 
Highway Revenge

By Nadine Millard

Blue Tulip Publishing

www.bluetulippublishing.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 NADINE MILLARD

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

HIGHWAY REVENGE

Copyright © 2015 NADINE MILLARD

ISBN-13: 978-1-942246-74-9

ISBN-10: 1-942246-74-9

Cover Art by Jena Brignola

### TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINTEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ALSO FROM BLUE TULIP PUBLISHING
_For my wonderful dad; I'll_ _always be a Lee girl at heart!_

And for my niece Kayla, thank you for the inspiration.

#  PROLOGUE

"Do not slouch, Evelyn, for heaven's sake."

Evelyn Spencer sat straighter, her spine rigid, her posture above reproach.

She didn't care a whit about good posture. She did care about her ears and had no desire to have them bleeding with her governess's scolding.

"Sorry, Miss. Tate," she said automatically.

Generally speaking, it was better to just apologise. Sometimes, if Evelyn was very lucky, it stopped the sermon in its tracks.

There was no such luck today.

"Young lady, for too long you have been allowed to run riot, indulging in behaviours that are unbecoming of a lady of good breeding. And although your father was far too soft, even encouraging these things, your uncle certainly will not be."

Miss Tate was gathering steam, her spectacles slipping down her hawk-like nose as she spoke, but Evelyn was barely listening. The lance of pain that went through her at the mention of her father was acute, and most of her concentration focused on not bursting into noisy sobs.

Miss Tate didn't allow her to cry.

"You must remember, Evelyn, that your uncle did not have to take you in. He is doing so out of the goodness of his heart, and he is not going to allow you to act in the manner that you have been doing. He has his own children to raise and cannot waste his time pandering to your ridiculous antics."

Evelyn listened to Miss Tate berating her and did not speak, for there was no point.

Father had been indulgent; it was true. But Evelyn had never been badly behaved. She climbed trees instead of sewing, learned Latin along with Jon, though she had passable French too. And, worst of all to Miss Tate, she had an unrivalled talent with a sword. She could shoot and ride astride, though she had learned to ride side-saddle too.

Basically, her father had taught her everything he would have taught a son. Evelyn felt that she was the all the better for it. What harm in a young lady knowing how to defend herself, after all?

Especially now.

Because Miss Tate was right in what she said. Uncle Geoffrey had no reason to take her in; he could just leave her to her own devices.

He was trustee to her inheritance, yes. But that didn't mean he had to give her a roof over her head. When she became adult, she would be very well-provided for. Her inheritance was large enough that she would live very comfortably. But he could have left her to her own devices and hadn't, which, she supposed, was a good sign. It meant that he wanted her, perhaps.

It was true. Uncle Geoffrey could have abandoned her after father's carriage accident. Instead, he had sent for her, and was going to allow her to live at his estate in Surrey, even have siblings of sort, which was a novelty to her. Her cousins, Jonathan and Anna, would be welcome distractions for her.

"Evelyn," Miss Tate barked, causing her to jump, "are you listening to me?"

"I am, Miss Tate," she mumbled obediently. "I am very grateful to my uncle and aunt."

Miss Tate squinted at her as though suspicious of her sincerity, but, after a moment, she nodded her head.

"Very well. Now, I am going to sleep for the rest of the journey. Do not..." She glared. "...awaken me."

Evelyn nodded her understanding then turned to gaze at the passing countryside.

She missed her father desperately at times like this. Times when she didn't know what was happening, where she was going, and how her life would be.

Her Aunt Millicent was a hard woman, and Uncle Geoffrey had always frightened the life out of her. He was cold and harsh and everything her father wasn't.

And the fact of the matter was Evelyn didn't know them, not really. They had sent the occasional letter on birthdays and Christmas, but that had been it really.

Time ticked on until finally the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a beautiful red-brick manor house. Evelyn knew it from frequent visits when her grandfather had been alive. But it had been some years since her father had brought her here.

Uncle Geoffrey had inherited the estate as the eldest son. Her father had received a hefty sum as the only other child but hadn't remained at the family seat, or even near it. He'd bought a small estate in Norfolk, and Evelyn had been very happy there.

Miss Tate awoke with a start when the footman opened the carriage door and placed the steps at it.

Evelyn stepped out, a mixture of grief and apprehension giving her butterflies. She hoped very much that she would be happy here. And it was good, she supposed, that Miss Tate would be the family governess. Evelyn might not like her very much, but at least she was familiar.

"Now, you remember your manners," the woman hissed now to Evelyn as she took her by the hand and led her toward the entrance of the manor house.

They stepped inside and were greeted by a starchy and formidable butler. At least, he was formidable to Evelyn, but then, she was only ten. Miss Tate didn't seem in the slightest bit intimated.

"I am Thornton, the butler of the house," the man said with a perfunctory bow. "The family are in the green drawing room. If you will follow me, I shall take you there at once."

Evelyn gripped Miss Tate's hand tighter as they began to walk through the massive house toward the green drawing room.

Miss Tate, to her surprise, squeezed right back.

"Stiff upper lip, Evelyn," she said before stopping altogether and turning Evelyn toward her. "You will do very well, child, if you learn to curb your adventurous nature. Ladies of Quality act a certain way at all times. You will, no doubt, be a beautiful young woman, but you will never catch a husband with your wild ways."

Evelyn resisted the urge to make a face at the word husband. That was the last thing she wanted. Boys were positively disgusting.

Instead, she nodded obediently and continued on with Miss Tate.

The butler was awaiting their arrival outside a closed door. The sound of conversation filtered out, and Evelyn had to bite her lip to stop from crying at what she heard.

"Well, her mother was a weak, snivelling nobody. Couldn't even survive childbirth. The brat will probably be the same."

"Then why offer to have her live with us, Geoffrey, for goodness' sake?"

"What else was I to do? What if word got out that I hadn't taken her in? Bad show, that. What would we say in London?"

Aunt Millicent sighed as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

"Yes, you are right. And she will have to receive the same education as Jonathan and Anna for the same reason."

"Yes, she'll have to have a Season too, though we will obviously make quite sure Anna is taken care of first."

"Let them come out together. I have no fears of anyone outshining Anna." Her aunt laughed, and Evelyn felt her cheeks burn with humiliation.

The butler seemed unsure about whether to announce them after such a conversation, but there was nothing else for it.

Evelyn thought she detected a flash of sympathy in the man's eyes as he glanced at her before knocking and opening the door.

"Miss Evelyn and Miss Tate, sir," he said with a bow.

Evelyn took a deep breath.

It seemed fairly obvious, even to her child's mind, that she wasn't wanted here. But she was here now, and there was very little she could do about it.

#  CHAPTER ONE

Ten years later

"It feels strange to be home." Jonathan Spencer looked out the window of the rolling carriage, moving ever closer to Spencer Park, the estate that he would one day run.

He dearly hoped that day was a very long time from now. His work was dangerous and sometimes utterly soul-destroying. But, for all that, he loved it and would not wish to give it up.

"I imagine it is," his companion answered.

Unlike Jonathan, Lord Andrew Ashdon, future Earl of Downsbury, was already in charge of the running of his estate. His father, the current earl, was completely infirm and so, although the title had yet to pass to him, the responsibility of the earldom's estates and holdings were already on the shoulders of the viscount.

It didn't stop him leaving the country on one of their assignments at the drop of a hat, however. If Jonathan enjoyed the thrill of their missions, Ashdon was mildly addicted to it.

"Stranger still that you've somehow persuaded me to come along."

Jonathan looked over at his friend and partner and grinned.

"Come now, Ash. It won't be so bad."

"Says the man who had to be blackmailed into coming back by a hysterical mama."

Jonathan grimaced at the truth in Ashdon's words.

"You know that right now we could be in White's enjoying the finest whiskey, planning a night of gambling, wenching, general hell-raising..." continued Andrew.

"Yes, I know."

"...yet here we are. On our way to a crumbling pile of bricks occupied by no one but your mother, father, and that mousy little cousin you spoke of. Emma, was it?"

"Evelyn. And Anna will be visiting too."

"Ah, the delectable Anna. Hasn't she gone and married that dullard, Peter Grant?"

Jon sighed and ran a hand through his golden-blond hair, his usually bright amber eyes dulling.

"Yes, she bloody well has. What was she thinking? I've never met him without wanting to shoot him within five minutes."

"I'm sure nobody has."

"If I'd been here when she did it, there's no way I would have let it go ahead."

"You couldn't have stopped it, Jon."

"No, I don't suppose I could have." Jonathan's eyes dulled even more as they flashed with pain. "It seems I'm making a habit of letting down the women in my life."

Andrew opened his mouth to refute Jonathan's words, but a shake of Jonathan's head was enough to communicate that he didn't want to speak of it any longer. A silence fell between them as Jonathan tried his best to battle the demons who never seemed to leave him alone, and Andrew wondered how he could help his friend and how the hell he was going to survive the sheer boredom of weeks in the country.

Andrew looked out the carriage window at the passing countryside and tried not to worry overly much about the man opposite him. Opposite in all ways, come to that.

Jonathan was blond where Andrew was dark, his hair a deep black. Jonathan's eyes were a light, bright golden brown, Andrew's a dark, moss green. And where Jonathan was always the life and soul of the party, cheery and fun-loving, Andrew was of a more sarcastic, acerbic nature.

Both were charming, both were famously popular with the fairer sex, but they were as different as night and day. Their roles were set and worked well for them. If they wanted information, Jonathan either charmed it out of people, or Andrew scared it out of them. If they needed something done, Jonathan achieved it with a smile, Andrew with a glare.

Yes, they were opposites. But it worked well for them. And in the world they lived in, full of danger and intrigue, it was important that it did.

And then Paris happened.

"Almost there." Jonathan's voice, sounding mercifully happier, penetrated Andrew's thoughts.

Andrew groaned. "Tell me again why I'm doing this?"

"Because it is good to recuperate after a particularly intense mission."

Andrew merely raised a brow.

"Because living in cities being debauched all the time is very wearing on one's soul."

He scoffed.

"Because..." Jonathan's voice dropped, and Andrew suddenly felt helplessly uneasy. "...because Paris almost killed me, Ash. And I need this. I need some normality. Even if it's only the pretence of it."

Andrew knew that Jonathan was suffering. One didn't become a spy for the Crown without a certain amount of suffering. And yes, Andrew had almost died in Paris, had, in fact, been saved by Jon. So he'd suffered physical pain and even fear, though he would never admit such a thing. But he hadn't had to watch the woman he loved be killed. And he hadn't been forced to leave her behind.

These events could be the thing that finally broke Jonathan's spirit, that sent him home to live the quiet, relatively uncomplicated life of a well-off gentleman and heir. And Andrew thought it would be a crying shame if that were to be the case. Not only would he lose a colleague, but he would surely lose a friend.

Andrew was not cut out for a life of quietude in the country. In fact, he'd never even been to Jonathan's home. He'd met the family in Town, but never the meek little cousin.

Apparently, she'd had a come out the same year as Anna, but Andrew had been away at the time. Spain, if memory served him.

Anyway, it had been one Season where Anna had shone, unsurprisingly. The cousin had hardly been talked of and had gone scurrying back to the country never to be seen again.

Andrew survived on a lifestyle made up of debauchery, flirtations, and an excess of whiskey from time to time. This stay in the country would likely be the end of him.

He looked again at Jonathan and saw that the other man's mood remained as sombre as ever. That simply wouldn't do. He wouldn't let his best friend slip into a depression, no matter how understandable it would be.

"So," Andrew stretched out, injecting his voice with a joviality he didn't feel, "who will there be to entertain me then, if your sister is wed?"

As Andrew had hoped, Jonathan's amber eyes took on a dangerous glint. Danger was better than melancholy.

"Entertain you?" he repeated softly.

Andrew merely grinned unrepentantly.

"Don't we have a rule about sisters?" Jonathan asked, his tone still hostile.

"Since I don't have a sister, I would say no."

"Well, we do now."

"Ah," said Andrew, his grin wider still, "and what's that?"

"That if you touch my sister, I shoot you."

Jonathan, Andrew knew, was a crack shot. Just as he was.

"But I'm your best friend," he argued.

"You are," said Jon, "and I'll remember you fondly."

Andrew laughed aloud and was pleased to see that even Jonathan produced a smile.

"And that goes for cousins, too," the other man continued now.

Andrew scoffed.

"The quiet little church-mouse cousin who couldn't even survive a full Season in Town? Trust me, my friend. She is entirely safe."

Jonathan nodded, as though he were serious in his warning. As though Andrew would ever consider a dalliance with a timid country cousin!

He looked out of the window and thought fondly of the gentlemen's club, the gaming halls and, most fondly, the mistresses he'd left behind.

This was sure to be the most boring, uneventful period of his existence.

"Evelyn, do not slouch."

It was ironic really, Evelyn thought, that after ten years she managed to get herself scolded for the same things, the same number of times.

No matter how hard she tried, how straight she sat, how quiet she remained, she somehow always got it wrong. She looked up and caught the sympathetic look of her cousin, Anna.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Millicent."

"Yes, well enough time and blunt has been spent to try to get you to at least appear as a lady should."

Evelyn felt the familiar sting of humiliation burn her cheeks. Sometimes she wanted to rail at her aunt, scream that it was her father's money, now her money that paid for such things.

But of course she would never actually do such a thing.

For one thing, ten years of criticism and insistence that she was as inconvenient as she was unwanted was enough to silence even the very sturdiest of spirits. For another, Evie's recent discoveries were enough to ensure she stayed as quiet as the mouse she was believed to be, if only until she figured out what to do with the devastating news she'd uncovered.

"Are you listening, child?"

Her aunt's screech brought Evelyn's mind back to the present and very nearly brought her hands up to protect her ears.

"I apologise, Aunt Millicent, I was wool-gathering, I fear."

Aunt Millicent sighed as though she carried the weight of the world on her broad shoulders.

"Ten years of my best efforts have done nothing to improve you."

"Mama, I think—"

Evelyn silenced her cousin's words, no doubt intended to defend her, with a discreet shake of her head. There was no point in both of them bearing the brunt of her aunt's displeasure.

"You think what, Anna?"

Evelyn sighed, but quietly so Aunt Millicent wouldn't hear.

Anna rolled her eyes, but discreetly so Aunt Millicent wouldn't see.

In fact, it seemed to Evelyn that everyone in their household spent a lot of time trying to dodge Aunt Millicent's senses. Well, everyone except Uncle Geoffrey, who couldn't care less.

As had been happening since her recent discovery, as soon as Evelyn's mind turned to Uncle Geoffrey, her feelings turned to anger, disbelief, and utter despair.

Evelyn ruthlessly pushed such feelings away. She didn't need childish crying bouts; she needed evidence. She needed proof of what she'd discovered, and she needed to find a way to get all of this without Uncle Geoffrey ever finding out.

"You think I should be more tolerant of the girl when she insists on disobeying even the simplest of orders at every turn?"

It was as if Evelyn wasn't even in the room.

"I'm sorry, Aunt. I did not—"

"Yes, yes. You are sorry again."

The sound of a ruckus in the hallway mercifully stopped yet another tirade before it started.

Jon was home.

The effect on Aunt Millicent was instantaneous. The Jonathan Effect, Anna had named it. No matter what sort of mood she was in, or whose head she was gleefully ringing a peal over, the second news arrived about Jon, her face lit up like Vauxhall Gardens during the fireworks.

But then, Jonathan had that effect on almost everyone he came into contact with. He had looked after the girls during their childhoods, often bearing the brunt of Uncle Geoffrey's displeasure himself when the three of them had been up to mischief. And although Uncle Geoffrey had never, ever been violent toward Jonathan, his bellowing voice was oftentimes loud enough to burst eardrums.

Anna had always been the apple of her father's eye. He liked pretty things, liked owning them even more so. And Anna was a stunningly beautiful girl. She had been declared an Incomparable during their Season from the first soiree, and Uncle Geoffrey had practically salivated at all the deep pockets attached to her many beaux.

Anna could have had anyone. Why she had saddled herself with that god-awful Peter Grant, a man who was a mere few years younger than her father, was a mystery to Evelyn.

But even Anna, with her blonde perfection and rich-husband-snagging skills couldn't compare to the godlike Jonathan in the eyes of their mother.

And as for Evelyn... well, Evelyn was someone who got underfoot and irritated them. They had taken her in, she had realised even at ten, because Society would have frowned upon them if they hadn't. They had given her a Season for the same reason, although the money had come from Evelyn's own trust.

She had dressed well, just not as well as Anna. Had been introduced to all the right people, just not as many as Anna. She had attended numerous events, just not as many as Anna.

And when beaux came to call, which surprised her somewhat, they were chased off for the most ridiculous of reasons. Evelyn had thought that they'd want to get rid of her as soon as possible. She had been utterly confused at the time. Now, she knew the reason she'd been kept around. And it devastated her. Uncle Geoffrey had been helping himself to her trust fund with alarming indiscrimination.

"Now remember..." Her Aunt's harsh tones cut through Evelyn's less-than-pleasant thoughts. "...Jonathan is bringing Viscount Ashdon." The way she said his name caused Evelyn to half-expect angels to appear, carrying the man in. "You will be on your best behaviour, understood?"

Evelyn nodded mutely. She always was on her best behaviour. They just had different ideas of best.

"Anna, sit up straighter. Although there seems little point in showing you off now. If I had known Lord Ashdon would be returning, visiting here, we could have held out for him. Mr. Grant may be richer than Croesus but he's no Peer, is he?"

Anna rolled her eyes at Evelyn and reached for another plum pudding, looking considerably more slouched than she had moments ago. Anna did not heed her mother at the best of times.

"Still it's of no matter now. Of course, if Mr. Grant should die—"

"Mother, really," said Anna, though half-heartedly. Evelyn had seen her cousin's tears about the man she'd been married off to. There was no love there.

"Of course I don't wish the man ill," Aunt Millicent continued, "but you are still very young and very beautiful. If you were to be widowed before Lord Ashdon chose a wife..."

Evelyn couldn't believe the words spilling from her aunt's runaway mouth, but mercifully they were brought to a halt by the parlour door swinging open.

"Jonathan," her aunt squealed in delight as Jon walked in the door, looking bigger and taller than Evelyn remembered.

He was blond like her, both of them having golden hair as opposed to Anna's platinum. But Jon and Anna's eyes were the same light amber brown, whereas Evelyn's were a deep chocolate.

Jonathan hugged his mother, kissing her cheek before sweeping Anna off her feet in a much more exuberant hug, before finally turning to Evelyn and doing the same.

"Evie, how well you look," he said kindly, his eyes searching her face. "How have you been?"

Evelyn smiled at his obvious concern. Both her cousins had grown up watching her be maltreated and both had tried to vehemently defend her in the past. But Evelyn had always assured them it didn't matter. She was never struck, or starved, or treated with any real contempt. And she had been given a roof over her head, after all. Besides, without Uncle Geoffrey, she wouldn't have gained a brother and sister in Jon and Anna.

"I'm fine, Jon. Truly."

"Everyone behaving themselves?"

Oh, yes, she thought, aside from the fact that your father had mine killed.

How dearly she would love to confide all to Jonathan. To tell him of the letters she'd found, the letters that had disappeared when she'd gone back for them.

But this was Jonathan's family more than hers. And how could she accuse his father of such a heinous crime without a scrap of proof? Plus, Jonathan was never here. If he wasn't debauching half of Europe, he was living as a hellion in London. What help would he be on the Continent or in Town?

"Yes," she said with a smile that she hoped didn't look as forced as it felt, "everyone is acting just as they should." Aside from that little inconvenient murder.

"I don't believe you, but I know you won't tell me anything different."

"Jonathan, do come here."

Aunt Millicent's nasally voice reminded Jonathan of his manners, and he quickly turned toward his mother, though he kept his arm around Evelyn, no doubt to stop her from running away.

She wouldn't, of course. That would be unpardonably rude. But since she always managed to displease her aunt when meeting new people, the idea was tempting.

"Forgive me," Jon was saying to his friend.

Evelyn couldn't see him yet since her aunt's considerable frame was blocking her view.

"Mother, Anna, you remember Viscount Ashdon."

"Lord Ashdon, it is so good to see you again. And we are very, very honoured to have you as a guest." Her aunt tittered in a most irritating, sycophantic way and nearly doubled over, curtsying to the man.

"Ladies, a pleasure as always. Marriage suits you, Anna. You seem to have grown even more beautiful."

Well, Evelyn thought as the sound of his deep, rich baritone reverberated around the room, he certainly sounds as charming as his reputation says.

"Andrew, may I present my cousin, Miss Evelyn Spencer? Evie, Lord Ashdon."

Aunt Millicent finally moved out of the way, because she had no choice really, and Evelyn got her first glance of Lord Andrew Ashdon.

Evelyn would never admit it to anyone other than Anna, but she had long had a secret penchant for romantic, gothic novels. Novels full of scandalous plots and dark, mysterious, handsome men. Never in her life had she imagined that she'd meet such a man up close. Yet here he stood, the embodiment of her darkest, most secret fantasies.

Evelyn stared at the green-eyed, black-haired man as he bowed over her hand. He is huge, was her first thought. Huge and utterly delectable was her second.

He couldn't be real, could he?

Lord Ashdon stood straight again and smiled at her, a smile that very nearly had her swooning like those idiot girls in her books. She'd always thought that swooning about a man was ridiculously melodramatic. Now she thought a well-executed swoon was worth its weight in gold because then he'd catch her. And touch her. And—

"A pleasure, Miss Spencer. I was sorry not to have met you when you came to Town but am glad to rectify that now."

Oh, that voice. That voice and that smile and that face.

It was definitely getting hotter in this room. Who would have thought autumn would be so unaccountably warm?

Speak, Evelyn, she told herself as he stood waiting for a response.

She couldn't! She could not speak a word. She could barely remember a blasted word. He had rendered her mute.

Evelyn glanced at her aunt, who looked furious, Anna, who looked sympathetic, and back at Lord Ashdon, who looked polite but a little confused by her silence.

Oh God, Evie. Say anything! Anything. Just one word.

"Er, will you be travelling to Town again this Season, Miss Spencer?"

She watched as his startlingly green eyes moved from her to Jon, a look of consternation on his face.

Evelyn, remember a word. Any. Word. And just speak it.

The room was becoming hotter than ever. Except now, it was not merely his presence but her own mortification making it so.

Evelyn had spoken her first word at eight months old, apparently. That meant she had nineteen years of words stored in her brain, and she couldn't remember one of them.

The silence stretched just long enough for Evelyn to wish the ground would open and swallow her whole.

"Right, well, now that the introductions have been made, I'll just give Andrew a quick tour of the place."

Jon gave Evelyn's shoulder a supportive squeeze before he led Lord Ashdon from the room.

The silence continued for mere seconds after they left before Aunt Millicent rounded on Evelyn, her face thunderous, her bosom heaving. Well, this was going to be long. And loud.

Evelyn sighed and took a seat. At least she could picture Lord Ashdon in her head while her aunt went on at her, she thought, and maybe if she concentrated hard enough, she'd be able to issue a hello when they next met at dinner.

"I told you she was shy." Jon grinned as he led the way to his father's study. This was going to be the extent of the tour because this was where the whiskey was kept, and even minutes in his mother's company required a drink afterwards.

Andrew mumbled some incoherent response or other as he tried to clear his mind. And while he cleared his head, he tried to get other less subtle parts of his body under control. Good God, but Jonathan hadn't warned him half well enough.

He struggled to think back to Jon's earlier words: pretty but shy.

Pretty? She was an angel! Delicate features, heart-wrenching brown eyes, glorious golden curls, and a body the mere memory of which was stirring those unsubtle body parts again. How had she not been eaten alive during the Season? Her uncle must have been beating men away. No wonder Jon was so protective of her.

And how the hell was she still unattached? Andrew had travelled the length and breadth of Europe, had been to India and the Africa. He'd seen women beautiful enough to steal the breath from his body. Miss Evelyn Spencer would rival them all. She was perhaps not the overwhelmingly striking woman her cousin was, but her softer features were far more beautiful to his mind and to his — well, never mind.

Shy, Jon had called her. Another gross understatement. There was shy, and then there was making him feel like the monster in some fairy-tale. She'd looked terrified of him. In fact, at one point she'd looked as though she might faint. And much as he'd relish the opportunity to hold her in his arms, he was accustomed to making women go weak at the knees for reasons other than fear.

If she'd had any idea of the thoughts going through his head while she gazed at him with those frightened, beautiful eyes, she would probably have never recovered.

"Andrew!"

He turned toward Jonathan, who was looking at him with a frown. Andrew didn't blame him. He was usually sharp as a knife, with the hearing to match, but Jon's timid little cousin had him acting like a green lad.

"What did you say?"

"Whiskey or wine?"

Andrew frowned at the question.

"What do you think?"

Jonathan grinned before pouring them both a measure of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid round his own glass as he handed the other to Andrew.

"I think you've been rendered tongue-tied by my baby cousin."

"Hardly a baby, Jon. She was all woman from where I was standing."

Andrew assumed the growl emitting from his friend wasn't a happy one.

"Care to tell me why you underestimated her — well, her?"

Jonathan sat back in an overstuffed armchair situated in front of the huge fireplace that dominated the room.

"Had I told you how beautiful she was, I would have had to endure your incessant talk about things an older cousin doesn't want to hear about his younger relatives. You're bad enough about Anna."

"Ah, Anna. She has aged beautifully, like a fine scotch."

"Right there," said Jonathan with a scowl, "that right there is why I told you nothing of Evie."

"Would you rather I lied about your sister's attributes?"

"I'd rather you didn't bloody well talk about them at all. Or think about them—" He paused then blurted out. "—or have me bloody talking about them."

"Calm down, Jon. You know I don't dally with married women unless I'm leaving the country soon after."

Jonathan murmured a rather unpleasant word before downing the remainder of his drink and moving to refill his glass.

"Please don't speak of my sister and dallying in the same sentence."

Andrew merely grinned.

"Your cousin, however... she's unattached?"

"Unattached and innocent and will stay that way," Jonathan said with a scowl.

"I'm less interested in timid virgins than I am married sisters, Jon," he lied. For it was a lie. He couldn't recall when he'd been more interested in a woman in his life. "I am merely stating that she is a very beautiful young woman, and I'm surprised she remains single."

Jonathan eyeballed him as though waiting for him to slip up and reveal his real feelings. But Andrew was as good at his job as Jon was, so his face remained an impassive mask.

After a moment, Jonathan sighed and sat back down.

"I don't know why she wasn't offered for, to be honest. I wasn't exactly attentive throughout her Season. For one thing, we were in Belgium for half of it, and for another, where my parents go, I tend not to. So I wasn't around the house much, and I never noticed her encourage anyone to pay their addresses."

Andrew nodded as though he understood, but he didn't understand it at all. Had all the men of London been struck with temporary blindness that year?

"In truth, I wish she had found herself a husband that year," Jon continued, staring into his glass. "I would like to see her out from under the shadow of my parents."

Andrew merely raised a brow and waited for Jonathan to continue.

"They've never been violent or overly cruel, but Evie came to us as a young girl without a parent left in the world, and, though they took her in, they were never very kind to her. The opposite, in fact. She was never treated as a member of our family."

Andrew thought about the shy little mute with those incredible eyes. He tried not to feel sorry for her. He didn't even know her! But those eyes, that frightened look...

"Anyway, it would have been nice for her to build a life away from my parents. She was a wild little thing when she arrived. It would do her good to get her personality back."

"So she actually speaks, then?"

Jonathan laughed softly.

"Yes, she speaks. But quietly. And she doesn't do well with strangers."

"Why not?"

"I'm ashamed to say it, since it implies I've sat back and allowed it to happen, which I have, I suppose, but Mother has always, always found Evie lacking, no matter what she does. And I think it just became easier for her to hide herself away, become as unobtrusive as possible, rather than face my mother's wrath every five minutes."

"You haven't allowed it, Jon. Why, you're barely here."

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign that he was frustrated.

"Perhaps I should have been here more. Perhaps I should be."

Andrew didn't like where this was going. He'd seen far too many of his colleagues and friends give up their way of life these past few years, preferring to settle down, rusticate in some part of the country or other, and begin to fill their nurseries at an alarming speed.

It was hard enough to cope with all of them doing it. If Jonathan left the game, he'd feel like he'd lost a limb.

"I'm sure there's no call for that," he said, taking a small sip of whiskey. "Granted, I've never spoken to your cousin, since she apparently doesn't speak to people who aren't you, but she doesn't strike me as the type who would be happy with any of the Town dandies anyway. Doubtless she's fixed her eye on some country curate or squire or somebody equally staid, and she'll end up happily settled with him."

"You think?"

He didn't have a damned clue, if he were being honest. But Jonathan didn't need to know that.

"I do," he lied.

"It does cheer me up," Jon said, his tone lighter, "to think of Evie settled happily somewhere with a brood of children to raise."

Andrew swallowed the rest of his drink and thought that if his friend knew that right then he was imagining the act of making those children with Evelyn Spencer, his mood would turn decidedly darker.

Best not to mention it, then.

#  CHAPTER TWO

"Anna, I can't wear this. Aunt Millicent will either kill me, or you, or both of us."

Evelyn couldn't drag her eyes from her reflection as she eyed the dress Anna had brought for her to wear to dinner that evening.

It wasn't that the dress was scandalous. Anna would never wear anything that wasn't stylish and beautiful.

But Evelyn had long since been resigned to the pale pastels and white gowns worn by single young ladies of quality. The only colour in her wardrobe was her riding habit, which was a deep gold colour with brown piping round the military-style jacket. But that was fine because all young ladies wore colour when riding, white not being a good match for the mud and dirt of a horse's hooves.

"She might..." Anna was agreeing with a smile. "...but won't it be worth it to see the look on Andrew's face?"

Evelyn's face flamed at the mention of the tall, dark walking heap of sin.

After he and Jon had left and Aunt Millicent had delivered a screeching diatribe of truly epic proportions, Evelyn had escaped to her room and dug out her old copy of Hestia's Haunting, a ghoulish tale featuring, well, a rather irritating foolish girl, if she were being honest, but also, and more to the point, a deliciously dark and devious man by the name of Carlos.

Re-reading the gothic novel, or her favourite parts thereof, Evelyn could now imagine Lord Ashdon as the scandalous and sinful Don Carlos, his dark green eyes piercing as he leaned closer and closer to her (not Hestia but her, Evelyn), his strong arms reaching round and pulling her flush against his smooth, hard body while—

"Evelyn, don't make me slap you."

Anna's laughing warning brought Evelyn's shockingly improper thoughts back into order.

"I'm sorry, Anna. What were you saying?"

Anna grinned in a knowing way that set Evelyn to the blush again.

"I was saying that Andrew is distractingly handsome. I can only assume you agree since you went all dreamy-eyed at the mention of his name."

"I did not," Evelyn argued hotly. Lie. "I hadn't even noticed that he was more-than-average to look at." Big lie. "In fact, he's not at all to my taste." Biggest lie she'd ever told.

Anna, judging from her expression of disbelief, wasn't swallowing it anyway.

"Well, you'd be the first woman in Christendom not to find him devastating then. Most of us would sell our souls for just one night of—"

"Anna!" Evelyn was mortified, and she didn't think her legs would survive a discussion about Lord Ashdon and what activities he engaged in at night. They had been the consistency of warm treacle since she'd clapped eyes on him. "This isn't at all proper," she continued piously. "You are a married woman, and I am an unmarried woman. So you should only be thinking such things about your husband..." Evelyn tried not to shudder as she spoke of Mr. Grant and activities. "...and I shouldn't be hearing about it."

"Goodness, Evie, you're such a prude." Anna wasn't put off in the slightest. "If I wanted to, I could tell you some of the stories I've heard about our esteemed guest, and then you'd be sure to suffer an attack of the vapours if merely the idea sets you off."

Anna jumped up from the bed where she'd been lounging and scrutinising Evelyn in the dress.

"I heard he and the Cometess Le Fraque had a dalliance last year that set the whole of Town in turmoil. She wasn't the most discreet of people, being French I suppose, and she did enjoy her liquor. Anyway, after a few glasses of Madeira, she would tell anyone with ears just what they'd been up to. And I can tell you, dear cousin, that it was quite breathtakingly outrageous."

Evelyn was trying very hard to look disinterested and disproving, but she was agog.

Anna had grasped Evelyn's hands and was staring at her, the excitement of salacious gossip making her light brown eyes sparkle.

Why had she stopped talking? Was she waiting for Evelyn to ask for more? She would never. Never. It was out of the question.

There was a silence between the girls, a war of wills. But Evelyn would not partake in such a vulgar conversation as this. And she certainly wouldn't satisfy Anna by asking her to continue.

Anna looked as though she wouldn't give an inch; she wouldn't allow Evelyn to hear the tale without admitting that she wanted to.

But, Evelyn reasoned, wasn't it better to know these things about a man who would be living under the same roof as she? It was just good sense to ensure she knew everything so she might be properly prepared for any eventuality.

And Evelyn tried hard to be imminently sensible at all times.

"Well, what did she say?" she asked now, turning toward the dressing table so she wouldn't have to see Anna's smug expression at having forced her to show an interest.

"Well..." Anna began moving to unpin Evelyn's hair and brush out the long, golden locks. "...one particular story that springs to mind was a night at the Opera. Don Giovanni, I think Mrs. Markham said it was, which is supremely fitting I should think, since our own Lord Ashdon appears to be just as dissolute and licentious as Giovanni himself."

"Anna," Evelyn interrupted. Her cousin did have a tendency to ramble on about insignificant details, and Evelyn's tongue was practically hanging out with curiosity.

"Right. Yes, sorry. Well anyway..." Anna moved to sit by Evelyn. The small stool barely held the both of them. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "...the cometess told Mrs. Markham that, during Act Two, she and Ashdon began to, well — they were engaged in illicit doings, let's call it. Can you imagine? Right there in the theatre. In full view of everyone!"

"What?" Evelyn gasped.

Anna paused a moment then huffed out a breath.

"All right, perhaps in full view is a bit of an exaggeration, but really, it was still a packed theatre, with people filling all of the boxes around theirs and—" She paused again, no doubt for dramatic effect. "—that's not even the most scandalous part."

"Good heavens" was all Evelyn could manage to say, and even then it was more of a squeak.

Anna nodded her head so much that her fashionably adorned hair was in danger of coming undone.

"Apparently, the old comte himself came upon them at the — er — defining moment of the performance."

"No," Evelyn gasped. "What happened?"

She was both horrified and enthralled. A part of her was disappointed that such an incredible-looking man should be such a deviant. Another part of her, which was apparently a shameless hussy, thrilled at the idea. For shame!

"Well, the comte never travels anywhere without an array of burly footmen since he's French, and there has been rather a lot of animosity in recent years."

"A war, Anna. Not animosity."

"Yes, yes. But that's not important."

Evelyn thought that actually the war was rather important. But at that moment, she was more interested in Ashdon's story, making her a terrible sinner, but she didn't care.

"So, the comte is furious, naturally, and he has his footmen throw Lord Ashdon out of the box, as naked as the day he was born, right onto his backside."

Evelyn clapped her hands over her mouth. She imagined that she was the picture of virginal horror, and she was truly horrified. She was. It was just a little distracting to imagine his backside. His naked backside.

