Page 56 of Desperate Proposals
Evelyn stood motionless, her hands held together in front of her. “What is it?”
“And did Mr. Turner draw a map to accompany his letter?”
“If you wish to see Mrs. Henham’s papers for yourself, you need only ask,” Evelyn said with disinterest. “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to spend the day discussing the Turners with you.”
He laughed, then rose to his feet, crossing the room to take her hands in his.
Her heart thudded as he regarded her, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Was that a jest?” he murmured with delight. “A jest from you?”
Warmth blossomed in her chest. For a moment she considered apologizing, for she was in no way a wit.
“I find myself surprised by you, my dear.” He leaned closer, his eyes dropping to her mouth.
“A failing of yours, for surely I am as straightforward and dull as I have always been.” This was not a jest, but the truth.
“No,” he breathed, then dipped his face so his lips brushed against hers. “Never.”
This time Evelyn allowed herself to hold him as he kissed her, her hands settling upon his arms, her heart in her throat as she responded in kind, giving as well as receiving. They were so engrossed in one another that it took a second too long for the next knock at the door to register in their addled minds.
By the time they disentangled, the door had already opened, revealing Mr. Reed, looking rather startled.
Evelyn’s head swam, her heart racing. She felt as she did in Rowland’s sitting room that horrid day in London, when that terrible feeling had overwhelmed her and she ran into the streets, desperate to escape it.
She ought to be ashamed of herself, carrying on like this.
Evelyn dropped her eyes to the floor as demurely as she dropped her curtsy.Was that what this feeling was, she wondered? Shame?
“Well met, Mr. Reed. My wife and I were just discussing the quadricentennial of our town’s beloved monumental tree. Surely the town council is aware of it?”
So smoothly Mr. Hartley slipped back into a relaxed, conversational tone, when only seconds ago he’d been seducing her with his rich voice and his languid gaze. How interesting. It seemed Evelyn was as surprised by this man as he was by her.
Perhaps that was simply a matter of course, when one wed in such haste.
“The goat willow.” Mr. Reed somehow made his words sound both disbelieving and patronizing at the same time.
“Yes, the goat willow.”
“Yes, well, as I told Miss Wolf—Mrs. Hartley—and Mrs. Henham last month, there are unfortunately no funds availablefor anything extravagant.” He held his hands out, palms upward, as if he spoke of his own coffers and not the town council’s.
“Right, which is why I’ve decided to fund it in full. Whatever the ladies think best. You came in just as we’d settled upon it.” Her husband turned and flashed her a wide, showy grin.
Evelyn clutched her hands together, happiness surging within. Why, the other ladies in the Knockton Civic Preservation Society were going to be over the moon! But her reaction was tempered by their current company—Mr. Reed was studying her as if he’d never taken her measure before.
“Such generosity, and from such quarter! One would think Baron Methering might have put forth, if only he were appealed to.”
Evelyn swallowed. She was a terrible actress. But she must hold steady.
“Perhaps, but my husband has offered it, all the same,” she said, her voice pitched higher than usual. Her uneasy smile at Mr. Hartley was returned with a proud look. She released a breath. “Now, gentlemen, I’m afraid I must beg your pardon.”
She dropped another curtsy to Mr. Reed, feeling a measure of satisfaction. “Shall we rely upon you for luncheon, Mr. Reed?”
“No, no,” the elder gentleman said, furrowing his brow. “I’ve only come to talk politics. Best not befuddle the mind of such a sweet and gentle lady.”
“Very well, then,” she said. “I shall have something sent up.”
Before she turned to leave, she spared a glance for her husband, who winked at her.
