The Duke's Temptation Read online

  “I’ll be away for a while.” She put her hand over his mouth before he asked any questions. “I also need to think. Now go and continue to make your peace with yourself.”

  * * * *

  Why, oh, why does nothing ever go according to plan? That knotty question went around in Gibb’s mind over and over again as he went through the motions of his everyday life. He went to his club and spent an hour chatting to his cronies about anything and nothing. Passed half the morning at Tattersall’s and purchased a new horse to be sent to Scotland, and went a round in Jackson’s boxing salon. He proceeded to Manton’s and spent a satisfying half-hour cupping wafers. But most of the time, half of his mind was on Evangeline, not what he was doing. Once they passed in the park as he walked through it from one appointment to another and she was arm in arm with Julia Arthur. He inclined his head, they waved, and as he veered in their direction he was hailed by a fellow peer concerned about a speech he had to give. Gibb sent an apologetic smile to Evangeline, who nodded as if to say she understood. Or so he hoped. Even then it was hard. He wanted to be reassured she was well, and to assure her he wasn’t treating their meeting lightly and was trying to sort himself out more.

  He spent one day at Cresswell, and if he chose colors and furnishings he thought she would like he didn’t admit it.

  If he fancied he heard her laugh and imagined he saw her skirts whisking around a corner, he didn’t admit it. But when he picked up a hairpin and put it through his lapel, he admitted one thing

  He needed to sort himself out and fast.

  Gibb went back to town in a somber mood, spent most of his time ensconced in his study and thought things over as best he could.

  On the tenth night he once again eschewed all invitations and sat in his study with a large dram.

  He’d done enough agonizing, now it was make his mind up time. Gibb remembered something his first tutor had told him. If in doubt, make lists. One pro and one con. Sad though that might be, in this case it could just help him. He’d second-guessed himself so much he was dizzy. Gibb scrabbled in a drawer and found a writing tablet and a pencil and drew a line from top to bottom down the center of the tablet. Then he nibbled the end of the pencil before wrinkling his brow and spitting into his handkerchief. The pencil’s taste was disgusting. It served him right for prevarication. Quickly, before he filled his mouth with the taste of lead again, he began to write.

  Con.

  What con? Makes me think? Surely that is a good thing? Makes me aware? Ditto. He mentally shrugged. Perhaps a pro list would help him to decide on the cons?

  Pro.

  Like.

  Like a lot.

  Doesn’t bore me, or asked for more than I have been able to give.

  Patient.

  Feisty.

  No, not a contradiction.

  Interesting, articulate and a good listener. A good heart.

  Mine.

  The last word made him jerk, stab the page and drop his pencil, but not before it slashed a large line across the vellum, scoring into the sheet below. It amused him to see it had put a thick, dark line though the cons part of his cogitations.

  Suddenly it all seemed oh so simple. Evangeline was nothing like Hester. The one thing they had in common was their sex. What a fool he was.

  He added three words in capitals to his pro list. I love her.

  I love her.

  He almost jumped up to shout it to the world. I…love…Evangeline Coeur.

  Now he had to tell her and hope to hell she believed him.

  * * * *

  Five days after they had arrived, Evangeline looked around the pleasant bedchamber her papa had chosen for her and kissed his cheek. “This is perfect. You have gone to so much trouble.”

  He patted her hand and grinned from ear to ear and she swore he appeared ten years younger. When he had asked her diffidently if she minded him introducing her as his daughter, what else could she have said but of course not. His pleasure had been worth it. Plus, if she were truthful, it was lovely to have that sense of belonging once more.

  I could have had it with Gibb if he’d wanted, we could have had it. In case he chose to visit, Evangeline had dallied in the capital for over a week, citing things to clear up before she left to her papa. Not that Evangeline thought he believed her, but he had nodded and put their departure back accordingly.

  But those days had shown her Gibb wasn’t ready to come and talk to her and might never be. She’d left with mixed feelings after exacting promises from Julia and Eloise that they would not divulge her whereabouts.

  Now La Belle Evangeline was no more.

