The Book Of Scandal (4 page)

“Oh, and you have lived like a monk all this time, is that what you’d have me believe? I have always had the misfortune of knowing what went on at Eastchurch Abbey, but now it would seem the whole country knows of it! I’ve heard of the women, Nathan, and the gambling, and the soirées!”

“You are coming home,” he snapped.

She tossed her head back and stared at him defiantly. “Do you intend to force me? For I will not go willingly.”

His gaze hardened. “Is that a threat?”

“Take it as you will! You dare to waltz into my life after three long years and think you can tell me what to do, particularly based on something as absurd as the accusations of the Princess of Wales!” she said. “Now kindly let go of my arm and allow me to return to the ball!”

But Nathan did not let go. He was aware that several people watched them, feeding on the spat between the Earl and Countess of Lindsey, but he hardly cared. The only thing that concerned him at the moment was the infuriatingly stubborn and open way his wife defied him. “I will say this once, wife. Gather your things, say fare thee well to your lovers, and be prepared to travel to Eastchurch Abbey by week’s end!”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed in a way Nathan recalled all too well. “I will say this once, husband,” she said, yanking her arm free of his grasp once more. “I will not return to Eastchurch Abbey! Not now, not ever! You cannot force me against my will!” With that, she whirled around and marched into the crowd, her head high.

Nathan forced down an overwhelming desire to snatch her back and take her now. To take her in more ways than one. She’d riled his blood in a way it hadn’t been riled in a very long time.

Instead, he watched her disappear into the throng, and when he could no longer see her, he turned and strode out the door, signaling to a footman to have his coach brought round at once.

Bloody hell, Evelyn.

If she insisted on making this difficult, he would certainly oblige her.

E velyn’s heart was still pounding, her hands still shaking, and it was two hours after her encounter with her estranged husband.

She paced the floor in her rooms at Buckingham House, where the queen and her six daughters currently resided (the king preferring St. James’s Palace), trying to rid herself of the feelings of confusion and anger.

Horrible, wretched man!

Oh, but she’d forgotten how blue his eyes were, as blue as a cloudless October sky. She’d forgotten how little lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes, indicating his easy smile. He’d had an easy smile once. It was one of the things she’d loved about him when she was young and naïve and far too trusting.

And his hair, so darkly brown it was almost black, thick and shining. He wore it a little too long for London, but then again, he’d not been to London in years as far as she knew. He was impeccably dressed, his figure commanding in formal black tails. His shoulders were a little broader than memory served…

How dare he suddenly appear in London without as much as a word of warning and command her home? She was furious with him!

Evelyn was determined not to return to Eastchurch Abbey—it was not to be borne! She couldn’t go back there, not after everything that had happened.

Mary would help her. Princess Mary would never allow her to be whisked away! On the morrow, she would seek Mary’s help.

But tonight…tonight, she had to get word to Pierce. She hurried to her secretary and withdrew a piece of thick vellum. In her haste to dip the pen in ink, she spilled a bit from the well. She muttered under her breath as she dabbed at the stain. If nothing else, her husband’s sudden appearance had finally forced her to admit that she was developing feelings for Pierce.

That realization appalled her, titillated her, and frightened her. It was precisely the reason she hadn’t wanted to attend the ball at Carlton House tonight, and it was precisely the reason she could not stay away.

When she’d first escaped to London, she had found great relief in a Carlton House ball. She could lose herself among the hundreds of guests, dance until she was dizzy, drink punch spiced with whiskey until she was numb. A restless nervousness had pervaded her that could only be quenched with exhausting social activity.

But things had changed since her first year as a lady of the bedchamber to the queen and the princesses, and in particular, to Mary, the Prince of Wales’s favored sister. Now, Evelyn wanted to avoid the crush and prying eyes, to avoid the man who had captured her attention so completely of late: Pierce Fielding, Lord Dunhill.

Evelyn could scarcely say how it had even happened. She’d met the dashing Lord Dunhill at a supper party and had found a bit of common ground: an intense dislike for peas.

Pierce had noticed Evelyn absently pushing them around her plate, and had remarked on it.