"Fabulous, isn't it?" Anna was grinning, looking supremely pleased with herself.

A short rap on the door interrupted the girls' giggles, and Aunt Millicent strode in bedecked in eye-watering cerise pink.

"Evie," Aunt Millicent began without preamble. She had yet to even look at her, for she was busy fussing over her evening gloves. "Molly has just informed me that she has yet to do your hair. I won't have you late for dinner on the first night our guest is here. You must— Good Lord, what do you think you are wearing?"

Aunt Millicent had finally looked up and taken in the image Evelyn presented.

"Isn't it beautiful, Mama?" Anna spoke up. "I knew the colour would look wonderful on her."

Aunt Millicent looked furious.

"It's blue," she said as though announcing Evelyn had just murdered someone.

"Yes. Peacock blue, Madame Du Pointe called it. Ravishing, isn't it?"

Evelyn darted a confounded glance at her cousin. Was she trying to give Aunt Millicent an apoplexy?

"She has no business looking ravishing. You change at once, young lady. Do you hear me?"

Molly, the downstairs' maid who had been promoted to look after Evelyn since her Season, appeared at that moment with Evelyn's white satin gloves, freshly pressed, and a sympathetic look.

"But Mama, if she changes now, she will be dreadfully late. What will the viscount think?"

Aunt Millicent looked so torn suddenly that Evelyn almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"B-but it's blue," she argued mutinously.

"Yes, Mother. It's blue, not transparent. The world won't end because Evie is wearing a blue dress in her own home with her family."

Aunt Millicent looked furious. There was no doubt about it. She was not at all happy but had obviously decided that wearing blue was infinitesimally better than being late to dinner.

"You..." She hissed as she rounded on Evelyn. "...you have three minutes to get your hair up and to get yourself downstairs. Am I clear?"

As Aunt Millicent swept from the room, Evelyn turned to Anna.

"I told you she'd be furious," she said, feeling partly worried, partly delighted that she would get to wear such a beautiful gown.

"Yes, but she's also gone. Now, Molly, hurry with Miss Spencer's hair, and we shall go down together. I can't wait to see his reaction to you."

Evelyn dutifully sat at the dressing table while Molly, who had turned out to be incredibly talented in dressing hair, began to style Evelyn's locks.

"Anna, why are you so adamant that he should notice me?" Evelyn asked with a frown. "When we met earlier, I didn't speak. Not one, single, solitary word. So he probably thinks I should be shipped off to Bedlam."

Anna opened her mouth to speak, but Evelyn held up a hand to stall her.

"Furthermore, how can you possibly want to encourage any sort of relationship between me and that — that heathen of a man? After what you've told me about him! I just don't understand it, Anna."

Anna shrugged her shoulders and grinned unapologetically.

"Evie, I know how beautiful you are, even if you don't. I know Ashdon has never been able to resist a beauty, no matter what his intentions are or should be. No doubt, he would find an attraction to his best friend's well-loved cousin a tad upsetting. It will amuse me greatly to see him try to deal with how he's bound to feel for you. It will be terribly diverting."

Evelyn shook her head at her incorrigible cousin.

"Evie..." Anna came over and grasped Evie's hand, now ensconced in her satin glove. "...I married the most singularly dull and domineering man in the country."

Evelyn felt a pang of sympathy for her dear cousin. Anna was her best friend, her only real friend, and she had given all of that wonderful, sparkling personality to the horrible Mr. Grant.

"Let me have a little fun. It's not the type of fun I would wish to have with the devilish Lord Ashdon, but it's the most I'll get."

Evelyn blushed at Anna's outrageous words. Really, she shouldn't say such things.

"How can you be so sure he'll even be attracted to me?"

"Oh Evie." Anna pulled Evelyn from the stool as Molly stood back and admired her handiwork. Anna pulled Evelyn toward the looking glass once more. "Just look at you. How could he not be?"

How much would it hurt to put myself through that window?

Andrew could acknowledge that his thoughts were probably a shade less than normal, but really, if he had to endure the company of the odious Mrs. Spencer for a minute longer, he'd do it just for a break in the conversation.

He took a sip of his pre-dinner sherry, a drink he despised but had been pressed into his hand regardless, and wondered not for the first time how people like Jonathan and Anna had come from the likes of Millicent and Geoffrey Spencer.

Mr. Spencer had yet to make an appearance, though he'd made sure to seek them out earlier, and, after a brief though sycophantic greeting to Andrew, he'd whisked Jonathan to some other part of the house for a few hours.

Jonathan was now cornered by the vicar's wife, a false-but-charming smile on his face.

Peter Grant wasn't here either, but it was of no consequence. Andrew would rather seduce the overbearing Mrs. Spencer stone-cold sober than speak to that man voluntarily.

That left the vicar, who'd come with his wife. But Andrew made it a rule to avoid men of the cloth and their judgements.

Where were Anna and Miss Spencer? At least Anna was bright and entertaining. Miss Spencer was, unfortunately, probably very dim since she couldn't even speak, but she was certainly a feast for the eyes.

As though his thoughts had somehow summoned them, the door opened and Anna sidled in, a vision in some sort of silver, frothy creation.

Andrew was about to move to greet her when he looked beyond her and stopped dead in his tracks.

Miss Spencer entered close behind her cousin, and Andrew felt the breath leave his body and his blood pool instantaneously some place that it had no business doing anything of the sort in front of Jonathan's mother.

If Anna was a vision, then Evelyn Spencer looked like a gift from God himself.

Earlier, she'd been in a very proper-looking gown of ivory muslin, a lace fichu covering any bare skin that dared to show itself past the neckline. The very epitome of a proper young lady.

This evening? Well, this evening she made him wish quite desperately that she was anything but proper.

The satin gown was a deep, royal blue, and it clung to her curves like a second skin. Andrew would have sold his soul to the devil to trade places with that dress.

At that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he felt the impact of her like a punch to the gut.

He wondered if her voice was as seductive as her face, her body. He wondered if she actually had a voice. Then he remembered the amount of times he'd been irritated by a sullen mistress or distraught mother who had talked an inordinate amount and decided that her not speaking was actually highly in her favour.

"Ashdon, I do hope those eyes will return themselves to their sockets before I have to blacken them."

Andrew turned to see Jonathan scowling at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Andrew said, swallowing hard as he sensed the ladies coming closer.

Andrew, having honed the skills required for his role with the Crown, had the talent to see everything that was going on around him, even when he was seemingly focused on one thing. Case in point, he pretended that his entire focus was on Jonathan and his threats, when, in actual fact, he saw the seductive sway of Miss Spencer's hips as she made her way toward them. And when she stopped mere inches away, he smelled her fresh summer-meadow scent, noticed the candlelight picking up the blonde streaks in her golden hair, and heard the nervous hitch in her breath.

Of course, her breath hitching did nothing to stem the flood of desire he was feeling. Made him imagine all sorts of scenarios where it would be hitching for an entirely different reason.

What was this? This visceral attraction to a mute stranger?

"Gentlemen."

Andrew turned and bowed to Anna then to Miss Spencer, his eyes raking her from top to bottom. She really was exquisite.

"Good evening, Anna. Miss Spencer."

Andrew tried not to let his eyes linger on the curve of her lips, the way the dress hugged her mouth-watering body, the way her brown eyes made him feel like protecting her from danger and ravishing her all at the same time. He tried very, very hard.

He didn't succeed.

He watched as a blush crept up from the creamy expanse of skin that was exposed this evening, as it hadn't been earlier, above the daring neckline of the dress. He trailed it all the way up her delicate neck into her soft cheeks.

He was thoroughly aroused by a damned blush. This was beyond ridiculous. The woman still hadn't spoken a word!

"Anna, Evie, you both look beautiful." Jonathan bowed to his sister and cousin, but Andrew was ever so slightly concerned to note that Jon's eyes were still shooting daggers at him.

He needed to get his reaction to this chit under control. Andrew had stared down enemies, master manipulators, and spies with more experience than he. He'd bedded and interrogated women so beautiful it was staggering, yet he'd never, ever lost his cool.

And here he was, rendered completely dumbfounded by a shy little church mouse in a blue dress.

"Where is Mr. Grant, Anna?"

Jonathan signalled to a footman to bring a tray of sherry to the ensemble.

Andrew noticed a flash of some unpleasant emotion in Anna's amber eyes before she fixed a smile on her face.

"No doubt he will join us soon. He's probably holed up with Father putting the world to rights."

Her words rang false to Andrew, not the least because Mr. Spencer had slipped into the room some minutes ago looking like he wanted to be left alone.

He glanced once more at Miss Spencer and was surprised to catch her rolling her eyes at the mention of Mr. Grant.

Well, well, well. She had a bit of life in her after all.

She looked up then, and her dark brown eyes widened when she realised he'd seen. He smiled, what he hoped was a friendly, encouraging smile, but he suspected, since he was thinking of little besides dragging her out of there and ruining her, probably looked more like a wolfish grin.

Since her eyes widened even more, and her breath hitched again in that thoroughly distracting way, he guessed the latter was true.

"Evie..." Jonathan's voice brought Miss Spencer's eyes from his to her cousin's, and Andrew felt like a complete fool when he missed her warm gaze and wanted it back on him. "...I don't think I've ever seen you in anything other than white. You look very well."

Miss Spencer smiled at Jonathan, and Andrew felt a surge of jealousy, which was ridiculous. But then, a lot of his behaviour since he'd arrived here earlier today had been ridiculous. Not the least his preoccupation with the woman before him who still hadn't spoken a word.

"Thank you, Jon. Your sister managed to convince me that I wouldn't cause a scandal by wearing it."

Andrew felt riveted to the spot.

So, she spoke.

And her voice was as mesmerising as the rest of her.

"So, you speak," he said, repeating his thought of seconds ago, desperate to draw her attention back to him.

It worked. She looked at him with those doe eyes, and his heart thumped heavily in response.

Shut up, he told it, then frowned because he'd never scolded his vital organs before.

"I do." She was smiling shyly at him, and his mouth suddenly felt drier than the Sahara. "I apologise for my earlier behaviour, my lord. I can be a little shy around strangers."

He swallowed hard and had to work, for the first time in a long time, to keep his face an emotionless mask.

"Then I hope that we will friends very soon, Miss Spencer, so that you will not be ill at ease for long."

She smiled again, this time wider and more relaxed, and Andrew was staggered by it.

Good Lord, his reaction to her was incredible. All she had done was smile at him, and, once again, he was completely entranced.

# CHAPTER THREE

Evelyn winced as the stair creaked loudly beneath her slippered feet.

It wouldn't do to be caught sneaking around the household in the middle of the night.

For one thing, she couldn't risk anyone knowing what she was up to. For another, she was in a night rail and the thinnest of wraps.

She stayed stock still as she waited to see if the creak had alerted anyone to her presence on the staircase, but mercifully, the occupants of the house slumbered on.

Evelyn released the breath she'd been holding and continued her tiptoeing toward her uncle's study.

Her heart was hammering so loudly she was surprised it wasn't echoing around the cavernous hall.

She should thank Lord Ashdon, she supposed. The fact that she'd been kept awake until the wee hours by thoughts of the man meant she was alert and presented with this opportunity.

The first time she'd seen evidence of her uncle's betrayal had been in his study. It had been quite by accident of course, but she was glad now she knew the truth. The truth, however, was useless unless she had the evidence to back up her claims.

Evelyn hadn't had the opportunity or excuse to enter her uncle's study, and even if she had, she couldn't have waltzed in in the middle of the day. No, she needed to do this at night, alone, so that nobody caught her.

The lone candle she held flickered in the draft sweeping through the corridor, and Evelyn prayed it wouldn't go out. She knew the house like the back of her hand but still, it was old and dark. And though she didn't believe in ghosts, she still wouldn't chose to wander around in pitch black.

Mercifully, Evelyn reached the study without incident, paranormal or otherwise, and she slipped through as quietly as she could.

Once inside, she wasted no time hurrying to the desk. Placing her candle atop the mahogany monstrosity her uncle used, she noticed that her hands were shaking.

Calm down, Evelyn she told herself. Nobody but you is crazy enough to be up at this time.

The clock on the mantle showed it was almost four o'clock. Usually Evelyn slept like a baby. She'd even slept since her discovery of Uncle Geoffrey's treachery, though she had had more nightmares than pleasant dreams.

But tonight she had not even been able to doze.

She'd felt fidgety and filled with a nervous energy. And she knew just where the blame lay.

Every time she closed her eyes Lord Ashdon's far too handsome face would appear.

Every time she tried to empty her mind, snippets of their dinner conversation would pop up to be replayed over and over.

They hadn't been sitting together, of course. Aunt Millicent wouldn't dream of putting an orphaned cousin beside a viscount. Perish the thought.

But, it had been a small party gathered round the table, and, since Mr. Grant never deigned to speak to her, Evelyn had been free to listen to Lord Ashdon's every word, to allow the deep timbre of his voice to wash over her. It was quite ridiculous, of course, to be so affected by the man's voice. But then, the man had been affecting her since he walked into the parlour that afternoon.

Oh, the way he'd looked at her, those green eyes smouldering, that mouth curving to grin in such a wicked way. Of course she couldn't sleep. She'd probably never sleep again.

The clock chimed four, and the noise swiftly brought Evelyn's mind back to the task at hand. What was she doing wasting time wool-gathering about the devilish Lord Ashdon? There were more important things to do here tonight.

Getting her mind back on the task in hand, Evelyn moved straight to the drawers of the desk.

Unsurprisingly, they were locked. But Evelyn had foreseen this, so she pulled the pin from her hair and began to fiddle with the lock. After a couple of frustrating moments, she heard a distinctive click and, with a mixture of dread and excitement, she opened the drawer and began to rifle through the papers.

The first drawer yielded no results, so she moved onto the next, ensuring that she checked every single scrap of paper.

There were six drawers in total and Evelyn moved methodically through them all.

She began to fear that her uncle had removed all traces of his crime when, finally, she came across the stack of letters she'd found that first day weeks ago.

Evelyn's heart pounded quicker and louder. This was it. These letters would be the proof she needed to expose her uncle. To show Jonathan and Anna and everyone just what he'd done: had her father, his own brother, murdered.

Her throat suddenly felt thick with tears, but she refused to give way to her emotions. She had cried her tears. She wouldn't cry anymore. At least, not until she had dealt with this betrayal.

With shaking hands, Evelyn reached in and plucked out the letters, now yellowed with age. A quick scan showed that they were indeed the correspondence she had spied: letters between her uncle and the crooked solicitor he'd used to execute her father's estate, to manage or mismanage her own money and, worst of all, to hire the ruffian who had caused her father's accident and subsequent death. The solicitor, who had apparently fallen on hard times and was now threatening to expose her uncle, was claiming that he had kept the documentation of their crimes rather than destroy them as he had meant to.

It was all there.

Her original thought on discovery had been to go to London and speak to this solicitor herself, demand that he come clean and hand over his evidence. But she quickly realised how foolish that would be. For one thing, she had no money to pay for the information. For another, this was clearly an unscrupulous and dangerous individual. Evelyn liked the idea of looking after her own interests, but she wasn't foolish enough to go barging in and getting herself in trouble somehow.

Evelyn bit back a sob as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

She sat heavily in her uncle's chair, gripping the letters hard, her knuckles white, her hands trembling.

But time was of the essence, and the longer she was up and about, the bigger the chance that she would be caught.

So, taking control of herself she stood and prepared to slip out of the study. She would hide the letters until she figured out what to do next.

Suddenly, without warning, the distinct sound of footsteps sounded outside the study door, and Evelyn's heart leapt into her throat.

Someone was coming in here.

A fear such as she'd never known gripped Evelyn, and for a few terrible seconds she completely froze. The rattling of the door however spurred her into action. There was no way she could take those letters now. She needed to concentrate on getting out of here.

Without a second to spare, Evelyn threw the letters back into the drawer and dived under the desk just as the door swung open.

Evelyn held her breath as she crouched under the desk, desperately hoping that it was merely a footman or maid wandering around.

"Come now, Maisy. Don't play coy now."

Evelyn felt her jaw drop. That was her uncle's voice.

"Sir, please. Not tonight."

Maisy, Evelyn knew, was one of the longer-serving maids at Spencer Park, and, by the sounds of it, there was something going on between her and Uncle Geoffrey that Evelyn would much rather not be privy to.

"Maisy, m'dear, we both know that you—"

Evelyn tensed at the abrupt halt to her uncle's words.

Something had caught his attention.

She felt sick with worry and prayed with all her might that she wouldn't cast up her accounts right then and there.

"That candle. Did you bring that in?"

"No, sir."

Oh, God. Oh, God. He was going to discover her.

Evelyn watched in abject terror as Uncle Geoffrey's feet moved toward the desk. All it would take would be for him to come round this side to look underneath the desk, and she would be caught.

She felt like a bird who'd suddenly been trapped by a bloodthirsty cat.

There was no escape. No way out without Uncle Geoffrey spying her.

"Strange."

Evelyn knew that her time was up. She wondered, rather hysterically, if she should just make a mad dash for the door. But what good would it do?

Uncle Geoffrey's feet stopped just before the desk. She was done for.

"Mr. Spencer?"

Evelyn could have wept with relief when she heard Lord Ashdon's voice sounding from just inside the door.

"My lord. What are you doing prowling around the house at this time?"

Uncle Geoffrey sounded panicked, Evelyn thought, probably because he'd been caught with the maid in less than proper circumstances.

"I was thirsty, and I didn't wish to disturb anybody."

"Ah, yes. Well, I — I... ah — I heard a noise in the study and came to investigate."

"And brought a maid?"

Lord Ashdon's tone sounded polite yet disbelieving.

"Yes, well — ahem — Maisy heard it too."

There was silence, but Evelyn sensed that Lord Ashdon must have given Uncle Geoffrey a look because after a moment or two of bumbling and muttering, Uncle Geoffrey went on the defensive.

"How odd that you should both hear it at the same time, whilst in totally different parts of the house."

"Yes, very — very odd indeed. Well, I shan't keep you from your bed, my lord. Or you, Maisy. Off to bed with you."

Evelyn almost swooned with relief. They were all leaving? She would be safe?

She listened to Maisy's footsteps hurrying out of the room and waited with bated breath for the others to follow. But before they did, her uncle spoke again.

"My lord, a word if you please."

As quickly as her relief had come, Evelyn's heart plummeted once more. Couldn't they leave and then have a word?

"Yes, Mr. Spencer?"

"Were you in here tonight?"

There was a brief pause before Lord Ashdon answered.

"Of course not."

"Apologies, it's just — this candle here. I didn't leave one lighting."

"Perhaps it was an absent-minded footman."

"Perhaps. But—"

"Or," Lord Ashdon continued, "perhaps Maisy, was it? Perhaps Maisy left it here when she was investigating this mysterious noise of yours."

The mention of Maisy seemed to spur Uncle Geoffrey on to leaving as quickly as possible. Evelyn felt so grateful she could have jumped up and kissed Lord Ashdon. It wouldn't exactly be a hardship either.

All that was left now was for Lord Ashdon's feet to follow Uncle Geoffrey's, and she'd be safe.

Evelyn's knees were beginning to hurt since the floor under the desk was both hard and cold. Why wouldn't the man leave, for goodness' sake? She couldn't see his shoes as she had seen Uncle Geoffrey's, since he hadn't come further into the study.

But he definitely hadn't left.

For one thing, she couldn't hear his footsteps leaving. For another, her skin was prickling in that odd way it had at dinner, before dinner, in the salon this afternoon. In short, every time she'd been around the man.

Finally, after an interminable wait, she heard footsteps leave the study.

She stayed where she was for a few moments longer to ensure that the coast was clear before slowly getting back onto her feet.

Her legs were screaming a protest as she stood; her heart was racing, and her nerves had deserted her some time ago.

She crept from the room, not even daring to pick up her candle, and sneaked as quickly as she could from the room, all the while terrified that she would be discovered. This had most definitely not gone to plan.

"Ah, there you are."

Andrew looked up from the papers he'd been perusing at the sound of Jonathan's voice.

"How was your meeting with your father?" Andrew asked casually, his eyes returning to scan the pages in front of him. During breakfast that morning, while he'd watched Miss Spencer far too much, Geoffrey Spencer had requested an immediate interview with his son. Andrew's curiosity had been piqued, especially in light of the discovery he'd made last night. He couldn't believe that Jon's father would meet with Jon to confess all, but surely it was no coincidence?

"It was — interesting."

The pause brought Andrew's eyes back up from the papers to scrutinise his friend's expression.

"Oh?" was all he said. Jonathan would tell him what he wanted to, when he wanted to.

"Yes, it appears we have a thief in our midst."

Whatever Andrew expected, it was not this. He had thought that perhaps Mr. Spencer would feed Jon some line or other about what he had been doing in the study with Maisy.

"A thief, you say?"

"Yes, my father says he disturbed someone going through the desk in his study last night. Says you were there too."

"I had the fortune of bumping into your father while he was — er — hunting. For thieves."

Jonathan smiled ruefully.

"Am I to guess that his prey was more scullery maid than thief?"

Andrew stayed studiously quiet. Which was all the answer Jonathan needed.

"Hmm. I've long been aware of my father's penchant for unsuspecting servants, Ash. The news doesn't surprise me. The news of a thief, however, does."

"You believe him?"

"I do."

Andrew didn't bother asking why or on what evidence. He'd worked with Jonathan long enough to trust him implicitly, and the feeling, he knew, was mutual.

"Any thoughts as to whom? Or why?"

Jonathan sat in the chair facing Andrew's and ran a hand through his hair.

"No and no. Well, he certainly has no idea, who but I'm fairly certain he's hiding something."

"So whatever he's hiding, something was taken to do with it?"

"Well, that's just it. He's quite sure that nothing is missing."

Andrew frowned as he ran through what Jon was telling him.

"So nothing is missing, but there's something in that study that he wants to stay hidden?"

"Not anymore," Jon said with a wry grin. "He will keep it on his person until such time as he can get to London to have it kept in a safe place apparently."

"What on earth is he hiding, Jon?"

The mask of joviality that Jonathan wore as a shield slipped momentarily, and Andrew saw that he was worried about his father's secret.

"I don't know. Yet."

Andrew felt a rush of excitement at the thoughts of a new mystery to solve.

"So, it's to be a working holiday then?" He feigned impatience.

Jon grinned, looking much more like himself.

"So it is."

# CHAPTER FOUR

Evelyn had never, ever used a swear word in her life, but she felt like it right at that moment.

Her aunt always said that eavesdroppers never heard good of themselves. And perhaps the conversation she was trying so hard to hear between her cousin and Lord Ashdon wasn't about her but it certainly affected her.

The good news was that her uncle didn't suspect her. The bad news? He now knew that someone was after those papers. And he was going to keep them with him at all times.

Blast!

She'd been so close.

The sound of chairs scraping alerted her to the fact that the men were moving toward the door. Evelyn dashed around the corner and pressed herself against the wall just as the door open and the gentlemen stepped out.

"So, how about that ride into the village?" She heard Jon ask.

"Sounds good. Give me a few moments."

Evelyn huffed out a sigh of relief. Another close call. She needed to be a lot stealthier if she was going to become a successful thief.

Although, given what she'd just overheard, it wouldn't matter if she were to make herself invisible. The papers weren't in the study anymore.

Evelyn was so lost in her thoughts that she hardly noticed her feet moving her back round the corner. She needed to get to her bedchamber to think. It was the only room where she was assured some privacy. Anna had gone to pay calls with Aunt Millicent, and they were the only ones who came to her room.

There must be a way to get what I need. Surely, Uncle Geoffrey will—

"Oomph." Evelyn's thoughts and movements were brought to a sudden halt as she collided with a wall. A warm wall. A wall that smelt divine and felt positively sinful, pressed against her face as it was.

For a brief, tantalising, insane moment, she was tempted to lay her head against the solid chest she'd just dashed straight into. But common sense gladly reared its head, and Evelyn took a hurried step backwards to look up at the man she'd smacked into.

"Lord Ashdon," she began, hating the nervous squeak in her voice. "I-I'm sorry. I did not see you there."

She looked into his clear green eyes and was a little worried by the calculated expression in them, as if he was searching her face for clues. As to what, she had no idea.

"No harm done, Miss Spencer," he answered, quickly rearranging his features to look all that was charming and charismatic, "so long as you are not hurt?"

Evelyn tried desperately to look casual and guiltless, but she was remembering her eavesdropping of moments ago, and she suspected her cheeks were currently flaming at the thought.

"Not at all, my lord," she managed with a tight smile. "If you'll excuse me?"

She stepped around his large frame and had taken a few steps away from him when his voice brought her to a standstill.

"You little eavesdropper," he said softly, sounding highly amused.

Evelyn spun round in shock. How did he know?

"I beg your pardon?" she said, trying to sound affronted but still hearing that blasted squeak.

Lord Ashdon grinned and stepped closer, prowling toward her.

Evelyn took an instinctive step back.

"You heard me, Miss Spencer. You were listening in on my conversation with your cousin just now, were you not?"

Evelyn tried to laugh it off in that giggly, breathless way she'd heard sophisticated ladies like her cousin Anna do. Instead, what actually came out of her sounded more like the twitter of a maniacal bird on the verge of hysteria.

"Don't be absurd" she squeaked. Stop squeaking, for heaven's sake.

Lord Ashdon took another step closer.

Evelyn took another step back.

"Are you quite sure, Miss Spencer? Because I can think of no other reason for you to have dashed round that corner when we came out of the library as if the very hounds of hell were after you."

Evelyn felt her cheeks grow hotter still, and she cursed them, and him, to perdition.

"I-I—"

"You?" he asked, his eyebrow raising, looking for all the world like they were casually discussing the weather. He was an arrogant cad.

"I am sure I have no idea what you mean."

He stepped closer, and she stepped away, and suddenly her back was pressed against the wall.

"Allow me to explain it. I saw you. I saw you run away from the door when Jonathan opened it, and I know you've been hiding around that corner." He pointed as though she were a child and needed it explained in the simplest of terms. "Now, I know what I saw. But I don't know why I saw it. Was there a reason for your lurking outside the room listening in to our conversations, or are you just generally a busybody?"

Since his tone was so friendly, so casual still, it took a moment for his question to register in Evelyn's addled brain.

When it did, she gaped at him.

"How dare you?" she gasped in outrage.

"'Tis a simple question, Miss Spencer," he answered with a, frankly, beautiful grin.

But she would not fall prey to his charm. "Well, that is just the most ridiculous, insulting—"

"Do you know," he interrupted as though she hadn't even been talking, "this is the most I've heard you talk. It seems you are quite the chatterbox when you're caught red-handed."

All shyness was forgotten in the face of his breath-taking conceit, but she was still rendered utterly speechless by the gall of the man.

She tried desperately to think of a scathing reply that would put him firmly in his place. But she couldn't think of anything, so she did the only thing she could think of, which was to turn on her heel and stomp away from him, her head held as high as she could get it without straining her neck.

She stomped all the way down the corridor without once looking back at him and heard his soft chuckle follow her the whole way.

Andrew felt a grudging respect for the departing Miss Spencer. Even her back looked outraged.

But as soon as she was gone from sight, he dropped the act of casual boredom.

So, the timid little cousin was not all she seemed. Much as he hated to admit it, Andrew felt his attraction to her growing. It made her more interesting, he admitted to himself, that she wasn't as staidly good as she had first seemed.

The fact was that she had been listening to Jon's and his conversation, of that he was sure. The question was why was she listening, and why was she so determined to hide it?

He thought of Jonathan's conviction that Geoffrey Spencer was hiding something rather big. It couldn't be a coincidence that the man's niece appeared to be doing the same thing.

Were they perhaps planning something together?

Andrew frowned as his brain jumped from one theory to another.

He had no idea what was going on in this house, but he would find out. His curiosity had been piqued.

He would keep an extra close eye on the beautiful Evelyn Spencer. And it would be no hardship.

"And I told Mrs. Jenson that of course she was right to worry about highwaymen, and that Mr. Jenson was far too casual about the safety of his wife and children."

Evelyn tried not to fidget, since it was a pet hate of Aunt Millicent's, but she was bored to distraction and was struggling to keep her eyes open.

As was usual for her, Aunt Millicent had returned from her afternoon calls with a rundown of every single visit she'd made. Not only did she gossip about everyone she'd seen, but she felt it necessary to give her opinions on every aspect of their lives and then come back here and tell them all about it.

It was a ritual that never failed to irritate Evelyn, but she had accepted it as an unchangeable fact. Tonight, however, Lord Ashdon was present, and Evelyn was unaccountably embarrassed by her aunt's actions.

Why should she care about Lord Ashdon's opinion? He was confusing and distractingly attractive and altogether too arrogant for Evelyn's peace of mind. But she couldn't help wishing that Aunt Millicent wouldn't dominate the conversation with her silly and, often times, spiteful blather about their friends and neighbours.

"Mother, surely you do not think that anyone is in any danger of being robbed on the roads around here?"

Jonathan sounded as bored as Evelyn felt, but he, at least, tried to take part in the conversation. Evelyn didn't see the point in bothering.

"Well, perhaps not here, Jonathan, but before you and Anna were born, you could hardly go from one end of the village to the other without being accosted and robbed. It was quite rampant, I assure you. And, according to poor Mrs. Jenson, Portsmouth is quite a hive of inequity with highway robberies, and muggings, and all sorts." Aunt Millicent sounded thoroughly thrilled at the idea.

"Surely you exaggerate, Mother."

Aunt Millicent looked most put-out to be questioned and argued with, but since it was Jonathan doing the arguing, she wouldn't berate him.

"Well, perhaps the village roads were safe," Aunt Millicent conceded, though she didn't seem happy about it, "but the road to London was most definitely unsafe."

Evelyn risked a glance at Lord Ashdon and was disconcerted to see that he was still watching her.

All evening, every time she'd attempted a covert look, her eyes had been met steadily with the mossy green of his.

And every time it happened she'd experienced that strange thrill throughout her body, making her feel like her very blood was being heated by his look.

It was ridiculous and inconvenient. She didn't have time for silly infatuations. And besides, she didn't even like the man.

"Be that as it may, there is no reason for Mrs. Jenson to be worried about such things nowadays. The poor woman is already a bag of nerves."

Aunt Millicent shrugged and moved on to a new subject: Miss Marstop.

"Did you see the bonnet that girl wore today? It was the most singularly ugly thing I've seen since Mrs. Corston's gown at the Assembly Rooms last Easter. Why, I could barely keep my countenance. And, of course, her father spends so much money trying to—"

Evelyn resisted the urge to throw her eyes to heaven. Her aunt was as relentless as she was malicious.

Evelyn knew that Miss Marstop was a wonderful girl, smart, amiable, and unfailingly kind. But none of those things mattered to Aunt Millicent.

"Honestly, if Mama doesn't stop droning on about bonnets, I think poor Ashdon will fall asleep in his pheasant."

Anna leaned over to whisper her complaint to Evelyn. Evelyn, in turn, looked again at Lord Ashdon. Her eyes would continue to look even though her brain commanded that she avoid even the smallest of glances at the man. Her eyes could go to the devil along with the object of their infatuation, the traitors.

"Well, it will spare him at least from having to hear the rest of her gossiping," she whispered back. "She hasn't even gotten on to the subject of Captain Townsend's triumphant return."

"What?"

Anna's sudden screech brought an abrupt end to Aunt Millicent's character assassination and all eyes to Evelyn and Anna.

"Anna, really. Must you shout so? You forget yourself." Aunt Millicent was smiling, but her eyes were shooting daggers at the young ladies.

"Apologies, Mama. I — uh — I thought I saw a bee."

As far as excuses went, it was rather weak, but Aunt Millicent was far too concerned with continuing her chattering to scold Anna over much and soon resumed her uninteresting twittering.

"Are you well?" Evelyn whispered, alarmed by the sudden pallor of Anna's pretty face.

"Yes, yes, quite well." Anna smiled, but Evelyn knew her cousin enough to see that the smile took no small effort and looked completely insincere.

"I cannot imagine why Captain Townsend's return would overset you so, Anna."

Evelyn watched carefully as Anna's amber eyes filled with anguish before she schooled her features to impassivity.

"It doesn't," she said flippantly. "Why should it? I am surprised to hear it, that's all. I remember he was quite certain that he would never return to Surrey. I wonder what has brought him back after all this time."

Evelyn was both confused and alarmed by Anna's distress. She had never known of any sort of attachment between her cousin and the handsome captain. Had never even known of a friendship between the two.

But if Anna hadn't told Evelyn, there must be a good reason for it. So, rather than pry, she sought to cheer her cousin up.

"Well, I suggest we listen avidly to Aunt Millicent's vital information then," she said with a smile, "lest we miss what the man had for breakfast."

As she had hoped, Anna smiled sincerely this time, and they both turned their attention to Millicent.

Evelyn once more risked a glance at Lord Ashdon and found him staring yet again. This time, however, she thought she detected a look of respect in his green eyes. Had he been listening to her conversation with Anna? How could he have possibly heard what they'd been discussing since he was at the head of the table and had Aunt Millicent's caterwauling in his ear for the entire meal?

Evelyn sighed in exasperation at herself. She really needed to stop obsessing over Lord Ashdon and his eyes.

Later that night, Evelyn sat in the window seat of her bedchamber with the drapes drawn to admit the silvery light of the moon. Though she couldn't see much of the view, she knew it well enough to know that this side of the house faced the river that ran along the border of the Park and, beyond that, the road that led to London.

Her mind, being the stubborn object that it was, insisted on remembering images of Lord Ashdon from that evening: how he'd looked bored throughout the talk of Captain Townsend, how he'd frowned disapprovingly throughout the talk of poor Miss Marstop, and how he'd looked amused at the hysterical talk of non-existent highwaymen.

Highwaymen...

Evelyn sat up, her mind suddenly whirling with possibilities, finally focusing on something other than Lord Ashdon.

Highwaymen.

She couldn't, could she? No. It was too bizarre, too insane...

All of a sudden, sitting still was an impossibility. She began pacing back and forth on the Persian rug her aunt had insisted was too good for her room, but, since there was nowhere else for it, it had been left with Evelyn.

If it were true that Uncle Geoffrey had decided to keep the damning papers on his person and, indeed, transfer them to London at his convenience, then there would be no opportunity to get them.

Unless, and it was utter, utter madness, but still the thought remained: unless Evelyn decided to make the fictional highwayman of her aunt's dinner story into something real. Into someone real. Into her.

"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded herself as though speaking aloud would make her more sensible to the ridiculousness of the plan forming in her mind.

She couldn't rob him, for goodness' sake.

Well, she fully intended to rob him, but not in a carriage.

Evelyn realised how ludicrous it was to imply a difference between robbery in a house and a carriage, but one seemed decidedly less criminal than the other.

She stopped pacing and heaved a huge sigh, trying to stop the sudden galloping of her heart. She couldn't, wouldn't become a blasted highway robber! For one thing, she didn't even know how she would go about it.

That's not entirely true, said a little mischievous voice in her head. You can ride and shoot as well as any man of your acquaintance and better, in fact, than most of them.

That was true; she could. Jonathan had taught her wonderfully.

Evelyn swallowed hard as her heartbeat picked up again.

