Highway Revenge Page 3

  “I’m sure there’s no call for that,” he said, taking a small sip of whiskey. “Granted, I’ve never spoken to your cousin, since she apparently doesn’t speak to people who aren’t you, but she doesn’t strike me as the type who would be happy with any of the Town dandies anyway. Doubtless she’s fixed her eye on some country curate or squire or somebody equally staid, and she’ll end up happily settled with him.”

  “You think?”

  He didn’t have a damned clue, if he were being honest. But Jonathan didn’t need to know that.

  “I do,” he lied.

  “It does cheer me up,” Jon said, his tone lighter, “to think of Evie settled happily somewhere with a brood of children to raise.”

  Andrew swallowed the rest of his drink and thought that if his friend knew that right then he was imagining the act of making those children with Evelyn Spencer, his mood would turn decidedly darker.

  Best not to mention it, then.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Anna, I can’t wear this. Aunt Millicent will either kill me, or you, or both of us.”

  Evelyn couldn’t drag her eyes from her reflection as she eyed the dress Anna had brought for her to wear to dinner that evening.

  It wasn’t that the dress was scandalous. Anna would never wear anything that wasn’t stylish and beautiful.

  But Evelyn had long since been resigned to the pale pastels and white gowns worn by single young ladies of quality. The only colour in her wardrobe was her riding habit, which was a deep gold colour with brown piping round the military-style jacket. But that was fine because all young ladies wore colour when riding, white not being a good match for the mud and dirt of a horse’s hooves.

  “She might…” Anna was agreeing with a smile. “…but won’t it be worth it to see the look on Andrew’s face?”

  Evelyn’s face flamed at the mention of the tall, dark walking heap of sin.

  After he and Jon had left and Aunt Millicent had delivered a screeching diatribe of truly epic proportions, Evelyn had escaped to her room and dug out her old copy of Hestia’s Haunting, a ghoulish tale featuring, well, a rather irritating foolish girl, if she were being honest, but also, and more to the point, a deliciously dark and devious man by the name of Carlos.

  Re-reading the gothic novel, or her favourite parts thereof, Evelyn could now imagine Lord Ashdon as the scandalous and sinful Don Carlos, his dark green eyes piercing as he leaned closer and closer to her (not Hestia but her, Evelyn), his strong arms reaching round and pulling her flush against his smooth, hard body while—

  “Evelyn, don’t make me slap you.”

  Anna’s laughing warning brought Evelyn’s shockingly improper thoughts back into order.

  “I’m sorry, Anna. What were you saying?”

  Anna grinned in a knowing way that set Evelyn to the blush again.

  “I was saying that Andrew is distractingly handsome. I can only assume you agree since you went all dreamy-eyed at the mention of his name.”

  “I did not,” Evelyn argued hotly. Lie. “I hadn’t even noticed that he was more-than-average to look at.” Big lie. “In fact, he’s not at all to my taste.” Biggest lie she’d ever told.

  Anna, judging from her expression of disbelief, wasn’t swallowing it anyway.

  “Well, you’d be the first woman in Christendom not to find him devastating then. Most of us would sell our souls for just one night of—“

  “Anna!” Evelyn was mortified, and she didn’t think her legs would survive a discussion about Lord Ashdon and what activities he engaged in at night. They had been the consistency of warm treacle since she’d clapped eyes on him. “This isn’t at all proper,” she continued piously. “You are a married woman, and I am an unmarried woman. So you should only be thinking such things about your husband…” Evelyn tried not to shudder as she spoke of Mr. Grant and activities. “…and I shouldn’t be hearing about it.”

  “Goodness, Evie, you’re such a prude.” Anna wasn’t put off in the slightest. “If I wanted to, I could tell you some of the stories I’ve heard about our esteemed guest, and then you’d be sure to suffer an attack of the vapours if merely the idea sets you off.”

  Anna jumped up from the bed where she’d been lounging and scrutinising Evelyn in the dress.

