No, he was too busy tamping down the flames of desire, too preoccupied by Mr Golding’s odd reaction. “If we’re to marry, Miss Hart, you must call me Evan.”
“Then having shared a heated kiss, you should call me Vivienne.”
Vivienne. Vivienne Hart.
He felt as if he’d known the name since the dawn of time. Was that why the collective sound of vowels and consonants stirred such longing in his chest?
“But you didn’t answer my question,” she added. “I did warn you. Marriage to me is the only way to claim our legacy. Now is not the time to discuss our expectations, but I have one stipulation if we’re to wed.”
Curiosity burned. “Have no fear, I shall not demand my conjugal rights.” His comment lacked conviction for he could think of nothing but bedding Vivienne Hart. “And you will have your own bedchamber at Keel Hall if that is your concern.”
Miss Hart gripped his arm as they jostled past the insistent pastry seller, around the drunken oaf sprawled in the gutter, and across the busy thoroughfare. “I presumed those were a given. No, all I ask is you do not entertain your paramour while married to me.”
Evan almost choked. “Madam, we shall be married until one of us is six feet under. Surely you’re not asking I remain celibate for the rest of my God-given days.”
“Of course not. I simply ask that you do not conduct affairs while we are living together as man and wife.”
“Miss Hart, I may hold wild parties and partake in amorous liaisons, but I am not a cold-hearted libertine. I would not disrespect our union by having another woman in the house.” Nor would he seek entertainment elsewhere.
He felt the heat of her searching gaze.
“Yes, I almost forgot your pledge. You vowed to do everything possible to fall in love with your wife.”
The comment caught him off guard. More so, because he had made the oath knowing he would never marry. But he would be this lady’s husband in a matter of weeks, less if the archbishop granted them a licence. Would their marriage be a means to an end or a grand love affair?
“That does not apply to me, of course,” she added, missing the point entirely. “Ours is an arrangement made partly for profit.”
It most certainly applied to her. The question was, would he keep the oath? And even if he made every effort to nurture romantic feelings, what’s to say she—
“Miss Hart?” A gentleman aged sixty with wiry white hair and sagging jowls stumbled into their path. He seemed embarrassed to be seen amid the horde of rowdy revellers. “Miss H-Hart, it is you. How w-wonderful to see you out at the fair,” he lied. The gentleman glanced nervously at Evan, waiting for the lady to make the introduction.
Miss Hart gripped Evan’s arm a little tighter. “Mr Ramsey, you’re looking well. Are you here to purchase silk or to enjoy the sideshows?”
“I thought to take advantage of the break in the weather, my dear, stretch the old legs.” Again, he cast a surreptitious glance at Evan.
“Allow me to introduce Mr Sloane.” She hesitated, clearly not knowing how to explain their connection. “Mr Sloane, this is Mr Ramsey, a family friend.”
So this was the man Miss Hart had listed as a suspect. Judging by the size of his paunch and the fact walking left him breathless, he was definitely not the masked rider. Perhaps he had an accomplice. Either way, Evan wanted to ensure Mr Ramsey knew the nature of his relationship with Miss Hart.
Evan inclined his head. “What Miss Hart failed to add is that I am her betrothed.”
“B-betrothed?” Mr Ramsey’s eyes widened in shock, coupled with a faint flicker of horror. “Betrothed? But this is the first I’ve heard. You must have made the decision rather suddenly.” He forced a smile. “Betrothed, by Gad! Well, I suppose I must congratulate you both on your upcoming nuptials. I trust Mr Buchanan has given him the once over.” His watery laugh trickled to nothing.
Miss Hart glanced up at Evan with beaming admiration, purely for Mr Ramsey’s benefit, of course. “Buchanan is not my keeper, sir, but he is more than thrilled with my choi
ce. As am I. There is no finer gentleman in all of London.”
An awkward silence ensued.
Not that Evan cared. He was busy trying to determine why his heart skipped a beat upon hearing Miss Hart’s praise. Why he wanted to believe the comment reflected her true feelings.
“Is there something of particular interest to you in Long Lane, Mr Ramsey?” Evan kept all hint of suspicion from his voice. Strange to meet a man on Miss Hart’s list of suspects a hundred yards from Mr Golding’s office, and within minutes of them leaving the lawyer, too.
“I’m to meet a friend at the tavern and then we’re to watch a bare-knuckle prizefight at some point this afternoon.”
Ramsey’s rapid blinking said that was another lie.
“If it’s entertainment you seek, those working the puppetry booth have turned a tragedy such as a plague into a comedic farce.” Evan watched Mr Ramsey’s facial expression with hawk-like intensity. “They’ve dressed the puppets in black cloaks and beaked masks.”