She could do it. Just once. One time, one robbery, and she would have what she needed: the evidence to prove her uncle's despicable nature and free herself from him once and for all.

Of course, she had no clue what one wore whilst conducting a highway heist.

She laughed at the idea of worrying about the type of fashion that the occasion warranted. Then abruptly stopped when she realised the laughter was becoming a tad hysterical.

Was she really going to do this?

Her mind flashed back to that day in Uncle Geoffrey's study, the feeling of horror and unspeakable grief as she read of her uncle's plans to have Father's saddle slashed so that he'd fall. That, in itself, wouldn't have ensured her father's death, but then, that hadn't been the whole plan. No, the ruffian had ensured that father's neck was good and snapped before he disappeared.

The now familiar pain and useless anger welled up inside Evelyn. But no, it wasn't useless. She would use it. Use everything she felt to bring her uncle to justice.

And, if becoming a highwayman was the way to do it, then so be it.

#  CHAPTER FIVE

The problem, Evelyn decided some days later, was that it was rather more difficult to become a highwayman than she'd first supposed.

She had to make sure that she listened closely and carefully to everything Uncle Geoffrey said so she would know when he planned to travel to London. She had to figure out how to be a man, which was no mean feat.

And, well, she had to figure out how to actually rob somebody.

These things were not as easy as they seemed.

Rather than get overwhelmed, however, she decided to approach it as she would any other problem and made a list of what had to be done, intending to approach each problem one by one.

The first thing to do would be to get her hands on some men's clothing.

Evelyn had taken herself out for a walk round the grounds so she would have some peace and quiet to hatch her plan.

Coming round the stables, she suddenly spotted Jonathan and Lord Ashdon in what appeared to be a very serious conversation, if their expressions were anything to go by.

She hesitated then ducked into the stable and crept along the wall to get closer to where they were standing without being seen. It was possible that Uncle Geoffrey had confided something to Jonathan while they'd been ensconced in the study, and she meant to find out what it was.

"He plans to leave on Friday, spend a couple of days in Town, then return with whatever it is bothering him settled."

Jonathan was speaking softly enough, but since the yard was quiet and still, Evelyn could pick up on the gist of what he was saying.

Her heart began to pound.

Surely he spoke of Uncle Geoffrey's plans to meet his solicitor. That gave her only three days to become a highway robber.

"And you still suspect something?"

Lord Ashdon's deep, masculine voice sounded and caused her to shiver, which caused her to be thoroughly annoyed with herself.

"I do. He's definitely hiding something. And whatever it is, it's bad enough to keep from the whole family—"

Here Jonathan paused, and Evelyn heard the worry in his voice.

"What will you do?"

"Follow him. What else can I do?"

"You don't think it will be noticeable that you're following your father to London?"

Evelyn heard Jonathan heave a great sigh.

"Yes, I suppose it will be, but what is the alternative?"

Lord Ashdon was quiet for so long that Evelyn thought they'd actually walked away.

Eventually he spoke again.

"We have time until Friday. Best to consider all angles and then decide."

The sound of gravel crunching followed this, and Evelyn knew they'd left the yard.

What she didn't know was why they'd been speaking in such terms; they sounded like Bow Street Runners! Their tones professional. Their speech that of men who had been involved in intrigues before.

Still, she had no time to think of such things now. Three days was really nothing at all when one considered what she had to do in such a small space of time. Evelyn crept back toward the house, making sure she wasn't spotted by either gentleman.

She dearly hoped Jonathan would not decide to follow his father's carriage on Friday. Robbing Uncle Geoffrey would be difficult enough. Robbing him while Jonathan was in pursuit would be completely impossible.

Andrew couldn't believe how blinded Jonathan was to his young cousin.

"I've never known you to be so unwilling to look at the facts, Jon," he said, trying to control his temper.

He didn't think it was possible that Jonathan was losing his touch; the man was sharp as a knife. But here, at his family estate, when his senses were relaxed? He could be forgiven for not noticing little details.

But missing the fact that his sneaky little cousin was hanging around the stable this morning was the outside of enough. A man of Jonathan's talent should have noticed her, just as Andrew had.

"I am not unwilling to look at the facts, Andrew. Nor am I saying that I don't believe you, but..." Here he shrugged his shoulders, seeming more amused than concerned. "...it's Evie. There is no way she is involved in anything unsavoury. Trust me, what you see with Evie is what you get."

Andrew stood and moved to the window of the library that overlooked the walled garden of the estate.

"You don't find it odd that she was eavesdropping on our conversation?"

"I think that she saw us having a serious conversation and was afraid to interrupt."

Andrew turned back to Jonathan, his eyebrow rising sardonically.

"Why not just make herself known then?"

Jonathan stood now as well. They faced each other across the room, neither one willing to concede to the other's point of view.

"She's shy, Andrew. I told you this on the way here."

Andrew could feel himself growing angrier and tried to calm his temper. His mind threw up an image of Miss Spencer, eyes glowing, voice snapping. She was far from shy.

He didn't like the way he became side-tracked remembering the flush of her skin, the curve of her lips as she bit back her responses to him. And he really didn't like his body's immediate reaction to the memory.

For God's sake, he needed to concentrate. Why was he so distracted by her? And why was everyone else so taken in by her innocence?

"I know what you're thinking."

Jonathan's voice sounded behind him, and Andrew turned to accept the tumbler of brandy that Jonathan was offering.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"You're thinking that Evie is hiding something, and I'm refusing to see it."

Andrew merely shrugged. It was the truth, after all. Why deny it?

"But Andrew, you don't know her like I do. In fact, you do not know her at all. I grew up with her. She's practically a sister, and I can tell you for absolute fact that Evie is incapable of deception. And she would certainly never do anything to harm or hurt someone else."

Jonathan paused to swallow the entire contents of his glass.

"God knows, she's had reason to be bitter over the years. I can't say I would blame her to want to cause my father discomfort. He hasn't exactly been a doting guardian over the years, and my mother has done her best to make Evie invisible. But never, in all the years, has she even raised her voice to one of them." He lifted a hand and placed it on Andrew's shoulder. "I know you don't like to hear it. I don't even know if you've heard it before, but when it comes to my cousin, you're wrong."

Jonathan placed his empty glass on a table and quietly left the room.

Andrew watched him go, feeling for the first time an air of discord between him and his partner.

Jonathan was entirely convinced that his quiet little cousin was as innocent as she seemed.

And Andrew had to concede that Jon was a lot more knowledgeable about the chit.

Muttering a soft oath under his breath, Andrew ran his hands through his hair. His instincts were screaming at him that Miss Spencer wasn't what she seemed. That she was, at the very least, hiding something.

And he hated to ignore his instincts.

But what choice did he have? This was Jonathan and his family's problem. He would toe the line and adhere to Jon's decisions. He had to be wrong sometime, he supposed.

Now, all he had to do was figure out how to quash this ridiculous attraction to the girl and he'd be well satisfied.

Evelyn woke up on Friday morning and wondered for a moment why her stomach was filled with an icy dread before it all came rushing back to her. Today was the day she would become a highway robber.

Evelyn sat up and took deep breaths, trying to stem the panic that was fighting hard to overwhelm her.

She had planned everything. Absolutely everything.

Last night, when she was sure it would be no longer in use, she had snuck down to the carriage and had done as much damage to the back wheel as she could manage. It wasn't much — she had made it wobbly at best — but she had removed and hidden vital parts at the very least. It wouldn't be enough to prevent her uncle's trip, but it would be enough to delay his journey so that he would leave, not before noon as planned, but hopefully late into the evening.

It was imperative that it be dark before she accosted him.

A brief knock on the door signalled the arrival of Molly. Aunt Millicent had never allowed Evelyn to have a maid of her own, though when Anna moved away, she had consented to Molly, a downstairs maid, assisting where necessary because the neighbours would suspect something if Evelyn suddenly started looking like the help.

"Good morning, Miss," Molly said with her usual cheerful smile. "I trust you slept well."

"I did, thank you."

Lie. She had not slept a wink.

"I've brought your chocolate, Miss. Let me just draw these drapes for you."

Evelyn sat up and sipped gratefully on her warm chocolate while Molly bustled about the room, opening drapes and moving toward the wardrobe.

"What will you wear this morning, Miss?" she asked as she opened the doors of the closet.

"No!" Evelyn screeched, causing the poor maid to jump.

Evelyn's heart hammered as she scrambled out from under the covers and dashed toward the partially opened closet. She had stupidly left the clothes she'd borrowed, well... stolen, really, from the stable lads stuffed in the bottom of the closet. If Molly, or, indeed, anyone were to see the garments, her adventure would end before it began.

"Good Lord, Miss Evelyn, what on earth is the matter?" Molly gasped, her hand clutched at her breast.

"N-nothing," stammered Evelyn. "I just — ah — I had hoped that you might fetch me a lavender cloth for my head. I-I think I may be developing a headache."

As far as excuses went it was rather poor, and, judging from the sceptical look on her face, Molly thought the same, but she was far too well-trained to voice her thoughts, so with a quick nod of her head, she turned and left the room.

Evelyn released the breath she'd been holding and sat down heavily on the bed. That had been rather too close for comfort. If she were really going to do this successfully, she would need to be much more careful.

Molly returned shortly after with the cloth for Evelyn's head, and she was then left with no choice but to climb back into bed and pretend that her head hurt.

Lying in the dark, for Molly had insisted on closing the drapes again, Evelyn felt a pang of nervousness. Was she doing the right thing? Did she truly think that this madcap scheme could work?

Then she thought of the terrible day her father had died, thought of her life since she'd arrived at the Park, grieving and scared, thought of how she'd been maltreated by her aunt and uncle since that day... and firmed her resolve.

She could do it. And she would.

"Evie, are you quite sure you are alright? You look dreadfully pale."

Anna was staring at Evelyn with no small amount of concern in her eyes, and Evelyn felt a pang of guilt. She was never sick, so she knew that Anna must be genuinely worried. However, she had also inadvertently given Evelyn the perfect excuse to escape early and prepare herself for Uncle Geoffrey's trip.

Since her uncle had railed for the entire evening and even through the soup at dinner about the mysteriously damaged carriage wheel that had delayed him, Evelyn knew that he was determined to travel this evening, if only because he was far too stubborn to allow circumstances to dictate his plans.

Aunt Millicent had tried her best to have him wait until the following morning, but he would not be prevailed upon, just as Evelyn had suspected and hoped.

"You cannot travel through the night," Aunt Millicent had stated shrilly. "It is simply not done."

"I will stop at an inn on the outskirts of Town and wait until morning, if I must, but I will not allow the stupidity of the stable workers, or John Coachman, or whoever the blasted fool who ruined my carriage is, to stop me from making the journey today as I planned," Uncle Geoffrey had responded, his face turning an alarming shade of puce.

Aunt Millicent appeared to know she had argued enough, and so it was, mercifully, that by the arrival of the goose for the next course at dinner, the topic ceased to be discussed.

Now, as the last course was cleared away and the ladies were preparing to retire to the drawing room, Evelyn spoke up.

"Aunt, I pray you will excuse me this evening, I fear that my headache has returned."

Aunt Millicent never cared a jot whether Evelyn joined them after dinner or not, so with a careless wave of her hand, she dismissed Evelyn.

"I will come with you, Evie, to see you settled," Anna offered, taking her cousin's arm.

"No, no, Anna. I shall be quite all right. 'Tis nothing that a good night's sleep won't fix, I am sure."

Much as she appreciated Anna's kindness, the last thing Evelyn needed was Anna's company this evening. She planned on escaping to the stables as soon as possible, since Uncle Geoffrey had said that he was leaving after his port.

Thankfully, Anna consented easily enough, so Evelyn bid them all a general goodnight and walked from the room.

As soon as she gained the stairs, however, she fairly sprinted to her room.

Ringing for Molly, she had the maid brush out and braid her hair, to convince the savvy abigail that she was, indeed, retiring.

Evelyn refused offers of tea, cool towels, and company and was finally able to get rid of Molly, leaving strict instructions that she was not to be disturbed.

She listened, heart hammering, ear pressed against the cool wood of the door until she was satisfied that Molly had left. Now, all she had to do was change into the clothing of a stable boy, climb out her window and down the rose trellis outside it to the stables. She would steal one of Jonathon's stallions and ride unseen into the woods and toward the road where she would eventually hold up her uncle's carriage and steal the papers.

"Easy," she chirped with a nervous laugh.

As far as ideas went, she was starting to think that this was definitely one of her worst. Still, it was too late now.

In mere moments, one way or the other, her life would change forever.

#  CHAPTER SIX

It had been hours, and her life had remained steadfastly the same.

She was freezing, starving since she hadn't been able to eat at dinner, and starting to ache in places that she didn't even know she could ache.

As it turned out, sitting atop a giant horse in the middle of a cold autumn night was not the most comfortable of activities.

What on earth could be taking so long? Could it be that Uncle Geoffrey had actually listened to Aunt Millicent and decided to wait until tomorrow? If that was the case, then all of Evelyn's plans would be destroyed. No self-respecting highwayman robbed someone in broad daylight, surely.

Evelyn sighed and glanced up at the clear night sky. For the hundredth time, she wondered if she should just give up and go back, but then, the image of her poor father's broken and bruised body would crash to the forefront of her mind, and she would feel her spine stiffen in resolve.

No, this was an action that she must take. Everyone thought her a meek little mouse with less courage than a fox in a hunt. So much so that Uncle Geoffrey thought he could take her entire life from her, and she would do nothing about it.

Midnight, the stallion she had borrowed, pranced uneasily beneath her, and Evelyn realised she had gripped the reigns far tighter than necessary. Forcing herself to relax her hold, she bent to whisper reassuring words to the beast.

"Don't worry, Midnight. I shan't keep us out here forever. If they don't make an appearance soon, we'll give up and go home."

Though the thought filled her with disappointment, Evelyn knew it was futile to sit here turning to ice while her uncle no doubt slept the night away.

Just as she was about the give up and return to the Park in defeat, the sound of approaching hooves caught her attention. Evelyn's heart immediately leapt to her throat.

Please, let it be him, she prayed.

Soon, the glimmer of carriage lanterns lit the darkness of the night, and Evelyn's eyes, having become accustomed to the dark, were able to make out the shape of the coachman atop the conveyance.

Evelyn held her breath as the coach trundled forward and finally, she was able to tell without question that it was her uncle's coach and John Coachman was driving it.

I can't do this, she suddenly thought, feeling more than a little panicked. What am I doing? I need to get out of here!

She turned Midnight to sneak back through the small copse of trees she'd chosen as the place to wait but, once again, an image of her father popped into her head.

You must do this, Evelyn. You must.

Before she could once again doubt her actions, Evelyn turned Midnight and dashed into the road, waiting while the carriage came to a screeching halt.

Lifting the admittedly empty pistol that she'd stolen from her uncle's gun room, Evelyn felt a pang of guilt looking at poor John Coachman's face. She vowed to make him his favourite apple tarts tomorrow to make up for it.

Not being sure what the etiquette was for robbing someone, she supposed cake was as good an apology as any.

But that wasn't a priority right now. Turning herself into an outlaw was.

"Stand and deliver!" she called in what she hoped was a deep and authoritative voice. It didn't sound very deep. Or authoritative, come to that. But at least she hadn't squeaked.

Evelyn did her best to keep the gun steady as she watched John Coachman scramble down from the coach and stand to the side as she'd directed him.

There was no movement and no sound from inside the coach.

"Occupants of this carriage, out—" she shouted, adding "—now!" for good measure.

Just as Evelyn was beginning to wonder if she'd have to march over and drag her uncle out, the door opened, and a boot stepped out and hit the ground. Evelyn frowned in confusion. Uncle Geoffrey did not own boots like those and, as her gaze travelled slowly up the muscled calf encased in the Hessian, she realised that he most definitely did not own legs like those either.

The kernel of dread that had been her companion since she had embarked on this madcap adventure grew and grew until it threatened to choke her.

As her gaze continued to travel up the body that had emerged from the conveyance, the body that was decidedly not plump and squat Uncle Geoffrey's, the horrifying realisation of just who she was looking at dawned on Evelyn.

Before her eyes finally got to his face and straight into the glacial green of his, she already knew that she was looking at Lord Andrew Ashdon.

What she didn't know was what he was doing here. And what on earth she was supposed to do now.

Andrew stifled yet another yawn and gazed out the window of the fast-moving carriage. There was nothing to see of course since the night was dark and cool, but it was better than the alternative: Geoffrey Spencer's scowling face. The man was clearly extremely upset about Andrew's sudden desire to travel to Town and the subsequent wait while he readied himself for the trip.

Andrew had made a few attempts at conversation, but after stilted one-word replies and even an occasional grunt, he found that silence had a lot of merit.

He let his mind wander as the carriage gently rocked from side to side. When they got to Town, he would discreetly follow Spencer's movement and see what the man was up to. The sooner he figured it out, the sooner he could put Jon's mind at ease.

Spencer had probably gotten himself into debt or something equally mundane. That was usually the way of it with pompous gentlemen of the ton. They were as predictable as they were irritating.

The whole matter ought to be cleared up in a matter of hours, and then Andrew had every intention of enjoying himself until he had to return to the staid-and-stifling Spencer household. He'd visit his club, a couple of gaming halls... He might even pay a call on one of his former mistresses.

Suddenly, and rather inexplicably, Evelyn Spencer's lovely face planted itself firmly in the forefront of his thoughts.

Andrew allowed himself a few seconds of imagining her dark doe eyes, her soft golden curls, her becomingly flushed cheeks before reminding himself more firmly than he should have to that she was off limits and very likely to be hiding something.

Mr. Spencer cleared his throat, and Andrew's eyes darted to the older man, worried that he had somehow been able to read Andrew's less-than-pure thoughts about the man's niece. But Spencer's eyes remained shut, and, even if they hadn't been, the man had shown no particular interest in his niece's welfare.

Andrew frowned with remembered anger at Mr. and Mrs. Spencer's treatment of Evelyn. It was none of his business, of course. But it galled his gentlemanly instincts to see her be treated shabbily and to do nothing about it.

He would feel thus about any lady being mistreated, he tried to convince himself. And this baffling desire he had to protect her and whisk her away from any and all sort of harm was a product of his excellent manners and nothing more.

The fact that he'd never experienced such a thing before — well, that was neither here nor there.

Andrew was just starting to contemplate a nap himself, if only to pass the time, when suddenly the carriage rocked to an abrupt halt, and he heard John Coachman call out to the horses to stop. The sudden jolt even awoke Mr. Spencer, and the man began to bluster incoherently, but Andrew shushed him with the raise of a hand.

Someone was talking.

"Occupants of this carriage," sounded a voice outside, "out — now!"

Andrew felt the familiar surge of adrenaline leap through his blood as he indicated to Spencer to remain inside the carriage.

Checking that his pistol was hidden within his greatcoat, he moved to the door.

Perhaps tonight wouldn't be so boring after all.

To panic would be foolish in the extreme, Evelyn decided as she watched Lord Ashdon raise himself to his full height.

Her mind whirled rapidly as she tried to adjust her plans for the robbery.

She couldn't let this opportunity pass her by, and yet, this was a problem. Over six feet of handsome, infuriating problem.

The devil take his eyes!

"Good evening."

Evelyn, who had been peering at the carriage, awaiting her uncle's arrival, jumped at Ashdon's pleasant greeting.

For heaven's sake. They weren't meeting in a London ballroom! She was holding him up. Had he no respect for propriety? Or, at least, for a decent robbery?

"Be silent!" She commanded and flinched at the squeak in her voice. The squeak. Again. This was going from bad to worse.

Ashdon raised a sardonic brow, and Evelyn wanted to fling her pistol at his smug face.

Where on earth was her uncle?

"Is there someone else in there?" She waved toward the coach with the pistol before training it back on Lord Ashdon.

He stared at her.

She waited for his answer.

He stared some more.

"Well," she finally snapped after an uncomfortable silence, "is there?"

He stared more still.

"Answer me, damn it!" She practically screeched, taken aback at her own language but valiantly keeping up the pretence of a hardened criminal. Or, at least trying to.

"Forgive me," he finally answered, all politeness. "I thought you had ordered me to be silent."

Evelyn bit the inside of her mouth to keep from roaring in frustration. He was a cad. An absolute, utter cad. How was a highwayman to make a living if he came across dolts like this one every night?

She was so exasperated that she forgot to maintain her character and did not notice her thick local brogue that she had worked so studiously to perfect, begin to disappear.

"Just tell him to get out," she bit out.

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who?" he repeated.

"Who what?" she repeated.

He gaped at her as if she'd run mad, and she glowered back at him, furious that he'd ruined her robbery. The oaf.

"Who is to get out?"

She frowned in confusion.

"Out of what?"

It was his turn to frown, and Evelyn tried desperately hard not to be distracted by the unruly lock of hair that fell over his brow. She was new at this, but she didn't think a highwayman would be inclined to brush hair back from the face of his victims, tempting though it may be.

"Out of the carriage," he said slowly, as though speaking to a particularly stupid child.

"What?" she asked, distracted by that bloody hair and quite forgetting what they were talking about.

There was a moment's silence as they took it in turns to scowl at each other before, finally, he spoke again.

"Am I to assume that this is your first robbery?"

Evelyn felt both panicked and affronted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you just don't seem terribly good at it," he said, still in that exasperatingly polite tone of voice.

"Well, you're not giving me a chance," she exclaimed petulantly. "I haven't even properly started yet."

It began to dawn on Evelyn that this probably wasn't the usual way a robbery would go. Not only that, but she had intended to disguise herself as a man as much as she could. She suspected, though, that Lord Ashdon was well aware of her lack of—

Well, he must know she wasn't a man.

Evelyn risked a glance at John Coachman, who had remained unfalteringly quiet. He looked baffled by Evelyn and Ashdon's exchange. He even looked slightly amused, which did nothing for her temper.

This was becoming farcical.

What was he even doing here?

"Well then, by all means, continue," Ashdon said with a mocking bow.

Evelyn released a heavy sigh and a quick, whispered prayer for patience. It was time to get this situation under control.

"Thank you," she responded automatically, then could have kicked herself when he smirked.

"Right, well, anyway—"She began feeling more than a little flustered. "—get the other one out of the carriage, and we'll get on with it."

"Who?"

"What?"

Ashdon rolled his eyes, and Evelyn gritted her teeth in response.

"I do hope we're not going to go through this again," he said. "To whom are you referring?"

Evelyn glared at him once again — she was doing that a lot — and answered crisply. "Your travelling companion," she snapped.

"What makes you think I am travelling with a companion?"

Evelyn froze as she realised that he'd managed to rattle her so much she was forgetting that she shouldn't know who was travelling in the carriage.

"I — uh, assumed th-that you would be," she answered weakly.

That brow rose once more, and Evelyn again had the urge to throw something at him.

"That's a clever assumption," he answered.

"Er — thank you."

This was getting more bizarre by the second.

There was yet another silence, and Evelyn could feel Midnight getting more and more restless.

"Well, are you going to get him out?"

Ashdon stayed quiet for what seemed like an eternity as he studied her intently.

"I am tempted to continue our fascinating conversation," he said calmly.

So calmly, in fact, that she failed to notice as he slipped a pistol of his own from his greatcoat. When it was suddenly pointed directly at her, however, she noticed.

"Alas, we really must be on our way. Pressing business in Town. So, if you'll excuse us?" He signalled to the driver to climb atop the coach, all the while keeping his gun, no doubt loaded unlike her own, steady and aimed straight at Evelyn's chest.

Evelyn felt her jaw drop open at the audacity of the man. She couldn't speak, or even move for that matter. This entire debacle had spiralled wildly out of control. Now she had a gun trained on her, her uncle was still safely ensconced in the carriage, and the papers would be gone to London and out of her grasp forever.

"Stop!" She screeched so loudly that poor John yelped in fright, and even arrogant Ashdon snapped to attention. "You are not leaving this place until everyone in that coach has come out and emptied his pockets," she continued, her breathing harsh as her frayed nerves finally began snapping.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that."

Although he hadn't raised his voice nor changed his expression, Evelyn was filled with an immediate dread. His tone had all at once taken on an edge of steel, his face granite-like and unyielding, and she was instantly afraid. Whether it was because he was a powerful Peer or because he exuded that raw masculinity that both fascinated and scared her, Evelyn didn't know, but she was suddenly looking at a very powerful man who was used to having his own way.

That's all well and good, she told herself, trying to rally her courage. But you need those papers.

"I'm afraid you have no choice," she responded.

Once again, he scrutinised her until she squirmed, and then he took a step toward her.

"Get back!" she cried. And there was that damned squeak.

He took another step toward her. Evelyn was reminded of their encounter in the hallway where he'd acted like a jungle cat in pursuit of his dinner.

"I mean it," she said. "Do not take another step."

He took another step.

And just like that, the last, tiny remnants of her temper disappeared.

"You arrogant, overbearing, bloody cad. Why will you not just be a gentleman and let me rob you?" she screeched.

Midnight, spooked by her outburst, reared up, and Evelyn dropped the pistol in her lunge for the reigns to steady the frightened horse.

Once the animal was under control, she realised with a dawning horror that Ashdon had noticed her loss of weapon.

Time stood still as she gazed at him, awaiting his shot or, at the very least, her captivity.

She would be exposed. And her life would be ruined.

Ashdon took another step toward her, his gun never wavering, his hand rock steady. When he had reached Midnight's side, rather than pull her down or demand she dismount, he leaned closer still and spoke in a fierce undertone. "I do not know who you are or what you are about, but an occupation such as this is no sort of occupation for a woman. Especially a gently bred one as I suspect you are."

Evelyn almost fell off the horse in shock. How did he know she was gently bred? She'd been practising her accent all week! And if he was speaking to her so, did that mean he did not intend to capture her?

"Leave this place," he continued, completely unaware of her inner turmoil. "And stay out of trouble. Your next victim may not be as forgiving as I."

Without another glance in her direction, Ashdon turned on his heel and strode back to the carriage.

Evelyn remained stock still as the carriage pulled away and thundered into the distance.

What had just happened?

Not only had she just been completely outsmarted, but now, racing away through the night, was her only chance to avenge her father.

Andrew waited until John had brought them a goodly distance before he rapped on the ceiling to bring the carriage to a stop.

Never in all his life had he been in such a peculiar situation, and his instincts were screaming that there was something about that robbery, aside from the total ineptitude of the robber, that didn't add up.

Mr. Spencer had been particularly flustered by it, especially considering the man hadn't lost so much as a guinea.

And although he protested that he was merely shaken by the incident, Andrew suspected otherwise. For one, Spencer kept patting his coat pocket, as if to make sure something precious were still there. For another, Spencer was proud and arrogant enough to clamber out of the coach and give a set down to anyone who would dare rob him. Yet he had remained inside and seemed genuinely afraid, more afraid than the situation warranted, especially when it was obvious that their would-be thief was nothing but a young lady. Probably a bored young lady, up to mischief.

Andrew felt his lips lift in a grin as he remembered the bizarre exchange with the woman, but he quickly supressed it. He needed to get to the bottom of what was going on here and not be distracted by memories of the spirited young lady and her clumsy attempts at criminality.

Besides which, he had one baffling attraction to deal with already in the form of the dainty Miss Evelyn Spencer. He had neither the time nor the inclination to be inexplicably attracted to another odd little miss.

He studied Mr. Spencer closely for some moments, taking in the darting eyes, the perspiring brow, and the tapping of that pocket before speaking.

"Mr. Spencer, you are rather pale. Has the experience overset you so?"

Spencer snapped his eyes to Andrew's, and they were slightly wild. Another oddity.

"I-I, well, of course I am overset. We could have been killed, man!" Spencer exclaimed.

"Hardly killed, sir. 'Twas merely a slip of a girl."

"Even so. If she'd gotten—" Spencer came to a sudden stop, as though realising that he'd been about to say something he shouldn't.

During his years working for the Crown, Andrew had learned when to push for information and when to subtly get it from someone. If ever there was a time for subtlety, it was now.

"Perhaps we should return to the Park, Mr. Spencer. And allow you to recuperate."

If anything, the man's skin grew paler yet.

What on earth was going on here?

Andrew's mind darted to Evelyn Spencer. Between Spencer's odd behaviour and his pretty niece's, there was a bigger secret than he thought hidden at Spencer Park.

"No. No, we should continue on. There are, ah, matters which need to be settled. Matters of some urgency," Spencer said, his hand creeping once more to his breast.

There was something in that pocket that he was eager to leave in Town. It was doubtful that he'd manage to get it past Andrew in Town, but it was a risk he'd rather not take. If Spencer was hiding something in that pocket, Andrew wanted to get him back to the manor house as soon as possible. It would be much easier to investigate the matter if they were in the relative close quarters of the Spencer estate.

Was Evelyn Spencer somehow involved in whatever was going on? And the highway robbery, by a woman no less... Surely something so odd would need to be looked into.

Andrew tried to convince himself that his desperation to hunt down the highwaywoman had nothing to do with the swift and powerful tug of attraction he'd felt to the masked miss.

But, he was honest enough to concede, he wasn't any more convincing in that than he was in his efforts to ignore his attraction to Evelyn Spencer.

Releasing a sigh, he turned his efforts to convincing Spencer to return home.

Had he really thought this visit would be boring? A mysterious secret, a mouse of a girl with the tongue of a serpent and a highwaywoman? He'd never been in a less boring situation in his life.

#  CHAPTER SEVEN

Evelyn hadn't slept a wink, which was no surprise, really.

How could she? How could she have even so much as closed her eyes when her life had just become a monumental catastrophe?

She had absolutely no idea what to do now. Should she just give up? Should she run away to London and try to track down Uncle Geoffrey's rogue solicitor? So far, the only thing she was sure of was that Lord Andrew Ashdon had fast become the bane of her existence, and she was well on her way to despising him.

The weak autumn sun began to attempt an appearance, and the clock chimed the hour. Far too early for most of the family to break their fast, but that was perfect for Evelyn. She needed coffee and food, though it was likely to turn to sawdust in her mouth. But it was sustenance and she needed sustenance if she were to think on what to do next.

The silver lining in all of this was that she would no longer have to pretend to be a highwayman. The experience had been less than enjoyable and certainly nowhere near as romantic as she had imagined it being.

Bloody Lord Ashdon and his interference and distractingly beautiful eyes.

Well, there was no point in harping on about it now. It was done, and it was time to move on.

What on earth had she been thinking, being a highwayman anyway? She'd never even taken an extra teacake in her life!

Ringing for Molly, Evelyn decided that she would move on to the next plan and put the whole, sorry mess behind her.

As for whether she would continue her plans for revenge, that was something that would be decided with a clear head and a full stomach.

The breakfast room was mercifully empty when Evelyn entered it sometime later.

Molly had taken one look at her and run off to find lotions and potions to hide her sleepless night. Evelyn had never been vain but, from the horrified shriek of her maid, she imagined the sight of her wasn't a pretty one.

Now, bedecked in a pale, mint-green walking dress, her hair pulled up and dressed with a matching green satin ribbon, she looked at least halfway presentable.

"A man would go a long, long way without seeing beauty like yours, Miss," Molly had announced a she fetched a shawl to battle the cool, autumn air. "So we may as well make the most of it."

Evelyn was going to ask to whom she was supposed to be attracting, but she was afraid the answer would be Lord Ashdon, which was insane, so she'd stayed quiet and allowed Molly to have free reign over her.

Signalling to the waiting footman to fill her cup, Evelyn went to the sideboard and began to pile her plate with eggs and ham. She'd never been one to shy away from a hearty meal, and worrying, apparently, made her ravenous!

She ate until she felt full and was beginning to feel slightly more human when Anna arrived, looking beautiful in deep blue velvet.

"Good morning, Evie," she said, coming to kiss her cheek. "You look quite the thing this morning. I hope your megrim has eased?"

"Good morning, dearest," Evelyn answered with a smile. "Indeed. It has quite disappeared."

"Good. I was so worried last night. You were frightfully pale."

Evelyn waited while Anna took her seat and asked for tea and toast before speaking again.

"Anna, is everything all right? It looks as though we have taken turns being pale."

Anna smiled weakly and began tearing her toast to shreds.

"I confess I have not slept terribly well."

"Why ever not? Has Peter—"

"No, no. It was nothing to do with him. I did not see him at all last night, thank heavens."

Evelyn felt the familiar pull of sympathy at her cousin's obvious relief. The poor woman was in such a miserable marriage. It pained Evelyn to witness it.

"So then, what—"

"Nothing, Evie. It was nothing."

Whatever was bothering Anna, she would not discuss it. Her tone brooked no argument.

Even if Evelyn had wanted to pursue it, the arrival of Aunt Millicent with all the subtly of a raging winter storm brought an end to any chance of conversation.

"Anna, Evelyn. Oh, girls, what a to-do."

Evelyn was sure to hide her flinch behind her coffee cup. Aunt Millicent didn't like to be made aware of her screeching.

"Your father was set upon by a band of highwaymen last night," she announced dramatically. Lied dramatically, more like.

"What?" Anna's face was the picture of shock.

"Yes, yes. The whole house is in uproar. Jonathon and dear Lord Ashdon are with your father, deciding what is best to be done."

Aunt Millicent launched into a story filled with such embellishment that Evelyn was almost convinced another robbery had taken place last night, one in which she'd had no part.

Listening to her aunt ramble on, Evelyn was reminded of how close she'd come to being caught. If Lord Ashdon had wanted to, he could have captured her in mere seconds. Thank heavens, it was over and done with now.

Aunt Millicent's monologue was interrupted by the arrival of Jonathon and Lord Ashdon.

Evelyn dipped her head, unwilling to meet the man's eyes. She could feel her cheeks heating, and she desperately willed them to stop. There was no call for her to blush, for heaven's sake. It would just seem suspicious.

Evelyn listened to all the polite good mornings without joining in and was contemplating how soon she could excuse herself without seeming rude.

"Good morning, Miss Spencer."

The softly spoken greeting brought Evelyn's eyes up to clash with Ashdon's, and she felt her cheeks flame even hotter.

Get a hold of yourself, she scolded.

"G-good morning," she mumbled before ducking her head once again.

"Did you sleep well?"

Evelyn supressed a sigh. Why did he insist on speaking to her?

She looked up again to find him watching her closely.

Her skin prickled uneasily. He couldn't know. How could he?

"Quite well, thank you," she bit out.

"And your headache?"

For God's sake, she was getting utterly sick of the man already, and he'd only been in the room five minutes.

"Gone," she answered, not even making pretence at politeness.

"Are you sure you are well, Miss Spencer? Your cheeks are flushed."

His words brought all sets of eyes in the room to her face, most scrutinizing, her aunt's shooting daggers.

"Perhaps that's because I'm not used to an interrogation with my eggs, my lord."

The cacophony of gasps and snorts of disbelief did nothing to improve Evelyn's opinion of Lord Ashdon. He forced these reactions from her and caused her to behave in ways entirely unlike herself.

Rather than shame him, however, or even insult him, her words seemed to cause him great amusement, and his answering grin was so dazzling that Evelyn literally lost the ability to speak.

Why did he have to be so handsome?

"Mama has just been telling us of the group of bandits that attacked you, Ash," Anna said, looking curiously from Evelyn to the viscount.

