"Round, Edmund," the duke said. "Round." "Yes, Papa. Grandmama, did Papa tell you that I'm the finest shot in the country?"

"He did say that you had cleanly shot Rex the peac.o.c.k at least a dozen times."

"Yes," Edmund said, then gave a big yawn. Evangeline leaned down and pushed his face up with her fingers. "Now, I want no arguments. You're as tired as your papa. Because you're young, you'll get to go with Ellen to the nursery and rest for just a little while."

The duke lifted his son back into his arms. "No, I'll take him to Ellen. Yes, I'll come back. I won't leave you to the dragon here. Mother, don't frighten her to her toes while I'm gone."

"But, Papa, what about my story? I'm ready to tell Grandmama more of my story."

"You will, after you've reposed yourself." He said from the doorway, "I'll tell Grayson to bring tea."

He left the young lady with her, quite alone. Marianne Clothilde prayed that this was the right woman for her son, prayed with all her heart. She gave her a charming smile that was quite natural. "Do sit down, Evangeline. Did you ride the entire time with Edmund?"

"All but one hour when I had the headache. His grace insisted that I ride with him." "Ride with him?" Marianne Clothilde said. To her delight, Evangeline flushed. "You see, the duke was riding his beautiful stallion, and he said-in any case, I rode seated in front of him. That was all, your grace, truly."

But it wasn't all, Marianne Clothilde saw, and was immensely pleased. She said, "It's nearly impossible to say no to my son. He's very forceful upon occasion."

"Yes," Evangeline said. "I have found that to be true." Actually, he hadn't forced her to do anything. Indeed, nothing at all had happened. Evangeline had leaned back against him, in the circle of his arms, and slept soundly. She hadn't felt so safe in a very long time.

Marianne Clothilde patted the seat beside her, and Evangeline unfastened her cloak, laying it over the back of a chair, then sat down. Now, this was a very nice thing, Marianne Clothilde thought. The young lady had an elegant slim figure that, truth be told, was very much like her own-even to her very full bosom. She supposed that the gown had been Marissa's, poor foolish girl.

"Actually, Evangeline," Marianne Clothilde said after a moment, "my son finally admitted to me that he'd given you orders, quite in his best lord-of-the castle manner. As I recall, he came very close to snarling."

"Oh, no," Evangeline said. "He didn't mean to do that precisely. He's so very used to having everyone obey him instantly. It's just that I couldn't allow him to at that particular moment. That is-"

"I know. My son has been kind to you, all sweetness."

"I've not ever known him to be sweet. That's not in his character. He's more often jesting to get his way, that, or he frowns at you, knowing that only a fool would dare to go against him and- Oh, dear, I don't mean to insult your son, your grace. Truly, the duke has been very solicitous toward me. Yes, that's the right word. He wouldn't resent being called solicitous. Would he?"

Marianne Clothilde patted Evangeline's clasped hands. "We will ask him. You don't yet know me well enough, but I will tell you the truth. My son and I are very much alike, for better or for worse. You, my dear Evangeline," she continued without pause, "are feeling very guilty, aren't you?"

How could she possibly know?

When she said, "Yes, I suppose that I am," she sounded terrified.

"You're part of the family. You belong here for as long as it pleases you. Incidentally, Marissa's gown becomes you. It's an excellent color for you. I fancy Dorrie altered it for you?"

"Yes, she's quite good."

"I know. I realized that a very long time ago. I was the one who a.s.signed her to Marissa. Marissa liked her very much."

A tall, plump man with a headful of thick reddish-white hair came into the drawing room, carrying a heavy silver tea service in his black-clad arms. He had very thick dark red eyebrows that looked perpetually arched, making him look mildly surprised.

"Ah, Grayson, you've brought sustenance."

"Yes, the kind of sustenance that pleases you, your grace." He set the tray down on the table in front of them.

"Grayson and I grew up together," Marianne Clothilde said as, to Evangeline's surprise, the butler himself poured tea.

"Madame?"

"I like it plain, Grayson."

