Veiled in Blue (6 page)

An hour later, Julius was on his way, a plain parcel in his hands. He would never forget his poor valet’s face when he insisted the garments be wrapped as tightly as possible in brown paper. He was still smiling when he walked back into the inn.

“Oh look,” Mrs. Merton said. “There’s that man, Mr. Vernon. And he’s carrying something. I wonder what it could be?”

“Mama, it’s none of our business.” Eve refused to gawp out of the window. While she guessed who “that man” must be, she would not succumb to the kind of curiosity the rest of the village indulged in. She wasn’t so high-minded she thought gossip was above her, but she considered people had a right to go about their business without others speculating about them.

This time, a curl of curiosity crept up, despite her good intentions. “What is he carrying?”

Her mother turned around, her eyes sparkling. “I knew you were interested in him!”

“Mama, he is new to the village. That is all. My interest is merely academic.” Carefully, she stuck her needle into the fabric, taking more care than necessary, so she did not have to look at her triumphant parent.

“Nonsense. You have three suitors, my dear. You should be pleased with yourself.”

Why did her mother persist in such nonsense? In three years, Eve would reach thirty, well past marriageable age. “I have no portion, Mama. None. What man will take me without that? And what security could I hope for?” They might flirt, but they might never come up to the mark.

Six years ago, on her father’s death and the lowering discovery that he had lived beyond his means for a number of years, Eve had set her mind away from marriage. “Sir Henry enjoys flirting. That is all. Mr. King is merely ingratiating himself with local society. Mr. Vernon is moving on in a few weeks. None will make me an offer, Mama. Why should they?”

“Sir Henry wants a mother for his children. He is comfortably off and may make provision for you himself. Mr. King is well-circumstanced. Of all three, Mr. Vernon appears the least endowed, but we do not know for sure.” Mrs. Merton shrugged. “He could be one of those wealthy Cits we’re always reading about. I am not so particular, and I know you are not. You could be a good wife to any one of them.”

Eve refused to get her hopes up. She would not yearn for something beyond her reach. That had been her whole purpose in seeking a post as a governess. She refused to let life pass her by, and she would do what she had to. “Nevertheless, they will marry other ladies, Mama. Their company enlivens the day, but I will not consider any of them as serious until one actually makes good. Not that I expect any of them to do so,” she added hastily, when her mother’s expression lightened.

“My dear, what you lack in fortune, you make up for in beauty. A beautiful woman may go far.”

Eve sighed. Why was she having this discussion yet again? She glanced outside at the sunny day. “I will not be holding my breath,” she said.

She liked all of them, in different ways. Sir Henry’s steadiness and his position in local society must always appeal to a young woman with an uncertain future, and Mr. King had purchased a not inconsiderable establishment a few miles away. Mr. Vernon—he was merely being polite and perhaps amusing himself while his lordship kept him kicking his heels.

Her mother took a deep breath and clasped her hands. “Then you should,” she said. “What if he knows of your true origins?”

Eve’s stomach sank. “Not that again, Mama. I am Eve Merton.”

“You are Eve Stuart,” her mother said. She indicated the engraving on the wall that hid the secrets.

Or the fairy tale that had enlivened her childhood. All her life, her parents had referred to her as special. Eve had at first assumed that was because she was an only child, but after her father’s death, her mother had shown her the papers.

The staggering fact that she was the granddaughter of a deposed king had amazed Eve while it stretched her credulity to its absolute limits. For a while, she had spent her nights dreaming of the time when she would go to Rome and reclaim her heritage. A happy fantasy, but she never fooled herself that there was any truth in the story.

Then she had examined the papers. From then on, Eve accepted that the stories had some truth. But what did it matter? After all, nobody could imagine such a thing. A secret princess, hidden in a sleepy village just waiting for her prince? She hardly thought so. Where her mother was a dreamer, Eve was a pragmatist. Someone had to be, especially when her father had left them so ill-circumstanced.

“I am Eve Merton,” she repeated now. “Mama, I wish you would just burn those papers and leave be.”