"Group?" he repeated with a raise of his brow, glancing from Aunt Millicent to Anna.

Evelyn was astonished to see her aunt's cheeks growing as pink as her own.

"Er — well, perhaps I misheard..."

"Perhaps," Ashdon answered with a smile, though Evelyn got the impression that he had the measure of her aunt's character and penchant for exaggeration.

He moved to fill his plate along with Jonathon, and the ladies remained silent while they waited for him to tell them what had really happened.

Of course, Evelyn already knew what had really happened, since she'd made it happen, but she couldn't admit that obviously.

"There was only one highwayman," Ashdon spoke as he took his seat at the table.

Evelyn frowned in confusion. Was he going to pretend it had been a man?

Why would he do that?

"So, what happened?" Anna was clearly riveted, and Evelyn supposed she would be too, if she was only hearing of it now.

As it was, she just wanted the whole disastrous business forgotten about, so she kept her head down and concentrated on the pattern of her china cup, which wasn't terribly interesting but would do as far as distractions went.

"Tales of highway robberies don't interest you, Miss Spencer?" Ashdon suddenly addressed her and jolted her from her thoughts.

"What? No. I mean, well, yes, but — I—" She tripped over the words in confusion. What was she to say?

"Oh for heaven's sake, child. Do stop rabbiting on." For once Evelyn was grateful for Aunt Millicent's lack of interest in anything she had to say. "Do continue, my lord," she gushed, turning once again to Ashdon.

Ashdon studied Evelyn for some moments before continuing to speak.

"It was, as I say, one highwayman, and fortunately he was unsuccessful."

"Thank goodness you were there, my lord, or I do not know what would have befallen my poor, dear husband."

Evelyn threw her eyes to heaven at her aunt's insincere worry. She couldn't care less what befell her husband, and they all knew it.

And suddenly, it was all too much for Evelyn. Her aunt's twittering, Ashdon's lies, Anna's gasps and oohs and aahs as he told them his tale.

"Well, at least it's all over and done with, and no harm has been done to anyone. It's best forgotten now and put behind us."

They all fell silent at her brusque words, and Evelyn couldn't blame them. She rarely spoke out, and when she did, it was never in the tone of a strict governess scolding her charges.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe a walk will help to clear the remnants of my headache."

Moving quickly, Evelyn was almost at the door when Lord Ashdon's voice stopped her.

"I very much doubt it's over and done with, Miss Spencer."

The slight feeling of dread that had accompanied Evelyn since she managed to get away last night exploded into fully fledged horror. What could he mean? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"Why would you doubt it?" she asked trying to sound nonchalant but coming back and gripping the back of an empty chair for support.

"Because, my dear, it is highly unlikely that a highwayman would attempt one robbery and then disappear forever, is it not?"

Evelyn's breath caught at his words. He was right. Of course he was right! Good heavens, what had she been thinking? She hadn't been. At least not properly. Her thoughts were rioting wildly around, her heart hammering so loudly she was surprised the other occupants of the room weren't being deafened by it.

Speaking of the other occupants, they were all silent, expecting a response, no doubt. And the most expectant of all? The loathsome Lord Ashdon.

Suddenly, Evelyn was furious. Furious with him, with herself, with her uncle, with the whole damned lot of them.

"How should I know?" she snapped, ignoring the shocked reaction of her family.

Ashdon, however, merely looked amused, that sardonic smile hovering around his lips.

"You shouldn't, of course. Forgive me, Miss Spencer. I did not mean to offend you with my question."

Evelyn could almost feel Aunt Millicent's rage from across the room.

She needed to get out of there and collect her scattered thoughts.

"You did not offend me, my lord," she muttered, now conscious of her rudeness. And to a Peer. Her aunt would have her head. "I fear my headache is making another appearance." She attempted a smile that she suspected looked more like a grimace.

"Can I get you anything, Evie?" Anna asked, and Evelyn felt yet another pang of guilt at her cousin's concerned tone.

The emotions she'd felt over the last few days would be enough to last her a lifetime.

"No, thank you. I think a walk in the fresh air will help more than anything else," she responded with a shaky smile.

"If you're sure?" Anna asked worriedly.

Evelyn risked a quick glance around the room at Anna's and Jonathan's worried expressions, Aunt Millicent's fuming one, and at Lord Ashdon once again wearing that exasperating, assessing look, as though he could see right through all of her lies.

"Yes, I'm sure," she finally answered before moving quickly to the door.

Stopping briefly, Evelyn donned her bonnet and cloak then swept through the door and into the crisp, morning air.

She needed to think fast and come up with some sort of solution to the mess she'd created for herself.

"Don't say it."

Andrew looked up Jonathan's words.

The two were still in the breakfast room, the ladies having taken their leave to prepare for morning calls.

"Say what?" he asked innocently, raising his coffee cup to his lips and wishing for something stronger.

"Say that Evie is acting — well, strangely."

"You admit it, then?" he asked carefully. He knew how fiercely protective Jon was of both Anna and Evelyn and having always thought it a little over the top, he now understood it completely.

He understood it because Miss Spencer brought out the same protective nature in him. So, yes, he understood the feeling; he just didn't understand why the hell he was feeling it!

"Of course I admit it," Jonathon snapped. "'It's obvious that something is on her mind."

"Something to do with your father?"

Andrew watched as Jonathan leapt from his chair and began pacing.

"I know you think I am blinded, Ash, but I promise you, Evie couldn't be involved in anything sinister. She couldn't be. She isn't the type."

"Then what do you think is going on?" he asked, refilling his cup, more to keep from slamming his hands on the table in frustration. The little enchantress really had her cousin fooled. Had everyone fooled.

"As to that, I cannot say. But I know it is nothing bad. I know it," Jon replied fiercely.

Andrew released a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, undoing all the good his valet had done less than an hour before.

"You are blinded, my friend," he said quietly, knowing where he needed to lead the conversation and hating himself for it.

Jonathan seemed to know too, if his sudden stillness was anything to go by. Andrew wasn't surprised. Jonathan was one of the most astute people he'd ever known. Usually.

He watched as Jonathan turned toward him, his normally warm brown eyes as cold as glaciers.

"I know her, Ashdon." He spoke quietly though his tone was infused with that steel that said he was holding on to his temper by a thread.

Andrew felt his own temper rise. Could the man really be so fooled by yet another female? He stood so that they were facing each other, their tension palpable.

"You thought you knew Gabrielle, too," he said, more sharply than he'd intended.

The words seemed to suck every last drop of warmth from the room, and Andrew wished immediately that he could recall them.

"Do not speak of Gabrielle," Jonathan rasped, and there was a world of pain in his tone that made Andrew feel ghastly for bringing her up.

"Jon, I'm so—"

"Don't," Jonathon said, and he sounded as though he were an old man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, weary and alone. "Just. Don't. I have some pressing matters to attend to. I'll see you later."

Without another word, he turned and slipped quietly from the room, and Andrew felt like the biggest cad in the world.

What had possessed him to bring up Gabrielle? What had caused him to become so angry that he would lash his best friend with words designed to hurt?

With a muffled oath, Andrew moved to gaze out of the French doors that led to the estate's formal gardens, which in turn led to a small wood. His eyes picked up a flash of green, and, suddenly, he knew what was driving his unusual behaviour. Evelyn Spencer!

If Jonathan was so convinced of her goodness, there was a chance she was as innocent as she seemed. And if he couldn't suspect her of foul play, couldn't mistrust and dislike her, then he could all too easily begin liking her more than he should.

#  CHAPTER EIGHT

The cool, autumn breeze was a welcome relief to Evelyn's heated cheeks.

She'd been traipsing around the garden, stomping out her confusion and her frustration with herself, and had come to the conclusion that she could not hang up her mask just yet.

For Lord Ashdon, much as she was loath to admit it, was right; should she no longer commit some robberies, everyone would know that her uncle had been the target, and until Evelyn had her hands on those papers, she didn't want anyone knowing what had happened.

Her uncle was as wily as he was dishonest, and she would not show her hand until she knew she could prove her claim.

So that was that. Although the thought caused her to feel physically sick, there was no real choice in the matter. She must continue to be a highway woman. She must, to her ever increasing horror, actually rob someone. Steal from them. Take their possessions through fear and force.

Evelyn felt unwelcome and terribly inconvenient tears fill her eyes.

Dash it all! Tears wouldn't help. There was nothing for it. She had to just do it, and that was all there was to it.

Squaring her shoulders, Evelyn turned to return to the house only to find herself face to face with the dreaded Lord Ashdon.

"Damn it," she muttered before she could help herself, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Swearing in front of a viscount. Well, wasn't that just the icing on the cake?

To her relief, he looked completely shocked and then highly amused as he let out a bark of laughter.

"Lovely to see you too, Miss Spencer." He grinned, and it was so devastatingly charming that she forgot to respond, to blink, to breathe even.

"Miss Spencer?"

"What? Y-yes, yes of course," she stuttered.

"Of course what?" He frowned.

"What?" She frowned right back.

This was becoming uncomfortably like the conversation they'd had last night. Although, thankfully he didn't know she'd been the one he'd been talking to.

He seemed to be remembering too as his face went from confused to astute in the blink of an eye.

The last thing Evelyn needed was his quick mind figuring out what she was up to.

"So, my lord, what brings you out here this morning?"

She realised her tone was too bright, far more welcoming than it had been up to this point, and too friendly, given that the last time they'd been alone together they'd been at complete loggerheads. But if he concentrated on that, he wouldn't think about last night, and that was good enough for her.

"I thought the fresh air would do me some good, too," he answered, his smile friendly.

He held out his arm to her, leaving her no choice but to place her hand on it and allow him to lead her at a sedate pace around the gardens.

Of course his arm felt solid and sinewy beneath her fingers. Of course she felt the heat of his skin through the layers of clothes and gloves they both wore. He wouldn't be considerate enough to have weak, regularly heated arms.

Her dislike of him coupled with her overwhelming attraction to him was both confusing and unwelcome, and she placed the blame for both squarely at his Hessian-clad feet.

"Miss Spencer?"

"Y-yes?" she stuttered again, keeping her gaze firmly ahead as they wound their way around the garden.

"You seem a little distracted this morning."

"I do?"

"Hmm. No doubt there is something on your mind?"

Her heart hammered at his question that wasn't really a question, more like a statement or even an accusation.

"Not particularly, my lord," she managed to mutter, though her mouth was dry as an Indian desert.

"Really? I would have thought the news of a bona fide highway robber would cause enough excitement to be on everyone's mind."

Damn. She'd walked into that one. Of course she should be up in the boughs about a highway robber. If she'd only just learned about it, she probably would be.

"Well, of course," she tittered. She, who had never tittered a day in her life. "'Tis enough to overset any lady. But, well, you and my uncle are unharmed after all and — and perhaps he has moved on since he was so unsuccessful last night?"

She turned to look at him, hoping he would agree that this was a genuine possibility so she could put the whole, sorry mess behind her.

His mossy gaze bore into hers, and she had a sudden and altogether ridiculous urge to sweep an unruly lock of hair back from his brow, just as she had last night. She wouldn't. Of course.

He seemed to study her for a while in that enigmatic way of his before he smiled gently and caused her heart to stutter.

"I'm afraid that is rather optimistic thinking, Miss Spencer. The highway — er — man did not achieve any success with us last night, but I doubt he would give up so easy, especially if he encountered no other victims after or before us."

Evelyn's heart sank with his words, even though she had known it was unlikely that his answer would be any different.

She chewed her lip and frowned. It seemed her only option was to rob again.

"Are you quite well, Miss Spencer?"

"Hmm? Oh, y-yes, thank you, my lord. It's just all so — exciting," she finished lamely.

Lord Ashdon urged them to a walk again, and Evelyn automatically fell into step beside him.

"You know," he began conversationally after a moment of silence, "I am considered to be quite an excellent judge of character."

"Really?" she mumbled distractedly, her mind filled with her plans for that night. It felt like she had aged decades since this all came about.

"Yes, indeed. I have an uncanny knack for telling whether people are good, bad, honest, dishonest. Or even hiding something."

Something in his tone caused Evelyn to stop once again and look directly at him. Though his face was an expressionless mask, his eyes were shrewd.

"R-really," she repeated and, inevitably, there was the squeak.

"Mmm. Really. Which is why I know, without a doubt, that you, angelic as you seem, are hiding something."

Evelyn's heart quite literally stopped beating at his words.

She'd known the man was far too astute by half, but for him to confront her? What on earth was she to do? To say?

Her mind screamed at her to turn tail and flee as fast as she could, but it was futile. For one thing, he was a bloody giant of a man who would catch up to her in a few strides. For another, he was staying in her house, and running now would not prevent her from seeing him again.

Besides, to run would be to admit guilt. Admit that he was right. And she couldn't do that.

So, garnering all her courage, she looked him dead in the eye and raised what she hoped was a terribly haughty brow.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, Miss Spencer," he answered softly.

And suddenly, with his tone so gentle, his face so impassive, no judgement just curiosity, Evelyn wanted to spill her heart out. Wanted to tell him all her burdens and let him help her carry them on those big shoulders of his.

Without rhyme or reason, Evelyn felt safe with him. Madness, considering he'd been about to shoot her last night, but then, she felt like she'd been going slowly mad since she first found those letters in Uncle Geoffrey's study.

"I—" She froze.

"You what?" he asked, stepping closer.

"I—" Tell him! her heart yelled. Tell him, and let someone help you. You can trust him.

But how could she? She barely knew him. And this strange pull she felt toward him should not be mistaken for trust. That would be foolish in the extreme.

"I don't know what you mean," she mumbled, and, for a brief second, she thought she saw disappointment flash through his eyes before he schooled his features once more.

"You're sure? I could help you."

Oh, how tempting that was. But there was too much at stake to blindly trust a virtual stranger. No, she must do this alone.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled as brightly as she could.

"There is nothing to help with, my lord."

Her words seemed to snap some of his control, and he suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

"For God's sake, Evie. I know there is something going on. Whatever it is you're involved in, it cannot be good."

His anger surprisingly did not frighten her. Rather, it raised her own temper.

"Remove your hands from me at once," she huffed. "You have a vivid imagination, my lord. That is what is going on. And do not call me Evie. You do not have permission to use my name, and, even if you did, I hate that one."

Now where had that come from? She was irrationally angered by the fact that he used her childhood pet name. It made her feel like an inconsequential girl, and though it was beyond ridiculous, she loathed to think of his seeing her as a girl and not a woman full grown.

Her words, strangely enough, seemed to diffuse some of the tense atmosphere between them. He loosened his hold, though he did not let go completely.

"Why should you hate it?" he asked curiously, all anger and suspicion seemingly forgotten.

"Because..." She was embarrassed by her outburst and felt her cheeks warm. "...because it makes me sound like an infant, and I am not a child. I am a grown woman," she finished defiantly, her eyes boring into his, daring him to mock her.

But rather than laugh at her, his eyes made an agonisingly slow perusal, from the tips of her kid boots to the top of her bonnet and back to her face.

"Nobody could argue that you are anything other than a grown woman, Evelyn."

His voice sounded rough and coarse, and it, coupled with his wandering gaze, caused her entire body to heat and a strange not unpleasant tingle to dance along her nerves.

Good Lord. What was happening to her?

"Be that as it may," she said rather hoarsely, "I do not like the name."

"Well, why do you let them call you it then?" he asked, his hands still clasped about her arms, his thumbs rubbing gently across the velvet of her pelisse and causing her legs to turn to jelly.

"Be-because, they, I — well, it's always been that way, and arguing with any of my family is rather futile." She refused to look him in the eye, concentrating instead on the intricate knot of his cravat.

His large hand moved to her face, and Evelyn's breath caught in her throat. When his thumb moved to her chin and gently lifted her face toward his, she was powerless to stop it.

"How would you have me address you?" he whispered, and Evelyn, who Aunt Millicent had always said had the consistency of an ox, almost fainted clean away.

"Miss Spencer," she answered piously, if rather high-pitched.

"Too formal," he stated firmly.

What she should do, really, was smack his face for him for taking such liberties.

Aside from which, hadn't she tried to rob the dratted man last night? And hadn't he been the one to scupper her chances of getting her hands on those papers? And the fact that he had apparently convinced Uncle Geoffrey to return home last night, meaning the papers were actually still here and not gone forever to London was completely beside the point.

But the man was clearly some sort of sorcerer, and he had weaved a potent spell on her so that she was powerless to do anything but gaze up at him and allow him to take liberties with her name and anything else he wanted.

"Evelyn," she offered then, suddenly desperate to hear her name on his lips.

He frowned in concentration then shook his head.

"Too stuffy," he said.

"Well, we are out of options, my lord, since I won't allow you to call me Evie."

His hand hadn't left her face, and it remained steadfastly there as he stepped closer still, leaving mere inches between them.

"I have it," he said, his eyes sultry, his tone pure seduction.

Granted, she'd never actually been seduced, but she imagined it felt very much like this.

"Oh?" Was all she could manage. Pathetic really, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Eve," he answered with a heart-stopping smile. "The very embodiment of temptation. A woman who would tempt a man to sin, to... anything. Perfect."

Evelyn actually swayed toward him at his words, and she would have given the sun, moon, and stars for him to crush her lips beneath his own in that moment.

"Now," he whispered, his mouth edging ever slowly toward her own, "won't you tell me what you're embroiled in?"

Her eyes, which had been closing in anticipation of the touch of his mouth, snapped open. The devil take his eyes! Was this all just to get her to talk?

Her temper flared again as she realised he'd been using her like a puppet on a string.

Why couldn't he just mind his own business?

And now he'd left her hot and bothered, frustrated and unsatisfied.

Well, he owed her a kiss, and she was going to get it.

Without giving herself a chance to be cowardly or even rational, Evelyn grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head toward hers, pressing his lips against her own.

Perhaps it wasn't the romantic first kiss she'd dreamt of as an impressionable girl, but it would do. If anything, it would serve to distract him from his questions.

Andrew's eyes widened in shock at Evelyn's bold move before instinct and his ongoing attraction to the woman took over.

Oh, how apt the name Eve. The woman would tempt a saint. And he was no saint.

Forgetting all about the enigma surrounding her, forgetting the questions unanswered and the erratic behaviour, something he never did, Andrew gave in to temptation and crushed her to his body, almost groaning at the sheer perfection of her soft, curved body pressed against his own.

Her lips were as lush and soft and damned kissable as he'd been imagining every night since he first laid eyes on her.

He felt her shock as he took control of the kiss and then, to his immense relief, she melted against him with a sigh, and he was lost.

Don't lose control, he told himself as he parted her lips and delved inside.

Whatever else she might be, he had no doubt that she was an innocent when it came to making love, and he was suddenly, fiercely glad of the fact.

He'd been with countless women, some probably more experienced than he. So how was it that he was being utterly captivated by the kiss of an innocent who was keeping secrets from him?

Andrew had to work harder than ever before to hang on to his control as the feel of her, the scent of her skin, the touch of her lips threatened to overwhelm him.

If he didn't break the kiss soon, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to.

Gathering the slowly fraying threads of his gentlemanliness, he wrenched his lips from hers. He leaned his forehead against her own as he tried to muster some semblance of restraint.

Her rapid breathing matched his own and, lifting his head, Andrew couldn't help the swell of pure, male pride at the dazed look in her dark-as-sin doe eyes.

Right, well, looking into her eyes was doing nothing to stem the tide of wanting that threatened to drown him, so he stepped back and looked away, giving her a moment to fix herself and giving himself a moment to get a handle on his body, which wasn't keen to cooperate apparently.

The situation had veered wildly out of his control, something he wasn't used to.

Not only had he failed to get her to confess to whatever she was embroiled in, and he was now more convinced than ever that there was something, but he'd gone and kissed his best friend's cousin, who might as well be his sister, and very nearly lost complete control of himself in the process.

He understood now how Jonathan had so nearly ruined his reputation, his career — hell — even his life, because of Gabrielle.

Andrew could all too easily see himself doing the same over his very own Eve.

The snapping of a twig caused him to spin around, and he saw with some frustration and admittedly some amusement, Evelyn — or Eve as he would always think of her now — dashing away from him as if the very hounds of hell were at her heels.

Perhaps she was wise to do so.

Frankly, he had no idea how he would be in her presence in the future without ravaging her on the spot.

#  CHAPTER NINE

Evelyn patted Midnight reassuringly, not quite believing that she was here again.

Tonight felt colder and infinitely longer than the night before. Perhaps that was because she knew now how bad she actually was at this.

Although, if she made as much a mess of it tonight as last night, perhaps it would be more believable that the highway robber had given up and moved on somewhere else.

Evelyn hoped against hope that this was the case, for she would need her wits about her to commit such a crime, and her wits had most definitely abandoned her and stayed firmly under the oak tree in the gardens where Lord Ashdon had kissed her.

Her sense of fairness prompted her to admit, even to herself, that she had in fact kissed him, but he had most definitely taken control of that kiss and turned it into something she had never expected. Something glorious and wonderful and altogether inconvenient, since she had been able to think of little else.

She huffed out a frustrated little sigh, and Midnight pranced beneath her, sensing once again her uneasiness.

"Easy boy," she whispered. "We shan't be long. One more botched robbery, and we can both give up on this blasted charade forever."

Being alone with her thoughts on a darkened, rarely used road was not good for her frame of mind, Evelyn decided.

For one thing, it left her to stew over her uncle's horrid betrayal and her complete inability to do anything about it.

For another, it gave her far too much time to remember every tiny detail of her encounter with Lord Ashdon and his magical lips, the touch of which still felt imprinted on her own.

Evelyn lifted a hand to her mouth and pressed her fingers to the spot that still tingled in remembrance of his touch.

Perhaps she hadn't handled the aftermath in the sophisticated, worldly way she would have liked.

Sprinting back to the house, nearly bursting a lung in the process, then barricading herself into her room with another faux headache was neither sophisticated nor clever, as it turned out, since she had both Anna and Jonathan demanding that Mr. Carver, the aptly named surgeon be called.

It took so long convincing them that she was perfectly fine, that she'd had a genuine headache by the time they left and she'd been grateful for Molly's herbal remedy and insistence that she be left alone in a darkened room.

Lord Ashdon hadn't asked after her welfare at all, she thought snippily.

Which just went to show; the man was a veritable rake who had felt nothing when they'd kissed and should be avoided like the plague.

And Evelyn had every intention of staying as far away from him as humanly possible from this day forward.

"Lovely evening for a robbery, my lady."

Evelyn screeched in fright as a deep, mellifluous voice penetrated the still night air, and she nearly fell off her horse as she spun to see to whom it belonged.

But of course. She already knew, didn't she? Nobody else's voice had the power to completely steal her breath away.

And wasn't that just the way her luck had been going anyway? When she'd decided to avoid him, lo, here he was, ruining her robbery again.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded indignantly as she tried to keep control of the stallion who she'd once again frightened half to death.

I'll make it up to him, she assured herself, choosing to ignore the fact that the list of living things she was having to make things up to was growing steadily by the day.

"Oh, I'm just out for a night-time ride. May I enquire as to what you're doing?"

His faux politeness was stirring her temper, but she refused to give in to it. The best way to deal with the interfering cad was to coolly dismiss him, then ignore him.

"You may not," she snapped, her tone as freezing as she could make it. "Good evening to you."

"Oh, come now, my lady. What harm in having a friendly chat?" he asked jovially as he moved his horse to stand beside hers.

Bloody nuisance.

"I am not your lady," she retorted. "I am a dangerous, hardened criminal, and you are interfering yet again in my robbery."

"But, of course. A thousand apologies." He swept his hat off his head and executed a dramatic bow that almost unseated him from his mount.

Evelyn gave a regal nod of her head, which she hoped was dismissive enough for even this most obtuse of men, then turned again to concentrate on the empty road.

"And how is the business of robbing passing carriages? Slow? Lucrative?" he continued in that polite tone that would have been better suited to a ballroom in the height of the Season.

Evelyn took a calming breath and pointedly ignored him.

"Of course, I, myself, would never rob someone. Too ethical, you understand. But I can appreciate that some highwaymen do quite a trade in the area."

Evelyn clenched her teeth so hard she was afraid she'd never pry them apart again. Still she remained silent.

"But then," he continued, and she wanted to smack him again, all thoughts of their earlier kiss forgotten in her rage, "I have never known a woman to be involved in the business. You'll forgive me if I think that rather singular."

Evelyn gazed at the stars and counted to ten, trying desperately to calm her beating heart, to unclench her death grip on the reigns. Poor Midnight was having a horrid time of it with her. There weren't enough apples in the world to make up for it. Not if she were to bake John Coachman's pies too.

"And, you must admit, my dear, you aren't very good at it, are you?"

"That is it," she snapped and whirled round to face him. "Whatever is the matter with you?" she began. "I'm not going to rob you, and I want absolutely nothing to do with you. Nothing," she emphasised as she leaned toward him. "So why do you insist on bothering me?"

He merely smiled as though he found the whole thing vastly amusing.

She growled low in her throat.

"Pardon me, my dear, but did you just growl?"

"I am not your bloody dear," she exclaimed. "For heaven's sake. Just leave me alone. You go your way, I'll go mine, and that will be that."

With that, she turned her horse once more and pointedly ignored him.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because, you are a mystery that I am determined to solve, since there are so many which are apparently too far out of my reach," he grumbled with a frown, and Evelyn thought for one mad moment that he was speaking of her.

Her, Evelyn. Not her, mysterious highway non-robber.

"There is no mystery. Nothing to solve. I just choose to earn a living this way. That's all there is to it," she said decisively. She didn't need him poking around in this as well as everything else.

Any answer he would have made was silenced by the distinct sound of approaching hooves.

Evelyn's heart flew into her mouth.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, all animosity forgotten.

He merely nodded, watching carefully now as he usually did.

"It seems a victim is approaching."

She tried not to flinch at his words but victim made the whole thing seem so, well... so criminal.

Perhaps she would just pretend to rob this carriage.

After all, he'd seen her again now, so there was no cause to ever do this again.

If she got rid of him quick enough, she could just loop round and go back to the manor house the long way, avoiding being seen by him, and leaving the occupants of the carriage robbery free.

Suddenly feeling much better about the whole thing, she smiled brightly.

"Well, it's been nice knowing you," she said and stuck out her hand, "but as you see, I have work to do, so I'll bid you good evening."

He glanced down at her hand and then back up at her and moved his mount closer, leaning forward to peer closer still.

"You know, you seem terribly familiar."

Evelyn just stopped herself from leaping back in horror. Oh God, he couldn't recognise her!

"I hardly see how," she mumbled.

He was silent for a moment before releasing a sigh.

"No, I suppose that is impossible. Apparently, the Fates have a wicked sense of humour, throwing two impossible women with devastating eyes and annoying habits into my path."

Evelyn was momentarily distracted by his complimenting her eyes before his words registered.

"I am not annoying," she said, mightily affronted and doubly so, since she was both women.

"Oh, but you are. Not as much as she, I'll grant you, but then I haven't had the pleasure of your company as much," he continued wryly.

"Well, you're not exactly pleasant to be around either, sir," she quipped.

She really shouldn't be enjoying this.

"Me?" he widened his eyes innocently, and Evelyn had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing.

But this was no good! She needed to get rid of him so she could leave before the carriage arrived.

"Yes. You. Now, if you don't mind I have a — er — job to get on with."

"Oh, don't let me stop you," he said with a smile.

Her own smile froze.

"Wh-what do you mean? You can't stay here?"

He shrugged his large shoulders with enviable nonchalance.

"Why not? I must admit I find the whole thing fascinating, and while I heartily disapprove, I find myself unwilling to leave you to your own devices, should anything bad happen."

Evelyn felt her jaw drop open at his words.

He'd risk being caught here, risk being thought of as a criminal because he didn't want to leave her alone?

The thought was humbling, and it also served to soften her toward him, which wouldn't do at all. She needed him to leave. And quickly.

"But, you can't risk being seen here," she stuttered. "Suppose you should get caught. S-surely a man of your stature cannot risk such a thing."

He raised a brow.

"What do you know of my stature?" he asked.

Blast. She'd slipped up again.

"N-nothing. But, well, I just assumed—"

"There you go with those assumptions," he said smoothly. "No need to worry yourself about it, in any case. The problem will be mine to deal with, should anything go awry."

Oh, but he was exasperating.

"But why?" she wailed.

He was once again ruining everything.

"As to that, I cannot tell you. I only wish I knew myself," he muttered as much to himself as to her. "But, here I am. Unwilling to allow you to be caught or put into any sort of danger."

It was a peculiar thing, Evelyn thought as she rubbed at a sudden headache, being jealous of oneself.

Clearly, Lord Ashdon cared a great deal about the highwaywoman she was. And yet, he had kissed her to, so intensely this morning in the gardens.

What a brute!

Well, she would never allow him to kiss her again, and that was that.

Even though he didn't know who she currently was, he had known perfectly well who she was this morning, and he had no business getting himself embroiled with some woman now. The logical part of her brain tried to remind her that she was the some woman, but she had no interest in that.

The point was that he didn't know who she was...

The thought brought Evelyn up short.

He didn't know who she was!

Evelyn Spencer, lady of quality, good, well-behaved, docile miss couldn't allow a rakish lord any liberties.

But a mysterious, masked female who lived outside the law? Well, couldn't she do just about anything she wanted?

Her mouth curled into a slow grin as the possibilities flitted through her mind. This could be rather wonderful. Perhaps being a highway robber for a little longer wouldn't be so bad after all.

Before she could speak a word to him, however, the carriage that they had heard approaching suddenly came into view.

Evelyn felt her palms grow clammy beneath her gloves.

She'd had no qualms about robbing her uncle; that was a necessity if she was to get justice for her father.

But innocent people? It seemed so callous.

Evelyn reminded herself that this was going to be nothing but a fake robbery; she would return whatever she stole tonight to its rightful owner, albeit through the church. She had it all planned out. She would leave a note of apology along with the stolen items in the vestry tomorrow. And though she would still feel simply awful for causing any distress to her neighbours and friends, it did help soothe her guilt that she wouldn't be keeping their belongings. It was small comfort to be sure, but she'd take anything she could get!

"They're going to pass you by if you don't make haste," Ashdon helpfully piped up.

Evelyn gritted her teeth once more before ignoring him altogether.

Taking a deep breath, she moved Midnight onto the road.

"Stand and deliver," she shouted, her voice mercifully squeak-free this time.

The carriage, a much smaller affair than her uncle's conveyance the night before, shuddered to a halt, the matching pair of horses prancing nervously at the sudden interruption.

Evelyn squinted through the darkness to see if she could recognise whose coach it was.

This was a rather small village, and she knew all of its occupants.

As her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness of the carriage lanterns, Evelyn felt her stomach drop all the way to her borrowed boots.

Throwing a beseeching look toward heaven, she did have to wonder how she'd been so wicked in her life as to find herself committing her second non-robbery against the village magistrate.

Andrew shouldn't laugh. He really shouldn't. And he certainly shouldn't allow this continue. He was an agent of the Crown. Wasn't it his job to stop criminals in their tracks, rather than encourage them?

He couldn't help it though.

Every second he spent with this mystery lady, it became glaringly obvious that she was no more a highwaywoman than he.

He was fascinated by her. Who was she, and why on earth was she playing pretend with such a dangerous game?

When the occupants of the carriage slowly lumbered out, it was all he could do to smother his bark of laughter.

She'd only gone and held up the magistrate.

Andrew had met the rotund and jolly man and his equally rotund and jolly wife when they'd come to call and pay their respects to the new lord in town, such as he was. A sweeter pair you couldn't find anywhere.

He watched as the lady robber visibly stiffened in her saddle. Hmm. So she recognised the magistrate. Which meant she was local. Curious.

As he watched the spectacle unfold before him, he thought about the curious pull he felt toward her and how captivating she was. It was most unusual, since all he could see of her were her admittedly delectable-looking mouth and her eyes.

Her eyes.

That was it! They reminded him of Eve's.

At the memory of the young lady who'd been occupying far too many of his thoughts, he felt a surge of guilt, which was as inexplicable as it was ridiculous. Why should he feel guilty? Yes he'd kissed her, but she'd started it! And he hadn't done anything with Miss Mystery over there.

And even if he had, he'd made no promises to Evelyn Spencer, and she wanted none. She didn't even like him, most of the time. Although that kiss would suggest otherwise, would it not?

Andrew's head began to hurt. What had become of him? Obsessing about two women, both hiding something, both with distractingly beautiful eyes. Though in fairness, every inch of Evelyn Spencer was beautiful, and though something told him the same was true of Miss Mystery, he didn't know that for sure.

Not only that, but his attraction to them both went far beyond physical. It was their wit, their erratic behaviour — even their snippiness — that drew him to them both. He never thought he'd see the day where a lady's looks were so unimportant, and now there were two of them to contend with.

Andrew shook his head and berated himself internally. He had no time for this nonsense. He needed to pay attention to the most farcical robbery he'd ever seen and make sure that the lady didn't do anything stupid, or get hurt, or both.

"Now see here," the magistrate, a Mr. Carter was blustering fiercely, "what is the meaning of all this? You cannot conduct yourself in such a fashion. It is absurd. My poor wife is most overset."

Andrew glanced at Mrs. Carter, who was looking gleefully from her husband to the highwaywoman, her mouth open in fascination. The lady was having a grand old time and was, no doubt, itching for the whole thing to be concluded so she could gossip to all her friends about it.

"I apologise, sir," Miss Mystery was saying, sounding genuinely contrite, which was madness, "but I really must insist. If you will empty your pockets, we can all be on our way."

"Indeed I shall not," Mr. Carter retorted stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"For God's sake," Andrew heard her mutter, and he couldn't suppress his grin at her irritation. "I don't have time for this," she continued. "Empty your pockets, or I'll put a bullet in you."

Andrew raised a brow and watched with interest as poor Mr. Carter visibly paled, and Mrs. Carter clapped her hands.

"It's all so exciting," she whispered loud enough for even him to hear.

"Mary, please, contain yourself."

"Do not snipe at me, Harold. Just because you've been scared witless by the young man."

"I have not been scared witless. You always do this. You always make situations worse with your ridiculous notions."

The lady muttered a few more choice words at the exchange between the bickering couple.

Andrew shook his head in amazement at the whole spectacle.

It was truly peculiar. The whole lot of them belonged in Bedlam.

And he'd probably end up there with them.

"Stop bloody fighting!" Miss Mystery suddenly shouted at the still arguing couple, and they both yelped in fright and spun back to face her.

"How dare you, you insolent boy!" Mr. Carter bellowed.

He thought she was a young boy? The man was blind.

This could go on for hours, and Andrew needed to get back to the manor before anyone noticed he was gone.

"Sir, I am losing patience." There was a steely note to her voice now that hadn't been there before, and for the first time, Andrew felt like she had a real strength inside of her. "Hand over your belongings and be on your way while you still have the chance."

The Carters must have heard the same tone that he had because, without further argument, but an awful lot of complaining, they handed over a coin purse and Mrs. Carter's jewellery.

"Now, back in your carriage and on your way," she instructed, and mercifully, they did as they were bid.

She moved her horse back to stand beside Andrew's, and they both watched the carriage disappear into the distance in silence.

"So," he said after a moment, "you really are a highway robber."

She turned to him with such a wicked grin that his heart nearly stopped.

