“Why will it matter to her?”
She blinked at him. “Why—well, Richard, you’re a bit... famous.”
He rolled his eyes and Gerhard gave a snort of laughter.
“You are,” insisted his sister, blushing pink. “Not everyone has raced ahead of Napoleon’s troops through Russia and thenhad to skirt a war in India on the way home! Not everyone has been to Mongolia or Africa!”
“They are imagining you astride a yak, or milking one of those Kashmir goats,” said Gerhard, and Richard finally laughed.
“Gerhard has done all those things as well,” he told his sister. “Let him be famous. He was nearly as brave and daring as I was.”
“In truth, I saved him from many a disaster,” countered Gerhard to Clemency. “But only for your sake. I knew you would miss him too deeply if I allowed a Gurkhali to cut him down, or a crocodile to eat him.”
She beamed at him. “Oh, Gerhard.Youought to be famous, too.”
The big man turned pink and lowered his eyes. “Ach, no. I would not be good at it.”
“Of course you would!” She leaned toward him and put her hand on his. “You are every bit as daring as Richard, and so much more sensible besides. You deserve more credit.” She turned to shoot an indignant glare at Richard, and so missed the searing glance of helpless adoration Gerhard gave her before averting his eyes again. “You should credit him more, Richard.”
She was still holding Gerhard’s hand and he seemed perfectly willing to sit there, in that chair, until he turned to stone, as long as her hand was on his. Richard, seeing it, only smiled. “I believe I have done Gerhard some favors in my time.” And his friend sent him a look that agreed.
Evangeline was veryglad she had told Richard not to fall in love with her, because she was in grave danger of doing just that with him.
He came to see her every few days—not often enough for her to feel he was always about, but not infrequently enough thatshe got used to his absence. He brought flowers, and poetry, and once a basket of freshly picked strawberries, asking if she had any cream. Then he fed them to her, one by one, and licked the cream from her skin when it dripped.
He was, as Fanny kept hinting, practically perfect.
“Dine with me tonight,” she said one afternoon. The words left her lips before she even knew she was thinking them.
He put down the book he’d been reading aloud, a new Waverley novel calledGuy Mannering. It was outrageous and full of adventures and schemes and twists of fate, and they were both enjoying it tremendously. They were, as usual, in the conservatory, with the dogs dozing by the door that stood open into the garden, now filled with the buzz of insects in the late afternoon sun. Earlier they had taken a walk, arguing good-naturedly over some point of political drama she didn’t even recall, then enjoyed a sumptuous tea before settling down for a quiet read, lying relaxed and lazy beside each other on the chaise. A practically perfect day, in other words.
“Do you mean it?” he asked, his lips brushing the hair at her temple.
She nodded. It was the first time she had asked him to dine with her. She had resisted that so far on the theory that, if he came to dinner, it would be just the two of them at the table, late into the night, and it was very likely she would invite him to stay even longer, and then he would spend the night in her bed, and she would have crossed a line she’d drawn for herself.
But still she’d asked him, and even though her heart seemed to patter a little more frantically than before, she didn’t withdraw the invitation.
“I would be delighted,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear. The book fell to the floor with a soft thud as he rolled toward her. Then he went still. “Alas.” He sighed. “I cannot. A prior engagement.”
“Oh.” Flustered, Evangeline sat up. “Of course.”
He also sat up. “I could cancel.”
“Goodness, don’t do so on my account!” She put up her hands to fix her hair, which had begun to slip from the pins.
“I would rather dine with you.”
She flapped one hand at him, forcing a laugh. “Nonsense. I wouldn’t wish to steal you from your friends and companions.” She wondered whom he was dining with; a party of ladies and gentlemen? Only other gentlemen? Or perhaps a ball or soirée, the likes of which she was rarely invited to attend?
She got to her feet, wincing as her back complained. Lounging on the chaise with a man’s arm around her was extremely pleasurable, but she was getting too old for it. Refusing to show any discomfort by stretching or rubbing her back, especially when he rolled lithely to his feet in one swift motion, she summoned a smile. “Forget I asked. An impulse of the moment, I’m afraid. You lulled me into such a state with your dramatic reading, I forgot myself.”
“No, no, it was a marvelous impulse!” He ran one hand over his head, looking torn. “You should always give in to such impulses, regarding me.” He looked up, more determined. “Ask me again. I will make a better answer.”
“Don’t be silly, darling. I couldn’t possibly tear you away from the company of your fellow men. Or the ladies,” she added hastily, reminding herself that she had nothing to be jealous or envious of, by her own decree.
“No ladies,” he said at once. “Only gentlemen. I don’t even like them much. I shall send my regrets. I only accepted because my sister persuaded me—” He stopped, and something about his expression told Evangeline he hadn’t meant to tell her about the dinner, or the companions, or why he was going.
Which was his right. And it was not her right to know.
