Passion and Pride (A Historical Romance) (21 page)

“I…”

Evan hesitated.

The woman’s advance was scandalous. She was brazenly propositioning him when she had known him for all of an hour.

Well, to be truthful,
he
had know
her
for all of an hour. From her words, it was clear that she had set her sights on him long before this evening.

Part of him remembered Marian, and the sadness weighed him down.

But Pemberly’s voice from months ago whispered in his ear.

Do you think she is holed up in a sty in Paris? Do you think she lives like an animal, pining away for your love?

That woman was gone. But before him stood another, one of the most beautiful ones he had seen in his life.

Though not the most beautiful. No, not nearly,
he thought morosely, then shook off his momentary depression.

Her perfume filled his nose with the scent of roses, and the light touch of her hand on his sleeve was pleasant indeed.

It had been a very, very long time since he had felt such things.

“I would be delighted,” he said.

“Very well… I shall see you in half an hour,” she smiled demurely, then left the room.

It took Evan several minutes, but he finally found Pemberly in the library.

He was alone with two other men, an older man in a white wig and a younger who looked darkly foreboding. Whatever they were discussing, they were doing so in tones of the utmost gravity – quite unlike conversations normal to a ball.

“Ahem,” Evan cleared his throat at the door.

Pemberly turned around and seemed surprised. “Ah, Blake – a moment, will you?”

Evan frowned and withdrew from the library into the hallway. The younger man came to the door and shut it, though not before giving Evan a piercing look.

Three more minutes passed, and finally the door opened. The elder and younger man walked past Evan without another look and then disappeared into the crowd.

Evan walked into the library to find Pemberly looking out the window pensively. “What the devil was all that?”

Pemberly looked around as though startled from a daydream. “Oh – sorry about that, old boy. Dreary particulars of the publishing business. Can’t keep away from it, even when I’m supposed to be at play.”

“They didn’t look like publishers, they looked like conspirators.”

“Hm, yes, well. So – how has your time with the Countess been?”

“About that,” Evan scowled.

“You’re welcome.”

“That was not quite the reaction I was looking for.”

“Oh, heavens, man, come off it. You’ve been a monk long enough. Think of me as your advance scout into enemy territory.”

Evan crossed his arms. “So, I should regard Lady Lawton as the enemy?”

“No, you should regard her as a godsend. Poor choice of words on my part. As a publisher, I should know better. She is not the ‘enemy’ so much as… ‘unexplored territory,’ shall we say.” Pemberly paused and considered again. “Actually, ‘recently unexplored,’ in your case. We are not so much breaking new ground as recovering the old trail. Tally ho!”

“It seems you’ve been acting more as a panderer than a scout.”

“Ha! Hardly. I pursued her myself for months. The Countess has been… how shall I put it…
socially active
since her late husband’s death, but despite a certain sympathy between us, she apparently has no desire for my considerable talents. Outside the realm of publishing, anyway. In that one regard, she was quite keen to get to know me better. We were talking about Marian’s most recent novel…”

Evan flinched at her name. Pemberly either did not see his reaction, or chose to ignore it.

“…when I told her that I knew the man upon whom
La Parisienne’s
various heroes were based. You should have seen her face. When I offered to introduce the two of you, I think she achieved ecstasy.”

Evan paced across the library. “I don’t know…”

“What’s to know? When does she want to meet?” Pemberly asked as he took a sip of champagne.

“In twenty-five minutes.”

Pemberly coughed.
“What?”

Evan looked grim. “She works quickly, this Countess of yours.”

“So do you, apparently! I thought I was arranging the
possibility
of a nice little luncheon Monday, then a stroll through the gardens on Tuesday, then
perhaps
a trip to the boudoir on Wednesday
next
. It appears we have already arrived at Wednesday, and bugger the whole week before it.”