"But of course," she said to his utter amazement, and, for the second time that day, he found his head grabbed and pulled forward and his mouth thoroughly kissed.

#  CHAPTER TEN

"Bloody, silly, stupid bag."

Evelyn was aware that her swearing had significantly increased in the last few days, and she really should do something about it.

But her jovial mood was fast turning into the complete opposite.

She had floated home on a cloud of joy in the early hours of the morning.

Her kiss with Lord Ashdon had been wicked and intense and wonderful. She'd been able to throw her whole self into that kiss, since the mask had given her the opportunity to be whomever she chose.

There was something mischievously seductive about hiding her identity, about the cover of darkness and the anonymity of a disguise.

Evelyn Spencer couldn't go around throwing herself at men, though some madness had possessed her to yesterday. But, in the general way of things, it wasn't how a lady conducted herself.

A criminal unencumbered by the rules of Society, however, was a different matter altogether.

Lord Ashdon hadn't reacted in quite as strong a way to last night's kiss as he had the morning's, but she put that down to shock, and, to be fair, it was rather more difficult on a horse.

She'd gotten little to no sleep last night since she'd been out much later than intended.

It had been imperative that she give him time to get back to the manor house and into his bed before she made her return, and so it was very close to dawn when she arrived back. She couldn't risk any of the downstairs maids seeing her come in with her haul.

Thankfully, there was an tiny rundown cottage on the very outskirts of the property that nobody ever went near, and Evelyn had managed to hide the bag in a gap between the stone wall and thatched roof by standing on Midnight and praying with all her might that the animal didn't move suddenly.

Thankfully, she'd gotten down in one piece, but that had still left the problem of her clothing. So she'd stripped off the hat, mask, and boots and kept the cloak snug around her. It was the best she could do, and, for once, luck had been on her side, and she'd gotten into her bedchamber unseen.

Her conscience, irritating little thing that it was, however, had barely allowed her to sleep. She couldn't stop thinking of the Carters' distraught faces as they handed over their possessions.

So, as soon as Molly had entered with her chocolate, Evelyn had leapt from the bed and thrown on the first gown she could find before dashing from the room, calling instructions not to breathe a word to anyone.

She was relying on Molly's fierce loyalty to keep the young maid quiet.

And now, here she was, having dragged half-chopped logs and anything else she could find over to the wall of the cottage to try to form some sort of ladder for her to climb.

It wasn't going well.

Evelyn huffed out a breath and impatiently pushed her unruly hair back from her brow before preparing to take another shot and somehow get up that wall.

She needed that bag. She wanted to return the goods to the church as fast as she possibly could. The weight of her guilt was a heavy burden.

"Ah, we meet again, my Eve."

Evelyn whirled round at the sound of Lord Ashdon's voice behind her.

How could he look so well after so little sleep? It was most unfair.

Memories of their kisses, of her forward manner, of his witnessing her unforgiveable behaviour in robbing the Carters flooded her mind, and Evelyn knew her cheeks must be fairly glowing with her embarrassment.

"G-good morning, my lord," she spoke to that handy cravat of his again.

"Haven't we moved passed the formality of my lord?" he asked as he stepped closer.

She didn't know how to respond so stayed quiet.

"Call me Andrew," he said softly, and her eyes flew to his.

"What? No! I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"B-because, it isn't proper, my lord," she stuttered. The irony of a woman who was just now trying to rescue a bag of things she'd stolen the night before and had kissed this man twice already being worried about propriety wasn't lost on Evelyn, but still. She couldn't go throwing all of her standards away.

"Eve, we—"

"Don't call me that," she said fiercely. It was far too intimate. It made her want to throw herself into his arms, and, well, she'd already done that. He'd start to think her a wanton if she continued in such a fashion.

"Anyway, don't let me keep you from your walk, my lord. Good day to you."

Evelyn turned her back and listened for the sounds of his retreat.

There was silence.

I'm not turning back around, she thought mutinously.

"So..." His voice sounded in her ear, and she leapt in fright before spinning to face him once again. "What's so fascinating about this rundown little shack then?"

Evelyn gritted her teeth until she could be sure her tone wouldn't be similar to that of an angry fishwife.

"Nothing, my lord."

"Stop calling me my lord," he snapped.

"Stop interfering in my business," she snapped back.

"I'll leave you alone if you call me Andrew," he offered as he stepped closer.

"I'm not calling you that," she bit out and stepped further away.

They glared at each other before he stepped back and smiled.

"Fine," he said. "How about Ash? It's what Jon and Anna call me, and it can't be improper because it's merely the shortening of my current title."

Evelyn frowned at him, wondering what he was about. Why did he care so much what she called him anyway? But arguing was futile. The stubborn oaf wouldn't go anywhere until she agreed, and she needed that bag.

What's more, he was confusing her by simply being there. If she was in disguise, she would be flirtatious, wicked, and seductive, even though she wasn't sure how to be.

But now, being Evelyn, well... She just needed him to leave.

Saying a swift prayer for patience, Evelyn looked at him and gave a tight smile.

"Fine. Ash. Happy?"

"Ecstatic." He grinned, and Evelyn had to stop herself from smiling back. He was incorrigible.

"Will that be all?" she asked in a not-so-subtle attempt to get rid of him.

He grinned again. It was beautiful. Just like the rest of him. The cad!

"Not quite. I need your help."

"Really?" she asked, ridiculously pleased by the notion. "With what?"

"With your cousin," he said, and her stomach plummeted.

Of course. Anna. Her stunningly beautiful, lovely, married cousin.

She tried not to be devastated by his rakish ways. Anna had told her the rumours of what he and Jonathan got up to, but really, was kissing two women, as he believed her to be, not enough for him? Did he really need to pursue Anna too?

"I'm not sure what help I could offer, my lord," she said sharply, her tone icy. "I'm not in the habit of helping unscrupulous men pursue my married cousin."

She spun away as his chuckle did nonsensical things to her insides. How could he still affect her when she knew what he was?

"Oh, my dear Eve. I cannot believe anyone who knows you thinks you a mouse. You are a veritable lioness, and with some of the sharpest claws I've ever encountered."

His words pleased her more than they should, so she kept her back to him and tried to pretend he wasn't there.

"But, as much as I rather enjoy the high opinion you have of my stamina, I am not in the business of dallying with married women."

Evelyn continued to pretend to ignore him while listening avidly to his every word.

"Besides which," he continued, this time his voice softer so that she had to strain to hear him, "I have my hands full enough with her stubborn little cousin."

Evelyn swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat but still did not turn around.

That was until he took her arm and spun her himself.

Evelyn was overwhelmed by his nearness, and she was afraid she'd repeat her foolishness of yesterday morning.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"You, as it happens," he announced so casually that it took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, it was all she could do not to swoon from the shock. How could he announce such things like that?

"But that isn't why I'm here. I need to speak to you about Jonathan."

"About Jonathan," she repeated in surprise.

He nodded his head toward a log that she hadn't managed to drag since it was huge and imbedded into the soil below it. "Shall we?"

Her curiosity and concern for her cousin was such that she followed him without protest and sat on the log, waiting for him to join her and doing her best to ignore the closeness of his body to hers.

He really did smell delicious. Spicy and warm and—

"Are you listening?" he asked suddenly, and she nearly fell off the log.

Righting herself with a glare in his direction, she nodded then set about actually listening.

"As I was saying; you will have noticed he is rather quiet?"

Evelyn nodded but did not interrupt. This seemed to be difficult for Lord Ashdon — Ash — to speak about, and she had been concerned about the change in Jon. They all had.

"He — he lost someone. Someone important. The last time we were on the continent." Ashdon spoke to his boots, the words obviously difficult, and Evelyn felt such a wave of compassion for him, this strong man seeming suddenly so vulnerable. "The thing is... I knew how difficult it was for him. But I didn't understand it, though I might be starting to," he added quietly, glancing in her direction before looking back toward the ground.

Evelyn reminded herself that breathing was actually vital to living, so forced herself to take a breath. She shouldn't read too much into such comments in any case.

"Anyway, the other day we were talking, and I-I said something rather unforgiveable about the whole thing. We've spoken since, but it's not the same, and I—"

Suddenly he leapt from the log and began pacing.

"We've been through a lot, Jonathan and I. Things that nobody else would ever understand. I don't know how to make up for what I said. I don't even know if it's possible to make up for it."

He was so genuinely distressed that Evelyn had no doubt that he regretted whatever had happened between him and Jonathan, and her heart hurt for the man.

Without thought to anything but offering comfort, she stood and went to him, and clasped one of his large hands in both of hers.

"Andrew," she began, not noticing that she'd used the Christian name she was so adamant she would not use, "please do not distress yourself so. I see the closeness between you and my cousin. Anyone would think you were brothers, the way you are with each other. And Jonathan knows your regard for him, as you know his for you." She lifted his hand until it was pressed against her heart. "Whatever you said, I am positive Jon knows you did not mean it. Give him time. Whatever demon he's fighting, he will defeat it as long as we are all here to help, should he ask for it."

He stayed quiet for so long that Evelyn became self-conscious and made to move away. But his hand tightened in her grip, and when she looked up, she found her gaze locked with the impossible green of his.

"You are utterly befuddling, my Eve," he said softly. "A tongue so sharp, a heart so soft. Beautiful and fierce in your own quiet way."

Well, what was she to say to that?

She remained still as a statue as Ash lifted a hand and brushed a stray curl from her face then bent to press his lips gently against her own.

Evelyn was fairly sure that if he hadn't chosen that moment to wrap his arm round her waist, she would have ended up in a very embarrassing puddle at his feet.

This kiss was nothing like the others; it was soft and tender and felt very much like it meant something, which confused her further. In fact, she didn't think she'd actually had a single coherent thought since he'd arrived here.

The sudden screech of a bird overhead had them springing apart, and she couldn't help but return his rueful grin.

Though she didn't want their time together now to end, she felt fairly sure that he would return to the woods tonight in search of the mystery woman, and then she could act whatever way she wanted without fear of being caught, or reputations, or anything that was currently holding her back.

And if she felt a pang of sadness, that if he did show up tonight to be with the masked woman, it would mean that he was merely trifling with her this morning, then so be it.

It wasn't as though there could ever be anything real between them anyway. He was a Peer and would marry the daughter of a Peer. It was always the way with these things. And she, well... she didn't have time to even think on such things. As soon as she'd gotten this little infatuation out of her system and cleared up the debacle she'd created with these robberies, she would be concentrating once more on bringing her uncle to justice.

So there was no need to be maudlin about him. None at all.

She would go tonight, but she was adamant that she would never rob a single person again. She would have her fun. And then, she would get her life back.

Andrew felt shaken to his very core by whatever had just happened with Evelyn.

He had known that his attraction to her was growing by the second, but this was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. That kiss, though it had been one of the gentlest he'd ever had, had felt like the earth shifting beneath his feet.

He was far too much of a coward to look too closely at his feelings and the reason for them, however, so he set about distracting them both until he could either get his head straight or drown himself in brandy. The latter seemed preferable at that moment in time.

"Thank you," he said softly, "for helping to reassure me."

She merely smiled in response, her eyes shining up at him, and it was all he could do not to grab her to him once again, imagining those eyes gazing at him every day, every morning... every night.

Damn it. This was not good at all.

Jonathan was barely speaking to him as it was. Somehow, Andrew didn't think that ravishing the man's innocent cousin would do him any favours.

"I insist you allow me to thank you properly," he said, trying to sound casual and coolly polite.

She frowned in that terribly distracting way of hers. The way that made her skin crease right there and made—

"Ash?"

"Yes. What?" he asked, trying to clear his head of thoughts that had no business being there.

"I asked what you were talking about," she said, looking at him as if he'd run mad. Which he had, most likely.

Pull yourself together, man he demanded before concentrating on the conversation at hand.

"Whatever you have hidden up there," he said, pointing to the cottage, "I should like to retrieve it for you as a way of saying thank you."

If a person could literally freeze with shock, Ash reckoned that Evelyn could have done it just then. Her jaw opened, and her eyes widened, and he did his best to ignore how adorable it made her look.

"Wh-what nonsense. There's nothing up there. Why should I hide anything up there?" Her laugh sounded slightly maniacal.

Ash bit back the desire to tell her that, actually, he was one of the best agents the Crown currently had and figuring out that she had stashed something here was child's play. He couldn't very well go around shouting it from the rooftops, even if he had a sudden and overwhelming urge to have her trust him.

"Eve," he said softly, stepping closer to her, "I know there is something up there. And it is obviously something you don't want me to see. I also know that you are hiding something that you don't want me — or possibly anybody — to know about. I promise I shan't look at whatever it is and that I shan't press you to tell me what is going on. But I can't stand by while you hurt yourself trying to get up there."

He was close enough to her now to see the golden flecks in her eyes, to see the length of the dark lashes that framed them. His throat dried in an instance, and his heart began to pound. God, she was stunning.

"So, will you let me help you?"

Ash couldn't explain it, but he knew instinctively that this was a monumental ask. That if she trusted him with this, it would be an immense thing for her to do. And he wanted so badly for her to trust him.

He felt himself holding his breath as a range of emotions flickered across her face. She was definitely battling herself on this, and he hoped that she would agree, because, otherwise, he'd have to go against her wishes and suffer her wrath.

And even though she was more like a furious, spitting kitten than anything else when she was angry, he still much preferred her smile to her hisses. But he wasn't going to let her injure herself, and that was that.

After what seemed like an age, she huffed out a breath and glared at him.

"You promise not to look?"

"I do," he agreed solemnly.

"And you promise not to ask questions?"

"I promise," he confirmed.

After another silence, she spoke again. "Very well. There's a bag up there in a hole in the stone just beneath the thatch. If you would be so kind as to get it for me, I would appreciate it."

Andrew nodded his head and moved to the cottage, making sure to hide his smile of triumph from her.

She was starting to trust him, and he didn't care to examine why that was akin to the best feeling in the world.

#  CHAPTER ELEVEN

Evelyn couldn't quite believe that she'd actually allowed him to fetch the bag for her.

What if he were lying about his intentions?

What if he were to open it? All would be lost. He would discover that she was, well... herself.

Would she end up in Newgate? Would she hang for her crimes? If so, her father would never be avenged. Her uncle never brought to justice.

"Eve."

Evelyn whipped round at the sound of Ashdon calling her.

Her heart gave a little start at his name for her, and she gave it a sound talking to. Now was not the time to be fluttering, for heaven's sake.

"Yes, my lord?"

He walked back to her.

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you insist on using that ridiculous title for now, since we have a more pressing matter to attend to."

"And what is that?"

"I can't reach it."

Damn and blast, she thought. She was going to have to wait until she'd kidnapped Jon's horse again before retrieving it, which meant she wouldn't be able to sneak it to the church until tomorrow. Which meant another sleepless night tossing and turning and worrying about it.

"Well, never mind. Thank you for trying. Good morning," she muttered with a quickly bobbed curtsy as she went to walk away.

"Not so fast," he called and grabbed her arm to stop her from dashing off. "I have an idea."

Since Evelyn really did not relish having to leave the bag there longer than necessary, she was willing to try anything.

"All right, what is it?"

"I'm only a couple of feet short of reaching it," he began as he started to unbutton his dark green coat.

Evelyn swallowed hard and tried to ignore the emerging hint of muscle she could see beneath the thin lawn shirt he was revealing.

If he took off his waistcoat, her heart would stop.

"So I'm going to balance on that little collection of logs of yours," he continued casually, as though stripping in the middle of a forest was a regular and completely normal activity.

He'd removed the coat fully, and Evelyn was watching in rapt fascination as he folded it neatly then placed it on the log they'd been sitting on.

She glanced back at Ashdon and saw he was watching her with that boyish grin that melted her heart, along with other places.

"What if you should fall?" she asked doubtfully. "I'm not sure the logs will hold your weight. You—" Her blasted cheeks were heating again. "—well, you are rather big."

He laughed softly and stepped forward to once more brush a curl from her cheek.

"Don't trouble yourself, my Eve. We'll have your bag in no time."

He strode over to the logs and climbed atop. The stack shook from side to side, and Evelyn's heart leapt into her throat.

"Don't wobble about so!" she shrieked.

If anyone saw them now, him with no jacket, balancing beside a rundown cottage on a clump of logs, and her barking instructions at him, well... it would be more than a little difficult to explain.

"I'm not wobbling," he grumbled.

Evelyn watched as he stretched as high as he could with one hand whilst gripping the wall of the cottage with the other.

The ridiculousness of their situation hadn't escaped her notice either, and she was conscious of the fact that, although it was always fairly abandoned around here, there was a possibility of their being discovered.

"What's taking so long?" she called to Ashdon.

"Nothing," he called back, sounding grumpier than she'd heard thus far.

"Nothing? Excellent. I was hoping you'd take your time for no reason, enjoy the view, take in the sights..."

"I am not taking in the view. I can't quite reach it. And I'm doing this for you, remember?"

"Yes, I remember. I didn't think you'd use the opportunity to have a rest."

He growled something under his breath. "Hold on, I'll try to get closer."

Evelyn watched as he reached further forward, and suddenly the log beneath him lurched, and he landed with a thud on his backside, clutching the drawstring bag.

Evelyn couldn't help it; she laughed louder than she had in a very long time.

It struck Andrew that he'd been less embarrassed by being caught, quite literally, with his trousers around his ankles in the stables of the family seat when he'd been a lad. The stable master had given him a sound talking to, he remembered, about the dangers of dallying with lose maidens. Of course, being young and infatuated, Andrew had thought he'd never find a woman he would feel as passionate about as — well... her name escaped him now. Which just went to show the old stable master had been a wise man.

And as it turned out, he was more aroused by her husky laughter, aimed at him though it was, than he'd ever been by the terribly friendly maiden back home.

He tried desperately to remind himself that Eve was an innocent. An innocent related to his partner and best friend. An innocent who was hiding what appeared to be quite a big secret. But nothing was going to cure him of this knee-buckling want for her. Even when she leaned down and began yanking at his arm to help him up, she conjured up images that had no business being conjured.

It was the oddest sensation, being so attracted to her that it nearly made him dizzy while at the same time being mortally wounded by her laughing at him. And all the while, worrying about her safety in whatever she'd mixed herself up in.

He knew he wanted her in his arms; he just didn't know if it was to protect her or ravish her. Perhaps both.

"Are you all right?" she choked out.

"Do I bloody look all right?" he swore, which sent her off into peals of laughter once more.

"I'm sorry if you hurt your — pride," she said with a saucy little grin as he tried to scramble to his feet.

He didn't know whether he wanted to kiss her or wring her slender neck.

"Come along," she continued as she pulled on his arm.

He instinctively pulled back, and suddenly she landed in his arms and he, for the second time, landed with a bigger thud on the cold, hard ground.

She'd knocked the wind clean out of him, but she was in his arms, and he allowed himself the luxury of wrapping them firmly around her.

He thought he felt her relax into him for a moment, though that was probably wishful thinking, before she scrambled to her feet and turned to face him.

The weak autumn sun was shining valiantly behind her, and it lit her golden hair, making it seem as though it was a halo framing her smiling face.

He felt winded again for altogether different reasons.

She was exquisite.

"Look," she said slightly breathless as she held up a black bag in triumph, "you got it."

And though it had, no doubt, been one of the surrealist positions he'd ever been in, and one of the toughest on his derriere, looking at the expression on her face, it had all been worth it.

#  CHAPTER TWELVE

"Right, this is the third time in as many days you've snuck out of the house. Care to tell me where you're going?"

Andrew flinched at the sound of his friend's voice behind him.

He should have known better than to believe he could keep anything from Jonathan.

The irony was, he was only going tonight to warn Miss Mystery of the perils of her chosen profession.

It wasn't any of his business of course, but apparently the chivalry his mother had worked tirelessly to instil in him had stuck, for he worried about the dangers a lone woman would face in the dark of night.

Admittedly, last night he'd been rushing out the door because he had been inexplicably drawn to her. Tonight, his mind was so full of Eve, he didn't have the room to think of anyone else.

That was worrying enough without adding being caught like a common criminal to the mix.

"Jon, I didn't hear you."

Jonathan smiled, and Andrew thought he felt some of the remaining tension between them dispersing.

"Losing your touch, old man?" Jon grinned.

"You hardly think you'd be that lucky." Andrew grinned back, relieved that things seemed to be well between them.

"So, where are you going?"

"I — ah — I just thought I'd take a walk."

Jonathan frowned, and Andrew silently berated himself. Even he didn't believe that, so badly was the lie told.

"In the dark?"

"Yes, I got into the habit of taking a walk with my cheroot. Clears the cobwebs, you know." He emitted a sound that was a little too close to a giggle for his liking. Real men did not giggle.

Based on Jonathan's disbelieving expression, this was going as badly as Andrew suspected.

"Well," Jon finally spoke, "I shall join you then."

"No!" Andrew shouted loud enough to blow out the candles in the chandelier above their heads.

Jonathan raised his brows.

"What I mean is, well... your mother, you know. 'Tis bad enough, is it not that Ev — ah, Miss Spencer retired early again. It wouldn't do for the lot of us to disappear."

"You must really be losing your touch, Ash, if you think my mother cares a whit about what Evie does."

Andrew clenched his teeth to stop himself from telling Jonathan she hated being called Evie. And, come to that, to stop himself from giving his opinion on how Eve was treated by her surrogate parents.

Right now, he wanted to get out and make his goodbyes to the mystery lady, try to persuade her to give up this madness, even try to discover who she was if he could. It would be nice to solve at least one of the puzzles around this place.

Maybe he was losing his touch. The thought was rather depressing.

Still, there was no time to dwell on it now.

"Obviously, she doesn't care. I just thought you'd like to avoid a lecture whilst breaking your fast tomorrow, should you abandon ship right now."

His words had the desired effect. Jonathan said his goodbyes and hurried back to join his odious mother. The glint in his eye, however, told Andrew that he didn't believe a word of their discussion, and there were definitely more questions coming.

But since tonight was sure to be the last time he ever saw Miss Mystery, questions tomorrow would be a lot easier to handle.

Andrew made a show of walking casually to the side of the house, lest Jonathan should be watching him before dashing round to the stables.

The air was cooling rapidly by the hour tonight.

It would be nice to remain in the manor house from here on in, warmed by the fire, sitting across from Eve, watching the flames brighten the gold in her hair... lighten the soft brown of her eyes...

Snap out of it, man.

Andrew had no idea what was happening to him, but he suspected that was a feeling he didn't want to examine too closely.

The stables were quiet, aside from the odd whinny from one of the animals.

And, of course, his stallion, Beast, was as active as ever, always ready to move like the wind as soon as he sensed Andrew near him.

Usually Midnight was the same, but the animal had been unusually quiet in the last few nights.

Andrew made a mental note to check with Jonathan if the horse was feeling up to snuff.

The cold night air stung his cheeks as Andrew raced off toward the main road to London. He used the time to reflect on why he was so intent on meeting Miss Mystery again.

He was so strangely drawn to her, had been, at least, until Eve had wiped nearly every thought that wasn't about her clean from his mind.

But even though he felt a frightening amount of care for Eve, there was something he couldn't quite let go of when it came to this woman who cloaked herself in darkness.

It was the damnedest thing.

He felt drawn to her, then he would think of Eve gazing so trustingly at him this morning, and he'd feel a pang of guilt, as though he were promised to the girl, so he would resolve to change his plans and not see the highwaywoman tonight. Then he would feel guilty that he wasn't going to at least attempt to help her leave this dangerous life of hers, and he would resolve to change his plans once again.

It was exhausting.

He couldn't deny the allure of the highwaywoman. But neither could he rid himself of this sense of loyalty to Eve.

He reached the road and slowed Beast to a walk. If she was a creature of habit, she would be waiting by the roadside in a little copse of trees some way up. He would say his goodbyes, offer her enough blunt to set herself up in some safety, and then he would be free to untangle the mess of his feelings for Evelyn without any further complication.

There were no clouds to dim the bright light of the crescent moon, and it was definitely colder tonight. Evelyn was grateful for the rough, heavy cloak she had commandeered when putting together this costume of hers.

She'd had to tear through the trees this evening so she would arrive at her usual time.

Strangely, Midnight hadn't been stabled tonight, and Evelyn felt a prickle of unease at the fact. But then, she reasoned, even if Jonathan had decided to take the horse out, he was hardly likely to travel to the main road at this hour of the night.

Besides, the chestnut mare she was using tonight was sufficient for a goodbye.

Today had been trying and yet, she had carried with her a warm, happy feeling after the morning she'd spent with Lord Ashdon.

Even when her heart had been in her mouth later that afternoon as she'd snuck the Carters' belongings into the vestry of the church with a letter of apology, she hadn't been able to quite shake the feeling of utter, giddy contentment.

She would see him again and allow herself to be bolder still.

Perhaps he would not come...

There was a part of her that hoped he wouldn't. A part, which felt suspiciously like her heart, that hoped he was starting to feel something for her, Evelyn, just as she was starting to feel far too much for him.

If he cared at all about Evelyn, he would have no interest in spending time with another woman, would he?

"So, you're a creature of habit then?" Ashdon's voice sounded behind her, and Evelyn's heart sped up with excitement at the sound then sank to her toes with disappointment that he'd come to meet this mysterious lady.

It was all rather tiring.

Still, he was here now, so she might as well enjoy it.

"Afraid not, sir," she answered with what she hoped was a saucy smile but may not have been since she'd never attempted one before. "In fact, since business is rather slow, this is to be my last night in Surrey."

She paused to gather her courage before continuing.

"Unless, of course, someone gives me a reason to stay."

Her words seemed to freeze in the air between them, and Evelyn's stomach clenched in anticipation of his answer.

He looked completely taken aback by her words, and she wondered if she should just turn and run away. But the temptation of time spent with him without the strictures of polite society was too much to resist, so she stood her ground and valiantly ignored the niggling voice that said she wished he would refuse her.

Finally, after an interminable silence, he spoke.

Raising his eyes to the heavens, Evelyn was sure she heard him mutter something about "that damned woman and her hold over me" before he lowered his head once again and met her eyes.

"My lady," he began, his tone rueful, "you have no idea what such an offer would have meant to me in the not so distant past." He moved his horse closer to her own. "However, a recent encounter with a woman who has quite frankly turned my entire world upside down with only the briefest of meetings means I find myself unable to think of little else but her."

Evelyn's heart soared at his words, and she had to work incredibly hard not to launch herself into his arms, pull off her mask, and press her lips to his.

Instead, she kept her composure as best she could and nodded her head in acknowledgement of his words.

"Well," she said keeping her tone neutral, "I am well pleased for you."

"Oh, do not congratulate me," he responded drily. "The woman will either turn me grey or send me straight to Bedlam before long. I'm sure of it."

Well, that wasn't very nice.

"I wonder why you bother then," she snapped.

His answering smile nearly caused her to catch fire.

"You would understand if you met her."

Evelyn doubted it, considering she was her and still didn't understand it.

"I must confess to being curious then, that you should seek me out, sir," she said, making sure to keep her voice as dissimilar to her usual one as she could. After three nights, she was becoming rather good at it.

"And wonder you should," he responded seeming much more comfortable with this thread of conversation than the previous one. "I find myself rather inexplicably worried about your well-being my lady, since we are but strangers."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. In fact, I would go so far as to say that you do not feel like a stranger and where it not for the — ah—"

"Complication in your life?" she offered.

"Yes, exactly. Where it not for her, I do believe I would have rather enjoyed giving you a reason to stay."

Evelyn felt herself blush and was grateful for the mask and the dark of the night.

Somehow, it didn't seem right that a highway seductress should blush at one flirtatious comment.

"But that does not mean that I do not worry for your safety, and so I came here to try and convince you to leave this dangerous choice of career."

Evelyn felt her heart melt even more at his obvious concern for someone whom he believed to be a complete stranger.

She smiled kindly at him and thought how lucky she was to even be a complication to him.

"You're in luck then, sir. I have already decided that perhaps the life of a highway robber isn't for me."

He grinned at her.

"Is that so? A short-lived career then."

"Hmm. I hardly think a successful one at that."

He laughed softly before sobering.

"So, what will you do?"

Evelyn thought about his question before deciding that it was safe to be honest with him about this much at least.

"I will concentrate on bringing the man who ruined my life to justice."

She watched him stiffen at her words.

"And before you offer, I do not want your help." She spoke before he had a chance to.

"That's a dangerous game, my lady."

"It is dangerous," she agreed softly, "but it is no game."

He shook his head and muttered a soft oath under his breath.

"I had thought to send you on your way with a stern talking to and a bag of coins," he said wryly as he put a hand into the pocket of his greatcoat.

Evelyn grinned and, quick as a flash, produced her uncle's empty pistol and trained it on him.

"Should we make it an authentic hold up?" she asked laughingly.

Before he had a chance to respond, a shout of "Ash" came from behind them, and, in the next moment, the blast of a gunshot shattered the air followed by the sharpest, most searing pain Evelyn had ever felt.

She looked in shock from Andrew's horrified face to the emerging one behind her, and, without a second thought, turned her mount around and raced through the trees. She knew that shock was setting in as her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

While as she raced back to the house, the thought pounded through her head. I've just been shot. By Jonathan.

Evelyn stabled the chestnut as quickly as she could.

Her knees nearly buckled removing the saddle, and she felt drowsy and sick.

Good God. She had actually been shot.

The shock was wearing off a little, and the pain was increasing with every moment.

Hanging the saddle was going to be an impossibility, so she left it on the floor of the stable, hoping that it would be looked at as nothing more than an oversight by one of the stable hands.

Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought she would be shot, which was probably stupidly naïve, considering what she'd been up to for the last few nights.

Sneaking around was becoming less important by the second, but she couldn't be caught just now. She just couldn't.

She prayed that luck would be on her side as she entered the house through the kitchen.

"Think, Evelyn," she whispered desperately to herself, "what do you need?"

There was no way she could go to the cellars for alcohol, but it appeared that luck was, in fact, on her side as she spotted a bottle of brandy tucked away with some of Cook's ingredients.

Brandy pudding! They had had brandy pudding at dinner that evening, though it had seemed a lifetime ago.

Snatching up the bottle and some clean linens that she knew Cook always kept in her store cupboard, Evelyn finally made her way to her bedchamber.

She could already tell that the bullet had merely grazed her upper arm, rather than do any real damage, but that knowledge did nothing for the pain in her arm or for the loss of blood.

The journey to her room seemed never-ending, and Evelyn almost cried with relief when she was finally able to lock the door behind her and breathe a sigh to be safely ensconced in her own space.

The tears did come then, but they were mostly of pain and shock and a myriad of emotions flitting too quickly through her to be able to discern them.

Feeling ever more dizzy and confused Evelyn removed her cloak, hat, and mask with one arm before carefully and slowly, with many pained winces and whispers, peeling the blood-soaked sleeve of her shirt from her arm.

As she had known, it was no more than a scratch, albeit a deep one, though it was hard to see the full extent through the mess.

Lifting the brandy bottle, she, who never imbibed, took a huge gulp and then proceeded to cough herself hoarse. But once the burning stopped, a pleasant warmth began to seep through her bones.

Another, more moderate sip for good measure, and Evelyn was ready to sit at her vanity, grit her teeth, and slosh some of the amber liquid over the source of her pain.

The urge to cry out almost won, but Evelyn bit her lip until she tasted blood. She lifted one of the linen cloths and used it to scrub the wound as much as she could stand.

Evelyn had no idea how long she'd sat there, dabbing the wound then pressing a clean, padded strip of linen against it before clumsily wrapping another around it.

By the time she was through, the brandy was beginning to roil in her stomach, her arm felt as though there were a hot poker pressing against her skin, her brow was clammy, and she was shivering despite the glow of embers in the hearth.

Staggering slightly, she stripped off the rest of the offending disguise and bundled the pieces up along with the soiled cloths and the nearly empty brandy bottle, before dumping them unceremoniously in the back of her closet.

Molly, bless her heart, had followed Evelyn's instructions not to disturb her, so her night rail was just as she'd left it at the foot of the bed.

Working her way into it, Evelyn moved on leaden legs to the covers and climbed inside.

Even the weight of the eiderdown coverlet hurt her injured arm, but Evelyn daren't leave it uncovered in case Molly or Anna should, for whatever reason, come into her room.

Unbelievably, after several attempts to find a comfortable position, Evelyn felt her eyelids droop.

Perhaps when they opened again, it would turn out that this was all a horrid dream.

"What the hell did you do, Jonathan?" Andrew bellowed as Beast picked his way through the darkness back to where Jonathan still waited.

"Well, I thought I had saved you from being held up but, since you went hieing off after your attacker, I'm going to assume that that's not what happened."

Jonathan sounded furious, and Andrew felt like wringing his neck.

"You could have killed her," he continued to shout in a rage.

"What? Her?" Jonathan repeated incredulously.

"Yes, her."

"But — but isn't that the same highwayman who robbed you only a few nights past?"

Andrew drew a steadying breath and forced himself to calm down.

In truth, if he had come upon such a scene, he would have shot first, too. But damn it! She could be seriously hurt. And she was alone. Alone and God only knew where.

"Yes. The very same. Except, contrary to what your father insisted on saying to save face, the robber was not a burly man but a slip of a girl," he explained, his tone still fraught with tension.

"What the devil were you doing with her, then?" Jonathan barked.

"I was trying to convince her to give up such a dangerous occupation. And it was working, too. Until you bloody well shot her."

"She was holding a gun to your chest, Andrew."

"She was playing, Jonathan."

The men glared at each other, neither one willing to concede that the other wasn't the most unreasonable man to ever walk the face of the earth.

"I want to ask why you were so interested in the girl, but I'm not sure I want to hear the answer," Jon spoke at last.

"For God's sake, man. There was nothing going on," Andrew said without guilt, for it was the truth. No need to say that the primary reason for such a truth was Jonathan's cousin.

The waters this evening were muddied enough.

There was silence once more before Jonathan suddenly turned the air blue with an oath a sailor would have been proud of.

"Are you telling me I shot a girl?" he asked, sounding slightly sickened.

"Yes. That is what I'm telling you."

"Christ," Jon whispered.

"Indeed," Andrew bit out.

"Well, it's not as though I did any damage."

Andrew raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry. No damage? I know we've been in some rather violent scrapes before, Jon, but last I checked, bullets were still considered to be something of the damaging variety."

Jonathan scowled at Andrew's sarcasm.

"I mean, I didn't shoot to hurt. I shot to shock. I had thought that we would be hauling a hardened criminal in front of the magistrate."

Andrew almost sagged with relief at Jonathan's words. Jonathan's skills with a gun were second-to-none. If the man said he didn't cause serious injury, then he didn't.

"What now?"

Andrew looked off in the direction she'd run, but, really, what could he do?

"Nothing, I suppose," he answered both himself and Jonathan.

"So, shall we return to the house?"

"Yes, I suppose we should."

They turned and made their way back.

"You wouldn't have found her, you know," Jonathan said.

"I know."

"She got too much of a head start, Ash, and presumably she knows these woods better than you do."

"Right."

"Do you think you'll see her again?"

"I wouldn't have thought so. She was about to leave the area as it happens."

"Do you think she will be all right?"

"I hope so," Andrew responded quietly. "But I don't suppose I'll ever know for sure."

