Page 43 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
“Rothschild—”
“Evan.”
“What?” Her eyes were dilated when they met his.
“My name is Evan. Rothschild was my father’s name.”
Her lips trembled slightly as he wondered if she would say it. For some reason, he longed to hear her say it. Finally, she said, “The kiss was good.” At the pointed look he gave her, she smiled slightly. “All right, the kiss was very good, but it is hardly a reason to marry.”
And they were back to this again. “Come visit Charrington Manor. We can tour the property. Speak to my estate manager. I will give you a full accounting of everything we plan to do with the money. I swear it will be put to good use. Just as I swear that you will not regret taking me for a husband.”
He hardly realized that he had closed the slight distance between them until she had to draw her head back to meet his gaze. Elation made him feel as if he was soaring when she did not move away. His chest expanded as he slowly, gently brought his hand up to her face. Her soft skin was still cool from her afternoon walk. His fingers feathered across the pale smoothness, nearly as perfect as silk except for a few freckles at the bridge of her nose. Her breath hitched as he dipped his head. This he knew. As long as she let him kiss her then everything would be fine. He could set her fears to rest. He could show her how enjoyable things could be between them.
Her breath mingled with his as her lips parted to accept his kiss. They were warm and soft. He nearly groaned at how good she felt against him, as if he were coming home to a part of himself he had misplaced.
The door flew open, and he jumped back from her. Shewhirled to gather herself, and he stepped between her and whomever had dared to interrupt them. It was her mother who stood there with a pleased smile on her face. Her hands had come up to her cheeks as if she could hardly believe how well things had turned out.
“Have you decided on a date yet?” she asked.
The woman had the subtlety of a bull.
“No—”
“What date?” August stepped around him, glaring between him and her mother.
“The date for your wedding, of course.” The woman smiled as if she had not just committed irreparable damage to his courtship.
“Wedding? I believe you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Mother. A courtship and betrothal are two different things.”
“Of course they are, but your father and I have already agreed to his terms. The rest will be sorted out by the solicitors. We can announce things soon.”
If Evan had held out any hope of salvaging things after Mrs. Crenshaw’s initial question, she had just shot it full of lead.
“You said you were only discussing courtship.” August’s eyes settled on him, blazing with fury and accusation.
“We might have discussed things... further.” He could easily imagine the terrible names she called him in her head if the look she gave him was any indication.
“We don’t need to decide on a date today, but we should soon,” said Mrs. Crenshaw. “There are only so many venues available in London. Of course, I am certain that a small chapel in Charrington would do as well.” She gave a disgruntled sigh. “It’s so far from town that many will not come, so I have to admit that I wouldn’t prefer that. It should be a big event. Her Grace and Hereford’s wedding was the talk of New York. Our dear August deserves that.”
The woman continued her blathering, but August merely shook her head in slow denial. If he had not had a war on his hands before like she had promised, he certainly had one now.
There was no way to salvage the afternoon. August would absolutely despise that he had spoken with her father, and it would not matter that he had not meant to settle things so quickly between them.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Crenshaw, but I must be going.” Before his mood became any blacker and he strangled the woman for her carelessness.
“Yes, of course, you’re right.” The woman beamed as if she had no idea of the problem she had caused. “Weddings are better left to the women at any rate, wouldn’t you say?”
Ignoring her, he said to August, “We will settle this to your satisfaction. I promise you.”
Arms crossed over her chest, she simply glared at him.
Chapter 13
I would have girls regard themselves not as adjectives, but as nouns.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton
The velvet slippers that had been made to accompany the scarlet ball gown were the most uncomfortable pair of shoes August had worn in her life. For that matter, the gown itself was torture to wear. It was in the newcuirassestyle that created an elongated bodice that fit down over the flare of her hips, somewhat limiting the length of her steps. It was also so low-cut that it had required a specially made chemise and corset to accommodate it, and she had to fight her own instincts to constantly try to pull it up. Mary had laced her into her corset to within an inch of her life to make certain her modest breasts were shown to their best advantage. Eating anything at supper later would be out of the question.
