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  “Sorry,” Florella said again. She turned toward Evangeline, which meant they all three turned.

  “What have we here?” the dark-haired man asked, still lounged in his chair as if nothing odd had occurred.

  “The door was ajar. She was peeking through the crack.”

  “Well, she certainly got an eyeful.”

  “I scared the devil out of her.” The blond man approached and made a slight bow to Evangeline. “I’m Bryce Blair.” He waved dismissively at Florella. “This is my good—and very disreputable—friend, Miss Florella Bernard. And this”—he gestured to the man in the chair—“is Aaron Drake, Viscount Run.”

  Evangeline’s heart sank.

  Lord Run was the owner of the estate, her host, and cousin to Evangeline’s betrothed, Vicar Bosworth. What was she supposed to say? How could she justify her conduct? What if he tattled to Vicar Bosworth? Evangeline’s engagement would likely be over before it had begun.

  “Hello,” she glumly mumbled.

  “And you are…?” Lord Run inquired.

  “Miss Evangeline Etherton.” He gaped at her, clearly not recognizing her name, so she added, “I’m your houseguest.”

  “My houseguest?” Lord Run said. “I don’t have a houseguest.”

  “Yes…ah…the vicar’s mother, Widow Bosworth, arranged it with you.”

  “That’s very curious. I don’t remember her contacting me.”

  The three of them were staring as if Evangeline had grown a second head, but Lord Run’s assessment was the most intense of all, his shrewd gaze probing for information and details that Evangeline had no idea how to supply. She flashed a tepid smile, hoping to generate a hint of a smile in return, but he simply glared and pointed to her gray dress.

  “Are you a nanny? A governess? What?”

  There was no way to hide her identity. She had to reveal herself. He’d learn who she was soon enough.

  “I’m the vicar’s fiancée.”

  There was a shocked silence, then Mr. Blair asked, “Vicar Bosworth—as in Ignatius Bosworth?”

  “Yes,” Evangeline said.

  “He’s marrying? Truly?” Mr. Blair persisted.

  Miss Bernard chimed in with, “He’s marrying you?”

  “Yes.”

  Lord Run seemed the most bewildered by the news. He studied her even more intensely. Finally, he said, “You are engaged to Cousin Iggy? Seriously?”

  “Yes.” It might have been the sole word Evangeline could speak.

  There was another fraught silence, then the trio burst out laughing in loud, rude guffaws.

  Evangeline had never been more mortified and didn’t know why they were so amused. Was she an inappropriate bride for the vicar? Was she too far beneath him? Or was the vicar inspiring their hilarity? Were they surprised by his betrothal? Were they humored that he’d settled on Evangeline? Why would they be?

  Was Vicar Bosworth horrid? Was Evangeline the only one who hadn’t been apprised? What sort of mess had Miss Peabody orchestrated?

  What’s so funny? she yearned to demand.

  But instead, she spun and ran, their chortles following her down the hall.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Hello, Miss Etherton.”

  Aaron smirked as she jumped a mile high.

  It wasn’t that late, but he’d had too much to drink, and with Bryce and Florella having traipsed off to bed, he’d been brooding and moping. He’d traveled to the country specifically to improve his mood, and his pouting seemed to defeat the entire purpose of the journey.

  “Lord Run!” she snapped. “You can’t be in here! What are you thinking?”

  “I have no idea,” he admitted, which was the truth.

  He was in her sitting room, and he’d been there for quite awhile, lounged in a chair and listening to her stomp about in the dressing room. It had sounded as if she was pacing and venting.

  She hadn’t come down to supper, and the notion had vexed him enormously. He’d questioned the staff and had been advised that she’d had a tray delivered. Most likely, she’d been too humiliated to join them.

  Ultimately—after several stout whiskeys—he’d decided he should find out for himself. By blustering in as he had, he’d already made a dozen bad choices, but he couldn’t help it.