The two men made their way back home in silence, each one deep in his own thoughts.

#  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"And, of course, poor Mrs. Carter was so very pleased to have her things returned. She was quite beside herself after her ordeal, you know." Aunt Millicent was in full flow, and Evelyn dearly wished to cover her ears but that was an impossibility, not the least because she couldn't lift her left arm to anywhere near her ear.

She had miraculously had a good few hours' sleep, but the pain in her arm was as bad as ever, and it meant her tolerance for Aunt Millicent's chatter was at an absolute low.

Having missed breakfast that morning she had found the family ensconced in the drawing room, minus Jonathan and Andrew. She had struggled to put herself into a gown that had long sleeves and was something she could put on herself. The gown she had settled on buttoned at the front and was a pale straw colour. Evelyn cursed the fact that as a young, single lady she was not encouraged to wear darker, bolder colours. Not that Aunt Millicent cared a jot about Evelyn or what she wore, but it did impact on her aunt and, therefore, the rules of Society would be adhered to, even here in the country, which was nonsensical but not worth fighting about.

She was glad of the fact, however, since she needed to prepare herself not to react when she saw either of them.

"Goodness, Evie, you do look pale this morning. 'Tis no wonder you stayed abed later than usual." Anna had come and grasped her hands, and it was all Evelyn could do not to wince as even the slightest jostling of her arm pained her. "Come, a cup of tea and one of Cook's delicious pastries will set you to rights."

"For pity's sake, Anna do not fuss over her so."

Aunt Millicent had leaned forward in her chair and snatched the last of the pastries from the plate in front of her, but Evelyn hadn't minded. The brandy she'd consumed the night before had ensured a distinct lack of appetite that morning.

Anna had grimaced sympathetically and then poured Evelyn a much-appreciated cup of tea.

"Mama has been filling me in on the startling news of Mrs. Carter. Apparently there has been another robbery," Anna told Evelyn, her amber eyes glowing with excitement.

Evelyn had remained silent and allowed Aunt Millicent to launch back into her mostly exaggerated version of events.

In fact, they had been so exaggerated by Mrs. Carter and then, in turn, by Aunt Millicent that the story sounded as far removed from the actual events as possible.

Evelyn didn't even pretend to be listening, since she knew her aunt couldn't care less whether she listened or not.

Looking across the room, she noted with interest that Mr. Grant and her uncle were sitting, heads bent toward each other, having what appeared to be an extremely intense and serious conversation.

Of course she couldn't hear them, but Uncle Geoffrey looked furious, and Mr. Grant, though appearing nonchalant, had his fingers clenched into fists.

The door opened and Thornton, the long-serving family butler, entered with a calling card.

"Captain Townsend, ma'am," he announced, presenting the tray holding the card to Aunt Millicent.

Evelyn and Anna shared a look of incredulity, and Evelyn, though she had no idea of any history between Anna and the captain, reached out and clutched Anna's hand. Thankfully, her cousin was sitting to her right. If she'd been close to her injured arm, Evelyn wouldn't have been able to offer anything but a grimace of agony.

Aunt Millicent's face creased into a smile, and she began fussing with her hair and gown.

"Captain Townsend, I declare. I don't believe he has called on anyone since his return to the village. What a coup. Thornton, bring him right in. Anna, ring the be—"

"We are not at home, Thornton."

Uncle Geoffrey's voice cut across Aunt Millicent's chattering, and she turned to look at him in amazement.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, aghast. "We cannot turn him away. He is an absolute sensation, Geoffrey. Everybody is talking about him. Disappeared years ago, and then, years later, Mrs. Townsend receives word that not only is he alive and well, but has made an absolute fortune everywhere. India, even I believe. Why, he was the youngest captain to—"

"Millicent," Uncle Geoffrey barked, "we are not home."

Evelyn looked from her aunt to her uncle in amazement. It was rare for Uncle Geoffrey to care a whit about who came and went in the household. Rarer still for him to interfere in Aunt Millicent's social calendar.

For a moment, it looked as though her aunt would defy her husband, but then she instructed Thornton to send the man away.

Evelyn turned to speak to Anna about what on earth was going on and was more amazed still to see that her cousin had leapt to her feet.

"Mama, I, ah, I just wanted—"

"Sit down, Anna."

This time it was Mr. Grant who had barked the instruction, though his tone was icy cool compared to her uncle's flustered hot-headedness.

Evelyn's temper flared at Mr. Grant's treatment of his wife, and Uncle Geoffrey dropped even lower in her estimation as he remained mutinously quiet.

Anna looked as though she would argue, and Evelyn hoped against hope that she would, but then, she released a soft sigh and sat back down.

There was a tense silence before Aunt Millicent broke it with another inane story, this time about the dance in the Assembly Rooms coming up.

"Evie..." Anna leaned close and whispered urgently in her ear. "...Evie, please go to Lucas, I mean C-Captain Townsend."

"What?" Evelyn whispered back incredulously.

"Go, quickly before he leaves. Tell him that father — no. No, just find out if he is to go to the dance."

Evelyn stared at Anna. Whatever had gotten into her unflappable cousin?

"Anna, I've never even met the man. I can't just—"

"Please, Evie." Anna's grip was painful. "Please, just ask him. Before he leaves."

Evelyn was baffled by Anna's behaviour, but obviously this was important to her, and Evelyn would do anything for Anna, so she gave a reassuring nod of her head.

"Aunt Millicent, will you excuse me. I-I forgot to fetch my book from—"

Aunt wasn't even attempting to listen, so without another word, Evelyn swept from the room and moved as quickly as she could to the entrance hall.

She reached the hall just as a footman was opening the door for, she assumed, Captain Townsend to take his leave.

"C-Captain?" she called, nervous now. She'd never even set eyes on the man before. He would think her insane, chasing him down like this.

The impossibly tall stranger turned, and Evelyn was struck by how incredibly handsome he was.

He had rich, chestnut hair that was slightly longer than the Brutus-cut preferred by most gentlemen of the ton. Lord Ashdon kept his own short but not overly styled like the fops of the day. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, closer to navy, really. Not strikingly bright like Ashdon's. Of course, Ashdon's were that mossy green that was so distracting...

"Miss?" Captain Townsend interrupted her musings, and Evelyn started. He was gazing at her expectantly, looking for all the world like it was an everyday occurrence to be accosted by strange women in hallways.

It probably was for him, come to think of it. Evelyn could see how attractive he was. She wondered idly why she was so wholly unaffected by him, whereas with Ashdon—

"Miss, are you quite well?"

Captain Townsend interrupted her again, and Evelyn's face flushed.

She was already making a mess of this, and she hadn't uttered a single word.

"Yes, yes. I am. Well, I mean. Quite."

His gaze was going from polite to a little frightened. She'd frighten him off before she got the chance to even introduce herself if she kept it up.

Taking a breath, she smiled in what she hoped was a friendly, non-insane way.

"Captain Townsend, I am Miss Spencer, Anna's cousin. I believe we saw each other many years ago but never actually talked."

His frown cleared, and he stepped forward, bowing and offering a much more natural smile.

"A pleasure, Miss Spencer."

Evelyn glanced quickly at the waiting footman then turned back to the captain.

"Captain, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you."

"Of course, Miss Spencer."

Evelyn turned and led the way to a small reception room to their left.

"If you please, Captain?" she said, indicating that he should precede her into the room.

Glancing at her curiously, he did as she bid.

Once inside, Evelyn smiled apologetically.

"I understand that this is rather unorthodox, Captain, but I wondered — that is, my cousin, Anna, wondered — if you would be attending the ball at the Assembly Rooms next Saturday? She bid me ask you since she is... is indisposed right now." Evelyn clasped her hands together then immediately unclasped them as a pain shot through her arm.

"Anna — that is, Mrs. Grant wanted you to ask me?" the handsome captain repeated, and, for a moment, his eyes filled with such joy, such hope that Evelyn was momentarily speechless.

What on earth had happened with Anna and Captain Townsend? For it was as plain as day that they were more than childhood acquaintances.

"Yes, yes, she was quite insistent that I should ask you," Evelyn confessed stepping closer to him. "She would have come herself, only her husband — well..." Evelyn trailed off uncertainly. What could she say that would explain the relationship between Mr. Grant and Anna?

Her words were like shutters, blocking her from seeing anything other than cool indifference on the man's face, in his eyes.

"Please, tell your cousin that I doubt I will be able to attend," Captain Townsend answered.

Evelyn thought something had shifted in his mind, but she didn't know the man. Perhaps this was merely his way.

"That is a shame, Captain. I know she wanted to see you there. Perhaps another time," she said politely.

"Yes, perhaps," he answered, but Evelyn didn't believe him. "If you'll excuse me?" he said with a bow and turned toward the door.

Just before he left, however, he turned back to Evelyn.

"Is Anna — is she happy?"

Evelyn paused before speaking. She had no idea who this man was now after all these years, had no idea what his history with Anna was. And, of course, one should never speak ill of a family member, even through marriage. Plus, family business was family business...

And yet.

There was something about the captain that made Evelyn trust him.

"No, Captain," she answered quietly, "I do not think she is."

Her words seemed to pain him, and Evelyn felt immediately sorry.

Rushing over, she placed a hand on his arm reassuringly.

"Anna is strong as an ox, Captain. I am sure you know that."

Captain Townsend closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, he looked as coolly composed as ever.

"Thank you, Miss Spencer." Captain took her hand in his and bent over it before straightening to look at her. "I can see that she has at least one person who cares only for her happiness."

Evelyn smiled at his kind words and was about to issue a heartfelt thanks when the door, which had been partially closed for privacy, swung open with a bang.

"Interrupting something, am I?" Ashdon was standing in the doorframe, snarling like a cornered animal, and Evelyn felt a little frightened at his ferocious expression before she realised it was trained on the captain.

Damping down her burst of pleasure at seeing him, she stepped back from the captain, who let her hand drop without protest, and turned to Ashdon with a smile.

"My lord," she said pleasantly ignoring the fact that his glare hadn't left Captain Townsend. "May I introduce Captain Townsend, recently returned to the village? Captain, this is Viscount Ashdon, a friend of Jonathan's who is staying with the family."

Evelyn paused and looked from one giant man to the other, awkwardly waiting for one of them to react.

Captain Townsend made a slight but polite-enough bow.

"A pleasure, my lord," he said.

Andrew's answer was what could only be described as a grunt.

What on earth was the matter with him?

She glanced nervously at the captain, but the man looked unaffected and even slightly amused by Ashdon's strange behaviour.

"I will take my leave then," he said, turning once again to the door. "Miss Spencer, it has been a great pleasure," he said, and his grin widened at Andrew's muttered oath and what sounded like threats of bodily harm. "My lord," he said turning to Andrew, "it has been — enlightening."

And sweeping his hat atop his head, he marched from the room.

The silence Captain Townsend left in his wake was, for Evelyn, excruciating. She was remembering Andrews kisses yesterday morning, their encounter last night, worrying that he had somehow discovered it had been she. And he looked as though he were in a thundering rage.

"Lord Ashdon, I ho—"

"Who the hell was that?" he snarled.

Evelyn's jaw dropped at his tone.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," he repeated, storming into the room and kicking the door shut, fully shut, behind him.

"I told you not above two minutes ago, not that you were listening, obviously," Evelyn snapped feeling immediately angered by his tone. "That was Captain Townsend, a friend of Anna's."

"Lucas Townsend?" he fired out, looking surprised.

Evelyn was momentarily distracted from her ire.

"You know him?" she asked.

"Ah — no. No, I just heard of him," he answered sheepishly.

Evelyn frowned, but she was too riled up by his ridiculous behaviour to be side-tracked now.

"How dare you come in here and treat a guest like that?" she said, placing her hands on her hips and immediately removing them with a wince as another inconvenient pain shot up her arm.

"What's the matter?" he immediately asked.

"N-nothing."

"Eve, you've gone white as a ghost. What's wrong?" He came forward and stopped inches from her, raising her chin, his eyes roving intently over her face.

"Nothing," she repeated more firmly, ignoring the butterflies dancing inside her at his touch. "Nothing, except for the fact that you stormed in here up in the boughs about something or other and were extremely rude to a guest. To a friend of Anna's, I might add," she continued, getting into her stride.

"He was standing as close to you as I am now," he interrupted. "And he was holding your hand. I think the fact that all of his limbs are still attached was polite enough."

Well, what was she supposed to say to that? Her stomach fluttered alarmingly as a wave of longing swept over her, so strong it nearly took her off her feet.

"But, that doesn't explain why you're so pale. I know something's wrong."

Lord, but he was insistent.

Her arm was throbbing ever more painfully, and if she didn't get out of here, she'd either cry, which she never liked to do in company, or throw herself at him and — and, well, do things she really shouldn't do in company. Not that there was anyone around. And he had closed the door...

"Eve, speak to me."

She felt suddenly exhausted, emotional, in pain, and confused by his words. Thrilled, but confused.

It was all too much for her to bear on an empty stomach and very little sleep.

"I-I need to go," she mumbled and moved around him toward the door.

"Eve—"

"My lord, please. I must go."

"Why are you so eager to get away from me? Why are you my lording me?" he continued, striding after her.

His demanding questions were fraying her nerves at an alarming rate, and she finally snapped.

"Fine," she yelled, spinning back to face him. "Ashdon, then. Ash. Andrew. Whatever your damned name is, just leave me alone."

Evelyn turned once again to leave when he reached out to her again.

"Stop, please," she heard him say before he grabbed her arm, and the pain was so intense it caused her to cry out.

The room began to spin and tilt alarmingly, and Evelyn heard his voice as though he were suddenly very far away. She couldn't make out exactly what he was saying, but there was a lot of swearing, from what she gathered.

And then, without much warning, everything went black.

Andrew caught Evelyn and swept her into his arms before she hit the floor.

His heart was hammering in his chest.

What was going on? Why had she fainted?

Fear was making it impossible to think straight.

Should he run to her family? Should he shake her?

He glanced round the room then hastened to a chaise by the window.

Lying her down carefully, he pushed her hair back from her brow, his hand shaking.

Really, he should run for Anna, but he was loath to leave Eve alone.

He was just starting to wonder if he should throw a pitcher of water over her, when her eyelids fluttered, and, gradually, after what seemed like an eternity, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

Her soft smile was just about the most beautiful damned thing he'd ever seen and Andrew felt as though he would never be able to breathe again with the sudden constriction in his chest.

"Wh-what happened, Andrew?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"What happened is that you gave me quite a fright, sweetheart," he answered softly.

Before she had a chance to voice the questions he could see forming in her mind, he leaned down and crushed her mouth beneath his.

Talking could wait.

#  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

If she had, in fact, died from her injury, Evelyn decided that it wouldn't be so bad if this were heaven.

Andrew's concern for her... then waking to find him gazing at her with such tenderness in his eyes, not to mention the toe-curling kiss she was currently enjoying...

It was almost enough to make her forget the pain in her arm.

Almost, but not quite.

And Evelyn didn't believe for a moment that her arm would still hurt in heaven. Which meant that she hadn't died, but merely fainted.

Which meant that she was allowing him to kiss her in the drawing room of her uncle's house, where just about anyone could see them.

Pushing gently against him and resisting the urge to stroke the hard muscle of his chest, rather than do any actual pushing, Evelyn struggled to sit up.

He immediately responded to her unspoken demand and released her, helping to prop her up against some cushions before moving to once again kneel beside her, grasping her hand in his.

He really did have lovely hands. She'd never given much thought to hands before. Now, though, she was a huge fan of them.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, all concern and politeness as though he hadn't just been reducing her to a puddle mere seconds ago.

"N-no, thank you. I am quite all right." She could feel her cheeks burning but could do nothing about it.

"You had me so worried," he was saying, his thumb gently stroking the inside of her wrist.

Her arm was throbbing worse than before, and Evelyn tried not to panic as she felt a warm wetness seep through the cotton of her gown.

Oh Lord, if the hastily made bandages had moved, it would not take long for the sleeve of her gown to be ruined with blood, and he would know exactly who she was.

He was a clever man, he would have it figured out in seconds.

Evelyn's mind was racing. She daren't look at the source of her pain and discomfort lest she draw his attention to it.

She needed to get back to her bedchamber fast. But first, she needed to rid herself of her handsome but presently inconvenient companion.

"When you fainted, I didn't know what to do. I was beside myself." His self-conscious smile melted her heart even more than ever, and she would have loved to just pour out the whole sorry tale to him so that he would know she wasn't a wilting little ninny who fainted every five minutes.

No, she was something much more impressive; a woman'd who pretended to be a highway robber, had lied to him about almost everything in her life, who was looking for a chance to exact revenge on the uncle she'd grown up with because he'd had her father killed. Oh, and she'd fainted because she'd been shot. By her cousin. Who also happened to be his best friend.

Somehow, she didn't think he'd be overly pleased by her tale, and, really, it was probably better to have him think she was a wilting little ninny than the walking disaster she had come to be.

"Oh, it was nothing. Really. I'm just tired. I'm afraid I didn't sleep well."

"Why?"

She wasn't going to get into another conversation with him where he shot interrogational questions at her and tied herself in knots, scrambling for answers.

"My lord—" He raised his brows, and she quickly amended what she'd been about to say. "—Ashdon. Would you be so kind as to fetch me some tea? I would call for a maid, but I don't think anyone should know we were in here alone, with the door shut."

"Yes, yes, of course."

He fairly leapt to his feet, obviously eager to have something useful to do.

"And should I fetch Anna, too?" he asked, moving to the door.

"No!" she screeched. She didn't want anyone else coming in here. She was trying to get out of here! "No, I —ah — I do not wish to worry her, and, really, I do not need anyone else if I have you helping me."

He looked so pleased at her words that Evelyn felt a pang of guilt that she'd only said them to keep him from bringing anyone back to the room.

And yet, they were true. She couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather have with her in a crisis. And considering the mess she was in and the fact that she hadn't known him that long, that was a sobering thought indeed.

Miraculously, there were no more hold ups and without another word, Andrew strode through the door and closed it softly behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Evelyn groaned aloud. Having pressed her wound against the cushion of the chaise to stop him from seeing it, the searing throb when she sat up was excruciating.

How soldiers got shot and still went on to continue fighting was beyond her.

Glancing at the cushion, Evelyn was horrified to see a bright red stain ruining the cream silk.

Blast.

That would take some explaining.

The sooner she got to her rooms, the better. She stood and made her way to the door, all the while examining the ever-spreading evidence of the shot on her arm.

So engrossed was she, that she did not hear the door open.

"Eve, I wondered if something stronger than tea wou—"

Evelyn whipped her head up in horror as Andrew's words trailed to a stop, his eyes focusing on her clearly injured arm.

Evelyn froze and waited for him to say something. He didn't speak a word. But, when he finally shifted his fierce green gaze to hers, it was clear he knew.

#  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"I can explain." Evelyn broke the fraught silence.

He merely raised that brow of his that did his talking for him.

"But not here. And not now."

Still he didn't speak.

Still he didn't move.

"I... I need to change the dressing," she continued softly.

Nothing.

Perhaps he was in shock. Hadn't she read somewhere that people could freeze like that when in shock?

"Right," she said when he still hadn't blinked, just glared rather fiercely, "I'll, um... I'll just be off then. To — to see to—" She waved toward her injured arm, but when he remained unmoved, she decided to give up and just go about her business.

Stepping round him, she slipped quietly from the room and dashed up the stairs to her bedroom.

How could this have occurred? How?

What would happen now? Would he tell her family? How could she possibly explain any of this without revealing what she knew? And how could she reveal it without any proof of her claim?

Her head was starting to throb now as badly as her arm, and Evelyn knew she needed to get a hold of herself and see to the wound before she lost consciousness once again.

Making her way to the closet in her room where she had stored the linens and brandy the night before, she yelped in fright at the sudden sound of the bedroom door slamming open.

Turning she saw Andrew standing in the doorway, looking darkly furious and more than a little intimidating.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked weakly. She would have liked to bellow at him, but she was feeling steadily more shaky and nauseous. "You can't be here."

"And yet here I am," he answered softly.

Well, at least he was talking. That was progress.

"But you can't be," she insisted. "If anyone sees or — or walks in, I shall be ruined."

Without another word, he stepped into the room then turned and closed the door. Evelyn heard the click of the lock as if it were as loud as the bells of Westminster.

"What are you doing?" she repeated, aghast at his behaviour.

Andrew closed his eyes, tilting his face to the ceiling and muttering something under his breath. Evelyn couldn't hear what he said, but then, it probably wasn't anything she wanted to hear in any case.

When he opened his eyes, the impact of his green stare made her toes curl.

Even now? She questioned herself.

It was ridiculous. And besides, far from looking seductive, he looked beside himself with rage.

"I'm going to look at that," he said quietly, pointing to her arm, "and then we are going to sit down and have a very long, very serious talk. Do you understand?"

Her temper flared at his highhanded manner. She wasn't a child, for goodness sake.

"Of course I understand. I'm not a dimwit," she snapped. "And you have no right to speak to me as though I were. Furthermore," she continued, getting into her stride now, "you have less right to march in here, into my bedchamber and order me about the place. I'm not yours to order."

She'd been stomping toward him as she spoke and now stood toe to toe with him.

Her neck almost cricked, so far did she have to look up at him. But she didn't care. He shouldn't be allowed to be so tall in any case. It was distracting and unfair in battle.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, peering down at her like a judge would a lowly criminal.

"No, I am not finished!" she practically screeched, the pain in her arm all but forgotten. "How dare you act in such a way? Have you no concern for my reputation or yours? What do you propose to do should anyone see you leaving my room, hmm?"

She reached out a finger and jabbed him in the chest.

"Just get out of here."

"You owe me an explanation," he said calmly, seeming entirely unmoved by the jab of her finger, even though it had hurt to do it. Was the man made of solid rock, for heaven's sake?

He did speak the truth, however.

She owed him an explanation and fast.

And the sooner she explained, the sooner she could begin to beg him to keep her secret, though it was doubtful that he would.

But she had to try. The fate of the reset of her life now lay in his hands. And he was so furious with her right now, she felt that life might be short-lived.

Taking a calming breath, Evelyn spoke again, this time making sure that she kept her tone even and relaxed.

"I do owe you an explanation. I know it. And you shall have it. But, please. I cannot talk about it here."

She gave him her most beseeching look, silently praying that he would not go immediately to her family and tell them all.

After what seemed like an age of him staring at her disapprovingly, he finally released a sigh and moved to brush his fingers softly along her cheek.

"How am I supposed to do anything but agree when you look at me like that?" he asked ruefully.

Evelyn wasn't sure how to respond, so she stayed quiet and gave him a timid smile instead.

"Let's get you cleaned up, then we'll go for a ride, and you can tell me what the hell is going on here."

He still seemed as though he were holding on to his temper by a thread, so Evelyn decided not to point out that the sky was grey and dark, and it would very probably rain soon.

She'd extracted a promise from him to keep her secret, and that was enough to make her agree to anything.

"Fine," she agreed. "I will tell you everything. I do not know how to thank you for keeping my secret, Andrew," she continued, not noticing that she'd once again slipped into calling him by his Christian name.

"I do," he said, and suddenly his face lit with a wolfish grin.

Evelyn frowned at the sudden change.

"Take off your gown."

Just as he'd expected, his command brought an immediate stain of pink to her cheeks.

Why did she have to be so damned alluring? If he'd been less attracted to her, he would find it infinitely easier to go straight to Jonathan and let him deal with whatever was going on.

But she'd asked him the way she had, and she looked the way she did, and he felt the way he did and, well... he'd never stood a chance.

Besides which, he was so worried about her and her damned arm that he would do whatever it took to help her.

Andrew couldn't quite believe what he now knew, that the two women he'd been so torn between were, in fact, one woman. A woman who was, for some reason, play acting as a highway robber, who had robbed her own uncle, no less. Or, at least, had tried to.

He was starting to get a bloody headache, and the brandy she'd been clutching when he'd come in was starting to look extremely tempting.

He needed to forget all the questions and the ramifications of this new information, look at her wound, and ensure she was well, and then he needed a stiff drink. Or several. Usually his quick mind could pick over details and sort them without his having to even think overly long on things. But, as with everything else, she changed things.

"Wh-what?" she asked, sounding breathless, and his body stirred in response.

Not the time, Andrew.

"I said," he repeated slowly, still furious with her but enjoying himself a little now that he'd decided to not think of anything beyond her just yet, "take off your gown." He couldn't hide his grin as her eyes grew round as saucers.

He'd no idea how she'd managed to fool him, she was terrible at keeping her emotions off her face.

"My lord."

Ah, he was back to my lord. Shame. He'd enjoyed hearing his name on her lips. Probably more than he should.

"My lord?"

Andrew forced himself to concentrate on what she saying and not what else she could do with those lips.

"Yes, Eve?"

"I. You. We — did you just tell me to take off my gown?"

Andrew's grin widened before he fixed his face to impassivity.

"Yes, I did," he answered gravely.

"But, but—"

Suddenly, her cheeks paled, and he saw with some alarm that she was swaying slightly.

Muttering an oath, he swept her into his arms and strode to the bed, placed her gently on the edge, and knelt to take the brandy and linens from her lifeless fingers.

He could kick himself for playing with her when she was still in pain. Perhaps the injury was more serious that he had assumed? Perhaps Jon had misjudged the shot.

He was suddenly terrified.

Looking up, he noticed the pallor of her skin. It made her eyes seem bigger and darker. His heart hammering, he moved the bandages and bottle to the table by her bed and clasped her hands in his.

"I'm sorry, my Eve. I didn't mean to frighten you. But I need you to remove your gown, or the top of it at the very least, so that I may attend to your wound."

"You can't," she muttered mutinously.

She may be losing blood, but she was still stubborn as an ox.

Biting back an oath of frustration, Andrew released her hands and stood.

"Very well, I shall just call for a maid and be on my way."

"Wait!" she called as he knew she would. "You said that you would tell no one."

He turned back to her.

"I cannot allow you to tend to that wound alone. And if you won't let me help you—"

He stayed silent as he watched the play of emotions across her face. He knew he'd won when her expression became one of grim resignation.

"Fine. Y-you can assist me."

"Glad to see how thrilled you are at the prospect," he quipped and earned himself a glare.

Looking round the bedchamber, he spotted a pitcher of water.

"Is this fresh?" he asked, moving to the washstand.

"Yes, I had Molly refill it this morning. I-I knew that I would need some."

She was still pale, but the timbre of her voice sounded stronger, and Andrew could breathe a little easier.

He made his way back to where she sat, the pitcher of water in hand.

After placing the water beside the linens and brandy, he turned back to her. Suddenly, he was a green lad again, just out of the schoolroom.

She looked so small and defenceless, her lovely face pale. His eyes took in the stain of red on the sleeve of her gown, and his mouth dried. How could he have missed it? He, who prided himself on his observation skills!

He was so damned distracted by her, all the time. That was the problem.

Eve was examining the stain herself, worrying at her lip, and Andrew felt a sudden wave of something so tender that he immediately shied away from it and concentrated on things that didn't scare the living daylights out of him.

Things like wanting to go downstairs and tear Jonathan apart limb from limb for doing this to her.

Things like wanting to find out whatever the hell this mess was and fixing it so she never did anything so dangerous again.

Standing before her, he cleared his throat.

"You really do need to remove the gown, sweetheart. At least the top half."

He cleared his throat again. Not nervously. Women didn't make him nervous, of course. It was obviously just very dry in here. That was all.

Evelyn looked up at him, and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Those eyes. They'd be the death of him.

"I-I do not think I can," she mumbled, her cheeks starting to burn. "The wound has reopened, I think. 'Tis more difficult to move my arm."

He watched the muscles of her throat contract as she swallowed nervously.

He was going to have to remove the gown.

He, who'd never removed a single article of a woman's clothing unless it was leading to someplace he had no right to even be thinking of right now.

At that moment, Andrew felt that he'd rather be face to face with Boney and the entire French army than standing in this room undressing this woman and being unable to do anything but act like a damned nursemaid.

He turned without a word to grab the stool from her modest vanity, noting that she didn't seem to have any of the lotions and potions other ladies of quality usually had covering every surface of their bedchambers.

Of course, he was trying very hard to ignore the fact that this was her bedchamber, lest his tenuous grasp on his control should snap.

After coming back to the bed, he placed the stool directly in front of her and then sat.

There was no way he'd be able to sit beside her on the bed and survive the experience.

He reached out a hand and noticed that it trembled slightly.

Get a hold of yourself, you damned idiot.

His fingers brushed the hot, smooth skin of her collarbone as he reached for the first pearl button of the gown, and he had to swallow hard to stop from growling in pure, lustful frustration.

Slowly, as though time itself had decided to make this as unbearable for him as possible, Andrew was able to release tiny button after tiny button until eventually he had opened the bodice of the gown.

He couldn't allow himself to look, not even for a second, at the skin he was revealing. He was a man, not a saint.

Looking directly into her eyes, he spoke as though he'd swallowed a bucket of gravel.

"Can you remove your arm?"

Without a word, she shook her head, and Andrew bit back an oath.

She would be the death of him.

Going slowly, so as not to hurt her, he reached out once more and began pushing the material off her shoulders.

He tried not to notice that she was wearing very little beneath the gown, certainly none of the contraptions he usually had to battle his way through. Most likely because she couldn't possibly have dressed alone otherwise.

When she winced, Andrew knew he'd reached the point of the wound, and mercifully, the thought of her pain allowed him to concentrate on fixing her and not on what else he'd like to do with her.

All business now, he turned her gently so that her arm was closer to him.

The sight of her blood made his temper flare again. What he wouldn't give to land a facer on Jonathan's pretty chin.

Rationally, he knew Jon hadn't known who he was shooting at. Rationally, he knew that Jonathan would rather die than hurt his cousin. But rationality had no place in his mind at that time.

As he set about cleaning her arm and patching up the flesh wound, Andrew looked up to catch Evelyn staring at him.

He raised a brow in silent question.

She sighed then spoke in a soft, resigned voice.

"I need to tell you what happened."

Andrew was pleased that she trusted him enough to volunteer the information, rather than have him drag it from her.

"I'm listening" was the only answer he gave before turning his concentration back to her arm.

He was listening, of course, but he guessed that she would speak more comfortably if he wasn't focused on her face, and he wanted to know everything.

The sooner he got to the bottom of whatever was going on with her, the better it would be.

For her safety, and for his peace of mind.

#  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Evelyn felt emotionally drained and completely exhausted when she finally sat on one of the benches Aunt Millicent had dotted round the gardens.

After he'd cleaned the wound, made her take a swig of brandy for the pain, and realised that a ride in the ominous weather was less than sensible, Andrew had suggested a walk in the grounds so they wouldn't risk being overheard. To Evelyn's mind, he had demanded, not suggested, but the argument that ensued threatened to get loud enough to draw attention, so she had conceded.

Thankfully, he'd been able to leave her room undetected, but he hadn't given her long to process the fact that he had actually been in her room with his threats of coming to fetch her should she dawdle.

But he had been in her room. He'd dressed her arm, which admittedly felt infinitely better, and now, he'd silently listened as she'd laid out the whole, complicated, sorry tale of her uncle and her poor father.

Andrew sat beside her, and they both stared at the giant oak in front of them rather than speak a word.

Evelyn, for her own part, was all talked out, and she couldn't even begin to imagine what he was thinking.

Allowing him time to process her extraordinary tale, Evelyn concentrated on the tree, its burnished leaves in shades of gold and red and brown fluttering softly to the damp earth as the weather turned colder and colder.

The sporadic appearance of the weak autumn sun was dappled and dancing on the ground below, filtering between the leaves of the surrounding trees.

It would have been a lovely day were it not for the atmosphere between them.

Evelyn desperately wanted to break the strained silence, but, really, what could she say?

Either he wouldn't believe her and think her totally insane, or he would insist on seeing evidence that she just didn't have.

The good news was that Uncle Geoffrey had made no further attempt to travel to London, so the documents were still at Spencer Park. The bad news was she had absolutely no idea where at Spencer Park they were and how she would get a hold of them.

It was hopeless, really, and unburdening herself to him, rather than making her feel better, just left Evelyn feeling more alone than ever before.

What was the point in anyone knowing if they couldn't help? And he couldn't help. Nobody could.

Evelyn thought of their kisses, of what he'd said last night when he hadn't realised he'd been speaking to her, and how she'd ruined it all by confessing to him. And instead of feeling relieved that he knew, she felt sad that she'd lost whatever this thing between them had been, and more alone than ever before in her life.

Suddenly his silence was more than she could bear.

Turning on the bench to face him, she studied his profile, drinking in his features and this last chance to be alone with him before she spoke.

"Andrew..." She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. "...I am sorry, truly sorry, to have dragged you into this mess. I have no right to ask anything of you. But if you could — if you could find it in your heart not to divulge my secrets. Not yet."

He had turned to study her as she spoke, but his face was an unreadable mask.

"I-I will find those letters soon, I'm sure of it. But if you could just, just keep my secret."

He still hadn't reacted, and Evelyn began to panic. Would he reveal all?

"Please. Please, I know I ask a lot of you, but I beg of you do not tell," she beseeched him.

He was quiet and still for what seemed like hours, and Evelyn's hope sank with every second she awaited his response.

Finally, he sighed and shook his head.

"I cannot believe I ever thought you a mouse," he said, reaching out and cupping her face.

Evelyn's heart hammered as she felt a surge of hope, and, she had to admit though it terrified her, love.

"You're a lioness," he said with a smile.

Evelyn didn't quite know what to say.

"I've never kept a secret from Jon," he continued, dropping his hand, his face grave. "Not a single one."

"I'm sorry to ask it of you now," she whispered. "But—"

"I understand, Eve. You cannot tell him until we've found your proof."

Her heart thumped louder still. He had said we. Dare she think he would help? How nice to have someone, anyone to help her. Especially this man whom she was tumbling head over heels into love with.

And, more importantly, did that mean he believed her?

"You believe me then?" she ventured, unable to keep the hopeful smile from her face.

His eyes roamed over her features, focusing so long on her lips that her blood began to heat, before returning to her eyes.

"I was right" was his response. "When I called you Eve. Never has the world had a temptress like you, I'm sure of it. No man would have survived such a thing."

She frowned at his cryptic words, and he smiled in response.

"Yes, temptress, I believe you. Which, considering you robbed me, lied to me, and fooled me for a week seems a singularly idiotic thing to do, and yet..." His voice softened, and he reached out and tilted her chin up so she was forced to gaze into his eyes. "...I believe every word," he whispered.

"Thank you," she whispered back, feeling suddenly lighter and freer than she'd felt in years.

"You know, I thought I'd be bored to tears, rusticating in the country."

Evelyn grinned at his rueful tone.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she quipped.

"Ha! Disappoint me? You've done quite the opposite, my Eve," he said quietly before his lips moved to capture her own.

Evelyn put her heart and soul into that kiss, and the whole world seemed to vanish into thin air.

Perhaps life wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps things would work out. Perhaps, after all these years of loneliness, she had found someone she could have a forever with.

After Andrew had broken their kiss in the gardens earlier, Evelyn had floated back to the house, grasping his arm and allowing her imagination free reign.

It was limited, since she was terribly innocent. But what she could imagine happening between them, she did with gusto.

