Twice the Temptation Page 2

  “I am returning home, I think.” He frowned, the expression lowering his brows and making her notice his sensuous mouth again. “So for me it’s still the previous evening. And it’s lord; not sir. I am no knight.”

  “Clearly not. Knights are supposed to be chivalrous. They do not fall upon women in the streets.”

  “I wouldn’t be so certain of that.” With a groan he clasped the coach step and pulled himself to his feet. “Oh, good God.”

  She put her hands on her hips, having to look up to meet his gaze now, since he stood at least a foot taller than she did. “I will assume you are incapable of rendering any assistance,” she assessed. The statement on its face sounded odd, because physically he looked supremely capable—except for the drunken swaying, of course. “Kindly stay clear of the coaches.” With that she turned her back on him and stalked up to Maywing and the other driver. “Gentlemen!” she said loudly. “You, set your brake. Maywing, untangle the harnesses and back our coach up so we clear our wheels.”

  “Epping,” the low, masculine voice came from right behind her, “I don’t recall asking you to stop off anywhere. Clear the cattle and take me home.”

  The other driver immediately stopped his exuberant arguing. “But m’lord, it wasn’t my fault, and we’ve near lost a wheel. I—”

  “I don’t recall asking you for details, either,” he cut in. “Home. Now. Exchange information with this fellow, and go.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  Evangeline stifled a scowl. Very well, the fellow wasn’t completely useless. And considering that the object was to get away from the growing crowd without delay, she was glad for that. Many men, she supposed, returned home very late and very inebriated, and his falling on her had been an accident.

  A hand touched her shoulder, and she turned around. He did have very nice eyes, though she would have liked them better if they hadn’t been bloodshot and barely in focus. “Yes?”

  “I assume you are uninjured?”

  “I am.” No thanks to him. But she wasn’t about to admit to a bruised bottom.

  “You kiss very well.”

  Evangeline blinked. She’d been so certain he was going to apologize for his crass behavior that for a second what hehad said made no sense. “That was your imagination,” she finally fumbled, her cheeks warming. “Pray do not insult me by relying on your faulty recollections of a…sodden and mistaken memory.”

  His mouth curved. “I know a pleasant kiss when I taste one. Tell me your name.”

  He was so inebriated he probably wouldn’t remember it. Now that she’d had a moment to gather her thoughts, she could see that he was indeed dressed in formal evening wear—though his cravat looked as though it had been retied, and poorly, and his waistcoat was buttoned wrong. And his hair was wild, pushed up on one side and tangled across his eyes like a thick black spider’s nest. He badly needed a shave, though she had to admit that the overall appearance of masculine dishevelment was rather…appealing. Evangeline took a breath. “I’ll tell you that my name is not Daisy.”

  “Yes, I realized that almost immediately. What is your name?”

  “I am Miss Munroe,” she finally said. “Now please climb back into your coach before you fall down again.”

  He assessed her for a moment, then gave a charming, lopsided smile. “That’s likely very good advice, Miss Munroe.”

  Before he could continue, Evangeline turned her back and with Doretta’s help hauled herself up into her own vehicle again. He wasn’t actually attempting to flirt with her, was he? Heavens. Yes, he was handsome, but he’d practically crushed her, and then mauled her. She would remember that, even if he didn’t. “Drive on, Maywing,” she said, closing the door on the fellow’s inebriated smile.

  As she sat, she eyed the box holding her new necklace. If she believed in any of that superstitious nonsense, she would say that Aunt Rachel had it backward. She’d been perfectly fine until she’d set it aside. Bad luck, ha. She would wear it tonight, just to prove her aunt wrong. If the diamond held any luck at all, which she doubted, it wasgood luck.

  Chapter 2

  Connoll Spencer Addison, the very intoxicatedMarquis of Rawley, watched Miss Munroe’s coach as it rolled over someone’s cigar—probably his—and a thick book—probably not his. Leaning a hand against his carriage’s wheel to steady himself, Connoll squatted down and retrieved the tome.

  “The Rights of Women,” he read, flipping it over. “Not a bit surprised by that.”

  “M’lord?”

  “Nothing, Epping,” he said to his coachman. “Take me home, and for God’s sake don’t hit anything else. It’s been the devil of a night, and I do not wish my sleep interrupted again.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” The driver climbed back up to his perch. Connoll returned to the coach’s dim interior, tossed the book onto the seat opposite, and sank back to resume his sleep and try to forget about a certain mistress who’d decided to marry—though thankfully not him. Blasted Daisy Applegate.

  Abruptly he sat forward again. He’d kissed the chit, Miss Mun…Mun something. Yes, he’d kissed Miss Someone, and that could be bad. Not unpleasant, but bad. Kissing a Miss in public was always bad. He was generally much more careful about the setting for that sort of activity.

  Finally he realized that the coach had stopped rocking, and that the usual noise of London seemed rather subdued. And his head ached like the devil. “Damnation,” he muttered, and thumped on the ceiling with his fist. “Epping, if we’re lost, I will toss you out of my employment on your bloody backside.”