  After she’d stumbled into the middle of Florella’s failed seduction attempt, he’d felt awful. His queries to the housekeeper had confirmed that yes, she was his cousin’s betrothed, and Iggy’s mother, Gertrude, had arranged for her to stay in the manor as the wedding approached. Gertrude had claimed she’d written to Aaron about it, so the housekeeper hadn’t given it a second thought.

  Of course no such correspondence had occurred. Aaron would certainly have granted his permission, but Gertrude wouldn’t have dared to ask Aaron for such a favor. She liked people to assume they were close, but they really weren’t.

  No doubt she was simply hoping to impress Miss Etherton with the Bosworth’s connection to the Drake family. Gertrude was overly concerned with status and lineage, and usually Aaron was too, but Gertrude exhausted him with her fussy ways and stuffy manner. She reminded him too much of his father, Lord Sidwell, and if Aaron had wanted ridiculous posturing, he’d have remained in London.

  “Go away.” Miss Etherton tried to shoo him out as if he were a strange dog that had wandered in.

  “No.”

  “Go!” she said more sternly.

  “No.”

  “I’m in enough trouble because of you. Don’t make it worse.”

  “Because of me? What did I do?”

  “I met your dissolute friends! I saw Miss Bernard bare her…her…”

  Her cheeks turned such a bright shade of scarlet that he was surprised she didn’t ignite, and he laughed uproariously. He couldn’t remember when he’d last laughed about anything, and it made him feel better than he had in a long, long time.

  “What’s so amusing?” she fumed.

  “You are. You’re absolutely hilarious.”

  “I am hilarious? I’m so glad I could be of service!”

  She gave a theatrical bow, her nose nearly touching the floor, which humored him even more.

  “Why were you skulking about and snooping in my bedchamber?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t skulking. I’d just arrived, and I was exploring the house. The housekeeper told me I could. You were the one carrying on in full view of anyone who chose to look. If you don’t want innocent parties to witness your salacious conduct, you should shut your blasted door.”

  “I should, should I?”

  “Yes. And speaking of doors”—she pointed to hers—“mine is open. You may walk through it whenever you’re ready.”

  He studied her, fixated on her slightest move and gesture. That was the real reason he’d come.

  When she’d been in his bedroom, he’d only had a minute to take stock of her, but he recalled her as being stunning. He’d been anxious to evaluate her again, to see if she was actually as exquisite as his memory had painted her.

  She was.

  Her glorious blond hair was piled on her head in haphazard disarray. Her striking blue eyes were flashing daggers. She was amazingly pretty. Shockingly pretty.

  Her features were perfectly sculpted, her body curvaceous and alluring. There was a fascinating air about her that was so riveting it was almost carnal in effect. A potent, joyful vigor rolled off her in waves. Was she aware of it?

  She was standing across the room, and he could practically feel her beckoning him closer. He wanted to stroll over and rub himself against her. Would sparks flare? In his entire thirty years of living, he’d never encountered such an intoxicating force.

  “You claimed I’d gotten you into trouble,” he said. “What kind of trouble?”

  “With Vicar Bosworth. I haven’t even met him yet, and you caught me spying on your naked acquaintance.”

  At her voicing the word naked, her cheeks grew even redder—if that was possible. He probably should have had mer
cy on her, should have told her not to worry, but he was from London where people deliberately tried to be boring and dull and never exhibit an ounce of emotion.

  Her energetic personality was greatly enlivening.

  “Is that why you had supper up here?” he asked.

  “I’ve never seen such outrageous behavior in my life. I couldn’t have sat at the dining table with Miss Bernard. I’d have died of embarrassment.”

  He laughed again, finding her silly and fetching and interesting in a dozen ways he hadn’t expected.

  “You won’t tell him, will you?” she pleaded.

  “Who?”

  “Vicar Bosworth.” She swept over and fell to her knees in front of him. She clasped his hand and gazed up at him, her blue eyes beseeching and miserable. “Swear you won’t tell him about it.”

  “I won’t,” he murmured.

  “If I lost his good opinion—”

  “You won’t lose it because of me.”