"He's so very good at it," Marianne Clothilde said. "You see, I have arthritis. It has made me clumsy the past few years, so Grayson does many things for me. That is another reason I cannot stay at Chesleigh. The damp chill makes the condition worse." She smiled at the butler as she took her cup of tea from him. "I think we make an impressive pair, particularly now that our bones are brittle, our hair is graying, and our consequence is at its peak."

"Just so, your grace," Grayson said, "but I am of the opinion that the redder the hair, the more naturally consequence sits upon the shoulders."

"You would," Marianne Clothilde said as she gracefully bit into an apple tart. "Ah, this is excellent. Not as good as the Dinwitty cook of Phillip Mercerault's, not as good as Mrs. Dent's, but acceptable. Now, Grayson, this is Madame de la Valette. She is one of the family and is at present also Lord Edmund's nanny."

Grayson eyed Evangeline, then slowly nodded. "I believe this will do just fine," he said, and left the drawing room.

Marianne Clothilde laughed. "Now, you're staring at the scones. Do have one, Evangeline."

"However do he and Ba.s.sick get along?" Evangeline said between bites of an apple-flavored scone.

Marianne Clothilde laughed. "Very astute of you, Evangeline. Actually, they've never met. The duke agrees with me that we should keep the households apart. Now, Tsar Ivan-that is what I have taken to calling our butler at St. John Court, Richard's estate in the north-I have always thought him to be cut from far starchier cloth than either Grayson or Ba.s.sick. He unbent himself sufficiently upon one occasion to inform me that if the Conqueror had enjoyed the services of a butler, he would doubtless have been one of his ancestors."

Evangeline was laughing when the duke entered the drawing room. He paused a moment on the threshold, a smile lighting his eyes. And such a smile, his mother thought, staring at him.

Chapter 24.

Marianne Clothilde said, "Do come in and sit down, dearest, and pour yourself a cup of tea. Evangeline quite likes Cook's scones. I've been telling her about Tsar Ivan."

"Tsar Ivan is a terror," the duke said. He added with a smile, "I gather from your laughter, Evangeline, that my mother hasn't tried to interrogate you about the grandeur of your ancestors, accuse you of trying to steal my son's affections, or threatened to pull out your toenails if you dare to provide a single criticism of either me or my son?"

"We have only discussed Tsar Ivan's ancestors, your grace. Mine, as you know, are n.o.ble enough, but not at all as grand as his."

"He's an old Methodist. He quite terrified me when I was a boy. He still does." He poured himself a cup of tea, refreshing his mother's cup as well, something he did with his customary grace.

Evangeline laughed again, a lovely, free sound that seemed to expand in his chest, making him want to grab her in his arms and kiss her until he could manage to pull her gown down to her waist and caress her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and taste her and ... dear G.o.d, he was in his mother's drawing room, drinking tea, and he was thinking about making love to her, kissing her until she was screaming his name. He shook himself and choked on the d.a.m.ned tea.

Marianne Clothilde banged him on his back. When he'd recovered, she thought he looked rather flushed, but said, "We have not yet discussed Mrs. Needle's murder. Yes, I use that very stark word because it is the truth. Now, what do you know about all this?"

"Baron Lindley treated Evangeline to a dose of his idiocy, namely, that one of Mrs. Needle's potions must have killed a man's lover or wife and he strangled Mrs. Needle in his rage and in revenge. Nonsense, of course, but the old b.u.g.g.e.r, er, excuse me, the old idiot wanted nothing more than to go home and put his head back in his brandy bottle and his gouty foot up on a cushion." He paused a moment. "We owe our thanks to Evangeline. She had dealt with just about everything before I came." He paused for a moment, his dark eyes resting on the heavy emerald signet ring on his left hand. "I've taken steps to see that Chesleigh is more carefully guarded. Her murder makes no sense at all. She was harmless. And that scares me to my toes. Why was she killed? Why Mrs. Needle in particular? We will see. I don't plan to simply forget it and go on. No, I will find out who did this and why."

Evangeline wondered what he'd done, what he planned to do. Perhaps he would discover that traitors were using his private beach for entry into England. Perhaps he would discover that she'd betrayed him. She kept her eyes upon the Dresden china cup in her lap.

