Try as Evangeline might to catch his eye, his gaze stayed focused on his partner’s face. Susan, who claimed to want neither his touch nor his kiss. Susan, who would marry him for his money, to appease and escape her mother. Susan, whose steps even now were stiff and jerky, plainly displaying her discomfort at being in such close proximity.
Why, if Evangeline were dancing with him, she’d—
Evangeline swallowed a self-deprecating laugh. She’d what? Press her body close? Beg forgiveness for her sharp tongue? Use that tongue to lick those wide, firm lips?
She could do none of those things. She couldn’t publicly apologize for her rudeness, since nobody present even suspected they’d spoken. Only if they danced would she have a moment to whisper anything at all, but she’d already indicated her preference to remain a wallflower for the duration of the party. And Mr. Lioncroft seemed perfectly willing to leave her alone and unnoticed.
While he danced with Susan.
Susan, who flinched when he touched her, whose averted gaze missed his strained smile, who tripped over his feet with her inability to match his rhythm.
Evangeline’s fingers clutched at her gown. She was not jealous of Susan. She wasnot. The curdling in her stomach was no doubt a reaction to the baked fish, not to the striking couple swooping and gliding together across the hardwood floor.
No matter how Evangeline stared, Mr. Lioncroft managed to avoid her eyes. How could he not see her, when all she could see was him? She gripped the sides of her chair and continued to watch him, unable to tear her gaze from the whirling bodies.
Where Susan was delicate and thin and fair, Mr. Lioncroft was big and muscular and darkly handsome. Susan’s opposite in every way, although just as striking.
His jaw was firm, angular, shadowed with a hint of dark stubble, a perfect backdrop for that pale jagged scar. The mark made him overlarge, impossibly real. Human. Vulnerable.
A loud clatter interrupted her thoughts. Evangeline jumped.
Mr. Teasdale fell heavily into a seat near hers before leaning over to scoop up his fallen cane from the floor. His arm stretched. His hand shook. He managed to miss the cane altogether.
Evangeline leaned over to fetch it for him. He reached out at the same time, and she was unable to avoid the pads of her fingers coming in contact with the spotted skin of his wrist. In a flash, she found herself just outside the open door of a strange bedchamber.
“What do you mean, French tutor?” Mr. Teasdale demands, the quaver in his voice more pronounced than ever.
“I’m just as appalled,” Lord Heatherbrook replies, looking far more bored than appalled. He stifles a yawn. “But it changes nothing.”
“Nothing?” Mr. Teasdale brandishes his cane with one speckled hand. “It changes everything. The deal is off.”
Lord Heatherbrook’s eyes narrow and the ennui vanishes from his demeanor. “My good man, honor dictates—”
“Honor?” Mr. Teasdale interrupts. “There’s more honor in my arse than in your daughter. I’ll not waste my fortune on a chit more interested in giving her charms to a common tutor than a respected member of Society. I leave in the morning.”
“Now, look here, Teasdale—”
Evangeline jerked her hand back to her side. She shouldn’t have worn her mitts after all. She touched her bare fingertips to her temples, hoping to massage away the headache before it could overpower her. She winced, shut her eyes, scrubbed her temples harder—and then Mr. Lioncroft was right there before her.
“What happened?” he asked, bending on one knee to better see her face. He lifted her chin with the curve of a gloved knuckle. “Are you all right?”
“I…” Evangeline stared at him. Tendrils the color of dark chocolate fell across his furrowed brow, his eyes wide and the lines of his mouth taut. He wasworriedabout her. And had left Susan standing by herself in the center of the dance floor.
“Dance,” Evangeline hissed, catching sight of Lady Stanton’s malevolent stare. “You’re making a scene.”
“I don’t care,” he answered, but his face softened as if having her glare at him again was a more assuring indicator of her well-being than just her word alone. “Come,” he said and tugged at her wrist. “Dance with me.”
“I can’t,” she stammered. “You have Susan, and besides, I—”
“They’re already playing a different melody,” he interrupted. “Listen to the melody. It’s a country dance. For everyone.” When she continued shaking her head, he added, “Mr. Teasdale is throwing our numbers off by snoring in his seat. Youmustdance.”
“You don’t give a fig about dancing,” Evangeline muttered, positive the force of Lady Stanton’s glare was singeing holes in the side of her head. “I saw your face when your sister mentioned it.”
But he was already pulling her to her feet and onto the floor, murmuring, “If I have to, you have to,” smiling at her as if they were friends conspiring against a common enemy.
And she was so pleased at the return of both his rakish grin and his good favor that despite her protestations, she found herself in line with the other couples just as they started to move. She quickly discovered country dances were not at all the sort of thing one could figure out as one went along, and spent a good deal of time hopping in and out of line and tripping over others’ feet, spinning the wrong direction and flailing to regain her balance. Evangeline stumbled into one person after another, and the constant contact kept up a steady barrage of visions until she was sure her brain would explode from her pounding skull.
Within a very few moments, Evangeline knew Edmund Rutherford had stolen wine from the cellar, Nancy had permitted Pierre Lefebvre several stolen kisses, and Lord Heatherbrook had severed the relationship with his mistress immediately before the party. Blood had been appearing in Benedict Rutherford’s handkerchief when he coughed as of late. His wife Francine was in an Interesting Condition. Their sister-in-law Lady Heatherbrook—Lioncroft’s elder sister Rose—had been forced into a “good match” against her will at seventeen. Lady Stanton had been frightened of Evangeline’s mother throughout her childhood. And country dances were impossible to execute with any degree of competency while suffering from a savage headache.