As soon as they'd arrived back at the house, however, Andrew hadn't spared a moment in getting away from her and had avoided her ever since.

It wasn't until after dinner, when the gentlemen finally joined the ladies in the drawing room after their port and cigars that he even made an attempt to speak to her.

And, even at that, it was brief and coolly polite.

To Evelyn's mortification, Aunt Millicent had invited the Carters to join them that evening, and dinner was an excruciating affair since the magistrate and his wife were asked to recount their story again and again.

Her eyes when the guests were announced had darted straight to Andrew, but he'd been rather magnificently unaffected by the whole affair. In fact, so unaffected was he that Evelyn began to think she'd imagined their entire afternoon together.

Almost as soon as the men had entered the drawing room, Andrew set about convincing Anna to play and sing, and she had happily obliged, leaving Evelyn smarting over his lack of attention. She could admit that she was jealous of the devotion he was showering upon Anna. But only to herself. She'd die before admitting it to anyone else.

Anna had been halfway through her second performance when Andrew moved to take the seat next to Evelyn.

"Eve," he had whispered.

She'd ignored him, turning her head away pointedly.

His soft chuckle did nothing to improve her mood.

"Eve," he repeated, leaning closer.

She shifted in her chair so that her whole body was turned.

This time his laugh had been louder and had earned a disapproving glare from Aunt Millicent, so Evelyn was forced to turn back to him, lest he draw even more attention to them.

"What?" she hissed.

"My, my," he drawled quietly, "someone is in a fine temper."

Evelyn arched a brow and then smiled ever so sweetly.

"Me? Of course not. I was just enjoying you making a spectacle of yourself with my cousin," she answered, her tone saccharine.

"Jealous, temptress?" he asked with a toe-curling smile.

"I refuse to dignify that with an answer." She sniffed, earning another muffled laugh.

"I asked Anna to play so that the party would be distracted enough for us to talk without being heard." He leaned close to whisper.

Evelyn tried, really tried to appear unaffected by his nearness, but she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her as his lips pressed lightly against her lobe.

She remained facing forward, clenching her fists to resist the urge to turn toward him.

She had a feeling that throwing her arms about his neck and kissing the life out of him would draw more attention than his laugh.

"Meet me in your uncle's study. When everyone has gone to bed," he instructed, his fingers lifting to trail down her arm, heating the skin as they went, even through the long sleeves she was forced to wear.

She didn't trust herself to speak, so she nodded, keeping her eyes fixed ahead.

As soon as Anna had finished, Evelyn leapt up and offered to accompany her for one more song, thanking her lucky stars that her arm had improved enough for her to do so.

Anna readily agreed, and Evelyn took her seat at the pianoforte, risking a glance at Andrew as she did.

His knowing grin told her he knew she'd only offered to play to escape him. Rather than be insulted by her readiness to leave his side, he seemed smugly pleased by the fact.

How could she love such an incorrigible rogue?

The singing came to a halt, and pairs were hastily made for an impromptu game of bridge.

Andrew paired with Aunt Millicent and the Carters, and Evelyn felt a pang at his not trying to be her partner.

But then, he had arranged to meet her later, so perhaps he was keeping his distance for a reason? She would know in a few hours.

Evelyn concentrated on the games at hand and managed not to watch the clock every few seconds, but she was greatly relieved when their guests took their leave around midnight, and the family began to make their way to their respective bedchambers.

For her own part, Evelyn went up the stairs with Anna and said her goodnights before entering her room and sitting to wait for the house to settle into silence.

She thought wistfully of the evenings when she could retire and actually go to bed instead of sneaking back out.

But Andrew was going to help her avenge her father, and that was worth any amount of sleepless hours. Besides which, she would get to spend some time alone with him now, though she did not know what exactly they would be doing.

It would probably be terribly illicit and romantic. Though she shouldn't, Evelyn allowed herself to imagine all sorts of delicious things... stolen kisses and whispered sweet nothings. It would be wonderful.

"If you stand on my toe one more time, I shall strangle you," Evelyn whispered hours later.

"I'm not standing on your toe. I am standing beside your toe."

Evelyn threw her eyes to heaven though she knew he could not see the action in the dark. This was the most unromantic experience of her life.

Considering the man walked like a panther stalking its prey, he was a great big oaf when it came to hiding in small spaces.

"I told you, this is pointless," she whispered once more, even more fiercely.

She was tired, her arm was sore, and she was in a thoroughly bad mood.

"And I told you," he answered, his smooth, even tone a stark contrast to her own biting one, "I do not think it will be pointless. I saw your uncle leave his room and come downstairs. Considering he keeps everything of value in this study, there's a very real chance he will come in here, and we will see where he keeps such things."

It all sounded very reasonable and well-considered, but Evelyn didn't feel like being reasonable.

With difficulty, since they were both squeezed into the corner of the window frame, behind the thick velvet curtains that dressed the windows, Evelyn turned to glare up at him.

"What if he only came down to harass the maids again?" she demanded.

"Then we wait until we're sure he's not coming, and we search the room."

There he went being reasonable again.

"Well, I'm tired and cold," she grumbled. "And really, it seems a terrible waste of time to be standing here doing nothing."

It didn't seem appropriate to tell him that she was more than a little disappointed that he'd acted like a commanding officer since she'd snuck out of her room and had been accosted by him in the hallway.

The accosting itself she didn't mind. But the barking orders and marching her down the stairs she minded very much.

"It does seem as though our time could be better spent," he said.

Evelyn frowned. She hadn't expected him to agree so readily.

"Well, yes."

"In fact," he continued, "I believe our time would be much better spent doing something else."

"Quite."

"So, we are in agreement then?" he asked.

"We are," she responded.

Quick as a flash, his arms went round her waist and pulled her flush against his body.

Evelyn's heartbeat sped in seconds.

He flashed her a devilish grin.

"Good," he said before bending and capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

Any and all thoughts in her brain flew out the window, and Evelyn was lost in him completely.

Andrew knew from the second his lips touched hers that he was in more trouble than he'd ever been in his life.

He knew when it felt as though his heart suddenly became whole. He knew when it felt like he'd been missing something that had now returned, with her in his arms. He knew when words like love and forever and mine marched across his soul with every beat of his heart.

He broke the kiss as his feelings threatened to overwhelm him. He felt like he needed to escape.

She was gazing up at him, her eyes filled with wonder and tenderness, and it was almost his undoing.

Andrew had stared down the barrel of a gun, had felt the cool steel of a blade pressed against his throat more times than he could count, had faced armies of enemies intent on his destruction...

Yet nothing had ever frightened him as much as his reaction to the woman standing before him now.

It felt as though something was shifting between them, becoming more than what it had been before.

"Eve—"

Before he could utter another word, the distinctive sound of the door opening disturbed the quiet air, and Andrew moved on instinct.

Quick as a flash, he pushed Evelyn behind him and turned to look through the tiny gap he'd made in the folds of the curtain.

"What is it?" she whispered quietly.

He reached back and squeezed her hand to signal that she should be quiet. Then he left his hand there because, truth be told, it felt rather nice.

Geoffrey Spencer trundled into the room, and Andrew forced himself to be completely still. This wasn't a surprise. He had been sure that Spencer would keep Eve's proof in his study and equally sure that the man would be nervous about it after their near robbery the other night.

Once again, as had been happening since she'd told him all, Andrew felt a pang of remorse that he'd stopped her. She would have had her papers and, more importantly, she would be out of danger.

"I'm telling you, they need to be gotten rid of." Spencer was speaking to someone, his voice urgent and his cheeks bright red.

"And if we can't get them to London without being bloody well accosted by highwaymen, then I shall burn them and be done with the whole thing," he blustered.

From this angle, Andrew couldn't see the person to whom Spencer was speaking. And although he daren't risk turning to look at Eve, he knew that she realised the significance of the exchange by her sudden death grip on his hand.

Someone else knew about what Spencer had done. Someone in this house.

"Calm down, Spencer. I am growing tired of your dramatics."

Eve gasped behind him, and he heard her clamp a hand over her mouth.

He shouldn't be surprised. Peter Grant had never been what you would call an upstanding citizen. Yet, how he'd come to be involved in this, Andrew had no idea. It did seem rather beneath him, especially given that Andrew himself had been sent to watch Grant because the Home Office had, at one point, been convinced that the man was selling information to the French.

The matter had been dropped after months of fruitless following and delving into Grant's history. It had seemed as though his information was nothing more than getting agents of the Crown foxed then reading between the lines of whatever they let slip. In other words, nothing of value. Andrew had never been entirely convinced of this, however. He had suspected that Grant was better at covering his tracks than they'd all first assumed.

The man was a self-serving bastard, no mistake about it. He cared only about getting ahead and enjoying the finer things in life, which was, no doubt, why he'd targeted Anna Spencer, the Incomparable of every Season. His money would have smoothed the way, too. Although that in itself was a mystery. Mr. Grant came from very humble beginnings and always claimed that his money came from the inheritance of a distant relative and clever investments.

Andrew had never been able to prove otherwise.

But something like this was so far removed from what he was usually involved in, Andrew was surprised.

"But I cannot have them here," Spencer was whispering frantically. "If anyone should find them—"

"And what will you do then?" Grant interrupted coolly, sounding bored "We've been through this. As long as you have those letters, you have proof that Philips was in on this. Get rid of those, and he can accuse you of whatever he likes."

Andrew frowned, his hand still wrapped reassuringly around Eve's smaller one, his mind working quick as lightning.

Peter Grant was not the type of man to help out of any sense of familial loyalty, and certainly not out of the goodness of his heart.

Spencer wasn't paying him any blunt either; Grant was richer than Midas, and Spencer, though his old family name was one of excellent standing amongst the ton, had mismanaged his estate for years. He was by no means impoverished. Anna's marriage to Grant had seen to that. But he didn't have the money to bribe Grant into helping him.

Which meant Grant had another reason for helping.

And the tale took another curious turn.

After a few moments' insignificant conversation longer, Grant and Spencer left the room, and Andrew drew back the curtain, allowing Evelyn to step out ahead of him.

When she turned to face him, Andrew noted her pale skin, her eyes rounded in shock and confusion. Now would not be the right time to discuss any of this. She needed to rest, especially in light of her arm being wounded.

"We can't do anything about this tonight, Eve," he started gently, expecting an argument.

And he got one.

"What? Don't be ridiculous. Of course we can. He's as good as said those letters are in here, hasn't he? And... and Mr. Grant, well... he must be involved somehow."

She lifted a shaking hand to press against her temple.

"Eve—"

"No, Andrew. Do not tell me to leave it, or that it will all work out, or not to worry about it. Those letters are in this room, and now there are two of them who know what is going on and I-I—"

Her eyes filled with sudden tears, and Andrew felt his gut tighten. He hated to see a woman cry at the best of times, but he couldn't watch her cry. Not her. It would tear his heart to shreds to see her so upset, so broken.

"Eve, I will search for them. I will. I will pull this room apart if I must, but please don't cry," he implored, moving to grasp her shoulders.

"I'm not crying." She sniffed as a tear ran down her cheek.

Andrew couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness, at her refusal to admit to any weakness.

"It's late. You're exhausted. And hurt," he said as she opened her mouth to interrupt him. "Why not get some rest and leave it to me to search the study."

She was already shaking her head in refusal. "I want to do it," she said mutinously, her eyes still shining with unshed tears. "You can't just waltz in and take over. This is about my father and my life, and I n-need to do something about it all."

She was overset again, and Andrew felt her distress like a physical blow.

Wrapping his arms around her, he fought the swell of desire and offered her comfort. Just comfort.

It was funny; he felt happier just holding her than he had ever felt with anyone before. And as the realisation of what that meant sank in, he thought that actually it wasn't funny at all.

#  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Evelyn awoke with the sun already high in the sky.

Unbelievably, it appeared that she'd slept. And for some hours, too.

Glancing to the side, she saw a cup of chocolate, now cold, sitting on the table.

Frowning, she sat up and brushed her hair back.

Her arm, she realised, was a lot better today. Andrew had insisted on checking it last night and declared himself happy with its progress.

As her thoughts turned to the dashing viscount, Evelyn couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. He was overbearing, controlling and demanding, but he was also kind and charming and so very concerned with her. She couldn't help that her heart melted for him.

He'd taken such good care of her last night when she'd become upset. And it had been wonderful having someone who cared. Ever since Evelyn's father had died, she'd felt so alone. Jonathan and Anna had tried to include her, but they'd been mere children themselves, and though they'd loved her as a sister, Millicent and Geoffrey had always been careful to make sure Evelyn knew she wasn't really a part of their family.

So when Andrew had held her last night as she cried, had dried her tears and acted for all the world as though he wanted to comfort her, well... it had been one of the best nights of her life.

After she'd made a spectacle of herself and soaked the front of his shirt with her tears, he'd insisted on pouring a glass of brandy to settle her then turned her and led her from the room, assuring her as they made their way through the quiet house that everything would work out, and they would find the letters tomorrow.

They'd reached the door of Evelyn's bedchamber, and Evelyn had been rather excited at the prospect of a kiss before he left.

She'd gotten a kiss all right, a chaste peck on the cheek, akin to the kind she'd gotten from Jonathan.

She hadn't been able to stop the scowl of disappointment forming on her face, and he'd grinned down at her.

"I think we've both had enough excitement for tonight," he'd said gently. "Besides which, there's only so much self-control I can exercise in the middle of the night at the door of your bedchamber."

Evelyn's heart had stuttered to a halt at his words.

Good Lord, she'd never survive his company if he kept saying such things.

Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face because he'd whispered an oath before pulling her into his arms and bending his head toward hers so their foreheads touched.

"Don't look at me like that, temptress," he'd whispered, sounding genuinely tortured.

He'd seemed so intense, and suddenly, Evelyn had felt scared. This was all too new for her, and there was so much new information to process it was more than a little overwhelming. So, without another word, she'd swept into her room and closed the door softly behind her, leaning against it as her knees had given way.

Part of her had hoped to hear his knock, his whispered plea to enter. But after a moment's silence, she'd heard the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Evelyn had gone to bed, her head filled with questions about her uncle and Mr. Grant, but mostly, with thoughts of Andrew Carlyle, Viscount Ashdon, and now, without question, keeper of her heart.

The thought should have terrified her, but instead, she'd kept it close like the most delicious of secrets and had fallen asleep with a smile on her face.

A knock on her door interrupted Evelyn's musing. It must be Molly, coming to help her dress.

She still had a bandage on her arm, however, so she would have to send the young maid away again.

She knew that Molly was growing more suspicious by the day, but the girl was either too polite or too discreet to say anything, for which Evelyn was happy.

As it turned out, it was indeed Molly, and Evelyn was able to head off any offers of assistance with her ablutions by requesting a fresh cup of chocolate.

As soon as Molly left to do her bidding, Evelyn dove from her bed to dress herself.

Unfortunately, her wardrobe was limited when it came to dresses that she could fasten at the front, and if she were to ask for one of the few she owned that Molly had taken yesterday to be cleaned, she would draw suspicion.

There was nothing for it but to wear one of her usual gowns and leave it unfastened.

Thankfully, it being a particularly cool autumn, she would be able to wear a spencer and shawl over the gown and claim that she was too cold to remove either of them.

Donning an ivory empire-style dress, she quickly paired it with a dusky pink spencer and a paler pink shawl.

By the time Molly had returned with her chocolate, Evelyn was seated, fully dressed at the vanity, awaiting the maid's assistance with her hair.

"Miss Evelyn, surely you will be too warm wearing your spencer indoors?"

"Ah, no, I am rather cold this morning, Molly."

The maid frowned at her as she placed Evelyn's cup on the vanity in front of her and began to brush out the golden strands.

"I do hope you aren't getting sick, Miss," Molly said, watching Evelyn's face in the mirror. "It isn't like you to stay abed so late, and now, if you're cold enough for all those layers..."

Evelyn didn't want Molly saying anything to Anna and set about reassuring the girl that she was perfectly fine.

It took some convincing, but finally Molly was satisfied that Evelyn was just being a little lazy that morning, and, having curled and pinned Evelyn's hair to her satisfaction, she bustled from the room.

Evelyn released a sigh of relief and made her way downstairs.

Missing breakfast meant missing the chance to speak to Andrew about what they would do next, which was unfortunate, but hopefully she would get a chance to speak alone with him soon.

Making her way toward the drawing room, Evelyn heard the distinctive sound of Mrs. Carter's chattering along with the twittering of several other ladies of Aunt Millicent's acquaintance.

Blast. She'd be caught in a morning full of gossip and inane chatter. But what else could she do? If she did not make an appearance, Aunt Millicent would start one of her sermons on how grateful Evelyn should be for her place in their home, and how she should act more like a society lady.

Squaring her shoulders, Evelyn moved to enter the lions' den when someone grabbed her hand from behind.

She whipped around and looked straight into the glorious green of Andrew's eyes.

Her heart sang, and her smile widened in delight.

"Good morning, my Eve," he said quietly.

"Good morning," she answered, feeling suddenly shy.

"What are your plans for this morning?" he asked, and Evelyn was thrilled by the fact that he hadn't released her hand yet.

It was terribly scandalous, of course, but she didn't care a jot at that moment.

"Oh, dreadfully exciting," she quipped, shyness disappearing in light of her happiness at just being with him. "I am going in there to be scolded and fussed at and judged by Aunt Millicent and her friends."

Andrew smiled, but it looked strained, and Evelyn was worried she'd said too much. Did he think that she was feeling sorry for herself?

In the next moment, however, he looked like himself again, so she could relax once more.

"Well, as wonderful as that sounds, could I perhaps tempt you away?" He grinned.

She pretended to consider it, thoroughly enjoying herself.

"Hmm. That depends. It would have to be something quite spectacular to make me miss out on such a treat."

His other hand, which she hadn't noticed hidden behind his back, made a sudden appearance, clasping a picnic hamper.

"You missed breakfast," he said, "and I know how grumpy you get when you're hungry."

"I do not," she argued huffily.

Andrew grinned again.

"As I was saying, you need to be fed. And we need to talk."

Evelyn nodded her agreement.

"So, will you join me on a picnic, my dear Miss Spencer?" he gave an elaborate bow as he spoke, and Evelyn laughed at his overly dramatic charm.

"I would be honoured, Lord Ashdon."

Standing back up straight, he gave her a devilish wink before leading her quickly through the house, lest they be accosted by Aunt Millicent.

Evelyn couldn't contain her giggle as they ran through the hallways toward the conservatory at the back of the house.

It had been over ten years since she'd giggled.

It seemed that, rather than Lord Ashdon merely helping her, he was bringing her back to life.

The view from the top of the hill was as breath-taking as Eve had claimed, though Andrew was more interested in the view sitting alongside him.

As soon as they'd escaped the house, Andrew had followed Evelyn's lead as to where to go so they could be alone, but not far enough away that they should raise suspicion by being gone for too long. He had no desire to bring her aunt's rage down on her head for impropriety, and less desire to ruin any part of her reputation.

When he'd suggested such a thing, Eve had quipped that they'd be forced to marry in that case, and Andrew had been surprised by the sharp pain of disappointment that the thought would be so terrible to her.

Not that he was planning on getting down on one knee any time soon. But, perhaps when they'd dealt with this mess with her uncle, perhaps then they could start to look to a future.

They had set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the small hill that was situated just beyond the border of the estate.

The walk was a pleasant one, only slightly exerting. Evelyn explained it as her choice because, not only did it afford lovely views of the countryside surrounding the Park, but it was enough of a toll for it to be out of bounds for Aunt Millicent, and Anna was too polite with guests in the house to leave and come up here.

Jonathan wasn't a problem either since he hardly ever made an appearance at this hour. All in all, they would be completely alone, and nothing could have pleased him more.

Once they'd reached the top of the hill, Andrew had set about laying out a blanket and feeding her, since she'd missed breakfast, and they spent a happy half hour eating a simple repast of breads, cheeses, and scones with Cook's exceptional jams.

Eve sighed in contentment beside him, and the sound brought, along with the expected lust, a feeling of pride that this simple act had made her happy.

She'd had a tough life so far, Andrew could see that. And every day, it became more and more difficult not throttle her aunt and shoot her uncle. He'd considered the latter after she'd told her tale of deception, greed, and murder.

He was a Peer and the son of a rather more influential Peer. He could very nearly do whatever he wanted. Not only that, but he'd earned more than one favour in his work for the Crown. He had a very good chance of getting away with the murder.

What stopped him was the thought of Eve never getting her justice, Jonathan hating him forever, and the fact that, although he had killed in his line of work, he wasn't a coldblooded murderer, and he didn't want to be one.

"Andrew?"

His name on her lips always gave him a jolt of pleasure, and he turned to face her.

They'd sat so the sun was behind them, and now that she'd removed her bonnet, the pale autumn rays lit her golden curls, making her look almost otherworldly. He found that he had to swallow hard just to be able to speak.

"Yes, Eve?"

He waited while she worried her bottom lip, and he felt an explosion of lust from just watching her.

"I-I just wanted to thank you. For this, for your help, for believing me." She gave a self-deprecating little laugh. "For everything, really. I don't think I've had someone truly in my corner since my father died."

Her words were like a punch in the solar plexus. He wanted to just pick her up and run. Carry her off to some place they could be happy, free from her family's lies and injustices and cruelty. Somewhere they could love each other every day for the rest of their lives.

For he did love her. He knew that now. Had known it but had been afraid to name it.

Now, it couldn't be denied. His feelings were overwhelming, unexpected, and absolutely terrifying.

Had it only been a couple of weeks ago that he'd been bemoaning the fact that he had to stay at Spencer Park? Had he been complaining about boredom and lack of female company?

He wanted to bare his soul, but now was not the time. He needed to bring her uncle to justice, give Eve her life back, and allow her to live it.

She'd never been given the chance to be her own person, to be free from the constraints of an aunt who could barely stand her and an uncle who was determined to see her impoverished.

Andrew wouldn't be able to live with the thought that, maybe, she'd agree to be his, just to escape the life she'd led so far.

It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

No, he would help her get her freedom. And hopefully, she would still choose him, and they could be together.

"I'm glad you know that I am in your corner, Eve. Always."

She smiled at him, a bright, happy smile full of promise.

"I do know it. I just don't know why."

"Can you not guess?" he asked softly and was charmed all over again by the blush that stained her soft cheeks.

She turned away to look out at the village that lay below them, and Andrew mourned the loss of her deep brown gaze piercing his heart.

"I think it is because you are a good and honest man. I think you would help anyone in distress."

Her words, rather than please him, made him think of the life he'd led up until this point. The things he'd done for his country. The things he'd done to try to forget the things he'd done for his country!

Out of nowhere, an image of his last assignment with Jonathan in Paris flashed into his mind: Jonathan trying desperately to get to the lifeless body of Gabrielle, Andrew dragging him away, never allowing the man to even check that she was dead.

She had been. Andrew knew it. Jonathan did too, really. But Andrew hadn't allowed him to go back. It had been too dangerous, and he'd never really understood Jon's insistence or his grief.

Now, he imagined it being Eve, and suddenly it made perfect, awful, terrible sense. He never would have been able to leave her behind, dead or alive. And he'd forced Jonathan to do so, had never given him the choice.

Andrew turned back toward the view himself and kept his tone emotionless. She had him painted as some sort of knight in shining armour. She had no idea how tarnished that armour was. He didn't risk looking in her direction. He didn't think he could handle the disappointment, the fear even, in those eyes.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking I am good, Eve," he said quietly, hating having to ruin her idyllic image of him, but knowing it was necessary. "I have done things, seen things, which would give you nightmares for the rest of your life. I am not proud of some of my actions over the years. I am not good. Even now, the way I feel about you, the things I'm imagining..." He looked at her now, had to know she was hearing him, and was drowning once again in her beautiful, soulful eyes. "Trust me, sweetheart. They are the opposite of good."

Evelyn's breath caught at Andrew's words, at the pain in his vivid green eyes. Ever since meeting him and seeing him and Jonathan together, she'd suspected that they were more than carousing rakes with too much good looks and wealth between them.

Now, she was quite sure of it. Oh, she didn't know what they'd done, but she knew it had been more than waltzing around the most debauched cities of Europe enjoying things young innocents like her weren't privy to.

Though his tone was flat and emotionless as he spoke, his eyes were filled with distress and self-loathing, and she hated that. Her heart ached for him. Other parts of her ached when he said such things about what he imagined between them.

Evelyn suddenly wished she'd paid more attention when the local farmers' cattle were breeding.

The fundamentals were probably the same between animals and humans, after all.

But now wasn't the time to be contemplating such things. For the first time since they'd met, it felt very much like Andrew needed her for once and not the other way around.

Timidly, for she still wasn't quite used to being as bold as when she was with him, Evelyn reached over and placed her hand on his face.

"I don't believe you," she said softly, her heart hammering in her chest. "I don't believe that you are bad."

He looked about to argue, so she carried on, not giving him the chance.

"Oh, I believe you when you say you have done bad things. But that doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you a good person who has made mistakes. And even if they weren't mistakes, I still do not believe you are bad."

She dropped her hand but moved closer and knelt in front of him, making him look into her eyes, making him see her sincerity.

"Nothing you say will convince me that you are not a kind-hearted, good-spirited man, Andrew. I might not have known you long, but I know you well enough to be sure of that."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, his voice raspy.

She smiled at him, in no doubt about what she was saying.

"You wanted to help me even when you didn't know who I was. You are willing to help me now and keep my secrets. Jonathan is broken, I can see that. And I know that you can too, and that you want to help fix him."

This next part was more difficult, and Evelyn felt her voice wobble as her nerves took hold.

"A-and as for how you feel about me, well—" She lost courage and dropped her eyes to her clenched hands in her lap. "—well, I feel the same way about you, and I do not think I am a bad person because of it, so it follows that you must not be either."

As soon as she'd said the words, she wished them back. What if he thought her a wanton? What if she'd misinterpreted what he'd meant? What if—

All doubts, questions and rational thought flew away as Andrew lifted her face and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

#  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Bloody hell, he would have to stop attacking her like this.

Andrew lifted his head and gazed down at the incredible woman who had turned his world completely on its ear.

He was perilously close to losing all control and was now quite sure she wouldn't stop him. Much as the thought gave his male ego a massive boost, he cared too much about her to have her first time be a quick fumble on a hilltop.

Only half way in his right senses, he'd quickly allowed the flames of desire to explode into a raging inferno the second those words had left her lips.

What man could resist after the things she'd said?

She understood him more than his friends, more than his disinterested family, more than he did himself probably.

And she wanted him.

That thought alone was enough to drive him mad with desire.

When she'd returned his kiss with enthusiasm, he hadn't been able to resist pressing her soft body onto the blanket below them.

The feel of her beneath him, her lips against his own, her sounds of pleasure almost killed him.

He moved his hands slowly, torturously over her curves. He half prayed she'd stop him, half prayed she wouldn't.

Never had he been in such turmoil, experienced such pleasure and pain.

He'd removed her shawl and opened her spencer fully before any sort of common sense kicked in and, with herculean strength, moved away from her, cursing his damned sense of integrity, that goodness of his she'd spoken so highly of. Right then it felt like nothing but an inconvenience.

He gazed into the depths of her eyes for what felt like an eternity. And she gazed right back, her own eyes filled with a desire that he was sure matched his own.

Growling in pure, unadulterated frustration, he moved off her and held out a hand to help her up.

"I should be bloody sainted," he grumbled as he moved himself to the other side of the blanket.

Which action, to be fair, was completely pointless since he didn't think an ocean would stop him if he gave himself permission to see this through to the conclusion he wanted.

He set about packing up their leftovers, throwing things into the basket with more force than necessary, admittedly. But he needed to work out this frustration somehow.

Once Andrew felt as though he had himself under some sort of control once more, he could offer his assistance for her to get up. They really should be getting back, since he hadn't actually told anyone he was taking her out.

Besides which, they had plans to make.

In fact, he realised with a start, they hadn't actually discussed last night or their plans for her uncle at all. Instead, they'd talked about themselves, about her father, and his family, and everything in between.

Andrew was surprised. He'd decided yesterday after hearing the tale to treat this like an assignment, and he never, ever lost focus during an assignment.

Rather than annoying him, the thought was rather pleasant.

Turning round to Eve once more, his mind blanked completely and utterly.

She had sat up, but their embrace had wreaked havoc with the pins in her hair, and now it fell down her back in glorious, uninhibited waves like a waterfall of pure, molten gold.

Her lips were reddened from his kisses, and her eyes were still glazed with the desire they'd awakened in each other.

But those things, while distractingly attractive, were nothing compared to the sight of her demure gown opened and falling from her shoulders, exposing her petal soft skin and almost killing him.

He frowned as his unusually sluggish mind worked through the haze of lust. He hadn't opened her gown. At least, he didn't remember doing it.

Andrew had always prided himself on his prowess when it came to the opposite sex, but even he wasn't good enough to merely think a garment off a body, and he was quite sure he hadn't opened hers.

She was looking at him in confusion now, and he was sure his statue-like stillness was causing her some concern.

"Y-your gown," he rasped, hating that he sounded as nervous as a green lad.

She looked momentarily more confused before glancing down and, with a gasp, pulling the dress back up to her shoulders.

He had to remind himself sternly that her covering up was the right thing to do.

"I didn't—" he began in utter confusion, "—I didn't do that, did I?"

Her cheeks flamed brighter still, and he loved her all the more for still being so shy and virginal after she'd been under him and completely uninhibited mere moments before.

"Oh, n-no. I — uh — I am running out of gowns that fasten at the front, and, well... I couldn't very well ask Molly to assist me in dressing, so I had to leave it open," she mumbled, and he felt like an absolute heel.

Of course she'd be restricted in what she could do. And he, being the cad that he was, hadn't even worried about her arm when he'd been flinging her onto the cold, hard ground.

"Oh, sweetheart, I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked coming over and kneeling in front of her, searching her face for signs of pain.

She smiled and shook her head.

"Not at all," she assured him. "It's healing marvellously well."

Andrew let out a sigh of relief, but the reminder of her injury was a sobering thought. He needed to stop seducing her and start helping her bring her uncle to justice.

"Come," he said trying valiantly to seem unaffected by the exposed skin and the knowledge that if she couldn't fasten the buttons, then she certainly wouldn't be able to manage her own stays, which meant that there was little or nothing under that dress. "Turn around, and I'll button you up."

Her jaw dropped open; no doubt she was scandalised by the intimacy of his dressing her, but if she went around half dressed now that he knew about it, he'd never get anything done.

"Th-that's very kind of you," she stuttered. "But if you button it now, then I shan't be able to get it off later."

The woman was trying to kill him. Torture him and then kill him.

Closing his eyes, Andrew lifted his face to the heavens and prayed for strength.

"Then I shall come and help you get it off later," he said, looking back down into her eyes.

Her eyes widened once more at his words.

"You — you. What?" she finally manged to splutter.

"I shall come to your bedchamber before the dinner hour and help you," he said, exercising iron control over his thoughts so that he wouldn't imagine or think of anything past this current conversation.

"But... but..."

"Eve, it's cold, and we've been gone a long time. We do not have time to argue about this. We have plans to make and your relatives to appease."

The mention of her relatives was probably a low blow, considering he knew she'd immediately worry about her aunt's wrath, but it worked, and she moved slowly, turning round and pulling her hair over one shoulder until her back was exposed to him.

Andrew found himself having to close his eyes again. Her back was smooth and delicate like the rest of her, and his mouth dried as his heartbeat sped.

Slowly he reached forward until his fingertips skimmed her satiny smooth skin. His body stirred at her delicate shiver, and he couldn't resist leaning forward and grazing the exposed arch of her delicate neck.

Her scent surrounded him, sunshine and citrus.

"You're killing me, sweetheart," he rasped, and her answering whimper told him she was suffering as much as he.

If there'd been a parson nearby, Andrew would have abducted him by now and demanded he marry them.

As it was, he had to set about buttoning her up as fast as his trembling fingers would allow.

As soon as they got back to the house, he was having a bottle of brandy and an ice bath, he thought desperately.

When he'd finished with her dress, he scrambled away as though afraid of getting burned, which he was. Immensely.

He moved to fold up the blanket and lift the basket, and when he considered himself strong enough to face her again, he was relieved to see that she'd donned her spencer once more, along with her shawl, and that her hair was no longer down, but up and safely under her pale pink bonnet.

He still wanted her more than anyone he'd ever met in his life. But at least now he'd be able to walk.

Reaching out and grasping her hand, Andrew shunned the more proper protocol of offering the crook of his arm.

They'd gone way past propriety, in any case.

He lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss against the back, earning himself a shy smile.

From here on, he was going to chase after her uncle like a man possessed.

The sooner he helped her sort out the tangled mess of her life, the sooner he could beg her to be his.

"Of course, if you hadn't been so unpardonably rude, Evelyn, you would know all the details of the ball yourself. But since you could not be bothered to pay your respects to our guests, I am now wasting my time relaying everything to you."

Evelyn had known her aunt would be upset with her for not being present at Millicent's at home this morning. At the time, she had thought it would be worth it. Right now, after hours of her aunt's tongue lashings, she wasn't quite so sure.

She had already received an earful for being late to dinner. But given that Andrew had had to sneak to her room to quickly unbutton her gown, and Evelyn had then needed to recover from having his hands on her bare skin once more, it was a miracle she'd even made it to dinner. Mercifully, Molly had returned her gowns, freshly cleaned and pressed so she was able to ready herself in record time as soon as she was able to move again.

The best course of action in these situations, Evelyn knew, was to stay quiet and ride out the storm, and that was what she had been doing since luncheon.

Her cousins knew the same, so aside from sympathetic glances, they did not get involved.

Mr. Grant and her uncle were seemingly oblivious.

A quick glance at Andrew, however, revealed that he was not at all oblivious.

"My apologies, Mrs. Spencer," he spoke, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "I'm afraid Miss Spencer's absence was my fault. I begged her to show me some more of the grounds and did not even give the poor girl the chance to ask permission. If you must berate someone for this morning's outing, let it be me."

The silence that followed his thinly veiled criticism of Aunt Millicent's lecture was deafening. The woman was not accustomed to being taken to task, however faux politely.

Evelyn gaped at Andrew then turned to see her aunt becoming a rather alarming shade of puce.

She was furious, no doubt about it. But since she had always been an obsessive social climber, Evelyn couldn't imagine that she would countenance being impolite to a viscount.

It would be interesting, to say the least, to see how she would react.

The silence was growing steadily more uncomfortable as Aunt Millicent appeared to struggle to answer, and nobody else was inclined to try to break it.

Finally, Aunt Millicent spoke. "You are very good to inform me of what happened this morning, my lord," she said, her tone saccharine, but her eyes shooting daggers as they looked at Evelyn. "However, my niece has an unfortunate habit of being rudely late to or even absent from any number of events, and so naturally I assumed—"

"Miss Spencer," Andrew cut through Millicent's set down, and Evelyn's eyes flew to him. "You have never struck me as anything other than unfailingly polite. Can it be that you have been fooling me all this time?"

Evelyn felt her cheeks warm. Her aunt would have her head if he should keep championing her in this manner.

And yet...

It did feel good to have someone so determined to stick up for her. It made her quite ashamed that she had never done so for herself.