"I received a letter from Mrs. Raleigh," Marianne Clothilde said after a moment. "Everyone is very distressed. I'm glad you won't simply let life go on as usual, my dear. Mrs. Needle was a dear old woman, and she saw so very much. Did I ever tell you that she foresaw your birth, down to the month and the very day? She told me that you would be more handsome than your father, smarter than I-which I scarce believed possible-and a grand lover, something a mother really didn't care to hear." She smiled and patted his shoulder. "Now, no more of this for now. We will speak later."

Suddenly the duke stood up. "Evangeline is tired. I will take her to the Rose Chamber, and she can rest until dinner. We will dine here this evening, just the three of us. Come, Evangeline." And he held his hand out to her. She looked up at him, and very slowly she nodded and gave him her hand.

"Oh, dear," Marianne Clothilde said. "We have guests coming. I would be shot if I canceled this late. What shall we do?"

Evangeline heard the duke curse. "By any chance will Lady Pemberly be here? And Miss Storleigh?"

Marianne Clothilde gave her an engaging grin that was the very copy of the duke's. "So you've met Eudora? She could be one of Wellington's generals. Yes, she'll be coming."

"She and Tsar Ivan are two of a kind," the duke said. "She was camping on my doorstep on Evangeline's second evening at Chesleigh. She wanted to make certain that some fortune-hunting hussy wasn't there to take advantage of me. She dragged Drew and John Edgerton with her. She was in excellent spirits when she left. She approved of Evangeline."

"Will Lord Pettigrew and John Edgerton also be coming, your grace?"

"I will invite them," Marianne Clothilde said. "Two more gentlemen at the table is just what I had in mind. Hopefully they will come."

And Evangeline knew that John Edgerton would certainly come, d.a.m.n him to h.e.l.l.

Marianne Clothilde turned to the duke. "It is very strange. Drew is constantly with Felicia. He's seen everywhere with her." She shook her head. "It never ceases to amaze me which girl will make a man fall to his knees."

"It's repellent, Mother. No man should ever fall to his knees." "I was speaking only metaphorically." "It is still repellent. No man worth his salt would ever be brought that low. My G.o.d, I doubt Felicia could stop chattering even when they are-well, never mind that, but it's nonetheless true." He brought himself to a halt as his mother's teacup rattled in its saucer.

Evangeline wasn't listening. She wondered how she was going to get a message to John Edgerton, and the duke's mother had solved the problem for her. She ran her tongue over her lips. "I thank you for allowing me to come, your grace."

"What do you think, Richard? Should I instead have a tray sent to Evangeline's room?"

"I should prefer that both of us could eat in my library, alone, in front of a nice warm fire."

"That isn't an alternative," Marianne Clothilde said. "You will gird your loins, dearest."

"At least you will rest now," the duke said, pulling Evangeline closer to his side. His mother's beautifully arched dark brows went up a good inch. This was fascinating. His tone was peremptory.

Evangeline merely nodded. At least now she would have some time alone, to think, to decide what she would tell Edgerton. She wanted nothing more than to kill him.

"Why are you trembling?"

She raised startled eyes to his face. "No, I'm not, not really, your grace."

"I will see you later, Evangeline," Marianne Clothilde said. "You know, you do look a bit weak in the knees. The Rose Room? Yes, that's a very nice bedchamber."

As they walked side by side up the wide circular staircase, she said, "Your town house is very elegant." "Yes," he said. "Most of it is done in my mother's style. She quite disliked her mother-in-law's taste. I like it myself. My mother many times gets things exactly right. Not just about style but about people." "She is also very kind."

He said, his voice low, "You don't have to come to this dinner my mother has planned."

"Do you think your mother doesn't want me there? She is so very kind that I'm not certain of her feelings. Unlike you," she added, smiling up at him. "I always know exactly what you're thinking."

"Actually, you don't." If she did, he thought, she wouldn't be standing here, not an inch away, smiling up at him. "Now, as for my dear mother's feelings, they're of no consequence. They have nothing to do with what I meant. You see? You don't understand at all."

