The Book Of Scandal (27 page)

“My weakness?”

His father scoffed at him, then pointed at the window. “Have you asked yourself how that fire in the orangery was started, or are you so immersed in your wife’s home-coming that you have failed to consider it?”

“Of course I have considered it! Yet I cannot believe someone would willfully set fire to the orangery—particularly with Evelyn inside—to harm me.”

“I would think again, were I you.”

“Why?” Nathan asked, looking at his father curiously.

“Why? You have a notorious reputation, son. You rack up gambling debts as if they are scraps of paper instead of banknotes! You and your friends have kept the company of rude women—there is no end to who might want to see you harmed.”

Nathan knew he’d had his share of encounters with men who were unsavory. He’d had his debts, yes, but he’d paid his debts and could not understand why any of his so-called enemies would set fire to the orangery. What would be gained from it?

“Your expression suggests that you see the validity of my concern,” the marquis scoffed.

“Your opinion of me is alarming, sir,” Nathan said wryly.

“Were I you, I’d have the sheriff look into it,” his father continued, ignoring Nathan’s remark. “And furthermore, I would keep your wife in this house for her own safety. The more she is about, the more people begin to speculate.”

“Speculate as to what?”

“Your marriage,” his father said curtly.

Something in Nathan snapped. There was little wonder Evelyn could not stand to be at Eastchurch. Not only had she suffered the greatest of tragedies here, but the entire world seemed to have an opinion on how she had shouldered the death of her child.

“Thank you,” Nathan said curtly. “I am doing my best, Father, to mend my marriage. I appreciate your concern, but I think that only Evelyn and I can know best how to proceed with our life together.”

“I cannot impress on you enough how such scandals appear to those who would tear down the monarchy. And if the monarchy goes, you may be certain that families like ours shall be right behind it.”

“How I wish,” Nathan said tightly, “that you desired my marriage to be repaired for my sake as opposed to the monarchy. Please excuse me, Father,” Nathan said, and walked out of the study before he said something he truly regretted.

When Evelyn appeared for supper wearing a gown the color of autumn leaves and trimmed in dark green, she walked into the blue drawing room as if she were walking into the Inquisition. The emeralds that dangled from her ears and throat twinkled in the light of the candles as she glanced around the room, looking for the Inquisitors.

When she didn’t see them, she looked curiously at Nathan.

“The DuPauls have graciously invited our parents again to dine,” he said simply.

That clearly confused her. “To dine…without us?”

He smiled. “No. The invitation was extended to us as well. But I declined on our behalf.”

Her brow furrowed. He nodded. A light dawned in her eyes, and she smiled so brilliantly that he felt the force of it down to his toes. “Nathan! You’re a scoundrel!” she exclaimed. “A brilliant, wonderful scoundrel!”

“Thank you,” he said, and held out a glass of wine to her.

Evelyn didn’t hesitate; she glided forward, took the glass from his hand, and put it to her lips. She sipped, then lowered the glass and smiled saucily. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, my lord. I could not possibly have endured another evening.” She laughed and held her wineglass out from her body, and pushed air into her cheeks. “Evelyn, you must buck up,” she said, mimicking her father. “Men do not care for weepy women.”

Nathan chuckled and touched his glass to hers.

“Nathan, my darling,” she said, affecting the gravelly voice of his mother, “surely you know ladies do not care for gentlemen who smoke. The smell weakens their constitution.” She laughed.

“Very good,” he said with a grin.

Evelyn snorted into her wineglass. She took another sip, smiling coyly. “So what have you planned for tonight? Another picnic?”

He shook his head.

“No?” She actually sounded disappointed.

“A quiet supper,” Nathan said. “I hope you don’t mind—I had quite enough to do to arrange the evening with the DuPauls after my father’s abuse of their hospitality.”

Evelyn laughed, the sound of it sweet to his ears, and his smile deepened. His wife seemed relaxed, more at home than he’d seen her yet.

A brisk rap on the door and Benton entered. Evelyn moved away from Nathan as Benton busied himself with stoking the fire. She stood directly behind Benton, one hand extended toward the warmth of the fire. Her hair was tied up in bandeaux, the same green as her gown, leaving her neck bare.