“I beg your pardon,” she’d said with a smile, “but I cannot abide peas. I couldn’t tolerate them as a child, and I cannot tolerate them now.”

“Really?” he’d asked, arching a golden brow high above the other. “Even the duke’s peas?”

Amused, Evelyn had looked around the room then whispered, “Especially the duke’s peas.”

Pierce had laughed and moved closer to her.

They chatted all evening, and she’d left Lord Cumberland’s that night feeling as light as a feather, as if she were floating out to the carriage the queen had sent for her and the other ladies in attendance. Evelyn hadn’t felt that way since…since a time she could no longer bear to remember.

Her affection for Pierce had grown since then. She saw him at this party, or that soirée. She was acutely aware of his increasing interest in her, and she was certain he was aware of her interest in him. How could she not find him agreeable? He was witty; he was handsome, slender and golden-haired. He was a gentleman, well regarded by most. And the way he looked at her…Lord, but it made her feel all fluttery inside.

And then one morning he’d come to Buckingham and asked Evelyn if she would join him in a walkabout in the gardens. As the heady scent of lilacs enveloped them, Pierce had let it be known how much he enjoyed her company…but how much more he could enjoy her company were she of a mind. And then he made a very romantic and stirring speech as to how he would enjoy her—and she him—even more in his bed.

Evelyn had managed to maintain her composure, even though her heart was racing. She refrained from telling him how much she liked his company, too, how she would very much like to be in his bed—she’d fantasized about it often enough. Instead she’d said, “Surely you must know that I am married, my lord.”

He’d laughed at her naïveté. “It has hardly escaped my notice,” he said, glancing at the finger on which she wore her wedding ring. “But it is a marriage in name only, Evelyn. You cannot claim otherwise—you have been waiting on the princess for three years.”

It was true and everyone knew it. Evelyn had heard the whispering about the demise of her marriage in the hallways of Buckingham House. Her wedding to Nathan Grey, Earl of Lindsey, had been a notable event. Even the king and queen had attended the ceremony. But their very public marriage had dissolved after the death of their son.

She and Nathan had failed one another miserably after Robbie’s death, and Pierce wasn’t the first man to have eyed her lustfully since then.

But he was the first to have captivated her.

“I believe, with all my heart, that you have feelings for me, as well,” he’d said boldly that sunny morning.

“Sir! I would never own to such a thing!”

“Wouldn’t you?” he’d asked, and dismissed any more protest with a kiss behind a lilac bush—a soft, sweetly tender kiss that conveyed his regard and his desire for her.

That was the second time Evelyn had floated to her rooms.

Since that morning in the queen’s garden, she’d been at sixes and sevens. She’d lain awake more than one night, considering his proposition. Could she really have an affair with him? Toss aside all her moral convictions? The Lord knew she desired him—oh yes, she desired him. She missed a man’s touch. And really, why shouldn’t she accept his offer? She was young; she had her own physical needs that had gone unmet for far too long. Besides, everyone in the prince’s circle engaged in adulterous affairs, and rather openly at that—it was common knowledge that the prince particularly made a habit of it.

Was it really so wrong? Wasn’t it just as Pierce had said—people involved in marriages arranged for title and fortune were expected to find love elsewhere?

Perhaps…but what bothered her was that she hadn’t believed that when she took her vows. She had believed in the marriage of fairy tales. Yet she had not laid eyes on her husband in three years.

Surely there was another alternative to adultery. Parliamentary divorce? It was the only route that seemed plausible, given that she could not prove any other standard for divorce, such as insanity or relation by blood. A parliamentary divorce was very expensive, she knew, but she fancied that her father—or even Pierce—would want to help her.

Perhaps…perhaps after all this time, her husband might be agreeable. The Prince of Wales sought a divorce—how could anyone fault her for doing the same?

But what if her husband wasn’t agreeable?

Her confusion as to what to make of her feelings for Pierce had grown as quickly as her regard for the man. The more she saw him, the more she wanted to retreat, to deny her feelings. She was afraid to see him, afraid not to see him. She was afraid of what she might do, of what she might not do.

