“Your father need know nothing of it.” He smoothed out a wrinkle in her clothes. “Are you all right, Pidge?”
“I’m nervous. Are you not?” She glanced at his crotch. For a moment, he had been concerned about presenting himself to her father in his condition, but their urgency had cooled the strength of his arousal. He did not usually find himself in a predicament of this nature, and far less often with a lady of virtue.
Well, former virtue.
The prospect of marrying her hardly struck fear into his heart, but he did detest the idea of forcing her into anything she didn’t wish for, and she had been adamant aboutnotmarrying him. If he pressed things, he might risk losing her forever, and that would be more than he could bear.
Then again, this alone might have lost her to him. His eagerness, his desire, the knowledge they now had of one another.
He could not bear to lose even one piece of her.
He worried that he already had.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
Her gaze flicked to his, then away again. The pause that followed near broke him in two. “Yes.”
“Then do not worry. I will ensure all is well.” He offered her his arm. “Come, my darling. Let us greet your father.”
To her astonishment, Evelyn found she was able to walk into the drawing room with more composure than she might otherwise have supposed. Charles’s arm was tight around hers, and she had the unsettling thought that she would be all right so long as he never let her go.
Her father sat in his regular chair by the fire, a shawl over his bony shoulders and his eyes distant as he stared into nothing, probably reminiscing somewhere far away.
Charles patted her hand reassuringly. “I told you he would not have noticed the time of our absence. He spends more time in his memories than he does in the present, and I can’t say I blame him. Are you all right?”
“I am.”
His gaze searched hers, and then he grinned. “Of course you are. Redoubtable to the last.” But despite that, he squeezed the hand in his arm, offering her silent comfort as he led her before her father, who blinked up at them in apparent surprise.
“My dear sir,” Charles said cheerily, sweeping into a bow. “I had not expected to find you here, but I am exceedingly glad I have, and in such good health.”
Her father beamed. Evelyn stepped back, letting them have this moment. Charles had always been at odds with his own father, and hers had wished for a son. They had found that, or a version of it, with each other. Besides, Charles’s easy smile came so naturally, and he looked as though he had been there for nothing other than a light tête-à-tête.
To think that mere minutes ago, she had been on the brink of giving him everything, and now they were here, the matter unconsummated.
But perhaps it was a good thing after all. She had been on the brink of handing what remained of her heart to him, and heavens knew that would be a fool’s mistake. He was about to marry another—a lady of irreproachable repute, whose name would ally well with his. Once the engagement was announced, she would lose him forever.
The love that had felt so manageable when they were younger had transformed; no longer comfortable, it ate away at her, demanding more and more. If she allowed it space, she would find herself forever hungry.
Charles had taught her so many things. The sensible thing to do would be to take them now and be grateful.
The thought made a weight sink into the base of her stomach.
“I shall call for tea,” she said, kissing her father’s cheek on the way to the bellpull. “I’m glad you have returned home, Papa.”
“This is a delightful surprise,” her father said, patting her hand as she passed. “I had not thought you would be calling on my dear Evelyn, Charles.”
“We cannot long be separated from one another.” Charles gave her a wink that made her stomach drop further. “But I also came with a purpose, I’m afraid.”
Evelyn froze, her hand on the bellpull. “You did?” she asked, shooting him a warning glance.
“I did indeed.” Charles smiled at her father, no sign that he was planning anything untoward on his face. She scolded herself for immediately assuming the worst. “My mother wishes to host a small party at Havercroft—only our closest friends and family, you understand—and she hopes very much to see you both there.”
Evelyn’s heart pounded in her throat. She knew of the party, in a way. There had been whispers—and the duchess had herself mentioned this gathering. A small, intimate house party during which time Charles and Lady Rosamund could get to know one another. A house party during which he would propose.
She felt as though she’d been plunged underwater, cold water in her lungs. Had he come here intending to deliver the invitation while they were in bed, sated and lying together? The idea of it made her eyes sting.
She would be nothing but unwelcome at such an occasion—and the prospect of watching him woo another woman in front of her made her want to weep. The chill in her chest extended down to her stomach, dowsing the last of her desire. How cruel of him to apply to her father instead of her. How cruel of him to invite her at all.
