Susan’s spectacles bumped Evangeline’s ear as she leaned over to whisper, “Do you think he’ll be a gentle lover?”
Evangeline stumbled to a stop.“What?”
A violent blush crept up Susan’s cheeks. “It’s just, the thought of bedding a husband is daunting enough, without having the husband be a vicious blackguard. When I think of our wedding night, I…Don’t scowl at me so, I didn’t say ‘Lionkiller,’ I said ‘vicious blackguard.’ You cannot deny his temper—he admits the flaw himself.” Susan’s voice lowered even more. “I have heard there is pain under the best of circumstances, and I cannot imagine the lovemaking skills of a recluse like Lioncroft being the best of anything.”
“I disagree,” Evangeline muttered, leaning one shoulder against the nearest wall and closing her eyes tight.
She didn’t have to imagine Mr. Lioncroft being the best of anything. She well knew it from experience. The very thought of his kisses weakened her limbs and heated her flesh. And the thought of him sharing those selfsame kisses with Susan…for the rest of their lives…Angels above, it was enough to make a woman scream.
Not because of Susan’s blithe comments, exactly—she was a friend, and as such, Evangeline wished the best for her. And not because she wanted Mr. Lioncroft for herself; there were any number of reasons why they could never be together, and not a single reason to suggest they could. But…oh, very well.
A part of herdidwant Mr. Lioncroft for herself, despite him being an arrogant rogue with little to recommend him as husbandly material. But he was the son of a viscount and she was the daughter of a—of a—tatterdemalion gypsy, who had passed down to her daughter untamable hair and a so-called Gift. And a streak of independence, and twenty years of unconditional love, and a value system requiring her to use her talent to better the lives of those who did without, who judged each other on their own merit rather than a hierarchy of inherited titles as prescribed inDebrett’s Peerage.
Yes, despite her shameless complicity in Mr. Lioncroft’s intoxicating kisses, he was unquestionably the wrong sort of man for a woman determined not to haveanyman, for fear she relive her mother’s mistakes. And, Evangeline hated to admit, Lady Stanton was probably also right in pronouncing Evangeline likewise the wrong woman for Mr. Lioncroft. Especially when compared to someone like Susan Stanton.
Who now poked Evangeline in the shoulder and sang out, “I’m still waiting…”
Evangeline opened her eyes. “For what?”
“For an explanation, of course. I said I could not imagine Lioncroft’s lovemaking. You said, ‘I disagree.’ A more intriguing phrase has never been spoken. Do continue.”
“I said that?” Evangeline pushed off from the wall and started walking again. “If so, that’s all I meant to say. In fact, I’m fairly certain I didn’t even mean to say that much.”
Susan rushed to keep up with Evangeline’s increased pace. “Well, if you won’t be forthcoming on your own, I shall be forced to ask questions based on your response.Doyou think about Lioncroft’s lovemaking?”
“I—what?”
Prurient curiosity laced Susan’s tone. “Have you and he…”
“No!” Although this lack owed more to his gentlemanliness than to Evangeline’s guardianship of her maidenhood. “I’ve—I’ve only even been kissed by one man.”
Susan huffed, as though disappointed. “So his style of lovemaking was supposition on your part.”
“I…” Evangeline stared at her for a moment before facing forward once again and striding down the hall with a vengeance.
Within seconds, Susan re-linked her arm with Evangeline’s and slowed the pace to a more manageable saunter. “While we are admitting suppositions, I will admit I don’t imagine him to be a gentle lover. He is a publicly acknowledged brute, and brutes are not known for gentleness. Do you suppose otherwise?”
Evangeline supposed she’d vomit all over her nice clean dress if she was supposed to discuss in lurid detail the mechanics of Mr. Lioncroft disposing of Susan’s virginity. “If I’d had any idea you wanted to have this particular conversation, I would’ve…”
“Would’ve what?”
“I don’t know.” Evangeline sighed. Better to finish with this topic now than to have it creep up again and again. “No, I don’t suppose brutes are known for gentleness. On the other hand, I don’t consider Mr. Lioncroft brutish.”
“You think himgentle?”
“Hardly.” Evangeline paused to consider what she truly felt about the gentleness or lack thereof in Mr. Lioncroft’s manner. The very thought of those stolen moments increased the beating of her traitorous heart. “Gentleness isn’t always preferable, is it? I mean, surely passion takes a middle ground. What if…what if a man desires you, despite himself? Despite yourself. What if a man wants you so much and so badly, he can’t help himself from…from touching you, from grabbing you, from shutting up both of your weak objections by pressing his body to yours and kissing you senseless? Hypothetically speaking.”
Susan shuddered. “Sounds horrible. Precisely how do you define ‘brutish,’ Evangeline?”
“Unwanted force,” Evangeline responded promptly. “If you’re screaming and crying and fighting back and he forces himself upon you anyway, that’s brutish and wholly unacceptable under any circumstance. But if you secretly kind oflikefinding yourself up against the wainscoting when he can’t keep his lips from yours a moment longer—”
“Who in the world wouldlikesomething like that?” Susan laughed and shook her head. “Consummation is supposed to happen in the bedroom, Evangeline. Lying down. At night. With the candles unlit. You close your eyes, he does his bit, and if you’re lucky enough to bear heirs right away, he leaves you in peace. Then you go shop or something. Perhaps take tea.”
Evangeline rounded the next corner, steering Susan into the marble tiled anteroom. “I’m not sure it works exactly like that.”
“Of course it does. Mother told me so. And she has more experience with marriage than you and I combined.”
“That may be, but…” Evangeline bit her lip. As ill-suited as she and Mr. Lioncroft might be, he and Susan would be an equally disastrous match if Susan flung herself into a binding contract with a husband who terrified her. Evangeline didn’t want either of them locked into an unhappy marriage. “What I’m saying is, I don’t think he’s as bad as you think. I don’t think he’s really bad at all. He may have a temper, yes. But from what I’ve seen, his temper gets the best of him when he’s protecting those he cares about. Like his family. And if you”—Evangeline choked on the word—“marry him, you will also be family. Which would mean he would use his strength to protect you, not hurt you. I imagine him to be the sort who would fiercely cherish a wife. If a woman could get him to want one.”