  In her place was Mademoiselle d’Astre.

  “Come back to Rutland.” Iain grinned from ear to ear. “As my daughter.”

  “I’ve kept you waiting, haven’t I?”

  “Ma chère, it was a labor of love. My daughter at last.”

  Evangeline leaned back on the elaborate carved dressing table and studied the man in front of her. “Can you swear you are sure I am your daughter?

  He nodded. “As sure as I can be without hearing it from your maman’s lips. We have the same deformity in our finger. You have my beloved Eve’s earlobes. We both have the same blue eyes with the darkness seeping into the blue. The timing fits, your maman would not have slept with anyone else, you detest les tripes and noisettes but adore les amandes. What else? We neither can sing in tune, but both can throw and catch a stiletto without looking. Though I own there you have more skill than I. Do you need more proof?”

  She shook her head. “No, Papa. It is enough.”

  He smiled. “Then we will go and drink Armagnac and you will tell me why you are triste, eh? Let your papa put it right.” He puffed out his cheeks and raised his fists. “Who must I fight? Pray it is with sabers, not pistols. My aim has never been true with a firearm.”

  She laughed as she was sure he meant her to. “No fighting please, Papa. For it is me who needs sorting out, no one else.”

  He took her arm and they walked downstairs to the sunny morning room he had designated also as hers, but where every day after lunch they sat for an hour or so and chatted.

  “Do you miss him?” Iain asked suddenly.

  “Oh yes.” She didn’t pretend not to know who he meant. “Like an ache inside.”

  “But still you came?”

  Evangeline smiled, although she felt more like crying. “Papa, I would have come whatever happened. I had hoped I could have come with his blessing, but it wasn’t to be. You see, I didn’t pay any attention when he said he had no heart. That he could not and would not give in to emotion. I’m like every other woman, I suppose. I believe in the power of love. I made the mistake of thinking I would be the one who changed him. I did not and I could not bear to wait forever.” She sighed. “Maybe that makes me as bad as him.” She pleated the skirts of her dress with busy fingers.

  “What rubbish is this I am hearing, my dear?” The more flustered Iain got, the more Gallic he became. He ran his hand through his once immaculately styled hair and looked for all the world like an agitated cockerel. “Your words are neither sensible nor applicable. He is the idiot, not you. Pah, I wish I could share a piece of my mind with him. Just let me see him. I will give him what for.” He harrumphed.

  “Papa, you will not,” she said, alarmed at what the outcome of such a meeting could be. “Promise me? It is my problem, not yours.”

  “I am your papa. It is what parents should do.”

  “Papa, no. I am a big girl and have to fight my own battles. Your word?” She waited as he waged an argument with himself.

  At last he let his breath out in one long whoosh. “Everything that bothers you is my business,” he grumbled, but she could see his ire abating by the second. “Oh, I agree. With reluctance, mind you.”

  “Thank you.” Evangeline hugged him tight. “But, Papa, when will this feeling end?” she asked him forlornly.

  Iain stroked her hair in a rhythmic, gentle motion. “A
h, if I had the answer to that, I would be happy to share it with you. Sadly I do not, my love. I do not know.”

  Nor did she, more was the pity.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hoy, Menteith.” A stick waved imperiously out of a covered carriage as Gibb walked along The Mall. Lisette Tonge stuck her head out of the window. “Gibb Alford. Come over here and get in. I want to talk to you.”

  Gibb checked he could cross the road without being mowed down by a hackney or an irresponsible young buck and made his way to the carriage. The door was thrown open and all he could see was a gnarled hand beckoning him in. He thought it was a bit like a gothic horror story—the dismembered hand, he decided whimsically—but accepted it was perhaps best not to mention that to the owner of said appendage.

  “Get in before we get hit. I have no idea what the world is coming to, eh. Hell on wheels, more like.” Lady Tonge tapped on the roof with the tip of her cane to tell the driver to move on. “Now then. What’s going on?”

  “About?” he asked with caution. He wasn’t going to offer up any information she wasn’t after. Lisette had the nose of a truffle hound when it came to scenting gossip, and he didn’t intend to help her.

