Page 15 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
“Stay and finish. I need to...” Not accustomed to explaining himself, he floundered for an excuse for his sudden departure. He stopped himself before he could say “go speak to Miss Crenshaw” but only barely. That would have been disastrous.
“Are you feeling well, Your Grace?” asked Lord Ashcroft as Evan hurried from the room.
Ignoring the footman outside the door, Evan walked to the back of the house, turning a corner that would lead to the garden. He did not want to go directly to the drawing room, as that would invite comments and conversation, when he simply wanted to see her alone. Perhaps if he made his presence known in the garden, she would come out to him. It was not the least bit proper, but she had already proven she did not care a whit for propriety, and she was itching to speak with him. That look of recognition had told him as much.
Opening a door he thought bordered the garden, he found a little-used sitting room that had a narrow window facing out. As quiet as an intruder, he made his way acrossthe darkened room, and his heart gave a start of satisfaction when he saw the window was actually a door with a latch. Turning his body to the side to slip through, he stepped outside to find that he was on the opposite end of the garden from the drawing room. Feminine conversations wafted out a partially open door, and one of the violins in the drawing room played a haunting tune that floated in the cool night air.
Quietly, he made his way toward the bright lights of the drawing room along a gravel path that meandered among the rosebushes and hedges. The last thing he wanted was to get cornered by Mrs. Crenshaw; her husband had been bad enough. No doubt she would demand a proposal and a wedding date that very night. He peered around a corner and saw the slim figure of a woman standing beneath a gas lamp. It seemed too easy to assume it was the appropriate Miss Crenshaw. She wore a shawl covering her shoulders, but the light caught the blue skirt of her gown.
August.
His heart kicked against his ribs. She was stunning in the low lighting. She stood in profile, gazing at something he could not see in a rosebush. The light caught the soft curve of her cheekbone, highlighting the graceful contour up to her hairline. She was a brunette, but the same sun that had delicately burnished her skin had lightened portions of her hair so that some strands shone gold. Her lips were full enough to be enticing, but not enough to take away from the rest of her. When her breasts rose on a sigh, he could not help but take them in. They were fuller than her frame suggested they should be, and he found that he very much liked that.
“Good evening, Miss Crenshaw.”
She turned toward him as if he were a burglar intent on stealing from her. Perhaps that is exactly what he was.
“Your Grace,” she said, lifting her chin a notch and crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m glad you’re here,” she continued. “I believe you and I should talk.”
He loved how direct she was. No one in his entire life had ever said what they meant. His father had never calledhim a disappointment, but the sentiment had been implied. No one had ever said that he was less capable than his brother, William, but everyone had believed it to be true.
She was honest, and honest was refreshing. He was ready for the fury she was only barely holding back from releasing on him. Was it so wrong to want to bask in the blaze of her righteous wrath? Probably, but he was going to do it anyway.
He approached her slowly to stand outside the circle of light cast by the lamp. Trying to appear at ease, he pretended to be intrigued by the flames flickering behind the glass as he said, “I thought you might feel that way. What shall we discuss?”
“I believe you know.” Her gaze bore into the side of his head harder than Wilkes could have ever hoped to land a punch. She was not retreating. Almost everyone retreated from him in one way or another.
Before he had realized it, he was moving closer to her, drawn by her intensity. “Come now, Miss Crenshaw. You have been refreshingly direct all night. Why stop now?”
“All right. I want you to give up your pursuit of my sister. She does not want to marry you.”
The words, the tone, they were all angry and harsh, so why did they feel like a balm to the ragged ache in his chest? This was madness. He was mad. It was the only explanation for why he continued to taunt her. “She has only met me tonight. Are these the types of conversations that go on between ladies in drawing rooms after dinner?”
“She didn’t have to meet you to know. Contrary to almost everything else in your life, this isn’t about you. We have a very nice life back in New York, and we intend to return there after this visit. As a family,” she added for extra emphasis.
Anger and the chill in the night air had added spots of color to her cheeks. She was beautiful. “One of you is bound to marry eventually. What then?”
She shook her head, annoyed with him. “Of course Violet will marry eventually, to a man of her own choosing. Not an aristocrat or even an Englishman.”
Biting back a smile, he said, “I believe I am beginning to see the problem. Do you have an issue with Englishmen specifically, or is it more anyone who is not American?”
He had said it to fan the flames of her anger, and he was not disappointed when she burned hotter. “How dare you? This has nothing to do with your nationality and everything to do with your entitled way of gaining a wife. You think every woman should bow down to your title and offer herself up for you. Well, that is not how the world works.” She frowned and seemed to think better of it, because it was most definitely how his world worked.
Until now. Until her.
“Not my world, at any rate,” she added. “Violet has a perfectly respectable fiancé back home. She has no use for you or your suit. If you would leave off and find yourself another heiress, then I would be most appreciative.”
If Evan had been expecting her to hold back even a tiny bit, he would have been disappointed. Fortunately, he had been expecting a set-down, and she more than delivered. She was magnificent. And if Violet did indeed have a fiancé back home, then his problem would be solved. Too bad she was lying.
“You have my apologies, Miss Crenshaw. No one told me that Miss Violet was already betrothed. It is an oversight by your parents that I will take up with them right away. Obviously, she is not free to wed.”
She had not been expecting him to be reasonable. Her lips stayed parted for a few seconds before she managed to bring them together again. Her hand made a loose fist against her chest as if she were very literally trying to still her beating heart.
“I... Thank you. I expected more of a—”
“If you will excuse me, Miss Crenshaw, I am off to speak with your father now.” He gave a polite bow of his head and turned, but he only took one step before she stopped him.
“Wait, Your Grace.”