"Very well. Tell me. What is it you wish, your grace?"

Naturally, he couldn't just spit out all the things that were flooding through his brain. It would scare her witless, or it wouldn't, and then what would he do? His belly tightened. "I just don't want you to be tired, nothing more."

He stopped and said, "This is the Rose Room. I do believe that Queen Charlotte just might have slept here, for what reason I have no idea. Maybe it was Queen Bess. On the other hand, the house isn't old enough for that particular female monarch."

He raised her hand to his mouth. She felt the heat of him through her glove. Unconsciously she leaned into him.

"No," he said. "No."

She drew back. "I'm very strong," she said finally. What had she done? She'd thrown herself at him, that's what she'd done. "Really, you don't have to ever worry about me. I am strong."

He raised his hand and touched his fingertips to her pale cheek. "Are you really so invincible?"

She raised her eyes to his dark face. He was looking at her mouth. She wanted more than anything to bring him close, to hear his strong heartbeat, to feel his flesh against hers.

No, no. She straightened and gave him a meaningless smile. "No, of course not. I'll see you this evening, your grace."

When the duke returned some minutes later to the drawing room, his mother said, "She is lovely, beautiful actually, not that that matters at all. Does it?"

"No, of course it doesn't. Be quiet, Mother. I have no intention of indulging you in speculation."

"I doubt there's much speculation to be had at this late date. You treat her quite masterfully."

"That's ridiculous. I simply treat her appropriately, quite properly."

"She's a grown woman, and a widow. She's probably used to making her own decisions. Do you think her father or her husband ordered her about?"

"No, I don't think that's possible. It's just that I don't understand her."

"You haven't known her long." He turned to her and smiled. "No, I haven't. On the other hand, I have no doubt whatsoever that I'll know her forever. What she needs is a strong hand, that's all. My strong hand." "You've decided very quickly." He shrugged. "Yes, it appears that I have. What will happen? I have no idea."

She adored her son, but even she had to admit that she'd never before seen him so very caring. His behavior toward this young woman was fascinating. He realized exactly what he was feeling, but it hadn't sunk all the way in yet. He had no doubt he'd know her forever? Well, that was certainly sinking very far in. She raised her half-filled cup of tepid tea and sipped it slowly. She knew his reputation well, and she knew quite well that the beautiful women that had come and gone in his life hadn't touched him. It appeared that her proud, cynical son had finally found a woman who would hold him. A widow who was half French. A young woman who also appeared to adore both her son and her grandson, if Marianne Clothilde was any judge, which she was most certainly.

Chapter 25.

Evangeline stopped cold at the bottom of the wide circular staircase. Standing at full attention were six footmen, all dressed in the duke's livery of crimson and gold. Grayson, a stark contrast in somber black, his reddish-white hair glistening beneath the huge chandelier, appeared to be inspecting the pristine white of the footmen's gloves. He turned to say to Evangeline, "Madame, the duke and her grace are in the drawing room. They are expecting you. You are punctual, something her grace appreciates."

Since a very sour-faced maid had awakened her, Evangeline couldn't take any of the credit. "When will the guests arrive, Grayson?"

"In five minutes, Madame. No one, I might add, even the prince regent, is often late to an affair at Clarendon House."

"No, I can't imagine that he would," she said, and meant it.

Grayson opened the double oak doors, and Evangeline preceded him into the drawing room. The duke was standing negligently against the mantelpiece, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, smiling at something his mother was saying. He looked magnificent in his black and white evening wear. She wondered if he or Bunyon had tied his cravat, which was so snowy white it looked to be cold to the touch. He gestured as he spoke with those longfingers of his. She could almost feel those fingers of his lightly stroking her cheek, her jaw, her throat. And then down to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She heaved out a breath. She couldn't think of him in that way, in that very s.e.xual way that must have shone in her eyes because she knew, simply knew that when she was thinking of him in that way, touching her, kissing her, that he knew it as well.

She was young, she thought, to have life become such a wasteland.