He was right where she’d left him, lounging in the shadows, with his shoulders braced against the serpentine walls. One leg stretched slightly before him. The other was bent at the knee, the sole of his boot against the footboard. His thumbs hooked into his waistband, giving him the same careless pose as when she’d first run into him outside the dining room door.
Then, her eyes catalogued the curl of his dark hair, the smart cut of his clothes, the arrogance of his manner. This time, she couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze heated as he looked at her. The way his chest shifted with each breath. The way the curving of his fingers seemed to point directly at the unmistakable interest evident in the tight fit of his breeches.
Evangeline spun away, simultaneously gulping and blushing and pretending she hadn’t seen what they both knew she’d seen.
Please, God, she prayed silently. Don’t let him mention it, for I think I might die.
“I’ll be here,” came Mr. Lioncroft’s sinful voice from the shadows, “if you change your mind about the kissing.”
She shivered, turning to face him despite herself. Why was the idea so tempting? Perhaps the man truly was the devil himself.
“What are you really doing out here?” she stammered, hoping to change the subject to a far safer topic than kisses.
He gazed at her for a moment, as if her feeble attempt at distraction amused him.
At first, Evangeline thought he didn’t plan to answer. After all, he’d already spoken more words to her here in the silent corridor than he had during the dinner hours and the anteroom introductions combined.
But then he shrugged, kicked off from the wall, and took a step closer. She flinched, but held her ground. He smiled.
“I’m here,” he said, motioning to an open door some six or seven yards down the hallway, “because were I in there, I would find my fist in Heatherbrook’s face.”
Well. Evangeline swallowed. That was certainly a straightforward response. And just what she needed to remind herself that he was no dark prince to be kissing in the corridors, but a savage wolf, fully capable of attacking in anger. Had she not compared him to her stepfather just five minutes prior? Thank heavens she hadn’t been foolish enough to let her lips brush against his. All skin-to-skin contact sparked visions, and she’d seen plenty of violence from her glimpses into her stepfather’s mind. She had no wish to witness whatever Mr. Lioncroft had done to his poor parents, and everyone else who’d crossed him in some way.
“Besides,” he continued with a surprisingly boyish grin. “It’s Edmund’s turn now.”
“Edmund’s turn?” Evangeline echoed, reminding herself that a heart-melting smile did not make Mr. Lioncroft a trustworthy man.
“We’d been in the library not two seconds when Heatherbrook’s brother pulled him aside. Between coughing fits, Benedict managed to rail at his elder brother Lord Heatherbrook for a good ten minutes before Edmund lurched betwixt, swearing and stumbling and drinking my best scotch like water.” He grimaced. “All of that was perfectly tolerable compared to being subsequently trapped by Teasdale.”
“Mr. Teasdale trapped you?” Evangeline bit back an involuntary laugh. “How is that even possible?”
“One word,” Mr. Lioncroft said with a melodramatic sigh. “Nancy. He’s contemplating an offer, according to my sister, and I’m to facilitate the match as best I can. But there’s no way I can condemn my niece to a wedding with Father Time, especially now that I know he’d never even laid eyes on her before this evening. All that girl needs is a Season or two. She’s bound to collect a slew of better suitors.”
“I agree,” Evangeline said slowly. “W-why are you telling me?”
“Because you seem different,” he answered after a moment’s reflection. His steady gaze still focused on her face. “Intelligent, self-sufficient, and… alone.” He drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. “Like me.”
“I’m not like you.” Evangeline recoiled in horror. “I’m nothing like you.”
A flicker of something indecipherable crossed his face, but she stalked away from him before she could identify the exact emotion. How could he possibly compare himself to her? She wasn’t a violent beast of a man like him. She had a soul. She had a talent. She used her Gift to help others. Which made hergood. Nothing like him at all.
He reached her side before she rounded the first corner.
No matter how fast she walked or how many corners she turned, he was right there beside her, silent and brooding.
Evangeline gave up on her illogical hope of losing him so she could find Ginny when she realized the only person she’d managed to lose was herself.
Although this narrow, empty hallway had the same dark wainscoting and undulating paper as the rest, she didn’t recognize the series of closed doors before her. In fact, she realized as she glanced over her shoulder at the branching corridors beyond, she wasn’t even sure which intersection led back to the drawing room.
“I give up,” she admitted, and blinked when he started, as if he’d forgotten her presence beside him. “Where are we?”
“By the nursery.” He motioned up ahead toward a shaft of light flickering beneath a wide door. He stared at her for a long moment. “Do you care to meet my nieces?”
“I…” Evangeline stared at Mr. Lioncroft. Nieces. She’d been so fixated on him being a heartless killer, she’d quite forgotten he was also an uncle. “All right.”
He smiled, that eye-crinkling, teeth-flashing grin, but his eyes showed surprise, as if he’d fully expected her to shove her nose in the air and storm off, turning her back on both him and his innocent nieces.
Evangeline followed him into the room, and curtseyed at each wide-eyed little girl as Mr. Lioncroft introduced them.