  “I heard he and the Cometess Le Fraque had a dalliance last year that set the whole of Town in turmoil. She wasn’t the most discreet of people, being French I suppose, and she did enjoy her liquor. Anyway, after a few glasses of Madeira, she would tell anyone with ears just what they’d been up to. And I can tell you, dear cousin, that it was quite breathtakingly outrageous.”

  Evelyn was trying very hard to look disinterested and disproving, but she was agog.

  Anna had grasped Evelyn’s hands and was staring at her, the excitement of salacious gossip making her light brown eyes sparkle.

  Why had she stopped talking? Was she waiting for Evelyn to ask for more? She would never. Never. It was out of the question.

  There was a silence between the girls, a war of wills. But Evelyn would not partake in such a vulgar conversation as this. And she certainly wouldn’t satisfy Anna by asking her to continue.

  Anna looked as though she wouldn’t give an inch; she wouldn’t allow Evelyn to hear the tale without admitting that she wanted to.

  But, Evelyn reasoned, wasn’t it better to know these things about a man who would be living under the same roof as she? It was just good sense to ensure she knew everything so she might be properly prepared for any eventuality.

  And Evelyn tried hard to be imminently sensible at all times.

  “Well, what did she say?” she asked now, turning toward the dressing table so she wouldn’t have to see Anna’s smug expression at having forced her to show an interest.

  “Well…” Anna began moving to unpin Evelyn’s hair and brush out the long, golden locks. “…one particular story that springs to mind was a night at the Opera. Don Giovanni, I think Mrs. Markham said it was, which is supremely fitting I should think, since our own Lord Ashdon appears to be just as dissolute and licentious as Giovanni himself.”

  “Anna,” Evelyn interrupted. Her cousin did have a tendency to ramble on about insignificant details, and Evelyn’s tongue was practically hanging out with curiosity.

  “Right. Yes, sorry. Well anyway…” Anna moved to sit by Evelyn. The small stool barely held the both of them. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “…the cometess told Mrs. Markham that, during Act Two, she and Ashdon began to, well — they were engaged in illicit doings, let’s call it. Can you imagine? Right there in the theatre. In full view of everyone!”

  “What?” Evelyn gasped.

  Anna paused a moment then huffed out a breath.

  “All right, perhaps in full view is a bit of an exaggeration, but really, it was still a packed theatre, with people filling all of the boxes around theirs and—” She paused again, no doubt for dramatic effect. “—that’s not even the most scandalous part.”

  “Good heavens” was all Evelyn could manage to say, and even then it was more of a squeak.

  Anna nodded her head so much that her fashionably adorned hair was in danger of coming undone.

  “Apparently, the old comte himself came upon them at the — er — defining moment of the performance.”

  “No,” Evelyn gasped. “What happened?”

  She was both horrified and enthralled. A part of her was disappointed that such an incredible-looking man should be such a deviant. Another part of her, which was apparently a shameless hussy, thrilled at the idea. For shame!

  “Well, the comte never travels anywhere without an array of burly footmen since he’s French, and there has been rather a lot of animosity in recent years.”

  “A war, Anna. Not animosity.”

  “Yes, yes. But that’s not important.”

  Evelyn thought that actually the war was rather important. But at that moment, she was more interested in Ashdon’s story, making her a terrible
sinner, but she didn’t care.

  “So, the comte is furious, naturally, and he has his footmen throw Lord Ashdon out of the box, as naked as the day he was born, right onto his backside.”

  Evelyn clapped her hands over her mouth. She imagined that she was the picture of virginal horror, and she was truly horrified. She was. It was just a little distracting to imagine his backside. His naked backside.

  “Fabulous, isn’t it?” Anna was grinning, looking supremely pleased with herself.

  A short rap on the door interrupted the girls’ giggles, and Aunt Millicent strode in bedecked in eye-watering cerise pink.

  “Evie,” Aunt Millicent began without preamble. She had yet to even look at her, for she was busy fussing over her evening gloves. “Molly has just informed me that she has yet to do your hair. I won’t have you late for dinner on the first night our guest is here. You must— Good Lord, what do you think you are wearing?”

  Aunt Millicent had finally looked up and taken in the image Evelyn presented.