  “You and young Evangeline, of course. I know all about Harris and that idiotic chit Honoria Compton.”

  She did? Gibb didn’t and he decided he didn’t want to. However, he must have looked as surprised as he thought, because she gave a cackle of laughter.

  “Ha, you thought I didn’t know Evangeline? Of course I do. She would come to read to me. Help me remember my French, and my youth. Ah, the stories I could tell. I remember one young duc who—” She coughed. “Hmm, never mind that. Not that I didn’t have a fondness for Tonge of course, but, typical Englishman of his generation, he had no stamina. Not like you youngsters, I dare say. Or so I hear. High jinks and…” She guffawed. “I won’t embarrass you.”

  Gibb grinned. She was incorrigible. “I doubt you could, Lisette.”

  “Good, so where is Evangeline? Do you have her hidden away somewhere?”

  “I have no idea where she is, and she is not hidden away by me. We no longer see each other,” Gibb said levelly. “So I’m sorry I cannot help you.”

  Lisette hit him none too gently on his shoulder. “Idiot, I suppose you spun her some yarn about being heartless or some such rubbish.”

  He shrugged, feeling like a recalcitrant child. “Ouch.” He rubbed his head where a second, harder rap had hit him. This time Lisette had used her cane and it had stung. He glared. “What was that for?”

  Lisette didn’t look at all repentant. “You deserved it. Ouch indeed. You do have a heart. Otherwise why would you visit an old lady like me if you didn’t, eh? Ask yourself that. No, not now.”

  He shut his mouth before she decided to hit him elsewhere. He didn’t trust her not to use her cane lower down on his anatomy. The part of his body he was worried about did its best to shrivel and hide.

  “Whatever you say, Gibb, you have a heart.” She dropped her cane and patted his knee with one arthritic hand. “Believe me, you do.”

  Gibb was embarrassed. It was rare for Lisette to speak so seriously. “I agree it beats but not much else.”

  “Balderdash.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Twaddle. Be honest. What is she to you?” The carriage slowed as it turned the corner into the leafy square where Lady Tonge lived. “Hurry up now, I need my nap.”

  “Evangeline?” Gibb sighed, his heart heavy with the fear his hopes might never be realized. “My life, except I let her go.”

  Lisette tutted. “Get her back, you fool.” She thrust her stick through the window aperture and waggled it around. Obviously her staff knew what that signified because the carriage swayed as someone alighted and the door opened.

  “Ha, and how would I do that? ’Tis easier said than done,” Gibb said as he bent his head to kiss the old lady’s hand.

  “Good lord, Gibb, if you can’t see her likeness to Iain d’Astre you do not deserve her.” She stood on the first step of the flight to her front door. “Use your brain. I assume it still works on occasion.”

  “Who?” The name rang a bell but for once he couldn’t put a face to it. For someone who prided himself on his memory it was annoying to say the least.

  “Iain d’Astre. Wake up, Gibb. He might not be in the capital often or sit in the House, but you know him. My age—give or take a decade. Lives in Rutland, had a Scottish mother. His mama was your grandmother’s friend. Maisie Lomax as was.”

  That name meant more to him. “The Maisie she spoke of with fondness? Why didn’t I know this?”

  “She is the one, and remember your grandmother died when you were at Eton. Why should you know all the ins and outs? Now sort your life in the manner you choose and don’t come and visit me until you do.” She began to climb the steps using her cane and the footman’s arm to help her.

  “Hold on,” Gibb said urgently. “Where does he live?”

  Lisette halted and turned her head. “Rutland. Barnshot Hall. Use the coach to get home, and good luck.”

  Gibb jumped out of the carriage, followed her and bussed her cheek as he remembered a recent invitation that he’d perused. “I’ll walk, it will be faster if I cut through the mews.” He needed to hunt out that note from one of d’Astre’s neighbors. It requested the pleasure of Gibb’s company at a small house party that coming weekend. He had better send his acceptance and work out his strategy.

