The Duke's Temptation Page 16

  That was truer than she knew.

  * * * *

  The letter was damning. Cresswell was in need of urgent and immediate attention. Pugh had warned him it wasn’t in the best condition, and when he and Evangeline had made their brief visit he’d had to agree. Even on that flying visit, he’d discovered the chimneys on one gable were crumbling, a new front door was a necessity and if he wanted a chef there a new range would need to be installed as a matter of urgency. Plus, he’d had to discover which staff would stay and who needed pensioning off.

  Now there was nothing for it. He would have to go back again, and stay for a few days. Not just to see those he wished to do the jobs but to find staff to ensure those jobs were carried out successfully. And talk to the housekeeper and see if she could engage new servants for the house where necessary, and oversee them.

  Why had he never realized how much needed doing? Because I have always had other people to do it for me. I’m spoiled.

  However, he didn’t want to leave Evangeline, and to have her by his side would be preferable to worrying. Would she go with him? If he didn’t ask he’d never know. It matters not if she refuses, it is a mere thought she might like to get out of the capital for a few days, nothing else. Gibb went over his next few appointments in his mind. If she could work with him, they should be able to have four or five days at Cresswell. Long enough to discover what sort of state it was in. Long enough to become closer friends? He shut that line of thought off abruptly. Closer was not what he wanted, was it?

  Disgruntled, uncharacteristically out of sorts, he found his hat and left the house. A few hours in Jackson’s salon might help him to get into a better frame of mind.

  * * * *

  It did. Several close friends were there, Henry being one of them, and Gibb enjoyed the banter, the boxing and the bruise Henry inflicted on him. Who was most surprised was a close-run thing. By the time several of them made their way to White’s—he never favored one club above another as a lot of his peers did—Gibb had lost his introspective mood, and when he reached home he was once more on an even keel. He’d see Evangeline later and put his proposal to her.

  If his staff were surprised to see him dining at home, they were too well-trained to show it. The meal was tasty and full of flavor but something was lacking. Halfway through his postprandial port he realized what it was.

  Company.

  How pathetic. He was lonely. When was the last time he had admitted to that state of affairs? He had no idea. Gibb contemplated his port and sighed. What was happening to him? This attitude was alien to him. Made him uncomfortable, and wary. If he wanted someone with him, what next?

  Neediness? Never. He wouldn’t visit Evangeline that evening. After all, it was not a firm engagement, only if he was in the area. Therefore he would not be. Nor would he invite her to Cresswell. There was no need.

  He stared into the fire and counted the ticks of the mantel clock. After eighty he tossed off the port and left the house to head to Evangeline.

  * * * *

  “That’s enough.” Evangeline slapped her hands on each of his chair arms and glared at Gibb. He looked somewhat amazed at her sudden outburst and she didn’t care. Enough was enough.

  “Whatever black dog is riding you, lose it now or go home,” she said. “You have been nothing but morose since you got here. Almost as if you were coerced. And that, I assure you, was not the case. Now either treat me as the friend you say I am and share what is wrong, or go and sort it out. Either way, you are not going to continue to sit there as you are at the moment. If you looked at some mother’s milk you would curdle it.”

  He gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s a fine description. I thank you.”

  “For goodness’ sake.” Could she get away with plain speaking? Why not, Evangeline decided. Something had to be said, and straight talk was no doubt the best way to get through to him. “I implore you to listen to yourself. You came in, gave me the most perfunctory embrace ever known to man or woman. Sat in the chair, and played with that goblet. I swear the contents will be giddy along with me as I watched you fidget. Then you answered everything I said with a grunt or a monosyllabic reply and look as if you’d rather be anywhere else but here. If that is the case, just go.”

  She straightened up and forced herself not to stand arms akimbo.

  Gibb sighed. “Was I that bad?”

  She shook her head. “Oh no.”

  “Thank the lord for that.”