“I don’t know if I should do this…”

Pemberly drew himself up to his full height and said severely, “Blake, if you do not take this most sterling opportunity I have delivered into your hands, I swear to God that I will cut your throat in your sleep. Here I stand like the starving poor in the slums, while you sit before your feast and whine, ‘Oh, I don’t know, I just wasn’t looking forward to
lamb
this evening.’”

“You care nothing for the starving poor in the slums.”

“I do when they are me! Go – do it – take notes. I expect a full accounting tomorrow of the glories that should by all rights be mine.”

“A gentleman never tells about a lady.”

“Since you are a close confederate of mine, you are surely no gentleman – and she is a lady by title only. Or so I hear. Or expect to hear tomorrow morning.”

Evan smiled. “May I use your carriage? I don’t want anything to seem amiss amongst the other guests.”

“Of course. Just send it back once you’ve… reached your destination. I won’t expect you back at the house until morning.”

Evan nodded, clapped Pemberly on the shoulder, and headed for the door.

“Blake?” Pemberly said.

Evan turned back.

“If you come back having forfeited the prize, I swear to God – ”

With that, Pemberly drew his finger along his own throat with a slicing noise.

Evan grinned and left the room.

“In your sleep, Blake! In your sleep!” Pemberly called after him.

The carriage dropped Evan off in front of the Countess’s lodgings, then set off down the street to return to the ball.

Evan steadied himself for a moment, then rang the bell. His stomach was tied in knots as he waited for the answer.

A candle flickered at the window beside the great oak door. It creaked open, and a withered old man appeared. “Lady Lawton is expecting you.”

Evan followed the old man inside to a small bedroom. A few candles burned around the room, just enough to show off the rich tapestries hanging on the walls and the four-post canopy bed. Near a chaise longue, a small table held a bucket with ice and a bottle of wine, and two crystal flutes next to it.

The little man bowed to Evan, then backed out of the room. A few moments later the Countess entered, her gorgeous blonde hair combed out in shimmering waves upon her shoulders.

Evan stared at her. She looked lovely in the candlelight.

She smiled at him. “I was afraid you would not come.”

Evan was at a loss for words. “…here I am,” he finally managed.

“Some wine?”

“Please.”

The Countess poured a glass for Evan, then one for herself. She looked at him hungrily over the edge of the glass as she drank.

“I must say, you have a beautiful home – ”

He did not even get out the last word before she launched herself at him. Stepping up on tiptoes, she placed her lips against his. They were soft and warm, and her breath was pleasantly scented as he kissed her.

She put down her own glass on the table, then took his and did likewise.

It was all over ten minutes later.

As Evan lay naked in bed beside the Countess, he wondered exactly where things had gone wrong.

Everything had been enjoyable, yes. But the sex was more mechanical than meaningful, more perfunctory than passionate.

He wondered if he was just out of practice… or if, having tasted the most exquisite fruit imaginable a year ago, all others seemed bland by comparison.

He thought of Marian, of her skin next to his, and his heart skipped a beat. He was filled with pain, and sadness… and bittersweet joy.

It was more emotion than he had felt during the entire act with the Countess.

The Countess was even less enthused.

“Well, that was… pleasant,” she said as she lay there next to him, her body not touching his.

“Yes. Very… nice,” Evan agreed awkwardly.

“…‘nice,’” she repeated, her voice managing to blend sarcasm, disbelief, and indignation all at once.

Silence reigned for another minute.

“I must confess, it seemed your attention was elsewhere,” she said coolly. “Until the end, that is.”

He did not want to admit it, but in the dim light, his brain had played tricks on him. He had seen Marian’s face in the final moments, and that was what had pushed him over the edge.

“I… forgive me. My mind wandered.”

He winced as soon as he said it.

“A bit of advice for the future, Mr. Blake?” the Countess said as she rose from the bed and began to dress in her undergarments. “No woman likes to be told that a gentleman’s mind ‘wandered’ during the act of love. One can only assume it wandered to another woman.”

“No, I – ”

She interrupted him with a sigh. “I was afraid this might happen. Pemberly warned me you were still besotted with her.”

