“You still had me,” Weston said quietly. “You had me and Brynne. Yourchildren.”
“You were given the best tutors and nannies and governesses that money could buy.”
“A tutor is not a father. A nanny is not a father. Agovernessis not a father.”
The marquess slowly lowered his chin, and regarded his son with a heavy gaze. “I’d lost my wife, and the woman I loved. I was not in any shape to be a father when you and your sister were young. And as you grew older…as you grew older, it was easier to stay away. To distance myself from anything and anyone that reminded me of what it felt like…”
“What it felt like to what?” Weston asked when his father fell silent.
Jason closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were filled with an anguish so bleak that Weston felt the strike of it in his own heart. “What it felt like to love.”
Evie had triedto smile and nod her way through the rest of the evening as if nothing was amiss, but when she continued to catch herself searching for Weston’s familiar face amidst the sea of guests, she knew it was time to retire to her room for the night.
Bidding farewell to Rosemary, she made her way upstairs where she was greeted by Posy, bouncing on the middle of the bed.
“Poor thing,” she murmured when the lamb gave an excited bleat and launched herself off the mattress. Scooping Posy up into her arms, Evie pressed her face into the lamb’s soft white fur and sighed. “You haven’t gotten much attention today, have you? Not with all that’s gone on. It’s not fair for you to be stuck in this room all day while I’m doing other things. As soon as you’re a bit bigger, we’ll have to see about putting you out to live with the other sheep. Would you like that?”
Posy butted her head into the middle of Evie’s chest, causing Evie to laugh. As soon as she did, the tension she’d been unconsciously carrying with her ever since leaving Weston in the gardens began to unravel, and after fetching a cloak to cover her gown, she carried Posy outside for a final romp before bed.
Using the servants’ stairs so as not to disturb the ongoing revelry in the drawing room, she set the lamb on the grass, already damp with dew, and smiled with warm, cozy delight as Posy gamboled across the lawn, kicking and bucking.
“She’s getting bigger,” Weston remarked from the shadows, and Evie nearly fell as she spun around to face him and the flat soles of her shoes slipped on the wet grass.
“What–what are you doing lurking about?” she gasped, pressing a hand to her pounding heart.
“You mean what am I doing enjoying some fresh air while standing outside on the grounds of my estate?” he asked, a dark brow rising as he stepped away from the wall of climbing ivy that he’d blended so effortlessly into that she’d walked right past him without noticing his presence.
She gave a clipped nod. “You’re right. It is your estate. I’ll just fetch Posy, and we’ll–”
“Don’t go,” Weston said hoarsely, and the raw, haunted glimpse of vulnerability she saw in the depths of his gaze made her heart ache. “Please.”
“What happened?” she whispered, fingertips gliding across his temple as she pushed a lock of inky black hair out of his eyes.
He leaned into the palm of her hand. “My father has paid me an unexpected visit.”
“Oh. I…I understand.” She didn’t. Not really. How could she, when he’d hardly spoken of his father at all? Everything she knew about Weston’s relationship with the marquess had come from a third party. But she didn’t need to be privy to every intimate detail to see that he was hurting.
And that he needed her to comfort him.
“It’s all right,” she murmured soothingly. “It’s going to be all right.”
“I need…” He trembled; a hard jolt that traveled the length of his entire body. Lifting his head, he spanned her waist with his hands. “I needyou, Evelyn.”
She was still frustrated with him. Irritated. Mayhap even a little angry. But how could she deny him such a request when it seemed as if his very life depended on it? Especially when she needed him just as much.
If not more.
The dark scruff on his jaw scraped against her skin as she grasped the sides of his face and rose up onto her toes. A brief, searching look into his eyes and then she pressed her lips to his.
At first, the kiss was soft. Gentle. Almost delicate, like the underside of a rose petal. But it wasn’t long before the spark between them caught fire, and they were both basking in the glow of the flames.
Madness in the moonlight, she thought dimly as his tongue slid between her lips and her nails dug into the nape of his neck.
Their kiss was feverish.
Desperate.
Daring.
