He gazed at her with such intensity, such complete sincerity, that a melting heat began to kindle in her chest. If he didn’t leave soon, she’d kiss him again.
Instead, she reached for him, laying her hand against waistcoat, relishing the hardness of his muscled body underneath and taking comfort in the strong, steady beat of his heart.
“Go now. They’ll notice the two of you are missing if they haven’t already.”
He bent his head, and she lifted hers.
“Thank you,” he said softly near her ear, then pressed a kiss against her cheek. “I’m in your debt.”
He started toward the door, then stopped and looked back at her. “Should I apologize for last night?”
“No.” Evie didn’t regret a single moment, even if it had left her with fewer defenses and a yearning that she knew could lead nowhere.
His only reply was a smile. Then he was out the door, and she was left with a desperate debutante.
Evie approached and sat on the opposite settee, watching the girl’s chest rise and fall. “He’s gone now, Lady Maribel.”
When the young woman showed no sign of waking, she added, “Shall I go and fetch the smelling salts?”
At that, Lady Maribel’s eyes opened, then fluttered dramatically. She sat up, laid a hand across her forehead, and cast a confused, unfocused gaze in Evie’s direction.
“Miss Granger? What are you doing here?” She clutched her chest as if she were an actress preparing to give an emotional soliloquy. “Lord Rothwell was here. We were alone. The last thing I remember…” Her sky-blue eyes widened. “He was embracing me, Miss Granger, and we were quite alone!”
Evie folded her hands in her lap and regarded the young lady a moment longer, waiting to determine whether or not she’d finished.
“You won’t win him this way, Lady Maribel. Rothwell isn’t fond of deception. He’s an honorable man and will do his duty and marry one of you—” Tears burned behind her eyes, and Evie was suddenly more frustrated with herself than with the scheming debutante. “But he won’t ever be forced or deceived into choosing.”
Throughout Evie’s ramble, Lady Maribel seemed increasingly affronted. She gasped, she arched her brows, and she placed a hand against her throat. Then, finally, the mask slipped away, and her rosebud mouth twisted in contemplation.
“What if I went to Lady Hepworth and informed her about what her nephew had done?”
“You mean that he pushed you away, and you pretended to faint?”
“That’s what you’d say, but that’s not at all how I would tell the tale.”
“She will believe Rothwell’s account. And mine.”
Lady Maribel tipped her head, her eyes scrutinizing. “Why do you matter so much, Miss Granger?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, I know, I’ve heard the story that you and the marquess were childhood friends, but there’s something more.”
“We’ve known each other a long time.”
“No, that’s not it.” She tapped her bottom lip. “You’re keeping secrets. I can always sense that about people.”
Evie ignored how the lady’s assessing gaze made her skin itch and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the library. “You’ve been gone long enough that people will begin to talk. Rather than quizzing me, I suggest you rejoin the others to stem any untoward rumors.”
Lady Maribel rose from the settee and ran her hands over her hair, then resettled the skirt of her day dress. Evie thought she might swan from the room without another word. Even if she felt no guilt for her attempted seduction, Evie suspected she wouldn’t want the other ladies to turn against her entirely.
She nodded and then sailed toward the library door with such well-practiced poise that Evie was almost impressed. But as she gripped the latch on the door, Lady Maribel turned back.
“Speaking of untoward rumors, what would the others think of Lord Rothwell’s question to you?”
Evie was shocked by the young woman’s vicious sneer. But she knew with sickening certainty what question she referred to.
“What exactly did you and Lord Rothwell get up tolast night? You left the gathering early. Did he join you later, perhaps?”
Evie was good at keeping secrets, but she’d always been a terrible liar. She had no answer to offer the girl that wouldn’t force her to fib.
“Wouldn’t Lady Worthington be dismayed to know that her commoner niece was scandalously involved with the very nobleman for whom she’s trying to find a worthy bride?”