Anger and indignation welled inside him, but he didn’t say anything.

The Countess smirked. “Well, judging from your performance, either your mind
was
elsewhere, or she has greater powers of imagination than Shakespeare and Dante combined.”

The anger and indignation spilled out.

“I am sorry the ‘performance’ was not to your liking, my lady.”

Her face softened the tiniest bit as she gathered her gown in her arms. “Pay no heed, Mr. Blake. It is just that no woman likes to know she has a competitor – especially one impossible to vanquish.”

“You are leaving?” he asked, astounded.

“Yes. Once you are dressed, you will find James waiting for you in the hallway. He will show you out.”

Being treated like a common strumpet filled him more with shock than anger. Actually, it was his pride that hurt most of all.

“One bad outing should not be the end of the matter,” he sulked.

“When one of the two is in love with a third, it should be. And is.”

“I am not in love with her,” he protested vehemently.

She gave him a wry smile and turned towards the door.

He tried again. “Let me call on you tomorrow – we can have lunch, get to know one another – ”

She turned back, her patience at an end. “As lovers, it would appear we are incompatible, Mr. Blake, and I am not trying to find another husband. Even if I were, I would seek to marry up, rather than down.”

With that, she slipped out of the room and closed the door.

I am not trying to find another husband, Mr. Blake. Even if I were, I would seek to marry up, rather than down.

Evan walked down the cobblestone streets, the dark night closing around him.

He was dazed, angry – and hurt.

This woman whom he barely knew, and cared nothing for, had dealt him a single blow that had leveled him to the ground.

I would seek to marry up, rather than down.

But after the first moment of bruised pride as he dressed alone in the bedroom, the realization had set in:

He had hurt Marian in exactly the same way.

And that knowledge was a thousand times worse than anything Lady Lawton had done to him.

No, not ‘exactly the same way.’

The Countess was a momentary diversion to him. He was a conquest to her – and apparently a disappointing one at that.

Marian had loved him.

When he told her he could not marry her, it must have not only broken her heart, but shattered it into a million pieces.

He had not only told the woman that he loved that they could not be together, but that she was
unworthy
of him.

He had not meant it that way, of course; but in the end, that was what it came down to.

That was surely what she must have heard in the words he spoke.

He had not only thrown away the one true chance at happiness he had ever had… he had not only driven away the only woman he had ever truly loved, and who had loved him in return… but he had been as cruel as humanly possible, while still supposing himself ‘reasonable’ and kind.

He wished he could have throttled his younger self.

He wished he could return to the past and do it all differently.

He wished he could have kept her with him and never let her go.

He wished a great many things, none of which came to pass, as he staggered his way home to Pemberly’s.

Evan was sitting in the drawing room, halfway through his second bottle of wine since arriving home, when Pemberly walked in after midnight.

“Williams told me you were back. I must say, this does not bode well for your throat remaining intact through the night.”

“That is the least of my worries,” Evan muttered.

“Death – murder at the hands of your good friend – is the least of your worries! Hm! It seems someone’s life has taken a turn for the overly dramatic in the last couple of hours!” Pemberly collapsed onto the sofa opposite Evan, held up a single finger, and let it slowly wilt. “Did things not go so well with the Countess? Too much to drink, perhaps? Happens to the best of us, dear boy – well, not me, of course.
Never
to
me
.”

“That was not the problem.”

“Oh? Then what, pray tell, was the problem?”

“Events were… less than satisfactory.”

Pemberly glanced over at the two open wine bottles on the table next to Evan, then gave a questioning look as he held up his finger again and let it wilt.

“NO, not that!” Evan snapped.

“Did you consummate your rather brief acquaintance?”

Evan hesitated. “I should not say.”

“Would you like to know the list of lords the Countess has slept with since her late husband’s death? She was quite open in reciting the list to me. I’m sure you’ll be appended to it in whatever conversation she next has, probably with a good deal of disparaging remarks, judging from your disposition.”