Nathan wanted to kiss her neck, just at the base.

“I hope Cook has made venison stew,” she said wistfully. “I’ve never had venison stew quite like she makes it, and I confess, I’ve missed it terribly.”

“Benton, you best tell Lady Lindsey that she will dine on venison stew tonight, or surrender your position and repair to the stables to pitch hay at once,” Nathan ordered without taking his gaze from Evelyn.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but Cook has prepared the quail his lordship specifically requested,” Benton said with a bow of his head.

Evelyn giggled.

“To the stables, then, Benton,” Nathan ordered.

“As you wish, my lord.” Benton went out.

“You’re horrible!” Evelyn laughingly exclaimed. “You’ve always been entirely wretched to the poor man.”

“The threat of losing his position keeps him keenly attentive to my needs,” Nathan said with a lopsided smile as he moved closer to her. “It makes for a better butler.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “You would lose your position here before Benton, and well he knows it.”

“Oh? I could have sworn he trembles at the sound of my voice,” Nathan argued playfully, and reached up, catching one of her earrings with his fingers. “May I remark that you look stunning tonight, Lady Lindsey?”

She smiled and tilted her head back. “You may.”

He looked into her eyes—fell into them, really. “You are stunning tonight. You have grown more beautiful with time.”

She laughed lightly and poked him in the chest. “You never thought I was beautiful.”

“I did indeed!”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You once told me I was pleasing…but never beautiful.”

“Then I am a bigger fool than I thought,” he said, smiling at her lips. “To me, you are the most beautiful woman in all of England.”

She laughed a little as he toyed with her earring. “Such flattery! Another attempt to lure me into your bed.”

He smiled. “Am I so obvious?”

“No,” she said lightly, “but I am a lot wiser.”

He touched his finger to her ear lobe. “I have noticed. Perhaps a more direct approach is in order. Will you come to my bed?”

Evelyn went up on her toes, lifting her face just inches below his. With her head tilted back, her eyes half closed, she was incredibly alluring, and Nathan’s pulse leapt with hopeful anticipation.

“I am ravenous,” she said silkily, easing back down. “Might we have that quail sooner rather than later?” With another impudent smile, she moved away from him and toward the door of the salon.

Dear God. At that moment, he feared he could give the woman whatever her heart desired, her affair, their separation, all of it notwithstanding. Jewels, wealth—honestly, he’d follow her to hell and back if that was what she wanted. Evelyn astounded him. She was as seductive and captivating as any woman could ever hope to be, and he was completely besotted.

She paused gracefully at the door, waiting for him to open it. He could imagine how many times she’d done that in London, how many ways she had intrigued the men who followed her about like rabid dogs. He could not allow himself to think of those things—he had to push them from his mind, for it made him outrageously jealous.

He calmly opened the door and offered her his arm. She placed her hand on it lightly and allowed him to lead her down the hall.

As they neared the dining room, Evelyn slowed. But Nathan kept walking, leading her past the dining room.

She smiled up at him. “I thought you said there were no surprises this evening.”

“I said no picnic,” he said with a wink, and watched Evelyn’s face light with pleasure when he paused at the door to the sun room. “One of my favorite rooms!” she exclaimed.

Nathan opened the door and ushered her through.

He had to hand it to Benton—he’d outdone himself again. The reflection in the glass windows and ceiling of a dozen beeswax candles made it seem like dozens more. On either end, fires burned in the small hearths of the supporting brick walls. For a cold November night, the room seemed cozy and warm.

In the middle of the room was a small table, set for two. A five-pronged candelabra and vase of floating hothouse flowers graced the middle. Wine had already been poured, which could only mean that Benton was lurking somewhere nearby, ready to serve at a moment’s notice.

“Oh my,” Evelyn said as she walked in and twirled around, turning her face up to the ceiling. “It’s remarkable!” She smiled brilliantly at Nathan. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve such extraordinary attention.”

“Survived our parents,” Nathan said.

She grinned and twirled around again. “It’s lovely, Nathan.”

“Shall I serve, my lord?”

The sound of Benton’s voice startled Nathan and he sighed irritably. The man had a knack for interrupting at the wrong moments.

