Twice the Temptation (22 page)

 
“We’ll say the wheel was loose, so we stopped on the way back to Munroe House for my curricle and my tiger,” he decided. “A bit unconventional, but considering that I was being mindful of your safety, I think your parents will accept the story.”

 
He sent Winters off to fetch a box, and took the moment to twine his fingers with hers. “Will you be wearing the diamond again?”

 
“Absolutely not. I prefer to make my own luck.” She grinned. “Though I may stick it in Mama’s pocket for the recital tomorrow night.”

 
“Which recital?”

 
“Lord and Lady Baxley’s four daughters. You didn’t receive an invitation? I thought they would invite every single gentleman in London to attend.”
“They did. I declined. I shall have to send over a note of apology and reacceptance.”

 
“I don’t believe they play very proficiently. That is the rumor, at any rate.”

 
“I have no doubts on that count. But I intend to be self-serving and make an appearance for my own selfish reasons.” He kissed her again, closing his eyes as her lips molded to his. She could almost tempt a fellow to try his hand at poetry.

 
Winters in the doorway cleared his throat, and Connoll reluctantly took a step back from Gilly. “Will this do, my lord?” the butler asked, holding up what looked like one of his good cigar boxes. One that had been nearly full.

 
“Perfect,” he said, taking it. “You have the key,” he reminded Gilly, gesturing her toward his office.

 
Beside the desk she handed the small brass key back to him. “Don’t touch it, Connoll,” she blurted as he unlocked the drawer and pulled it open.

 
A responding smile curved his mouth. “Thank you for saying that,” he returned. “And I have no intention of risking bad luck now.” Sliding a quill pen through the gold, diamond-encrusted chain, he lifted up the glittering beauty and deposited it in his cigar box. “There you go.” He closed the lid and handed the box over to her.

 
She took it with clear reluctance, both hands keeping the lid securely closed. Considering that thus far the bad luck had seemed to involve separating the two of them, he took her care not to touch the Nightshade Diamond as a very good sign.

 
“Are you going to tell your mother that I found it and returned it to you?” he asked.

 
“I haven’t decided yet.”

 
Connoll hid another smile as he helped her outside to his waiting curricle. They still had a ways to go, but he would take any sign of Gilly defying her mother as a step taken in his direction. And he considered that to be very, very good luck.

 
Chapter 12

 
“There’s that blasted man again,” Lady Munroehissed under her breath. “No, don’t look at him, Gilly, you’ll only encourage him to…Oh, wonderful, here he comes.”

 
Gilly smiled as Connoll crossed the floor of the Baxley music room to greet her. She couldn’t help herself; when he appeared she felt instantly warmer, on the inside where it didn’t show.

 
“Good evening, Lord Munroe, Lady Munroe, Evangeline,” he said, sketching an elegant bow. “I had no idea you were so fond of musicales.”

 
“Lady Baxley is a dear friend of mine,” her mother said, not even the hint of a smile in her voice or her eyes. Evidently the conversation Gilly had begun about happiness hadn’t made even a slight dent in Lady Munroe’s prejudice against Connoll.

 
Showing more life than he generally did, her father smiled and shook Connoll’s hand. “Good evening, lad. How fairs your phaeton?”

 
“I had the axle replaced this morning. Damnable bit
of luck, that. The thing was as sound as stone until yesterday.”

 
This time her mother’s eyes did flash. “I should hope so, Lord Rawley. It was very poorly done of you to drive my daughter about in such a dangerous vehicle.”

 
“Mama,” Evangeline broke in, “I’m certain Connoll would never have driven the phaeton if he’d known something was amiss.”

 
“Let’s find some seats, shall we?” her father suggested. “Connoll, sit with us.”

 
“Glad to.”

 
Apparently Connoll Addison—or his cigars—had won over the viscount. If only the viscountess could be convinced, Evangeline would sleep much easier. As it was, what she wanted to do and what all of her mother’s advice said she should do couldn’t possibly be any farther apart. And she’d only given herself seven days to convince her mother that a lifetime of lessons delivered and learned were wrong.

 
“Did you forget, John,” her mother grated, “that I’ve already invited Lord Redmond to sit with us?”

 
The viscount frowned. “I didn’t—”

 
“Please fetch me some Madeira,” his wife interrupted. “Lord Rawley, perhaps you might assist Lord Munroe in finding a footman.”

 
Connoll glanced at Evangeline, the question clear in his eyes. Did she want him to stay? The answer was yes, but obviously her mother wished to talk to her about something in private. She angled her head in her father’s direction. “I would appreciate a glass as well, if you don’t mind,” she said.

 
“Not a bit.” Nodding, the marquis gestured her father to precede him.

 
“You see what Rawley’s doing?” her mother whispered
sharply. “He already has your father making all sorts of mad decisions. Can you imagine what he would do if you married him?”