As a child, Eve had been glad of the stories her mother told her at bedtime, about princes and beggar maids, beauties hidden in kitchen ashes, but now? It was past time to put childish things away. Although she had come to accept her heritage, she had not spun dreams and imaginings around it, as her mother had. What point would there be? So she was a king’s granddaughter. Plenty of people were, and not all of them reaped the benefits. Plenty got into deep water, though. If her biological father had wanted her, he would have sent for her, but all the evidence pointed to the fact that he couldn’t care less.

She sprang to her feet. “I will take Muffy for a walk,” she said. “The exercise will be good for him.”

If Mr. Vernon had reappeared, perhaps she would meet him, as she had said she would. She had little faith in the casual question, but was heartened by his visit. Perhaps he would appear. Anything was better than sitting in this room listening to her mother’s rambling.

Her mother’s old spaniel tended to keep his perambulations to the house and garden, but as a result he was growing somewhat stout. A brisk walk on this lovely day would suit them both.

Mrs. Merton glanced out of the window again. “No one would want to be cooped up on such a lovely day. In fact, I believe I will dead-head a few rose bushes. It is a fine day, far too good to waste.”

Relieved her mother had not continued with her lecture, Eve hurried away to find Muffy and his lead. Ten minutes later, armed with an ageing spaniel, a broad-brimmed straw hat, and a pair of gloves, Eve sallied forth on to the village green.

A familiar figure stood in the shade of the big oak tree near the inn. Her heart took a leap, banging hard against her chest, but the distance between them gave Eve a chance to regain some of her calm. Eve headed toward the church at the other end of the green, setting a brisk pace. It took him little time to catch up with her. He tipped his hat. “A fine day, Miss Merton. And a fine-looking dog.”

She laughed. “Muffy belongs to my mother. He’s an old boy, but he has all the enthusiasm of a puppy. When he is not sleeping, that is.”

Muffy wagged his tail vigorously as if he knew she was talking about him. Laughing, Mr. Vernon bent and patted him. Muffy reacted with shameful abandon. Placing his paws on Mr. Vernon’s knees, he rose so Mr. Vernon could give him the tribute he deserved.

Eve couldn’t resist smiling. Nothing daunted, Mr. Vernon ruffled the spaniel’s ears, in a way that always turned Muffy into a slavish follower.

“Do you have experience with spaniels, sir?”

“I like dogs.” He glanced at her. “My daughter has often begged me for one, but I told her to wait. She has reached her sixth birthday, so I suppose I must consider it now. Would you recommend a spaniel?”

He must miss his daughter. “They’re good natured and lively. Muffy sleeps a lot these days, but when they’re puppies, they’re always busy. And they shed.”

Easing Muffy’s paws off his legs, Mr. Vernon brushed at his breeches as he stood. His lips held a wry smile. “As I see. He works hard at that, doesn’t he?”

She laughed. “He does indeed.” Muffy had left his presence on not a few pieces of furniture. “My mother tends to take the path of least resistance and favors brown as her color of choice for upholstery.”

“Although not her gowns.”

“No, indeed.” Her mother had a penchant for green, a color that appeared nowhere in Muffy’s fur. Consequently, her clothes became bedaubed with strands of brown fur, especially in the spring and autumn, when Muffy concentrated on shedding the coat of one season and gaining another. Each coat was becoming streaked with grey, like her mother’s own hair. Eve’s dark, glossy hair had not shown signs of grey yet. How would she feel when it happened? Relieved, probably. Maybe then, her mother would stop pushing her at people. Men in particular.

Tugging at Muffy’s lead, she moved on. Mr. Vernon fell into step by her side. “You will be leaving Appleton soon, will you not, sir?”

“I may have to stay a little longer than I planned.”

She glanced at him and met his clear gaze. He had the most remarkable blue eyes. They seemed to pierce through her soul. She shook her head, her response too fanciful for her liking. It had shaken her far too much.

“I thought you said your business was trivial.”

“It is, but his lordship is disinclined to conduct business. I’ve brought a few papers for him to sign, and he wants to read them through. Or so he says.”

“You went to the Manor?”

“Indeed.” He opened a gate for her when she made for the footpath that led around the outside of the village. She always took Muffy this way, but she had not previously considered how private part of it was. She would hurry through. Not that she didn’t trust Mr. Vernon. After all, he had brought her home safely, despite the effect she’d had on his body. He had behaved like a gentleman, although he could have dismounted and tumbled her in the nearest hedgerow.