“Please, Benton. I am starved,” Evelyn said politely.

With Benton off to bring the supper, Nathan helped Evelyn into one of the two chairs at the table, then took a seat across from her. Her eyes shimmered in the light of the candles and Nathan could not help picturing those eyes as she lay beneath him. He shifted uncomfortably; he couldn’t say when it happened, but somehow, Evelyn had gone from being his fragile, grief-stricken wife to this self-possessed beauty.

“Do you recall the summer of the kitchen fire when we lived with your parents at Sudley House?”

“Of course. It was the longest summer of my life,” Nathan quipped.

“At least you were free to come and go.” Evelyn laughed. “I spent most of the summer in the company of your mother and aunt.”

“Ah,” he said with a grimace.

“It was a very sedate summer with quite a lot of reading and embroidery work,” she continued. “I very much liked to ride, but your father would only permit me an old horse, as he was fearful I would fall. I very much liked to walk the grounds, too, but I had to do it early in the morning before your mother was about, for she believes too much walking can be harmful to a lady.”

“Mother has many such opinions,” Nathan agreed. “When I was a lad, she didn’t like for me to run, as she thought it would harm my lungs.”

Evelyn smiled. So did Nathan.

“I found the conservatory one morning,” she continued. “It was my haven. I went there in the afternoons to read or to paint. Or to sing if I liked, for no one was about. Just the old groundskeeper.” She laughed. “He would pause just beyond the walls and peer in as if he were seeing an animal at a zoo.”

Nathan’s belly did a queer little flip. He scarcely remembered that summer. He was gone for most of it, off to London with Donnelly for a time, and then the two of them up to Edinburgh to fetch Lambourne.

Her reminiscing was interrupted by the arrival of a pair of footmen, who carried in twin platters covered with silver domes, Benton just behind them. They uncovered the platters and placed plates with roasted quail, barley, and asparagus before Evelyn and Nathan.

“Oh, it smells delicious, Benton!” Evelyn exclaimed, clasping her hands before her. “You must give my compliments to Cook.”

“I shall indeed, madam.” He removed Evelyn’s linen from the table, snapped it open with a flourish, and laid it carefully in her lap.

If Benton and his band of merry footmen didn’t leave at once, Nathan was going to plant a boot up his arse and help him out the door. When Benton moved for Nathan’s linen, he batted his hand away. “All right, all right, you’ve served,” he said. “Be gone with you, all of you. Can’t a man dine with his wife without everyone hovering about?”

“Very good, my lord,” Benton said, and gestured for the two footmen to quit the room.

As they went out, Nathan sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Evelyn smiled as she took a bite of quail. “It’s divine,” she said, and gestured with her fork to his plate. “You should try it.”

He picked up his fork. She was right—it was delicious.

“I certainly never had quail in the conservatory,” she added with a laugh.

“I wonder if you have any good memories of our marriage,” Nathan asked bluntly.

Her brows rose as she daintily cut another piece of quail. “Of course I do. Several, in fact.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the day of our wedding, for one,” she said. “And the birth of our child.”

She said it, he noticed, without flinching.

“I remember the county horse races we attended and how much we both enjoyed them. We always seemed happy with one another there.”

“We were happy with one another most places,” he said.

She shrugged and smiled a little. “Would you like to know when I was happiest?” she asked as she ate another forkful of quail.

“I wonder,” he drawled, “if it could possibly be the same moment I was happiest.”

“Oh, no, I’m certain it was not,” she said instantly.

Her answer disappointed him. He was feeling ridiculously sentimental and wanted to believe they’d been happy. “Tell me,” he said, taking a generous bite of the quail himself.

“When I bested you so handily at archery.”

His head came up at that; she was smiling, and it made him feel infinitely lighter. “Bested me?” he echoed incredulously. “You did not best me, Evie!”

Evelyn burst out laughing, the sound of it as light as air. “I most certainly did! How could you have forgotten, Nathan? You are positively horrible with a bow and arrow, and I have a very steady arm.”

“Your memory has served only to elevate your prowess.” He laughed. “I’d wager you could no more beat me in the game of archery than you could pick me up.”