  * * * *

  “Louisa Loxton has invited us to supper and an informal country dance on Saturday,” Iain remarked as he and Evangeline sat at the breakfast table a few mornings later. “I’d like to accept. It’s not above an hour in the coach and it will do you good to see some new faces. Meet new people. Stop you moping.”

  “I don’t mope,” Evangeline said indignantly. “Do I?” she asked, no longer certain her protestation was true.

  Iain chuckled as he passed the scribed vellum to her. “Not so much now, no. But that apart, it will do you good. Louisa has a couple of sons who are unwed and—”

  “Papa, do not start.” Evangeline looked up from the invitation she had been studying to notice a curious expression flit over his face. “What have you done?”

  “Not a thing except say we both would be delighted. Her chef is second to none with pig’s trotters, and as for his way with fish? He excels with fish. Even the apologies they get around here. One day we must head to Norfolk and try—”

  “Try not to worm your way out of whatever it is you need to tell me?” she asked as she hid her amusement at his delaying tactics.

  Iain did his best to look ashamed and she waggled her finger at him. In their time together Evangeline had begun to understand him and his wily ways. And she loved him for each and every one of them. “That will not sway me. No matchmaking or I stay here. Promise me.”

  “Cruel child, how else will I dandle my grandchild on my knee?” Iain sighed. “Very well, but I warn you, you will need to do the necessary, as there will be some other younger people there and I believe her sons have invited a few gentlemen down from London for country pursuits. No innuendo intended.”

  She giggled. If that was all he was hiding she had nothing to fear. She was well-versed in dealing with such people. “I should hope not. How do you know this?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “Louisa is a friend. An, ah, a special friend.” His face was the color of the rosebuds on the bush outside the window.

  “Why then have I not met her?” Evangeline demanded.

  “Because you needed time to settle in, and when she called yesterday with the invitation you were in the far meadow with your stilettos.” Both Iain and she had decided she should keep her skills honed. “You will meet her on Saturday.”

  “So what do I wear?”

  * * * *

  Gibb rode up the drive of the home of Charlie Loxton, one of his friends from Oxford, and congratulated himself on his timing. Not so
early as to appear overeager—especially as he had not sent his acceptance until very late—nor so late as to appear to be dragging his heels. Afternoon tea would be ready in Charlie’s mother’s sitting room, with ale and snacks in the library for the men. Charlie had remarked that no women apart from his mother and his married sister Emily would be there until the ball two days hence, so they need not worry about being hunted. As Emily, seven years younger than Gibb or Charlie, had never been anything other than a friend to Gibb, with no amatory interest, he foresaw no difficulties in enjoying a few days of rural life.

  He held the reins loose in one hand as he tooled his curricle into the stable yard and Norby, the head groom, came running out. He knew Norby from when Charlie and he had been scrubby schoolboys and the Loxtons had lived in the wilds of Yorkshire. That was before Charlie’s grandfather had passed on and the family had relocated to this more comfortable house several months earlier. It was Gibb’s first visit, and he looked forward to sightseeing. Rutland, apart from an annual visit or three to hunt with the Quorn, was not known to him.

  “Hello, Norby,” He swung down and clapped the groom on the shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Am I the first?”

  Norby appeared somewhat puzzled then his face cleared. “Ah, Master Charlie, oh I mean, his lordship and Miss, I mean, Lady Emily arrived yesterday.” He looked at Gibb with speculation. “Is that who you mean, your grace?”

  Gibb wasn’t going to show his ignorance. “Exactly so. Right, I’d better go and make my bow. Thataway?”

  Norby nodded. “Straight long the path and around the side of the house. Nobbut a few minutes. I’ll sort tha bags out and have a lad bring ‘em up to the’ouse.” His Yorkshire accent was still strong and Gibb wondered how he liked it farther south. It would have to be different, that was for sure. He walked at a rapid pace down the path Norby had indicated—the directions had been clear and precise—and within two or three minutes Gibb strode under the portico and pulled the bell rope with vigor. A deep clanging inside announced his arrival, as did deep barking and excited yelps. Evidently Charlie’s dogs were also in residence.