  Nothing.

  “Epping!”

  Frowning, Connoll stood and shoved open the coach’s door. They were indeed stopped. They were stopped to such a degree that the horses were gone from their harnesses, and a pair of geese waddled between the near coach wheels in his stable yard.

  He grabbed up the chit’s book. Avoiding the geese, he stepped to the ground and stalked around the side of the house to his front door. It swung open as he topped the steps.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Rawley.”

  Afternoon. “Winters, how long was I asleep in the damned coach in the damned stable yard?”

  “Nearly three hours, my lord. Epping said you’d expressly requested that you not be disturbed.”

  “By his wrecking the coach again, yes, that half-wit. I didn’t mean for him to leave me boxed up and ready for delivery.”

  “I shall inform him of his error, my lord.”

  Connoll headed for the stairs, shedding his coat as he went. “And send me Hodges. I want a bath.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Heneeded a bath, and a shave, and a change of clothes. With a glance at the book he carried, Connoll shook his head. However much he would have liked to busy himself in his office study until nightfall, he’d done some damage—and he needed to determine its extent. The chit was a Miss with a good-quality carriage, and she read progressive literature. And that was all he knew about her. That and the fuzzy memory of frighteningly intelligent hazel eyes, a soft, subtle mouth, and curling honey-blonde hair.

  “Winters!”

  “Yes, my lord?” echoed up from the foyer.

  “I want to have a word with Epping.” He could hear the unspoken query in the ensuing silence. “No, I don’t mean to sack him, but I make no promise about murdering him.”

  “I’ll send him to you at once, my lord.”

  He wanted an address—to return a book, and to inquire after any damages to a coach. And to discover whether that female’s dismissive practicality had been a ruse to set him off balance while she chose a wedding gown. Women had attempted to trap him into marriage over the Seasons, but he’d never made it so bloody easy for any of them before. Damnation. And still he continued to contemplate that kiss.

  “If you knew Aunt Rachel had a diamond necklace sitting in a box in her attic, why did you never say anything?” Evangeline looked beyond her own mirrored reflection to her mother’s.

  Heloise
, Lady Munroe, stood at her daughter’s shoulder. “It wasn’t actually in the attic, was it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I only said that for effect. It’s a hundred and sixty-nine carats, Mama.”

  “As far as I knew, the Nightshade Diamond was nothing but a silly rumor. My Uncle Benjamin used to talk about a cursed diamond, but no one ever listened to a word he said. The old fool lost a leg in a billiards accident, of all things.”

  “Did he like to wear diamonds?” Evangeline joked, shifting to see the glint of the one around her throat.

  “Oh, please. He was a clumsy fool. He did clumsy, foolish things like trying to ride an old billiards table down a flight of stairs.” She leaned down, caressing the stone with her forefinger. “But look at you. A fourteen-diamond pendant. You shone before. Now no man will be able to resist you.”

  She’d heard that before, and she usually rolled her eyes as she and her mother laughed. This time, though, a tremor ran through Evangeline. Someone this morning had been unable to resist her. And what a kiss that had been. “I would hope the men are more worried about me resisting them,” she offered. “Thus far only Lord Dapney and Lord Redmond have survived on our list.”

  Straightening, the viscountess tapped her chin. “Dapney or Redmond, hm? Good choices, both. You’ll find wealth, titles, and prestige with either of them, but Dapney’s the younger by far. He’s what, one and twenty?”

  Evangeline nodded. “Only two years my elder.”

  “That appeals to me. Young men are often more malleable than older ones. Does he dote on you?”

  “He seems to. My thinking, though, is that Redmond will take less effort.”

  “Either way, we’ll have to make certain. Men have a notorious tendency to not show their true dispositions until they’ve already tricked a lady into a disadvantageous union.”

  Evangeline smiled. “Except that we know better than to be tricked.”

  “Precisely. And as you know, deciphering all of the disadvantages and how to counter them givesus the advantage.”

  A rap came at her bedchamber door. Doretta went to open it, and Evangeline’s father walked into the room. “I hear your aunt gave you a diamond necklace, Gilly,” John, Viscount Munroe, said with a smile. “I came to see it.”

  Evangeline started to her feet to show it to him, but the viscountess pushed down on her shoulder to keep her in the chair. “Not now, John,” her mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand, frowning as she faced him. “And you can’t wear that coat this evening; you know I don’t show well with beige around me. Put on the hunter green. It will complement my yellow silk.”

  He nodded. “Of course, my dear. Apologies.”

  The viscount left the room again. “Normally I wouldn’t mind his silliness so much, but you know if I tolerate him wearing beige even once, he’ll think he can wear it whenever he pleases.”

  “He does try, once you point him in the correct direction,” Evangeline countered, focusing her attention on the sparkling diamond again.