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Mama?” Anna spoke up. “I knew the colour would look wonderful on her.”

  Aunt Millicent looked furious.

  “It’s blue,” she said as though announcing Evelyn had just murdered someone.

  “Yes. Peacock blue, Madame Du Pointe called it. Ravishing, isn’t it?”

  Evelyn darted a confounded glance at her cousin. Was she trying to give Aunt Millicent an apoplexy?

  “She has no business looking ravishing. You change at once, young lady. Do you hear me?”

  Molly, the downstairs’ maid who had been promoted to look after Evelyn since her Season, appeared at that moment with Evelyn’s white satin gloves, freshly pressed, and a sympathetic look.

  “But Mama, if she changes now, she will be dreadfully late. What will the viscount think?”

  Aunt Millicent looked so torn suddenly that Evelyn almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  “B-but it’s blue,” she argued mutinously.

  “Yes, Mother. It’s blue, not transparent. The world won’t end because Evie is wearing a blue dress in her own home with her family.”

  Aunt Millicent looked furious. There was no doubt about it. She was not at all happy but had obviously decided that wearing blue was infinitesimally better than being late to dinner.

  “You…” She hissed as she rounded on Evelyn. “…you have three minutes to get your hair up and to get yourself downstairs. Am I clear?”

  As Aunt Millicent swept from the room, Evelyn turned to Anna.

  “I told you she’d be furious,” she said, feeling partly worried, partly delighted that she would get to wear such a beautiful gown.

  “Yes, but she’s also gone. Now, Molly, hurry with Miss Spencer’s hair, and we shall go down together. I can’t wait to see his reaction to you.”

  Evelyn dutifully sat at the dressing table while Molly, who had turned out to be incredibly talented in dressing hair, began to style Evelyn’s locks.

  “Anna, why are you so adamant that he should notice me?” Evelyn asked with a frown. “When we met earlier, I didn’t speak. Not one, single, solitary word. So he probably thinks I should be shipped off to Bedlam.”

  Anna opened her mouth to speak, but Evelyn held up a hand to stall her.

  “Furthermore, how can you possibly want to encourage any sort of relationship between me and that — that heathen of a man? After what you’ve told me about him! I just don’t understand it, Anna.”

  Anna shrugged her shoulders and grinned unapologetically.

  “Evie, I know how beautiful you are, even if you don’t. I know Ashdon has never been able to resist a beauty, no matter what his intentions are or should be. No doubt, he would find an attraction to his best friend’s well-loved cousin a tad upsetting. It will amuse me greatly to see him try to deal with how he’s bound to feel for you. It will be terribly diverting.”

  Evelyn shook her head at her incorrigible cousin.

  “Evie…” Anna came over and grasped Evie’s hand, now ensconced in her satin glove. “…I married the most singularly dull and domineering man in the country.”

  Evelyn felt a pang of sympathy for her dear cousin. Anna was her best friend, her only real friend, and she had given all of that wonderful, sparkling personality to the horrible Mr. Grant.

  “Let me have a little fun. It’s not the type of fun I would wish to have with the devilish Lord Ashdon, but it’s the most I’ll get.”

  Evelyn blushed at Anna’s outrageous words. Really, she shouldn’t say such things.

  “How can you be so sure he’ll even be attracted to me?”

  “Oh Evie.” Anna pulled Evelyn from the stool as Molly stood back and admired her handiwork. Anna pulled Evelyn toward the looking glass once more. “Just look at you. How could he not be?”

  How much would it hurt to put myself through that window?

  Andrew could acknowledge that his thoughts were probably a shade less than normal, but really, if he had to endure the company of the odious Mrs. Spencer for a minute longer, he’d do it just for a break in the conversation.

  He took a sip of his pre-dinner sherry, a drink he despised but had been pressed into his hand regardless, and wondered not for the first time how people like Jonathan and Anna had come from the likes of Millicent and Geoffrey Spencer.

  Mr. Spencer had yet to make an appearance, though he’d made sure to seek them out earlier, and, after a brief though sycophantic greeting to Andrew, he’d whisked Jonathan to some other part of the house for a few hours.