  “Swear that you mean it.”

  “Yes, I swear.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She pressed her forehead to his hand, almost as if she was whispering a prayer of relief. Had she been up here fretting? Had she been terrified Aaron would rush over and tattle to Iggy?

  Aaron never talked to his cousin if he could avoid it, but she didn’t know that.

  “Get up, Miss Etherton,” he quietly urged. “Get up, would you? There’s no reason for all this upset.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “Should I leave Fox Run? I’ve packed my bag. I can go at once.”

  “Leave? Why would I want you to leave?”

  “Well, you can’t want me to stay. Not after how I acted.”

  “It was nothing,” he scoffed, although he was quite ashamed of himself.

  Typically, he was a model of decorum, and Florella was a horrid doxy who had no scruples or sense. Why Bryce continued on with her was a mystery, but Aaron was mortified that Miss Etherton had observed him with Florella.

  Though it was disgusting to admit, if Bryce hadn’t barged in when he had, there was no predicting what Aaron might have done. He’d always been attracted to Florella, but so was every man in London.

  She was a renowned actress who loved to have rich oafs panting after her. Bryce was the latest fool—in a long line of fools—to be snared in her web. She’d be more than happy to substitute Aaron for Bryce, but Aaron didn’t keep mistresses, and he was greatly irked that Miss Etherton had seen him at such a weak moment.

  Not that he’d confess as much to her. He deemed women to be frivolous and exhausting—and indiscreet.

  She staggered to her feet, those luscious blue eyes still focused on him, and he couldn’t believe how she held him rapt. She recognized the odd swirl of emotion flitting between them, for she frowned and whipped away. She went over by the door and leaned her back against the wall.

  “I’m not usually so rude or uncouth as I was this afternoon,” she said.

  “I’m sure you’re not.”

  “I was walking down the hall, and I peeked in your room. Miss Bernard is so beautiful, and I paused to look at her—only for a second—then suddenly she started removing her clothing.”

  “She has a habit of that.”

  “I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Neither did I. I was minding my own business when she slinked in. I can’t imagine why she assumed I was interested in a dalliance. I’ve never given her cause to suppose I would be.”

  Miss Etherton studied him, then she smiled, and it was such an arresting smile that it illuminated the space around her as if someone had lit a very bright lamp. He was glad he was sitting down. If he’d been standing, the force of it might have knocked him over.

  “Mr. Blair is your friend?” she asked.

  “Since we were boys.”

  “And Miss Bernard?”

  “She’s his friend.”

  “You’re too polite. I heard her true role.”

  “She has a low side to her character, but mostly, she’s an actress, which I guess isn’t much better.”

  The word actress caught her attention. “She’s an actress? In London?”

  “Yes.”

  “She appears on the stage?”

  “Yes. She’s very famous.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No. Bryce and I came to the country for a few days of rest and relaxation, and she begged to tag along. Bryce thought she would enliven our party.”

  “Has she?”

  “Not yet.”

  He assessed Evangeline, trying to picture her as his cousin Iggy’s wife. She was so fresh and vivacious. Iggy was pretentious and curt and set in his ways. How could anyone have imagined them a suitable pair? Weren’t they marching toward decades of misery? But what did he know about marriage or romance?

  His own wedding was in six short weeks. His fiancée, Priscilla Cummings, was a fussy, spoiled shrew who was twelve years younger than Aaron and totally wrong for him, so he was hiding in the country, eager to forget the entire mess for a bit.

  His father, Lord Sidwell, had arranged the match, but Aaron couldn’t bear to proceed. He had to come to terms with the situation, had to muster the temerity to return to London with a smile on his face and peace in his heart. As his father kept pointing out, the union would bring an enormous amount of money and property into the family, and a man didn’t wed for love. He wed for wealth and personal gain, and Priscilla delivered them in spades.

  “How did you end up engaged to my cousin?” he asked.

  “I received an inheritance as a dowry, and a friend of mine contracted it.”