  “I suppose so.” The viscountess summoned Doretta to the large wardrobe. “Gilly must wear blue or green, to set off the necklace.” She faced her daughter. “You know, it’s a pity you can’t wear that diamond every night, for it does look well on you. But we can’t have people thinking you have nothing else to show.”

  Evangeline reached up to unfasten the jewel’s delicate clasp. Her mother had dismissed the idea of a cursed heirloom even more readily than she had. The carriage accident had been the result of an overly tired driver and a drunken passenger. As for the kiss—well, she hadn’t mentioned that. It had only been a stupid embrace from an inebriated man, and didn’t signify. Carefully she set the necklace back in its box.

  Her bedchamber door rattled again. “For goodness’ sake,” the viscountess muttered. “Your father is useless.” She walked to the entry. “Tell Wallis what I wish you to wear, John. Surely your valet knows something of fashion.”

  When she pulled the door open, though, it wasn’t the viscount who stood there, but the butler. “Pardon me, my lady,” he said, “but Miss Munroe has a caller.”

  “Very well, Clifford,” Evangeline said, shutting the diamond away. “I’ll be down directly. Who is it?”

  “The Marquis of Rawley.” He produced an ornate card on a silver salver. Gold filagree in the shape of English ivy bordered the card, the letters bold and black and stylish across the center.

  Her mother frowned. “The Marquis of Rawley?” She picked up the card. “We crossed him off your list of potential spouses weeks ago. Why is he calling on you?”

  “I have no idea.” Evangeline stood. “We’ve never even met. Perhaps he’s admired me from afar and doesn’t know he’s already been rejected.”

  The viscountess chuckled. “Very likely, poor fellow. Clifford, you heard Miss Munroe. She’ll be down in a moment.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  As Doretta repinned Evangeline’s hair, her mother went to the window and pulled aside the curtain. “There’s a lovely black Arabian on the drive.” She faced her daughter. “Lord Rawley,” she mused. “Wasn’t he the one buying up all of those French paintings?”

  “I heard something to that effect.”

  “We can’t have our friends thinking we have a Bonaparte supporter about.”

  “Don’t worry, Mother. We shan’t. And rest assured, if he speaks to me in French I’ll send him away immediately.”

  She actually remembered very little of the research they’d done on Rawley. There’d been so many names on that first list, before they’d begun the elimination process. French paintings and being a reputed liberal in the House of Lords made him unacceptable.

  With Doretta trailing behind her, Evangeline descended the stairs. Clifford waited outside the morning room door and pulled it open as she approached. “Lord Rawley, Miss Munroe,” he announced, stepping back to allow her entry.

  She walked into the room, smiling as the tall, broad-shouldered figure by the window faced her. “Lord Raw…” Evangeline trailed off, an odd thump echoing in her chest.Him . “Oh, it’s you.”

  Connoll Addison inclined his head. Evidently he’d made quite the impression earlier. Oddly enough, though, even without the pleasant haze a bottle of brandy lent his vision, Miss Munroe was…lovely. Perhaps his uncertain senses had exaggerated her sharp tongue, but since he’d been correct about her other attributes, he doubted it. “I found your book,” he said, taking it from beneath his arm and offering it to her.

  Her soft lips tightened as she took it, clearly doing everything she could to avoid touching his fingers. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Have you read it, by chance?”

  She lifted a fine eyebrow. “Why, do you imagine I carry it with me to quote progressive opinions to the unenlightened? Or perhaps you think me illiterate and merely trying to gain attention?”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. No, he hadn’t been imagining her prickly tongue. “I imagined that you would have it memorized, actually.”

  “Hm. Thank you for its return, my lord. Good day.” She turned on her heel, her maid falling in behind her.

  Faced with this female, some of his male friends would have fainted in terror by now. Connoll, though, found himself intrigued. “It occurs to me, Miss Munroe,” he said, taking a half step after her, “that you might wish to give me your Christian name.”

  She paused, looking over her shoulder at him. “And why is that?”

  “We have kissed, after all.” And he abruptly wanted to kiss her again. The rest of his observations had been accurate; he wanted to know whether his impression of her mouth was, as well. Soft lips and a sharp tongue. Fascinating. He wondered whether she knew how few women ever spoke frankly to him.

  With what might have been a curse she reached out to close the morning room door. “We did not kiss, my lord,” she returned, her voice clipped as she faced him directly again. “You fell on me, and then you mistakenly mauled me. Do not pretend there was anyth
ing mutual about it.”

  This time he couldn’t keep his lips from curving, watching as her gaze dropped to his mouth in response. “So you say. I myself don’t entirely recollect.”

  “Irecollect quite clearly. Pray do not mention your…error in judgment again, for both of our sakes.”

  “I’m not convinced it was an error, but very well.” He rocked back on his heels. “If you tell me your given name.”

  He couldn’t read the expression that crossed her face, but he thought it might be surprise. Men probably threw themselves at her feet and worshipped the hems of her gowns.