  Jonathan was now cornered by the vicar’s wife, a false-but-charming smile on his face.

  Peter Grant wasn’t here either, but it was of no consequence. Andrew would rather seduce the overbearing Mrs. Spencer stone-cold sober than speak to that man voluntarily.

  That left the vicar, who’d come with his wife. But Andrew made it a rule to avoid men of the cloth and their judgements.

  Where were Anna and Miss Spencer? At least Anna was bright and entertaining. Miss Spencer was, unfortunately, probably very dim since she couldn’t even speak, but she was certainly a feast for the eyes.

  As though his thoughts had somehow summoned them, the door opened and Anna sidled in, a vision in some sort of silver, frothy creation.

  Andrew was about to move to greet her when he looked beyond her and stopped dead in his tracks.

  Miss Spencer entered close behind her cousin, and Andrew felt the breath leave his body and his blood pool instantaneously some place that it had no business doing anything of the sort in front of Jonathan’s mother.

  If Anna was a vision, then Evelyn Spencer looked like a gift from God himself.

  Earlier, she’d been in a very proper-looking gown of ivory muslin, a lace fichu covering any bare skin that dared to show itself past the neckline. The very epitome of a proper young lady.

  This evening? Well, this evening she made him wish quite desperately that she was anything but proper.

  The satin gown was a deep, royal blue, and it clung to her curves like a second skin. Andrew would have sold his soul to the devil to trade places with that dress.

  At that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he felt the impact of her like a punch to the gut.

  He wondered if her voice was as seductive as her face, her body. He wondered if she actually had a voice. Then he remembered the amount of times he’d been irritated by a sullen mistress or distraught mother who had talked an inordinate amount and decided that her not speaking was actually highly in her favour.

  “Ashdon, I do hope those eyes will return themselves to their sockets before I have to blacken them.”

  Andrew turned to see Jonathan scowling at him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Andrew said, swallowing hard as he sensed the ladies coming closer.

  Andrew, having honed the skills required for his role with the Crown, had the talent to see everything that was going on around him, even when he was seemingly focused
on one thing. Case in point, he pretended that his entire focus was on Jonathan and his threats, when, in actual fact, he saw the seductive sway of Miss Spencer’s hips as she made her way toward them. And when she stopped mere inches away, he smelled her fresh summer-meadow scent, noticed the candlelight picking up the blonde streaks in her golden hair, and heard the nervous hitch in her breath.

  Of course, her breath hitching did nothing to stem the flood of desire he was feeling. Made him imagine all sorts of scenarios where it would be hitching for an entirely different reason.

  What was this? This visceral attraction to a mute stranger?

  “Gentlemen.”

  Andrew turned and bowed to Anna then to Miss Spencer, his eyes raking her from top to bottom. She really was exquisite.

  “Good evening, Anna. Miss Spencer.”

  Andrew tried not to let his eyes linger on the curve of her lips, the way the dress hugged her mouth-watering body, the way her brown eyes made him feel like protecting her from danger and ravishing her all at the same time. He tried very, very hard.

  He didn’t succeed.

  He watched as a blush crept up from the creamy expanse of skin that was exposed this evening, as it hadn’t been earlier, above the daring neckline of the dress. He trailed it all the way up her delicate neck into her soft cheeks.

  He was thoroughly aroused by a damned blush. This was beyond ridiculous. The woman still hadn’t spoken a word!

  “Anna, Evie, you both look beautiful.” Jonathan bowed to his sister and cousin, but Andrew was ever so slightly concerned to note that Jon’s eyes were still shooting daggers at him.

  He needed to get his reaction to this chit under control. Andrew had stared down enemies, master manipulators, and spies with more experience than he. He’d bedded and interrogated women so beautiful it was staggering, yet he’d never, ever lost his cool.

  And here he was, rendered completely dumbfounded by a shy little church mouse in a blue dress.

  “Where is Mr. Grant, Anna?”

  Jonathan signalled to a footman to bring a tray of sherry to the ensemble.