Her tone had enough bite to startle her husband, who twisted his head in her direction.
“I am Lady Evelyn Harrington, the Countess of Manderly.” She addressed the woman, whose surprise was deftly masked by amusement. “I do not believe we are acquainted.”
“I did not realize you were home, my dear,” James said hastily. “Allow me to make the introductions. This is Lady Morgana Vernon, whom I have mentioned is a patroness of my campaign.”
You failed to mention anything important, you lummox. All you said was that she was a widow with political influence. You did not say she was a toothsome siren who wants you in her bed.
Jealousy was new to Evie, and she couldn’t say she liked it. Yet she was powerless to stop its molten bubbling when Lady Vernon spoke.
“A pleasure, my lady.” Her manner was as smooth as her porcelain skin. “May I call you Evelyn? I prefer to dispense with formalities when it comes to my intimate acquaintances.”
I wager there are quite a few pesky formalities you would like to dispense with when it comes to my husband. And that will happen…over my dead body.
Evie’s smile was mostly a baring of teeth.
“Lady Vernon has been instrumental to your husband’s cause, ma’am.” This came from a beaming—and rather oblivious—Mr. Friend. “We have been working with her closely. In fact, she came today to present her ideas for the hustings.”
“And to meet you, of course, my dear Evelyn.” Lady Vernon had the assured manner of a woman used to getting her way. “In my experience, a statesman’s surest support must come from his own hearth. Any cracks there will eventually compromise the foundation of his campaign…as evidenced by Henry Gosford’s regrettable situation.”
The keen analysis revealed that the lady possessed intellect as well as beauty.
Evie lifted her chin. “You will not find any cracks here. I intend to support my husband to my utmost ability.”
“I am glad to hear it. Given the short time before the General Election, Lord Manderly will need the assistance of a dedicated partner.”
The fact that she had left the identity of that “partner” open-ended did not escape Evie. An ember smoldered in her chest as she thought of the worldly brunette “assisting” her husband—spending time with him, dazzling him with her beauty and sophistication, seducing him.
Keep your hands off James. He is mine.
“I am more than capable of assisting my husband.”
Evie’s tone came out sharper than she intended, cutting through the layers of politesse. Lord Dunsmuir cleared his throat, and James sent her a strange look.
“I do not doubt your abilities,” Lady Vernon said, unperturbed. “Indeed, I am an admirer of your work. You have an interest in wallflowers, do you not?”
Evie stared at her. “You are familiar with my studies?”
The way Lady Vernon lifted her shoulders elevated shrugging to an art.
“When it comes to research, I daresay I am as thorough as you, my lady.”
The notion of this woman researching her made her heart thud with anger…and fear.
How dare she? How much of my past has she excavated? A sudden suspicion chilled Evie to the marrow. What has Morgana Vernon uncovered…and could she have anything to do with the blackmail?
The connection was unlikely, she told herself. Lady Vernon was a wealthy widow who had no need of money. But had the timing of the lady’s “research” dovetailed with the arrival of the blackmail note? If so, it was probably a coincidence…and yet. As Evie struggled to summon a suitable response, one that wouldn’t give anything away, James spoke.
“I will not have my wife’s privacy disturbed.” His tone brooked no refusal. “For any reason.”
“Chivalry suits you, my lord, and will serve you well. Crowds like their knights in shining armor. You must play up that role at the hustings.” Lady Vernon’s mien was coy and considering. “However, you must also have a mind to how the game is played—and won.”
“My bid for the seat is not a game. Nor am I some actor performing before a crowd,” James said dismissively. “At the hustings, I will present the case for my reforms and lay out the irrefutable logic?—”
“None of that will matter if people fall asleep during your speech.” Lady Vernon studied her rose-tinted nails. “Lord Dunsmuir, you claimed that your candidate was prepared for the public stage.”
“He is,” Dunsmuir said quickly. “Friend and I have been preparing Manderly for the debate, and we are confident he shall best Ryerson?—”
“On the issues, perhaps. Which no one cares about at a hustings, and Ryerson knows this. You do realize how he’s made a success of himself?”
