Evan sat before the fire in the drawing room, waiting for Vivienne to fetch the fan given as a wedding gift by a grandfather who’d died years ago, for a marriage that hadn’t taken place.
The thrill of anticipation was marred by the fact he couldn’t shake D’Angelo’s comment from his mind. Few men had the strength to die for a cause. Few men had witnessed such a tragedy and managed to remain sane.
Vivienne returned, dressed in the simple blue gown she had worn to dinner, when they had talked about everyone and everything aside from what had occurred last night. Wasn’t he supposed to forget he’d made love to a woman he cared about?
“I brought the book of Thomas Gray’s poems.” Clutching the book to her chest, she sat in the chair beside him. “We might stumble upon a connection once we decipher the clues.”
“Golding mentioned the poet for a reason.” Evan gestured to the two glasses on the side table positioned between the chairs. “I had Carter mix your drink. If it’s too strong, I can pour you a glass of sherry.”
She smiled, though it failed to reach her eyes. She’d been subdued since Howarth made his damning declaration. “The last one scorched my tonsils.”
“You mentioned trying a whipkull—the nectar of a Viking warrior. Is it not a better way to drink rum?”
“You remembered.”
“How could I forget?” Strange how he remembered nothing of his previous romantic encounters, yet recalled every precise detail of the time spent with her.
Any fool can see what is happening between you and Miss Hart.
Well, he was glad D’Angelo could, as he hadn’t a damn clue.
She captured a glass and sipped the creamy liquid. “Hmm. It’s extremely sweet. So sweet, I can hardly taste the rum. To a novice, I daresay it could be quite lethal.”
“You mean I might need to carry you to bed.”
She stole a glance at him but looked away. His gaze never left her.
“Perhaps we should play a game while I have an advantage,” he said, for he could not forget the feel of her soft, pliant body, could not forget she aroused his mind as much as his manhood.
“Have we not got a more important task to attend to?”
“What’s more important than lovers bearing their souls?”
She rolled her eyes but did not contradict him. “At least you’re honest. It seems we were destined to be lovers, never man and wife.”
“When it comes to relationships, honesty is the jewel in the crown.” He decided to avoid the topic of marriage. She was right. They did not have time to argue or wallow in regrets. “The gem that leaves most people gawping in awe.”
“You mean too many lovers keep secrets.”
“Too many lie and deceive.”
She looked at the small leather-bound book in her lap. “Can I ask you something?”
“Ask me anything.”
Her gaze drifted from the book to him, though it took a moment for her to find the courage to speak. “What did you say to Mrs Worthing during those fifteen minutes you were alone at the masquerade? Did you dance? Did you—”
The questions shocked him. “I didn’t see Mrs Worthing, or dance with her, or do anything one might deem inappropriate. I used the time to speak to a few men I know—Lord Fox, Mr Trenton-Parker, amongst others.”
Their eyes met. The flash of vulnerability said she cared.
“I wanted them to see me alone, Vivienne. You made the mistake of lowering your mask when you spoke to Mrs Worthing.” He’d made the mistake of revealing too much. “Gossip spreads like wildfire. She’ll be the first to strike a flint and spark her own version of the tale. I didn’t want anyone presuming we had consummated our union. It would have been the obvious assumption had we danced.”
“I would have clung to you like a love-sick fool.” A sweet chuckle escaped her. “Having spent too much time watching the proceedings, I lack experience in the dancing department, too.”
She lacked nothing when it came to lovemaking.
“And while I’m considered somewhat exceptional on the dance floor,” he said, “I’d have been a quivering wreck the second I took you in my arms.”