  “But you haven’t met him?”

  “No.”

  He could practically see her mind whirring. She was dying to inquire about his cousin, but it would be completely inappropriate for them to discuss Iggy. Aaron hadn’t a kind word to say, and she needed to form her own opinion.

  Still, he hated to have her fretting. What were her circumstances? Iggy was marrying for the same reason Aaron was marrying: for his bride’s dowry. Why was Miss Etherton marrying? It had to be for stability and security. Who could fault her for that?

  “My cousin is all right,” he said, anxious to reassure her.

  “Is he?”

  “He can be a tad stuffy, but then he’s a vicar. I think it’s in their blood. They have to be stuffy.”

  She seemed relieved by his comment, and she smiled again, the beauty of it washing over him like a cool rain, and it occurred to him that he’d like to linger in her company all evening. She attracted him as no other female ever had. The sensation was peculiar and novel, and it made him nervous, made him wary.

  He was in an awful condition himself, and he had no business flirting with her, no business gaping at her as if he’d like to gobble her up. But she was just so damned pretty. How could he mind his manners?

  He had to force himself out of the room before he thought up a hundred excuses as to why he should remain. He unfolded from the chair and walked toward her. At six feet, he was much taller than she was, and he towered over her.

  She watched him come, her gaze guarded and tense, as if she was afraid of what he might do, and he had to admit, he was curious himself.

  He approached until he was close enough that the toes of his boots slipped under the hem of her dress. Sparks ignited, the air charged with an electric energy.

  “You’ll stay at Fox Run—as my guest—until your wedding.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And don’t be embarrassed by Miss Bernard or what you saw. I’ll send her away tomorrow.”

  “No! I don’t mean to impose. It’s a huge house. I’ll keep to myself. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  He doubted that. Where she was concerned, he could detect her scent—as if he were a hound chasing a fox.

  “I insist you join us for supper every night, as well as for any of the amuseme
nts we plan.”

  “I shouldn’t, Lord Run.”

  “I insist! Florella will be on her best behavior, and I’ll try to be on mine.”

  She considered his request, and he held his gaze firm, pressuring her with his male presence, with his greater size and position.

  Her shoulders slumped. “All right, and I’ll be on my best behavior too. No more peeking in bedchambers for me. I learned my lesson the first time.”

  “Good.”

  They stood, grinning. He felt as if there was something else he should say, something he should tell her, but he couldn’t figure out what it might be.

  It was the moment for him to depart, but he couldn’t move. Eventually, he reached out and touched the tip of his finger to the tip of her nose. She appeared surprised, but didn’t back away.

  He traced it down across her lips, her chin, her neck, to the bodice of her dress. Sparks were exploding, the air hissing with the excitement generated by their proximity.

  “Have you a dress that’s not gray?” he asked.

  “Just one.”

  “Is it blue? Is it the color of your eyes?”

  “It’s violet.”

  “Wear it for me tomorrow.”

  “I will, Lord Run.”

  He pulled his finger away and hurried out, wondering what on earth was wrong with him. Was she a sorceress? Had she cast a spell on him? If so, what insanities might he perpetrate?

  The notion didn’t bear contemplating.

  He shook off his eerie sense of bewitchment and continued on. Behind him, she shut her door and spun the key in the lock.

  * * * *

  “Play it again! Play it again!”

  “Yes, yes, please do!”

  Aaron halted in his tracks.

  Down the hall, a group of people were laughing and clapping as if a party was in progress. It was nearly midnight, so who was up and raising a ruckus?

  After leaving Miss Etherton, he’d gone to his own bedchamber, had written some letters and drunk more liquor, but he hadn’t been able to relax. He’d given up and had come downstairs again, thinking he’d head to the estate office and review the ledgers. Nothing would put him to sleep faster than adding up long columns of numbers.

  But to his surprise, he’d encountered the merry gathering. It could only be the servants, but why weren’t they in bed? They all had chores early in the morning, with many of them having to rise before dawn.