She’d told Pierce as much in a letter this past week. She’d expressed her fears and her doubts, laboring over the wording, careful to tell him of her regard for him, but imploring him not to call on her any longer. She was a married woman. She could not forsake her vows, not even in the privacy of her own heart. Even if her vows had been, for all intents and purposes, forsaken years ago.

Or could she?

After she’d written it, Evelyn had debated whether to send the letter, but in the end, she had given in to the need to reach out to him. From the moment she’d watched the footman carry the vellum out her door, she’d waited. And waited.

She imagined every footman she saw was bringing her a letter with Pierce’s response; every messenger that arrived would surely ask for her. But at week’s end, she’d heard…nothing. Her letter had been met with a deafening silence.

Where was he? Had he received her letter? Had it somehow been diverted? Or perhaps her letter had displeased him. Perhaps he’d merely been carrying on a meaningless court flirtation after all.

When Princess Mary had asked Evelyn to attend the Prince of Wales’s ball tonight, Evelyn thought she might at last have her answer.

Mary had fallen in love, unfortunately, with Prince William of Gloucester, and as the queen rarely let her daughters out of her sight—particularly not to attend a social event with potential for scandal such as one of the Prince of Wales’s balls—she had to rely on various ladies to communicate for her.

In other words, the only way Mary could communicate with Gloucester from under the watchful eye of her mother was to send a note.

Evelyn had seen her opportunity, for surely Pierce would be in attendance as he was a friend of the prince. She had gone, crowding into the ornate hall beneath a dozen crystal chandeliers and a dozen gilded cages, with a bulky letter in her pocket intended for William.

She’d been at the ball an hour without seeing any sign of Pierce or, for that matter, Gloucester, and was beginning to fret she’d not see either man when she spotted Gloucester chatting up the Prince of Wales—who, incidentally, looked rather well into his cups at only half past midnight.

Evelyn started in that direction—the sooner she had divested herself of Mary’s love letter, the sooner she could take her leave. She moved through the crowd, smiling and greeting acquaintances by rote, her heart feeling a bit hurt by Pierce’s silence.

But as she passed the door leading into the service area, someone caught her by the elbow. “My Lady Lindsey.”

She recognized his voice instantly and whirled around; a smile instantly lit her face. She looked directly into Pierce’s brown eyes, shining with pleasure and desire.

“Dunhill,” she’d said demurely, conscious of the ears and eyes around them, as she sank into a curtsy. “I thought you hadn’t come. I thought perhaps you wouldn’t come.”

He lifted her up and leaned forward slightly. “I debated it, in truth. I didn’t relish the thought of having my fool heart crushed again.”

Evelyn blushed. “I didn’t crush your heart—”

“You did,” he said, putting a hand to his chest. “Into pieces.”

She quickly looked around and leaned forward slightly. “Don’t tease me. The situation is impossible—”

“Not impossible, Evelyn,” he’d urged her, and cupped her elbow, pulling her a bit closer. “You can come with me, now. Tonight.”

She was mesmerized by his eyes and his offer, but torn with indecision. “Pierce!” she whispered. “Please have a care! There is enough scandal among the royal family without adding to it.”

“You are the one who has created this scandal, by taking my heart and folding it up in that letter and sending it back to me.”

“Now you are being overly dramatic.”

“Am I?” he asked, leaning closer, his mouth almost touching her hair. “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, for thinking of you. I long for you in my bed, Evelyn. I know you want it as much as I do—I can see it in the flush of your skin, in the shine of your eyes. Say you will come with me tonight. My town house is empty, save an old butler who cannot hear.”

Come with me tonight…

Evelyn had been on the verge of saying yes. The word had been on her lips, her desire fanning out through her limbs—

And then he had come.

Now, pacing alone, she hugged herself. She felt restless. “What will I do?” she asked herself. She couldn’t bear to return to Eastchurch Abbey. She couldn’t bear to see the church graveyard where her son was buried, to face all those memories in every single room of that sprawling mansion. She couldn’t bear to revive the pain of her marriage, always wondering where Nathan was, if he was with Mrs. DuPaul, the woman in whose arms he’d sought solace after Robbie had died.