  “Don’t get complacent. You were worse. Much worse.” The misery in his eyes melted her annoyance. After all, she’d known to be his friend would not be all sweetness and light, so why, on the first occasion since he had opened up to her and spoken about his wife he was in a black mood, was she so annoyed?

  Because he seemed to be moving on. Because it is one more sign that he will not let me into his life. Because the time for me to say goodbye is getting ever closer. Because I would like more. And I know I will not get it.

  “Gibb, friendship means sharing. I’m not asking for you to fall onto my shoulder and sob all over me, heaven forbid. Or think I can do that to you. But if something is troubling you, why keep it to yourself? You said you wanted to be my friend. This blow hot and blow cold is wearing, and, not to put too fine a point on it, unhelpful.” Would he understand or choose not to do so? It was bad enough to know their future together was limited, but she had reluctantly accepted that she had to bide her time and let him take things at his pace. But this night he seemed to have regressed.

  “Do you want to end our friendship?” she asked in an undertone, hoping he didn’t agree it was the thing to do. One day it would happen but, pray god, not yet. Butterflies danced inside her and her palms itched. “Is this where you think things are all too much for you?”

  “What?” He looked up at her, startled. “Good lord, no. I’m just blue devilled. I have to go to Cresswell and I’d prefer to stay here to keep an eye on you. Crowe may have left, his cronies haven’t.”

  “Cresswell again so soon?” She ignored the comment about Crowe and his cronies. She could and would sort them if necessary.

  “If I don’t go and start the work that is needed it will crumble and become a ruin with the first frost of winter according to Pugh. I can’t let that happen.”

  “Have you decided if you’re going to live there?” The love when he spoke of his godmother made her wonder.

  Gibb shook his head before he ran his hands through his hair. One perfect brutus cut was now a mess. “Oh no. Or not often, although I will visit until I decide what to do with it. I just want it restored to how my Godmama loved it.”

  And he says he cannot and does not have emotional feelings about anything or anyone. Rubbish.

  “That seems a good thing to do,” Evangeline said. “When do you leave?”

  He smiled wryly. “I hope to persuade you that it will be when do we leave,” Gibb said. “If we could perhaps fit a few days there together. I’d value your input about the house and gardens once more. You seemed to enjoy our day there, and a woman’s view is always welcome.”

  Any woman, or me?

  “A French knife-thrower?”

  “My friend,” Gibb said in a way that brooked no argument. “Who happens to be both French and a knife-thrower.”

  * * * *

  Four days of pleasure was not too much to ask, Evangeline decided on the fourth day at Cresswell, as she swung her bonnet in one hand and held Gibb’s with the other. She deserved some.

  Here, Gibb was a changed man. Relaxed, in casual country clothes, with his hair bleached at the tips by the strengthening sun, his arms a deep, burnished bronze and his worn Hessians and leather waistcoat, he could be taken for a country squire. He laughed with the workers they met, gave clear and concise directions with regards to how he wanted the estate to be run and, Evangeline thought, made friends with each and every person now in his employ.

  They had reserved rooms in the village hostelry, two very elegant c
hambers, side by side but not connected, and Gibb had introduced her as a friend who was going to help him sort out the house. If anyone thought it meant they had an understanding of the to-be-married variety, no one mentioned it. Instead she was welcomed wholeheartedly. If that in itself seemed strange to Gibb he didn’t mention it, and Evangeline wanted nothing to mar their time together so she chose not to comment.

  For, even if he didn’t realize something momentous was soon to happen, she did. This would be their last time alone. Evangeline had come to the sad but inevitable conclusion they couldn’t go on as they were and nor would she ask him to alter his opinion of who he thought he was. If he couldn’t come to terms with his changing persona and see himself for who he had become, she wasn’t going to do it for him. It was unfortunate, her emotions were involved and she could not change that. So, cowardly or sensibly—she wasn’t sure which—she had decided she’d have to draw back.

  But not yet. First, she would enjoy these few days.

