“By Jove, Evie,” James said in a warning growl. “Have you gone mad?—”
“Pray allow your wife to continue, Manderly.” Lady Vernon’s eyes gleamed. “I am interested in what she has to say. Especially since, unlike most acquaintances, she has the courage to say it to my face rather than whisper it behind a fan.”
Understanding the unspoken challenge, Evie squared her shoulders and summoned the image of Loretta’s broom. She stalked over to her rival, ready to defend what was hers…but came to an uncertain halt. When she entered, she hadn’t seen the coffee table in front of the loveseat. A large map of Chuddums was spread on its surface. Diagrams had been drawn on the map…what appeared to be plans for the hustings. Boxes labeled “dais” and “audience area” had been sketched over the village square, with additional notes scribbled along the margins.
“As you can see, the earl and I have been working,” Lady Vernon drawled. “A hustings doesn’t plan itself, after all.”
Heat rushed into Evie’s cheeks. She recognized James’s handwriting on a separate sheet of paper: tasks to accomplish before the debate. His pen, moist at the tip, lay next to the list. Simultaneously, she registered the beverage sitting next to it: coffee, not champagne. The stage wasn’t set for seduction…but business?
Lifting her gaze to her hostess’s, she saw amusement laced with understanding, and her humiliation grew. She’d acted like a jealous fishwife…like the veriest fool. She’d shown up uninvited to a lady’s house, looking like something the cat dragged in—literally—and made rude and unfounded accusations. In the taut silence, she heard water plop from her gown onto the pristine Aubusson.
By the blooms. What have I done?
She risked a peek at James. He stared back with scowling displeasure.
The butler returned. “Supper is ready to be served?—”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Vernon.” Steel threaded James’s voice as he gripped Evie’s arm. “Regrettably, my wife and I will not be staying. It is late, and we have a rather long journey ahead of us.”
Back in the carriage, Evie’s courage deserted her, and she retreated into silence. Grim-faced, James also said nothing. The storm outside matched the one brewing between them, thick and charged and impossible to escape.
The storm kicked up its heels and did a mad jig across the countryside. Knowing when to concede defeat, James directed Jeffries to stop at the nearest lodging. The inn they came upon was like a barrel of lamprey, with rain-slicked travelers crammed together and vying for one of the last chambers.
James secured the last suite. It cost double the usual, but he didn’t give a damn. His inner tempest was fiercer than the storm. Alone with Evie in their cozy quarters, he didn’t know where to begin. She, on the other hand, seemed utterly calm—practically detached. She toweled off her hair and explored the snug space, as if she’d never seen a finer chamber in her life.
As he fought to control his temper, she fetched a fresh cloth and held it out to him.
“Would you like a towel?”
It was the politeness, the wifeliness of her inquiry as if everything were normal between them, that made him snap.
“No, I would not like a bloody towel,” he bit out. “What I would like is to know why you behaved like a Bedlamite this evening.”
Her eyes went huge in her pale face. “That is uncalled for.”
“On the contrary,” he said severely. “How else would you describe your behavior? You show up uninvited to Lady Vernon’s tonight. Then, when she graciously overlooks your appalling manners and invites you to supper, you insult her.”
“She was not being gracious. She was showing off,” Evie argued. “Flaunting her poise and sophistication.”
“You are being ridiculous,” he said shortly.
“And you are being an idiot.” Evie had the audacity to glare at him. “How is it that you are a brilliant man when it comes to politics, but an absolute lummox when it comes to women?”
That hit a nerve. The truth always did.
“You are not the only one questioning my judgment when it comes to females,” he shot back. “I’ve been questioning my own choices of late.”
Evie jerked as if he’d slapped her.
“It is too late for regret, isn’t it?” she said bitterly.
“Do you regret marrying me?”
He fired the question like a bullet. It was, he realized, the one he’d been afraid to ask. But now he would have the answer once and for all.
“Are you angry with me, Evie? Have I failed you in some way?” he pushed. “Is that the cause of your coldness? At times, you seem to hold some affection for me. But at others…like tonight.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You know I need Lady Vernon’s help. Her support is critical to winning the election. Why would you try to sabotage this?”
“Because Lady Vernon doesn’t want to see you get elected, James. She wants to see you get undressed.”