She would not have objected.

It had taken her several sleepless nights before she could accept that simple truth. She had wanted him to do something. She still did, and that was utterly foolish of her.

They strolled along the shady lane, the dog frolicking by her side. When he dragged at the lead in his effort to reach the nearest hedgerow, she switched the hand she held him with. That brought her closer to Mr. Vernon. His warmth infused her, and when she stumbled, he caught her.

He did not release her immediately, but waited until she looked at him. This time his eyes were grave, lost in looking at her. “You are most lovely, you know,” he said softly.

“I know.” Why should she dissemble? “It’s a curse for someone in my position.”

A smile touched his eyes but did not curve his mouth.

Pulling away, she began to walk once more.

He remained with her. “You should celebrate it,” he said softly. “You give people a great deal of pleasure.”

“I do nothing to achieve that. It isn’t something I have worked for.”

“Sometimes they are the finest moments in life. When everything falls into place and creates something beautiful.”

He stopped, and reached for the dog’s lead, turning her towards him. Fascinated by those piercing eyes, Eve remained still. With the leather wrapped firmly around his wrist, Mr. Vernon gave one sharp tug. Muffy sat.

She turned her attention to the animal. “How on earth did you do that?”

“Dogs appreciate a firm hand.” He tilted her chin, turning her face up to his. He met her gaze. “I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to do so since I first saw you.”

“Mr.—”

He touched her lips with one finger. “My name is Julius. It would give me great pleasure to hear it from you.”

As enthralled as the dog, she murmured, “Julius.”

His voice lowered to an intimate tone. His breath heated her cheek when he spoke. “That sounds as perfect as I knew it would. You are not merely beautiful, Eve, you are fascinating. I would not have let any woman travel that road alone at that time of day, but you—I would have given you that nag I’d hired and walked on myself, if you had wished. You could have asked anything of me. Anything,” he repeated, his voice even softer. His eyelids drooped as he fixed his gaze on her mouth. “You want it too. Hold still, then, while I fulfill both our wishes.”

He parted his lips. She felt his breath on her cheek, but she did not move away. He pressed his lips to hers. She sighed, unable to resist him.

When he drew away, he was smiling. “Open for me, my sweet,” he murmured, and kissed her again.

He looped his free arm around her waist, drawing her close until she felt it again, that hard shaft of forbidden sin. The intimate contact sent thrills of excitement through her.

At first, she rationalized her need. What did a few kisses matter? They were in a sheltered part of the path, and they would hear anyone approaching, thanks to the loose stones festooning the hard-packed earth beneath their feet. He’d chosen the part where the path curved to take in the farthest part of the churchyard, giving them relative privacy.

He tilted his head, sealing them more securely together, and licked into her mouth. She had no idea when she had parted her lips. She had certainly not intended to. He released a small groan, the sound reverberating down her throat and into her center. Stubble on his chin abraded her skin, and she moved, the better to experience the foreign sensation. His passion encompassed her while he took all he wanted and she gave it to him.

No passive recipient, she. Eve considered herself past the first flush of youth, but now she felt like a green girl, newly left the schoolroom, instead of a respectable governess, the daughter of an impoverished country vicar.

He stroked her back. Although she was fully dressed, she imagined she could feel his touch, his hand spread over her skin to claim it for his own. When he licked the roof of her mouth, flicked the tip of his tongue along the seam in the middle, it became her turn to moan, a soft sound that made him inhale sharply and increase the depth and the fervor of his embrace.

He finished the kiss, withdrawing slowly, parting from her with a slowness indicating reluctance, but he did not release her. He studied her, his eyes taking in the contours of her face. Then he caught his breath and kissed her again, as if drawn to the embrace despite his better judgment.

As she most certainly was. Lost in him she returned his kiss, cupping her hand over his cheek, the rough abrasion adding to the sensations rioting through her. His beard shadow did not show as other men’s did, being fair, but it was as potently masculine as any she had ever seen. Never touched, nor had the burr ever had such an effect on her before.