  The picnic basket, packed by the housekeeper and carried by Gibb as they made their way across the field toward the river, was heavy, but he held it as if it weighed no more than a feather. Evangeline knew that was not the case. She’d watch it being packed. A bottle of champagne wrapped in a cold cloth along with two goblets, ham, cheese and fresh-from-the-oven bread. Tiny cakes, some pastries, lots of early fruit from the ageing session houses and several handfuls of nuts completed the repast. How they were expected to eat it all she had no idea.

  But then Gibb was a big man with an appetite commensurate with his size. No doubt he would make good inroads into it.

  She mentioned it to him and he laughed. “The more I eat, the less there is to carry home. A winning situation, I’d say.” His expression was animated, his face carefree and he appeared ten years younger.

  What was it about this place that did that? He’d told Evangeline his heart was in Scotland so why now did he seem so happy? She pondered how best to ask him as they reached the riverbank and he spread a blanket over the grass under a willow tree. Its drooping branches created a cool, welcoming haven from the sun.

  Evangeline tossed her hat to the ground and sank onto the blanket as her skirts billowed around her. She stretched her arms above her head as Gibb eased out the cork on the champagne with a gentle pop, filled two goblets and leaned them against the picnic basket.

  “One for you when you’re ready.” He made his way to the water’s edge and sank the bottle into its cool depths.

  He turned and wiped his wet hands on his buckskins before he slipped his jacket off and rolled it into a ball. Once he reached Evangeline he dropped it behind her back. “There you are. Voilà, one pillow. Relax and enjoy the peace.”

  She grinned and kicked her sandals off to wriggle her scandalously bare feet in the lush grass at the bottom of the blanket before she took the proffered glass. “Thank you.” She took a sip and savored the fresh tingles it left on her lips and the way it slid down her throat, citrusy and oh so French. “I so love this. It goes with this place.” She gestured to their surroundings with her glass. “Oops.” The liquid had almost spilled. “Too good to throw away.”

  Gibb laughed. “True enough.” He opened the picnic basket. “Food?”

  “Eh?” Evangeline opened her eyes, which she hadn’t even realized she had closed. “Not yet.” She yawned. “Lud, I am so tired. Why is it the noise of the clock on my landing, the lamplighter, street sweepers and raucous revelers never bothers me in town, but the clock on this landing, the owl in the nearest tree and the fox coughing in the copse keeps me awake here?”

  “Different bed?”

  She shrugged and sipped some more champagne, embarrassed to show herself as perhaps ungrateful. “It could be, but this bed is as comfortable as mine in town. The pillows are feather, the sheets silk and the room as dark or as light as I want it. Ah, one of life’s imponderables I fear.” She yawned again. “Sorry.”

  Gibb plucked the half-full glass from her lax fingers. “Stretch out and relax for a while. We’re in no hurry.”

  “Hmm.” Evangeline wriggled until her head rested on his jacket. “I’ll just rest my eyes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Back in their favorite spot under the willow tree, Gibb chewed a blade of grass and watched a kingfisher as it swooped down to the water. Its iridescent wings reminded him of the woman sleeping by his side. Quicksilver, bright and fascinating. A woman with secrets, but also open, warm and… And what? A woman made for loving, but not by him.

  A woman who reached out to his soul, but he dared not let her in. Dare not give anything back. A woman he wanted to care for but… Gibb sighed. And therein was the problem. That tiny word with a big meaning. But. He couldn’t do it to her. Try to be all she deserved and perhaps be found lacking.

  Cowardly, maybe, but better in the long run, no doubt.

  What if you were able? a tiny voice niggled him. He ignored it. After all, he knew he wasn’t—didn’t he?

  Beside him Evangeline sighed in her sleep and muttered something he didn’t catch. Gibb stretched out his legs until he lay next to her and her soft breath caressed his cheek. How easy it would be to lean over and undo the ribbons at her neck. Lower the dainty sleeves down her arms and slide her dress to her waist. To feast on her luscious breasts once more, and revel in the soft mewls and gasps she would make. To lift her skirts and find that soft feminine place, to tease those curls and…

  His staff rose and hardened to the point of pain in anticipation of what could happen.

