With a sinking heart Drake realised she had only come to please her father and he felt responsible for placing her in such a position. The only time he saw any reaction, was when her father invited him to stay in the house. The project was large and the completion of a comprehensive survey and plans would take several weeks, so it was only natural that such an invitation would come. Even so it caught both Evelyn and Drake off guard. Evelyn hid her distress well, but Drake still noticed. Wishing not to cause her further distress he politely declined. Their reunion was not going as well as he had hoped, not that he knew what his hopes had been.
‘Then stay in Timmins’ old house,’ suggested Sir Robert. ‘I have not appointed a replacement for him yet and an empty building soon deteriorates. Having it inhabited for a few weeks will give it some much needed airing.’
‘The cottage will give you the space to draw your designs,’ said Mawgan as he offered his arm to Evelyn. Drake clenched his teeth as her arm slid easily through her cousin’s. ‘Unless you do not feel you are up to the task and wish to refuse the commission.’
Drake dragged his eyes away from Evelyn’s arm nestled in Mawgan’s. ‘Is that a challenge?’ asked Drake.
Mawgan smiled. ‘Perhaps.’
What was the man up to? ‘Then it is a challenge I cannot ignore,’ said Drake. ‘Thank you, Sir Robert, the use of the head gardener’s cottage would be most welcome.’
Evelyn’s silence and pressed lips told him what he already knew about her feelings on the matter. Her anger was palpable. He had not planned to accept the commission, just offer some words of advice, but seeing Evie again only confirmed what he had always known deep inside, that he would always compare every woman he met to her . . . just as he had done these past six years. Today he saw that he was close to losing her forever and that realisation felt like he was dying. He had no choice. He had to stay.
Chapter Eighteen
The paintbrush felt heavy as lead in Evelyn’s hand and her strokes grew clumsier to her critical eye. He was standing too close. So close that Evelyn swore that she could feel an invisible pull towards him. She fought the urge with every fibre of her being, but it came at a cost. She could neither concentrate nor paint the landscape Drake was describing to her.
Evelyn glanced up at her mother who sat quietly reading in the corner. She had made a remarkable recovery over the last week and now played the part of chaperone well. Having a garden designed in her name was a powerful diversion from her own health worries and more potent than any tonic Doctor Birch had prescribed. Her father had come to know his wife well.
Drake leaned closer. ‘This ground level needs to be higher,’ he instructed, indicating an area on the paper with his sun-kissed hand.
His calm, softly spoken tone only succeeded in making Evelyn tenser, clenching her jaw, she did what he had asked.
‘Higher.’
‘The land isflat,’ Evelyn ground out under her breath.
He bent down closer so she could almost feel the warmth of his spoken words. ‘It can be changed.’
She raised it a little more. Could he see the tremor in her hand?
‘A little higher . . .’
Evelyn swept the brush upwards with an angry stroke, shocking Drake into silence. He straightened.
‘You wanted it higher,’ said Evelyn, dropping her brush into the jar of water at her side.
‘I wanted a hill . . . not a volcano.’
Lady Pendragon lifted her gaze. ‘Is something the matter?’
Drake smiled reassuringly. ‘Nothing that cannot be remedied.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ muttered Evelyn under her breath.
Evelyn had still not fully recovered from finding Drake standing in her drawing room a week ago. The sight of him had robbed her of voice, thought and reason. He looked even more handsome than she had remembered. His black tousled hair, dark serious brows and firm jaw remained the same, but now he was a man, more chiselled, more experienced and more confident in his own skin.
She thought she would be immune to the spell Drake Vennor, the boy, had cast over her as a child. She was wrong. The spell he cast today was even more intense, arousing every nerve in her body and setting her on edge. While she had fallen to pieces, he had remained calm at their meeting. It was painful, upsetting. She had made up her mind not to repeat the tortuous experience again.
She successfully avoided seeing him in the days that followed, but this morning her father had called her into his study. ‘Mr Vennor has drawn up some basic designs,’ her father had informed her, ‘but lacks the skill to translate them into a landscape. He asked if I knew someone who could paint. I have offered your services.’
Evelyn had no grounds to refuse, at least none that she could offer. And so she found herself in his company, resenting him, hating him — and far too close to him.
Evelyn stood up suddenly; knocking the leg of the easel with her own. The easel teetered and the painting she had been working on began to slip. Drake reached to steady it.
Her mother looked up, exasperated to have been disturbed for a second time. ‘What is the matter, Evelyn? You look a little pale.’
‘I am just a little hot, Mother.’
