Page 67 of Desperate Proposals
From the corner of her eye she saw him reach for her. As cool as ever, she pulled her hand away, placing it in her lap.
He froze.
The ache in her chest throbbed once more, threatening a resurgence, but she held fast, her chin up.
The groom opened the door, and Mr. Hartley stepped down. She waited a moment before following, fortifying her defenses until she was sure she would not falter at the sight of him.
That evening she dined alone in her room.
When Dutton assisted her before bed, she could not help but catch her reflection in the mirror every few moments. Each time she did, she cast her gaze down, with Mr. Hartley’s insistent and fierce attentions from the night before echoing in her mind.
“Are you well, ma’am?”
Dutton’s inquiry cut through her thoughts, and Evelyn looked up, forcing a casual manner.
“Of course. Only that I am overtired.”
“Don’t know what that man was thinking, dragging you out into the city after a day of travel!” Dutton sighed. “One would think he’s never—”
Evelyn drew her maid’s gaze to her own in the mirror, halting her speech with one raised eyebrow.
“Of course, of course. Spoke out of turn again. It’s a tricky thing, that. Never thought you’d marry, is all, you were so settled.”
“Yes, well. Some things are not within our control.”
Memories of Edmund arose, of him carousing drunkenly about the manor, his school pals shouting after him as their liquor sloshed over the rims of their crystal tumblers. How they’d accidentally started a small fire in the gatehouse one Christmas, the result of another nonsensical bet. And then, of course, the billiard ball. According to his friends, Edmund had boasted he could fit it in his mouth and close his lips about it. Allfor twenty quid, which he’d lost, along with his life. And the safe and comfortable future of his wife, daughter, and sister with it.
The memory sparked something new within her, thickening her throat. Anger?
Gadding about like some popinjay, Mr. Hartley had said in a voice harsher than she’d ever heard from him. Evelyn tried to swallow, but she could not shake the feeling. Her head was still a muddle later when, with the door to Mr. Hartley’s adjoining room firmly locked, she finally fell asleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Evelyn had cried offdinner, and then breakfast as well. She had relayed messages to him through her maid, assuring him that she’d be well enough for Towle’s ball that evening.
It nettled him, though Marcus refused to admit it aloud.
Because she had been correct.
He had ignored Knockton. He’d been too preoccupied with his paltry attempts to move mountains, angling after greater societal shifts, which had led to him neglecting his own borough. The board schools, with their leaking roofs, had not had an advocate to defend them against Mr. Reed and the town council. Even the dratted goat willow deserved to be recognized, he supposed. He stopped in front of the window of a very fine department store, frowning at his reflection. Did he even know where the tree was? Hell and tarnation, he’d better figure it out. Ideally before the celebration in its honor.
He shook his head and shoved his hands back into his pockets, then continued ambling on through Birmingham. It was a booming city, filled with energy and optimism. He enjoyed it, for it recalled the urban bustle of London, where he’d spent much ofhis life, learning the ways of the world by his father’s knee. It was hard to be away from the city. But Lancashire was not without its benefits.
His wife preferred it, for one.
Marcus sighed. Evelyn had been at the forefront of his mind more often than not lately, and he knew all too well where that path would lead. And while he refused to abandon all caution, he likewise would not detach his emotions entirely. Surely it was not inappropriate to be taken with one’s wife, especially when weighed against its alternative.
He allowed himself a smile as he walked, as his thoughts converged on her. How innocently unsentimental she’d been while informing him of his pedantry in the carriage the day before. How she’d shyly gawped about the doctor’s examination room.
And how she’d done her best to maintain that practiced insouciance as they quarreled about London, even as his temper had wounded her. She’d tried, but failed.
Marcus knew he’d spoken out of turn. Evelyn was far from the spoiled aristos he’d gone to school with. She was ignorant, to be sure, but it was not her fault. It had been his. He should have informed her straightaway of his intention to visit London. He should have bloody wellaskedher, rather than simply assuming that she’d be so taken with his cock and his physical attentions that she’d follow him to the city with doe eyes like some silly young thing.
He looked up at the street numbers on the buildings as he walked by each one. When he found the one he was looking for, he climbed the stairs and lifted the knocker.
Hopefully this would serve as a decent enough apology.
A housekeeper answered the door.
