Page 25 of The Haunted Duke

He wanted her. There was no use pretending otherwise, soaked to the skin and aching with it. His desire had not cooled for all his running, and it shamed him as much as it burned.

It should have been me.

But it was Jeremy who would have her.

Evander stopped in the middle of the road and tipped his face up to the rain, fury, arousal, and pain all coursing through him.

What did Jeremy have that he did not? A face that did not frighten children. A neck he could leave bare. He had never been taken, never been burned, never been made into a beast. Jeremy could stand up in a chapel, take her hand in front of God and everyone, and never once think to hide. He had the perfect face and the perfect life, and now he would have her, too.

The woman he had seen first and should have been his.

Chapter 8

“Your Grace, I am not sure you should—”

“I am fine,” Evander snapped, cutting off Toby’s worry-filled words. “Now pour it in, or give me the bucket, and I will do it myself.”

Toby bowed his head but obeyed, pouring the fresh bucket of ice into the already full tub of ice water where Evander was lying. Evander seethed in a breath through clenched teeth as the crushed ice lowered the temperature of his bath even more, but he did not move. Instead, he forced himself to sink deeper into the tub until the scars around his neck were as submerged as the rest of his body.

He had been doing this for days now, ever since he nearly lost himself to Helena at the inn. Ice baths. Vigorous boxing matches with Toby. Early morning horseback rides that lasted hours, and rounds of practice shooting his pistol until his hands and forearms hurt from the constant kickback. Anything he could think of to distract his mind from Helena or reduce the yearning for her in his body. But none of it worked, not for long.

Even if such antics did provide a brief distraction, it was all ruined by the time dinner came around. On the first night, he had tried to have his meal in the privacy of his room, but Patricia was not having it. She demanded that everyone in the house show old-fashioned decorum and attend dinner as a group.

It was torture. Sitting across from her. Watching her pretend to be happy now that her mother was back from her trip to London. Evander was not fooled, though, even if he and Helena both had been working hard at avoiding each other altogether. He was not fooled because every time he glanced up at her, her eyes flicked toward one particular person.

Lord Ingram.

Evander had been practicing with Toby in the gardens one day when Helena burst through the patio doors with Aggie, her breathing ragged and uneven.

“What is he doing here?” he had heard her ask Aggie with a fear-filled tone. “Why has he come here with Mama?”

Aggie had no answers for her, and though she had not asked him, Evander did not either. He was going to change that, though, because every time he saw Lord Ingram, he was either staring lasciviously at Lady Robinson or Helena.

Especially at dinner.

Evander had bent more than a few forks trying to keep his temper in check when he would catch the scoundrel practically stripping Helena with his eyes. He had even ripped the bit of the expensive silk tablecloth that hung over the edge last night when he had seen Helena flinch at a compliment Lord Ingram paid her, when he had fisted it too tightly in his hands to stop himself from getting up and slamming said fists into Ingram’s face.

The words the man had spoken had been ones of praise, but the way he had looked at her? The way his voice had slipped into a sensual tone as he spoke? He was not trying to flatter. He was trying to seduce, and from what Evander could see, Helena was disgusted by it.

He had decided then and there to send word to his men in London and find out what they could about Lord Ingram. He had an awful, twisting sensation in his gut that told him he had nefarious intentions, but until he saw him make an inappropriate move, or had confirmation from his sources that he had already done so, Evander decided to wait and keep watching him closely.

“Your Grace,” Toby’s voice broke through Evander’s swirling thoughts.

His eyes snapped open, and he found his valet looking worriedly down at him.

“Toby, do not start again about my health. I told you I am—”

“I know, Your Grace. You are fine,” Toby gently interrupted. “However, your presence is requested in the dining hall for dinner.”

Numb from the ice bath, Evander struggled to sit up.

“I have plenty of time to get ready for that,” he replied.

Silently, Toby pulled Evander’s pocket watch from the nearby side table and handed it to him. Evander startled when he saw the time. He had been in the bath for nearly two hours. He looked down at himself, certain that it could not be true, but sure enough, all the ice had melted, and his flesh even had a blue tint to it.

Evander grimaced. He had not lost time like this in quite a while. Not since he had shaken himself out of his depressive state and chosen to do the work to bring himself back to life and society. This wedding and all it entailed was going to be the end of him; he was sure of it.

“Thank you, Toby,” he muttered, setting the pocket watch aside. “I will dress myself.”