder Jon was so protective of her.

  And how the hell was she still unattached? Andrew had travelled the length and breadth of Europe, had been to India and the Africa. He’d seen women beautiful enough to steal the breath from his body. Miss Evelyn Spencer would rival them all. She was perhaps not the overwhelmingly striking woman her cousin was, but her softer features were far more beautiful to his mind and to his — well, never mind.

  Shy, Jon had called her. Another gross understatement. There was shy, and then there was making him feel like the monster in some fairy-tale. She’d looked terrified of him. In fact, at one point she’d looked as though she might faint. And much as he’d relish the opportunity to hold her in his arms, he was accustomed to making women go weak at the knees for reasons other than fear.

  If she’d had any idea of the thoughts going through his head while she gazed at him with those frightened, beautiful eyes, she would probably have never recovered.

  “Andrew!”

  He turned toward Jonathan, who was looking at him with a frown. Andrew didn’t blame him. He was usually sharp as a knife, with the hearing to match, but Jon’s timid little cousin had him acting like a green lad.

  “What did you say?”

  “Whiskey or wine?”

  Andrew frowned at the question.

  “What do you think?”

  Jonathan grinned before pouring them both a measure of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid round his own glass as he handed the other to Andrew.

  “I think you’ve been rendered tongue-tied by my baby cousin.”

  “Hardly a baby, Jon. She was all woman from where I was standing.”

  Andrew assumed the growl emitting from his friend wasn’t a happy one.

  “Care to tell me why you underestimated her — well, her?”

  Jonathan sat back in an overstuffed armchair situated in front of the huge fireplace that dominated the room.

  “Had I told you how beautiful she was, I would have had to endure your incessant talk about things an older cousin doesn’t want to hear about his younger relatives. You’re bad enough about Anna.”

  “Ah, Anna. She has aged beautifully, like a fine scotch.”

  “Right there,” said Jonathan with a scowl, “that right there is why I told you nothing of Evie.”

  “Would you rather I lied about your sister’s attributes?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t bloody well talk about them at all. Or think about them—” He paused then blurted out. “—or have me bloody talking about them.”

  “Calm down, Jon. You know I don’t dally with married women unless I’m leaving the country soon after.”

  Jonathan murmured a rather unpleasant word before downing the remainder of his drink and moving to refill his glass.

  “Please don’t speak of my sister and dallying in the same sentence.”

  Andrew merely grinned.

  “Your cousin, however… she’s unattached?”

  “Unattached and innocent and will stay that way,” Jonathan said with a scowl.

  “I’m less interested in timid virgins than I am married sisters, Jon,” he lied. For it was a lie. He couldn’t recall when he’d been more interested in a woman in his life. “I am merely stating that she is a very beautiful young woman, and I’m surprised she remains single.”

  Jonathan eyeballed him as though waiting for him to slip up and reveal his real feelings. But Andrew was as good at his job as Jon was, so his face remained an impassive mask.

  After a moment, Jonathan sighed and sat back down.

  “I don’t know why she wasn’t offered for, to be honest. I wasn’t exactly attentive throughout her Season. For one thing, we were in Belgium for half of it, and for another, where my parents go, I tend not to. So I wasn’t around the house much, and I never noticed her encourage anyone to pay their addresses.”

  Andrew nodded as though he understood, but he didn’t understand
it at all. Had all the men of London been struck with temporary blindness that year?

  “In truth, I wish she had found herself a husband that year,” Jon continued, staring into his glass. “I would like to see her out from under the shadow of my parents.”

  Andrew merely raised a brow and waited for Jonathan to continue.

  “They’ve never been violent or overly cruel, but Evie came to us as a young girl without a parent left in the world, and, though they took her in, they were never very kind to her. The opposite, in fact. She was never treated as a member of our family.”

  Andrew thought about the shy little mute with those incredible eyes. He tried not to feel sorry for her. He didn’t even know her! But those eyes, that frightened look…

  “Anyway, it would have been nice for her to build a life away from my parents. She was a wild little thing when she arrived. It would do her good to get her personality back.”

  “So she actually speaks, then?”

  Jonathan laughed softly.

  “Yes, she speaks. But quietly. And she doesn’t do well with strangers.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m ashamed to say it, since it implies I’ve sat back and allowed it to happen, which I have, I suppose, but Mother has always, always found Evie lacking, no matter what she does. And I think it just became easier for her to hide herself away, become as unobtrusive as possible, rather than face my mother’s wrath every five minutes.”

  “You haven’t allowed it, Jon. Why, you’re barely here.”

  Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign that he was frustrated.

  “Perhaps I should have been here more. Perhaps I should be.”

  Andrew didn’t like where this was going. He’d seen far too many of his colleagues and friends give up their way of life these past few years, preferring to settle down, rusticate in some part of the country or other, and begin to fill their nurseries at an alarming speed.

  It was hard enough to cope with all of them doing it. If Jonathan left the game, he’d feel like he’d lost a limb.