 
“Perhaps you should make an effort to know him, Mama,” Evangeline replied. “He’s very nice.”

 
“He’s a drunken lout who has French sympathies and probably keeps a dozen mistresses. Open your eyes, Gilly. Don’t be blinded by a handsome face. Faces change. It’s a man’s character you must consider. And his is lacking.”

 
“If you would converse with him, I think you would find that Connoll has a great deal of character.” An almost overwhelming quantity, in fact, but she wasn’t about to say that aloud.

 
“Bah. And you should not refer to him by his Christian name. It will make him too familiar.”

 
“Mama, I do not wish to have this discussion here. And since Con—Lord Rawley—is here and has been invited to sit with us, we—”

 
“Yes, by your idiot father.”

 
“—we should make the best of it.”

 
“Oh, very well. But I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

 
Evangeline knew she was going to win the argument, whether her mother realized it or not—because her mother carried the Nightshade Diamond in her reticule. It colored how Evangeline argued, and the way she was able to keep a reasonable tone even in the face of her mother’s obvious venom. And it might make the viscountess understand that they would all be better off if she would at least listen to what Connoll had to say.

 
Aunt Rachel had been right when she’d indicated that the owner of the jewel could benefit fromnot wearing it. And Gilly was beginning to understand that she owed her aunt a debt of thanks. Halfway across the room,
Connoll turned to look at her and grinned. A very large debt of thanks.

 
“Ah, there’s Redmond.” Brushing past her, the viscountess went to greet the earl.

 
Surprised, Evangeline quickly searched the area immediately around where they’d been standing, fully expecting to see that the diamond had fallen onto the floor. Instead she caught sight of her mother’s reticule lying across the chair she’d claimed for herself. “Damnation,” she muttered.

 
“What is it?” a low, familiar voice asked from just beyond her elbow. Connoll handed her a glass of Madeira.

 
Before she answered, she took a generous swallow. “Redmond’s here, and I’m going to have to sit between him and Mama because she’s left her reticule on her seat.”

 
Connoll eyed her. “Oh, heavens. Then I suggest an immediate elopement to Gretna Green,” he returned easily. “Or an attack on Calais.”

 
“This isn’t amusing.”

 
“Tell me why not, so I may be alarmed, as well.”

 
“It’s not amusing because the diamond’s in her bag.”

 
He gazed from her to the reticule and back again. “You actually hid it on her person?”

 
“I was angry with her. And she still won’t listen to me.”

 
“Well done, Gilly.”

 
She couldn’t help smiling at his obvious admiration. This man wanted her, wanted to marry her.Goodness . “I only have a week. I thought the Nightshade might assist me. But she put the diamond down, and now she’ll have my—our—good luck.”

 
“Hm. Allow me.” He went to the chair, then turned back around and handed her his glass. “Just in case,”
he drawled, and picked the bag up by the strings.

 
“What are you going to—”

 
“Lady Munroe,” he said in a conversational tone, strolling to the viscountess’s side, “the room’s becoming rather crowded. I didn’t want your reticule to be misplaced.”

 
She snatched it from his fingers as though she expected him to make off with it. As if Connoll on his worst day could be mistaken for a common cutpurse. “Let’s take our seats, shall we?” Evangeline suggested, wrapping her arm around Connoll’s until they were firmly seated beside one another.

 
With a humph the viscountess sat on Evangeline’s other side and drew her husband down beside her, probably so she wouldn’t have to sit beside her elderly prospective son-in-law. Redmond looked lost for a moment, then sat down beside her father.

 
Once the recital began, Connoll dug into his breast pocket and handed her the folded piece of paper he liberated. “For you,” he murmured.

 
“What is it?” Surely he hadn’t written her a poem. She’d never thought of him as that…flowery.

 
“It’s a list. Of all my faults, in case that was your next question.” He frowned briefly. “All the ones I could think of, anyway. You said you were worried that you didn’t know me better. I asked Winters and Hodges for suggestions as well, but Winters declined to answer, and Hodges fled the room.”

 
She laughed, covering her mouth as her mother elbowed her sharply in the ribs. Once the viscountess returned her attention to the musicians, Evangeline unfolded the note. Whatever it said, she had the feeling she wouldn’t consider anything written there insurmountable. Or even a fault, probably.

 
“‘I enjoy arguing,’” she read in a whisper. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

 
“Keep going. I began with the obvious ones.”

 
“‘I am impulsive.’” She looked over at him. From her admittedly limited experience, he seemed to be quite the strategist—not something she thought very compatible with impulsiveness. “How so?” she asked.

 
He shrugged. “I went off to France to save paintings in the middle of a war. Not the wisest thing I’ve ever done.”

 
“But you did save them.”

 
“Presumably. Some or most of them might have been perfectly fine without my interference. In return for my excursion, though—well, you’ve heard the rumors.”