  On arrival at Cresswell, they had talked and decide not to consummate their relationship and complicate it by sex. Loving caresses, hot and heated kisses, had been exchanged on more than one occasion, but Evangeline was adamant she would take no chances on becoming pregnant. Gibb had to commend her, even if it did give him uncomfortable nights, where he stayed awake and thought of ice-cold baths or took himself in hand. At those times he was grateful they occupied different rooms. Here, away from town, it had been both their decision not to put too much temptation in their way.

  Apart from themselves, only the elderly housekeeper was around and it would have been oh so easy to give in to temptation without fear of anyone knowing. But… He shrugged as he thought of the happiness of the last few days. It had been for the best.

  However, they had to return to town tomorrow, he had to vote, and sex with Evangeline was something he’d thought long and hard about. Maybe if he was careful and withdrew?

  Gibb had moved one hand to her shoulder when she opened her eyes and blinked sleepily at him.

  “Hello. Was I asleep long?” Her voice was low and her accent definitely French. “It seems my nights awake have caught up with me.” She stretched and her thin gown tightened over her breasts, her nipples clearly outlined under the fine material.

  He spat out the grass, cleared his throat and dropped his hand onto the blanket between them to shield his reaction. His staff now pushed against his buckskins so hard he wondered how durable they were. “Asleep? Not long.”

  “Ah.”

  Why was the silence no longer comfortable? Had she noticed his state of arousal? But why should that affect her so. They had discussed it, she had touched him and he her. They might not have consummated their relationship but nigh on as good as. Just not taken that final step.

  “I almost…”

  “I wondered…” They spoke over each other.

  Gibb nodded. “You first.”

  She smiled. “I almost asked you what you were thinking. You looked pensive.”

  He shrugged. “I was about to break our agreement and try to coerce you to take me inside you.”

  She looked at him, her face expressionless. “To… Ah, you mean to make love. But we agreed it would not be a good idea. That we use those other ways you have shown me to sate ourselves.”

  “I was about to try and persuade you to have sex,” he corrected and ignored the stricken look in her eyes. What was the point in using flowery lang
uage and trying to make it into something it wasn’t? “However, I decided better of it.”

  Evangeline smiled, although it didn’t reach her eyes. “A good thing,” she said with a slight quiver to her voice. “It would complicate things.”

  He nodded and pulled her into a sitting position. “I have a proposition.”

  “I thought you changed your mind?”

  “No, not sex,” he said with a patience he hadn’t thought he had. “This is of a different sort.” Gibb cleared his throat. “I wondered if you would like to live here.”

  “Here?” she replied incredulously. “At Cresswell?”

  He inclined his head. Where else did she think he meant? Under the damn willow tree? “At Cresswell.”

  “But why?” Evangeline asked. She seemed bewildered. “What for?”

  “Why not? It is simple. I thought you might like to have the opportunity to live away from the capital.”

  “But my livelihood is in London. How can I live elsewhere?”

  “If you lived here you would have no need to work. Everything necessary would be here. So what do you say?”

  “Why?” she asked once more. “Explain.”

  “Why what?” he asked, irritable and out of sorts. At this rate they would be going round in circles ad infinitum. “I told you why.”

  Evangeline shook her head and curls sprang from their pins and danced around her head. “You told me part of it. What would I be here as? A friend? Your lover… Oh no, I forgot, not a lover. A mistress? Someone to help you scratch your itch?”

  “That is unfair and you know it,” Gibb said stiffly. “I just thought it might be nice for you to have a bolt hole. Somewhere to relax and not be worried with knives, nuisances or the ton.”

  “Then, my dear Gibb, perhaps you should have thought about how to phrase your offer before you spoke about it. For that is not at all how it came across.”