Taking a deep breath and knowing she would pay dearly as soon as Aunt Millicent got her alone, Evelyn smiled with a confidence she didn't feel.

"I have not been fooling you at all, my lord. At least not to my knowledge." They shared a secret smile as they both thought on just how much she had deceived him. "I always endeavour to be punctual and polite."

Evelyn didn't have to look at her aunt to know the older lady was most probably having an apoplexy at Evelyn's insubordination.

No, she kept her eyes fixed on Andrew, and the pride she saw in his own was worth any punishment her aunt might think up for her.

Anna gave a little laugh, no doubt trying to ease the tension at the table.

"Poor Evie. I have kept her late countless times myself. Speaking of which, Mama, we have left it rather late to have new gowns made for the ball. Do you think my rose silk will do?"

Anna's question was an obvious attempt to distract her mother before Millicent went into a full-scale tantrum. Thankfully, it seemed to work, and the rest of dinner was taken up with discussions on gowns, gossip about possible ball attendees, and the general chatter that Aunt Millicent so enjoyed.

Evelyn wisely kept quiet for the remainder of the dinner, and, to her relief, Andrew did the same.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and Evelyn took her leave as soon as was acceptable.

As she said her goodnights, she glanced at Andrew and saw that he discreetly held up three of his fingers. Three in the morning.

Giving a quick nod to show she understood, Evelyn went to her room to once again pretend to sleep. She needed real sleep. Oh, how she needed sleep! But it was to remain an impossibility until her uncle was brought to justice. The good news was that Andrew's kisses that day had been playing on her mind so much, sleep would have been elusive in any case, and there was no fear of her accidentally nodding off.

#  CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Another late night, Ash?"

Andrew had heard footsteps approaching but, assuming they were Eve's, hadn't paid enough attention.

Once again, he was slipping.

Turning from the table where he'd been pouring himself a drink, he smiled at Jonathan and held up the decanter in silent question.

Jonathan nodded then raised a brow, awaiting an answer.

"You know I've always kept late hours. Even while rusticating in the country," Andrew answered casually, glancing at the clock upon the fireplace and seeing that it was almost three. He hoped Evelyn would hear their voices and know to hide.

Jonathan remained silent as he took the tumbler from Andrew's hand.

Andrew and Jonathan had known each other so long, had been in such intense situations where they had to rely on and trust each other implicitly to survive, that they knew each other inside out.

So Andrew knew that Jonathan was working up to discussing something he wasn't happy with, and Jonathan most likely knew that Andrew was hiding something from him.

After sipping their drinks in silence, facing each other across the study in which he had found Andrew, Jonathan finally spoke.

"Evie," he said as though Andrew had asked aloud what this was about, and Andrew's heart just about stopped.

"What about her?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"Nothing. Just — when we first arrived here, you were convinced she was in cohorts with my father in some dastardly scheme or other. Now..." He paused and left the word hanging, but Andrew refused to react.

Was it suddenly stifling in the library? He resisted the urge to tug at his cravat.

"...now," Jon continued, "you seem to have forgotten all about that. In fact, you seem to devote your time to championing her against my mother. Of course, that's when you're not taking her off for picnics and having whispered conversations with her. You seem — preoccupied. You even seem to have forgotten your interest in my father's actions. And I have never known you to lose interest in a mystery that needs solving. Unless, of course, you find something else to be interested in."

To look away now would show fear or guilt, Andrew reminded himself fiercely, cursing his cravat and Jonathan's keen mind to perdition.

How was he to respond?

" _Actually, Jonathan old friend, now that you mention it, I have been seducing your cousin, and I think I am falling desperately in love with her. Please don't shoot me."_

Somehow, Andrew didn't think the conversation would go well after such a confession.

"Well?" Jonathan prompted when Andrew failed to respond.

"Well what?"

Jonathan frowned, swallowed the rest of the contents of his glass, and returned it to the silver tray holding the decanter before turning and looking Andrew square in the eye.

"I'm going to ask you straight out, since you won't tell me what you know I want to know."

Andrew steeled himself for the question, and for what he would have to do: lie to his best friend, something they both swore would never happen.

"Go ahead," he said, awaiting the inevitable.

"What is going on between you and my cousin?"

And there it was. The question that would unravel the years of friendship between them.

Andrew had a choice. He could tell Jonathan everything that had happened, trusting in the other man's innate sense of good. Jonathan could even help bring his father to justice, though it would no doubt be difficult for him.

It was temping, Andrew had to admit, so tempting to enlist Jonathan's help.

But — he couldn't do it.

He'd promised Eve, and the more he got to know her, the more he realised what an honour it had been to be taken into her confidence to begin with.

The girl had gotten shot for wanting to keep this whole debacle a secret. He wasn't about to ruin what was building between them for the sake of an easier life with Jon.

So, drawing on all the skills he'd developed over the years, Andrew schooled his features into his usual mask of indifference with a hint of humour and raised a brow.

"I'm sorry. Did you just ask me if there is something going on between me and your little church-mouse cousin?" he asked now, injecting his tone with as much incredulity as he could manage past the feelings of guilt roiling in his stomach.

"A church mouse that you seem to have taken an inordinate amount of interest in, Ashdon."

Jonathan's tone spoke volumes. He didn't believe Andrew.

"For God's sake, man," Andrew continued. "You warned me to stay away from Anna, a true beauty, since she's now attached. Now you suspect me for showing some attention to your poor little cousin. She's not my usual type, but she is still female, and her company is preferable to none at all. Would you rather I'd ignored her?"

"Watch yourself, Ashdon. She is still my cousin, and I won't have you disparaging her."

"Oh, come now, man. You know I mean no harm. I quite like the girl. But do you honestly think there's an attraction there?"

Jonathan seemed to think on his words, staring silently at him for some moments before finally giving a little self-deprecating laugh.

"You're right. Of course. I have seen enough of your type of woman to know my suspicions are unfounded. Evie is far too good for your particular preferences. My apologies."

"No apology necessary," he said, feeling like an utter heel.

"No, I should have known you would never— Well, you might not think much of her, but there have been plenty of unworthy men who have found my cousin rather more than a little attractive."

Andrew clenched his fists as a raging jealousy flared up. He wanted to kill anyone who'd even looked at Eve. Which was ridiculous, of course.

"Anyway, I am glad to see she is spending time enjoying herself, and now I know I have nothing to worry about, I am glad it's with you."

Jonathan offered another drink, and Andrew readily accepted, though he was conscious that time was ticking. He felt a surge of relief that he'd thrown Jon off the scent but couldn't shake off the gnawing guilt at his words about Eve.

Forgive me, my love, he silently begged. He was so grateful that she hadn't arrived yet. Perhaps she had fallen asleep. He would prefer it if she had; he didn't want her hearing any of this.

And he didn't particularly want her searching her uncle's things with him in any case. The further she stayed away from any danger or risk of being caught the better.

Jonathan left shortly thereafter, and Evelyn still hadn't arrived.

Another glance at the clock told Andrew that she was unlikely to appear tonight.

He made a thorough search of the study, picking locked drawers and searching behind picture frames.

Nothing.

Releasing a soft oath of frustration, Andrew gave it up as a bad job and, distinguishing the candles as he went, left the room and took himself off to bed.

Tomorrow he would speak to Eve, and they could figure out what to do next.

The silver lining was that it gave him an excuse to whisk her off somewhere again, and he would never complain about that.

Evelyn managed to hold on to her tears all the way back to her bedchamber, lest she should make a noise and draw the attention of Andrew and her cousin.

Andrew's words kept a steady, torturous beat through her mind. "I quite like the girl. But do you honestly think there's an attraction there? I quite like the girl. But do you honestly think there's an attraction there? I quite like the girl. But do you honestly think there's an attraction there?"

Finally reaching her room, Evelyn resisted the urge to slam the door shut.

The tears came then, fast and steady, and Evelyn didn't even try to stop them. How could she have been so foolish as to believe someone like him, a viscount, a rake, a debauched cad would really be interested in her? Would want to reform for her? She was a prized fool, and now she was a heartbroken one too.

Because she was so in love with him she thought her heart was in real danger of giving up altogether, rather than live with the pain.

How could she have been so taken in?

She had trusted him with her secrets, with her plans, with her heart.

And all this time he'd been toying with her because he'd been... bored?

The pain was crippling. Why had he made her love him if he was just going to break her heart?

She was mortified. Her innocence had led to her being utterly humiliated.

The tears were drying now, and her head was starting to throb.

There was nothing to be done tonight. She would do her best to sleep, and perhaps tomorrow when she awoke, this would all seem like a horrible dream.

Evelyn awoke the next morning to the sound of howling wind and rain battering the windows. It seemed fitting that the weather should reflect her mood so.

For last night hadn't been a dream. It had been brutal, soul-destroying reality, and she had no choice but to face up to it and live with it.

In the quiet, dark hours of the night, Evelyn had felt crushed, filled with despair and disappointment. But now, with the storm raging both outside and within her, she was filled with a dark, furious anger, and she resolved not to allow this to stop her.

She would get revenge for her father, once and for all. And then, she would move away from here. Far away, where nobody knew her, where she could be happy, and where she wouldn't be reminded of Ashdon every time she turned a corner.

Ringing for Molly, Evelyn decided to face the day head on.

Her arm no longer required bandages. Molly would notice the cut, of course, but it no longer looked like a gunshot wound, so Evelyn wasn't terribly concerned about it.

"Good morning, Miss," Molly said brightly as she bustled in, cup of chocolate in hand. "I declare, it's been an age since you've rung for me to help you. I thought you'd forgotten all about me."

Molly's smile and friendly chatter was just what Evelyn needed while she composed herself for the day ahead.

"Shocking weather, Miss. You'll be wanting something warm."

Evelyn allowed Molly to talk away; she never really needed an answer, and she sipped her chocolate as she gazed out of the window.

There wasn't much to see except dull grey clouds and the rain lashing against the glass.

Oddly, she found it soothing as though the storm and she were kindred spirits.

"Gracious, Miss Evelyn. What have you done to your arm?"

"Oh, 'tis nothing Molly. I had a fall, that's all."

Molly frowned but thankfully didn't question Evelyn any further as she shook out a dove-grey gown with light blue ribbon around the high waist and sleeves. It was a favourite of Evelyn's, even though the colour didn't really suit, and usually she wouldn't have commented on it as a choice.

But this morning, she wanted something more. Something beautiful. So that when she faced Andrew and gave him the dismissal she was working on, she would at least look better than she felt. Mentally, Evelyn went through the collection of dresses that Anna had given her. Anna was usually very generous in sharing her clothes with Evelyn. And Evelyn had never been more thankful for that fact than right now.

"Molly, do you think you could prepare the primrose walking dress that Anna gave me?"

Molly looked at Evelyn in surprise before grinning widely.

"Of course, Miss. That is one of your prettiest. And the colour is just beautiful. I'm sure anyone who sees you in it will be terribly impressed."

Evelyn looked sharply at Molly but the maid smiled innocently, too innocently, and left to have the gown pressed.

Evelyn didn't want people thinking she was trying to impress Lord Ashdon, but she realised that was probably what everyone would think.

They would be right, but not for the reasons they imagined.

She wanted to impress him to show that she wasn't the silly little girl he imagined she was, to whom he was so very charitable.

She was a grown woman who could do very well on her own and who, in fact, would have done just fine had he not interfered on that first fateful night.

The gall of the man, she fumed silently, to dismiss her as a church mouse when he knew what she really was. He'd bloody ruined everything, and he had the audacity to speak ill of her still.

Molly returned in the midst of Evelyn's raving thoughts, and Evelyn was quickly dressed, her hair softly curled and decorated with a simple primrose band of ribbon. She didn't want to look as though she was trying too hard, after all.

The day was really rather cold, so a wrap was necessary, and Evelyn plucked the white shawl from Molly's hands and quickly made her way to the breakfast room.

She wanted to see him and get the difficult conversation out of the way as quickly as possible before she lost her nerve.

The hallways were dark and drafty, and Evelyn hurried through the house as quickly as she could.

She wasn't sure how, on a day such as this, she would find the opportunity to speak alone to Andrew, or Lord Ashdon, as she must think of him from now on.

If it had been a nice day, she might have made the suggestion of taking the horses and riding to the ruins of an old Normal settlement not fair from Spencer Park. At least she might have done that before she knew what he really thought of her. Now, she would have to get used to being alone again, for the most part. The dull pain that had been ever-present since last night flared up again, but she ruthlessly pushed it away. She'd cried enough tears that he didn't deserve. She'd be damned if she'd cry any more.

Entering the breakfast room, Evelyn was surprised to see Anna seated at the table so early.

"Good morning, dearest," said Anna with a smile.

"Good morning. I am surprised to see you up so early," Evelyn responded as she took a plate to the sideboard.

"I couldn't sleep. Can you countenance this weather we're having? I declare, at one point I was full sure the shutters would come off their hinges."

"It is rather stormy," Evelyn responded, returning to the table with her plate now filled with eggs, ham, and toast.

"I must say, Evie, you look exceptionally well this morning," Anna said, studying Evelyn from across the table before her face creased in a knowing smile. "I am sure I can guess why."

Evelyn did her level best to keep any sort of blush from her face.

She wouldn't have minded Anna's teasing yesterday. In fact, she would have rather enjoyed it, feeling as she did and suspecting that Andrew felt the same.

Now, however, it made her burn with embarrassment and cringe with despair.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Anna," she said quietly.

"Oh, do not be so coy, Evie. Do you think I am blind?"

Evelyn studied her plate. Her appetite, which was small anyway, disappeared completely.

"I see how your eyes shine whenever they catch sight of our handsome Lord Ashdon," Anna said with a smile.

Evelyn opened her mouth to deny Anna's words. Listening to them was causing an almost physical ache.

"And as for the way he looks at you?" Anna fanned herself with her hand, grinning ear to ear. "My dear, at times I was worried he'd jump across the table and devour you whole. He's infatuated with you."

This time the ache was physical. A dull throbbing in the region where her heart should be. But since she felt like it had been ripped out, she couldn't claim that it was still there.

"Anna, please." Evelyn was struggling to speak past the sudden lump in her throat.

She was prevented from speaking further, however, by the arrival of Lord Ashdon himself, accompanying Jonathan.

"Lovely morning, is it not?" Jon called jovially as he moved straight to the sideboard and began stacking his plate with enough food to feed an army.

Andrew bid them both a good morning then went to do the same. Evelyn kept her head bowed throughout both gentlemen's greetings, but she could feel Andrew's eyes on her as surely as if she had looked up and caught his glance.

Had she always been this aware of him? Probably, she conceded. But that would all have to change now.

Jon and Anna chatted about the storm as the gentlemen filled their plates and sat at the table, Jonathan at the head and Andrew beside Evelyn.

It was an exquisite sort of torture having him so near and knowing he would never be hers.

She pointedly ignored Anna's conspiratorial grin and kept her eyes firmly on the tablecloth adorning the table.

"You look particularly lovely this morning, Miss Spencer," Andrew said, his velvet-soft voice warm and indulgent. Evelyn glanced up as he sat and tried not to feel anything at the obvious appreciation in his eyes.

"Yes, you do, Evie. Any particular reason?" Jonathan asked.

"No. None at all," she answered with a tight smile before lifting her coffee cup and sipping so she wouldn't have to speak again.

"Well, it certainly brightens the place up," Jonathan continued with a grimace, looking out at the dismal weather. "Where is Mama?"

"She won't surface for hours yet," Anna answered, sounding thrilled about it. "When she knows she won't have callers and certainly won't be paying calls in this weather, she keeps to her room for ages."

"I'm surprised to hear it," Andrew said, "She doesn't strike me as the type of lady to enjoy the solitude."

There was an edge to his voice that told Evelyn he was more than likely referring to her aunt's inability to stay away from gossip or news of any sort. And she would have turned and shared a secret smile with him before. But now, well now, she wouldn't.

"She's not," Anna answered with a rueful smile. "In fact, I do not think it will be long before Evie and I are summoned to sit with her."

"What a shame," Andrew said, "I had hoped that Miss—"

Evelyn jumped from her chair, interrupting what she suspected would be a request for her to join him in some activity or another.

And she didn't want to allow him the chance to ask. For much as she had wanted to confront him, she now found herself yearning to spend time alone with him just to be with him, and the thought made her furious.

Furious with him, furious with herself. So instead of her blazing confrontation, she would just have to settle for distancing herself from him without so much as a by-your-leave. She needed to get out of there.

"If you'll excuse me," Evelyn spoke quietly, glancing round at all three of them, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. "I-I wanted to get some books from the library in case Aunt Millicent decides she wants me to read to her."

As excuses went, it was a weak one. Aunt Millicent hardly ever bothered with reading and thought Evelyn nothing more than a bluestocking for enjoying the pastime so much.

Judging from Anna's frown, her cousin knew it wasn't very plausible either. Thankfully though, she didn't say anything, and, without further ado, Evelyn swept from the room.

She was halfway out the door when she heard Jonathan, sounding bewildered, whispering to Anna.

"What's the matter with Evie?"

Evelyn was about to continue on, but something stopped her.

Her whole life, well... since she'd been ten at least, her cousins had treated her as a quiet little simpleton, never seeming to notice that she'd grown into a woman. They had never meant anything bad by it, of course. In point of fact, they were the only people who had stopped her from sinking to a dark depression in those early years.

But still, she wasn't that little girl anymore, and they needed to know that.

Her aunt and uncle had been either neglectful or abusive, with no real in between, and that would never change.

And now the man she loved? Well, he thought her nothing more than a mildly amusing plaything.

Suddenly, it was too much.

Spinning back into the room, she marched over and stood at Jonathan's chair, her palms clammy, her heartbeat going wild, but nonetheless she was determined to assert herself as more than what they'd made her.

"Jonathan," she squeaked. Yes, after weeks of her confidence building, the squeak had returned. "There is nothing the matter with me. I am going to get a book, that is all."

Jonathan raised his brows in surprise, and Evelyn felt awash with guilt. What had Jon ever done except look after her where he could? But she wasn't a child. Or a mouse. She didn't need looking after.

"All right, Evie. I was just wondering, little one." He smiled, reaching over and patting her hand.

Oh, what was the point? He would still pat her hand and think of her as little one no matter what she did.

She could confess that she had managed to be a highway robber, but, of course, that was foolish in the extreme for several reasons.

"Well — good," she said meekly instead, and, as if of their own volition, her eyes dashed to Andrew's face, which was a picture of confusion and even concern.

Ha! He was no more concerned about her than he was Uncle Geoffrey.

And that reminder straightened her backbone again a little. She wouldn't be mistreated by the men in her life any longer.

"And, please, do not call me Evie any longer. It makes me sound like a child. And — and I'm not a child, Jonathan."

If Evelyn had dropped a pin at that moment, the sound would have echoed round the room, so silent were the other occupants.

Jonathan's mouth had dropped open, but then he suddenly smiled and nodded his head in what looked very much like a gesture of respect.

Evelyn felt empowered and relieved all at once, and she smiled warmly in response.

This time when she turned to leave the room, there was a spring in her step.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY

Andrew watched Evelyn march from the room, regal as a queen, head held high.

Much as he was proud of her for showing her family that she was a proud, independent woman, he was concerned by the change in her.

She hadn't shown last night, and, at the time, he'd been glad of it since he'd assumed she was getting some sleep. And given that his search had once again been fruitless, he had been happy to conduct it alone.

But now she was acting strangely, avoiding eye contact with him just like she had when they'd first met.

He wondered if she were ill, but she didn't look it. In fact, she looked the best he'd ever seen her; a ray of sunshine on such a gloomy day, and his body had reacted immediately as it always did.

He wondered again if he should have just confessed his real feelings to Jonathan last night instead of trying to keep it a secret. Had he told Jonathan that he loved Evelyn and wanted to marry her he could have at least been more attentive to her this morning without drawing curious glances or murderous weapons.

As it was, he had been unable to question her odd behaviour and unable to do anything except watch her leave when he wanted nothing more than to keep her close.

The silence she had left in her wake was broken by Anna.

"Well," she said sounding, both shocked and amused, "whatever has happened to our little Evie?"

Jonathan grinned in response.

"Evelyn, Anna. Her name is Evelyn."

"Wasn't she marvellous?" Anna said. "I never thought she had it in her."

"Nor me," said Jon with a smile. "I do wonder at the change in her though."

So do I, Andrew thought.

Something was definitely off, and, suddenly, he couldn't wait any longer to find out what.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, standing and not waiting for a reply before dashing from the room.

Jonathan frowned and turned to Anna to see his sister grinning like a Cheshire cat. "What has gotten into him?" he said.

Anna lifted her cup and took a sip before answering. "The same thing that's gotten into our Evelyn, no doubt."

"What do you mean?"

Anna rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her rapidly cooling food.

"Men," she said, and that was the last thing she would say on the subject.

She was as bloody confounding as the rest of her sex, Jonathan decided.

"Women," he grumbled and set about demolishing his own plate of food.

Andrew found Evelyn in the library perusing books, just as she had said she would be.

He moved to greet her but was stopped in his tracks by the expression on her face.

She looked... sad. There really was no other word for it, so sad it made his heart hurt.

Instead of rushing to her and pulling her into his arms like he wanted to, he took a tentative step forward.

"Eve," he said softly and watched her shoulders stiffen.

What on earth was going on?

He waited while she turned slowly toward him.

"My lord," she said woodenly, even dipping into a short curtsy.

What the hell was that?

"My lord?" he repeated incredulously. "What's going on?"

He watched as the hint of a blush stained her cheeks, and her eyes glittered furiously, either with anger or tears.

"I am choosing some books for my aunt, just as I said I would be."

Anger, definitely. Her tone could freeze a desert.

"Eve," he started, coming toward her.

"I-I'd rather you didn't address me by my Christian name, my lord. It really isn't appropriate."

Andrew was surprised by the jolt of pain he felt at her obvious attempts to distance them from each other. The pain, however, was quickly replaced with his own anger.

"I don't give a damn what's appropriate or not," he fumed, marching over until he was inches from her. "I can't for the life of me figure out what's going on here, Eve, so you're going to have to explain it to me."

She opened her mouth as if to say something before snapping it shut again and brushing past him.

"Nothing is going on," she finally said, all of her focus on the bookshelf in front of her. She was pulling books from the shelf as though her life depended on it, not even glancing at the titles.

After a few moments, her pile of books resembled the tower of Pisa, and she showed no sign of stopping.

"Does your aunt know you intend to move the library to her bedchamber?" he quipped, hoping to break the tension emanating from her.

Apparently, it had been the wrong thing to say.

Evelyn swung to face him and slammed the book she held in her hand onto the table with a loud thud.

"Can you please just leave me alone?" she screeched, and it sounded more like a demand than a request.

Andrew was confused and more than a little concerned that something had happened between yesterday when everything had been so glorious between them and now, when it seemed as if something was very, very wrong. But what?

"Eve, wha—"

"Don't call me that!" she screeched once more, and he was tempted to cover his ears, but he didn't think that would be terribly conducive to calming the situation.

"Of course, if that is what you wish," he said, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a placating manner. "But, please — I'm worried about you."

She laughed, but there was no humour in it, and glared at him scornfully.

"You can cease the pretence, my lord. We both know you don't give a damn about me."

Suddenly, Andrew's own temper flared.

"What the hell does that mean?" he growled. "You know I give a damn about you. More than give a damn about you. I-I—"

"'She's not my usual type, but she is still female, and her company is preferable to none at all.'"

Andrew's intended declaration turned to dust in his mouth as she flung the words he'd spoken to Jonathan last night at him.

His stomach dropped to his Hessians. She'd heard.

Scraping a hand through his hair he muttered some of his favourite oaths before attempting an explanation.

"All right. Eve, I know how it must seem but you—"

She cut him off again, using his own words as a lance to wound him, and wound him they did.

"I quite like the girl. But do you honestly think there's an attraction there? And my name is Evelyn," she sneered.

The pain in her expression hurt him more than if she had taken a knife to his heart.

"Sweetheart, please—"

"I am not your sweetheart," she said through clenched teeth, and he was horrified when a single tear spilled from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

Andrew had been shot twice in the leg during a mission to Belgium, and he'd thought that the most painful experience of his life, but nothing could have prepared him for the pain of seeing her cry and knowing he'd caused it.

"Eve, I'm sorry. So sorry. But, you don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly," she interrupted icily.

"No," he practically shouted at her, "no, you don't."

He reached out and clasped her shoulders, desperate for her to listen, to believe him.

"Eve, I love you."

She froze as his words seemed to echo between them.

Please believe me, he begged silently.

He watched, not daring to breathe as she closed her eyes and lowered her head.

After what seemed like an eternity, she lifted her face once more to look at him.

Her expression, he noted with trepidation, wasn't the look of joy he would have wanted.

"You're a liar," she said, disdain dripping from every word. "And you are cruel."

Every word was like a slap to the face.

"To you I may be nothing more than a diversion in the boring countryside, my lord, but I am a person with feelings, and you cannot treat people this way."

She started to cry again, and every tear that fell from her eyes caused him agony.

"I swear to you, my darling, I am not lying. I love you." He shook her slightly, willing her to believe him, to forgive him, to forget that bloody conversation she was never supposed to hear.

"Stop saying that!" she yelled, pulling herself from his grip.

And though it killed him, he had to let her go.

"I don't even know if I can trust you to keep my secret," she said quietly.

He swallowed hard before answering. "Of course you can," he managed.

She didn't respond, merely nodded her head and turned to leave. She didn't take a single book.

He watched helpless as she reached the door then stopped and turned to face him again.

"It seems so unfair," she said so softly that he had to strain to hear her.

"What does?" he asked hoarsely.

"You obviously don't make much use of your own heart, my lord. But I do. And it's terribly unfair of you to break it into a thousand pieces."

Without another word, she turned and left the room, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Andrew knew that even if he lived to be a hundred, those words would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Evelyn, tired of crying tears for a man who didn't deserve them, scrubbed impatiently at her eyes and willed her mind to think on something else.

Surely, after all this time, she wouldn't allow her plans for revenge, for justice, to be scuppered because she'd had her head turned by a notorious rake?

She thought back to weeks ago, a lifetime ago, when Anna had revelled in telling Evelyn the most scandalous stories about Lord Ashdon.

Evelyn had been outwardly horrified. Inwardly, she was ashamed to admit even to herself, she had been rather excited at the stories of his escapades.

But now, having been involved in one of them, she realised it wasn't fun and romantic at all. It had been intense and passionate and wonderful, but when it ended it was devastatingly, heartbreakingly bad.

And... and he had said he loved her. Her mind shied away from even attempting to sort through her feelings about that!

She had escaped to one of her favourite spots, a small summer house by the river that ran through her uncle's estate. She knew she would be safe from company, since the weather was so deplorable. The family enjoyed the place during the summer when the willows offered shade from the intense sun, but this time of year was Evelyn's favourite; when the russet leaves were dropping from the branches of the surrounding oaks, when pinecones and chestnuts littered the ground, and the only sound was the happy babbling of the brook.

Today, she rather wished it would shut up but, in the interest of fairness, had to admit that her current mood wasn't the river's fault, and it should really be allowed to babble as loudly as it wished.

Then, of course, she was worried for her sanity because really, why was she so affected by the noises a river made? And it couldn't be heard now in any case, with the wind screeching so loudly and the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows.

"Eve."

Evelyn froze at the sound of his voice. Was there to be no escape from him?

She whipped round to face him, her anger immediately flaring back to life.

"What?" she snapped. "What do you want now? I thought I made my feelings perfectly clear."

"You did." He looked and sounded as upset as she, and that angered her further still.

He was the one who had hurt her. What right had he to be upset by the consequences?

"I'm not here about us," he said, and Evelyn was surprised at the sharp stab of hurt at his words.

Wasn't that what she wanted after all? And really, the fact that he would so willingly give her up just proved further how little she meant to him.

"Oh" was the only answer she could manage.

"I'm here about your uncle," he said, watching her intensely, the mossy green of his eyes seeming more pronounced somehow.

She wished he wouldn't look at her so. It was most distracting.

"I searched the study and even the library after — well... last night," he said adroitly, skimming over his encounter with Jonathan, as though the words weren't burned into her memory. "I found nothing."

Evelyn wasn't surprised to hear it. She'd lived in the house since childhood and knew it better than he. If she couldn't find anything, it was no shock that he couldn't.

"Well, thank you for trying," she said politely, though he didn't deserve it.

"My thoughts are that there's a hidden safe somewhere, so I'm going to watch him more closely. He hasn't left the estate since the night of the robbery, nor has Grant, so those letters must still be here somewhere."

Evelyn frowned in confusion. Surely he didn't think to still help her after everything that had happened? Before she could voice her thoughts, he began speaking again, stepping ever more closely to her.

"As soon as I've found the safe, I'll retrieve them."

He sounded so calm, so logical. He had thought of everything, it seemed. Well, almost everything.

"How would you even be able to get them if they're in a safe?" she asked, distracted from her anger at his high-handedness for a moment.

The grin he gave her was heart-stoppingly beautiful, and Evelyn felt her breath catch.

"I can get into one little safe, darling," he said confidently.

His endearment and her own reaction to it brought Evelyn back to the matter at hand.

"Well, I thank you for the information and the idea. But this doesn't concern you anymore."

She watched the smile fall from his face. He looked at first surprised then devastated before that mask he used to wear, the one that hid all of his emotions, was firmly back in place.

"Yes, it does," he said simply.

Evelyn huffed out a breath. "No, it do—"

"Evelyn," he interrupted, and she stopped talking because he'd never called her by her real name before, and it hurt more than it should. She was no longer his Eve. "I understand how furious you are. How hurt. And it kills me to know that I caused such feelings in you."

He was close enough now to reach out and stroke a gentle thumb along her cheek.

Evelyn steeled herself against any sort of reaction and gave her heart a stern talking to for its fluttering at his touch.

When she pulled back slightly, he dropped his hand with a sigh.

"But as angry as you are, it does not change the fact that I love you more than I ever thought possible."

He's lying, she reminded herself fiercely. This is some sort of game to him.

"And because I love you as much as I do, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, trying to convince you that what I feel is real, if you will let me."

He paused, probably waiting for her to speak. But she couldn't trust her voice at that moment, so she stayed mutinously silent.

"But even if you don't forgive me, even if you never speak a word to me again, I will not stand by while you put yourself in any more danger."

Her eyes, which had been studiously ignoring his, snapped up at his words.

"It's none of your business what I do or where I put myself," she seethed.

"Yes, it is," he argued stubbornly.

"Why won't you just leave me alone," she cried in exasperation. She couldn't keep arguing with him. Her defences weren't that strong.

"Because I bloody well love you, I said!" he yelled at her.

His declaration echoed round the glade, mocking her with the truth she desperately wished to hear in them.

"I heard every word you said last night, my lord. Every word."

He muttered an oath that should have offended her, but since the sentiment echoed her own, she couldn't judge.

"Eve, I hadn't even told you how I felt, I wasn't about to confess everything to your cousin. He'd probably shoot me on the spot, and I couldn't have told you anything if I were dead, could I?"

It sounded so plausible, and she wanted to believe him so desperately, but, in the hours since she'd heard him, Evelyn had almost managed to convince herself that it was for the best that they be parted.

And her reasoning was sound.

He was a viscount, rich as Croesus and soon to be a powerful earl. She was an orphan of unknown fortune, thanks to her uncle, and a highway robber to boot! It could never have been anything more than a temporary seduction, which he would forget and she would remember through her absolute ruination.

"Well, it does not signify any longer, does it?" she mumbled miserably.

He leaned forward and grasped her shoulders.

"Can you really not forgive me one, stupid mistake?" he asked hoarsely.

Evelyn forced herself to meet his eyes.

"It makes no difference, not really. We are so very dissimilar Andrew. You will go back to your life, and I will stay here with mine. Whatever this was, it wasn't real. We could never be—"

Her words were cut off by his lips suddenly capturing hers in a wild, forceful kiss. Every thought, every word flew from her head, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tightly as her knees buckled.

All too soon, he pulled back to look down at her.

"Don't," he said softly. "Do not dismiss what this is. Do not say it isn't real."

Evelyn opened her mouth to respond.

"Eve," he spoke again, "please. Do not say anything you may come to regret."

Evelyn's head was beginning to pound. This morning she'd been so sure of her course, upsetting as it was. But now, when it was just the two of them once more, when he kissed her like that and told her he loved her; she just didn't know what to do.

"I cannot think straight," she said, wanting desperately to lean into him and borrow some of that strength and power he always exuded.

"Nothing has changed, as far as I am concerned," he said, pulling her closer to him and placing a soft kiss atop her head. For a moment, just for a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy his embrace. "I will still help you to bring your uncle to justice. And I will still try to convince you to be in my life when this is all over."

"Andrew, I-I don't—"

"I'm not asking you to do anything except give me a chance, Eve. That is all."

She wanted to. So, so badly. And, she had to admit that it had been wonderful feeling like she wasn't in this mess alone, that somebody was on her side and wanted to help.

"All right," she said tentatively and was rewarded with another of his breath-taking smiles. "I'll think about it. But I must return to the house," she murmured, feeling emotionally wrung out and, suddenly, bizarrely shy. But she'd never had a man angrily shout his love for her, so that probably accounted for the unusual emotion.

"I'll walk you back," he said, offering his arm.

Evelyn hesitated. Much as she would jump at any chance to touch him, to be with him, she needed some time alone to sort through her thoughts and emotions.

And though she desperately wanted to believe in his love for her, there was the niggling seed of doubt that his words to Jonathan had planted. She would try not to cultivate it as was her wont with any negative thing people told her about herself, but it was there nonetheless.

It would take time for her to fully trust him again.

"I-I would rather return by myself, if you do not mind."

He looked for a moment as if she had slapped him, but then he smiled kindly and shook his head.

"I do not mind, if that is what you wish."

She turned to go, feeling as though the weight of the world was upon her shoulders.

"Eve, I do love you. Please, if you believe nothing else, believe that."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to be free to tell him that she felt the same way. But so much had happened, and so much was still yet to come.

Rather than give him an answer, she turned and hurried to the house.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

He'd found it!

Andrew was careful not to make a sound as he removed the painting of two bloodhounds from the wall of Spencer's study.

As hiding places went, it was cleverer than most because, although Andrew had searched behind all of the hangings thoroughly, he'd never before noticed the draft coming from this one.

He had the ongoing storm which had lasted for days to thank. That and his determination not to rest until he'd done something to help Eve, to try to make up for his mistake.

Never had he been as terrified as he had for the last couple of days, since their conversation by the river.

Although she'd agreed to allow him to continue to help her, she was avoiding him at all costs, going out of her way not to be left alone with him.

It hurt, he had to admit. He missed her so much it was driving him slowly mad. He missed her smile, her laugh, her sharp wit — and God how he missed holding her, touching her, kissing her.

He loved her. She had to know that, didn't she? She hadn't said the words in return, but he'd been so sure she'd felt the same. Until that damned, stupid conversation with Jonathan.

Andrew had considered going straight to Jonathan, to her uncle, to the local newspaper when she'd left him that day. Anywhere it took to get her to believe him.

But, he reasoned, taking out an advertisement in the newspapers would only embarrass them both, and, until her uncle was safely brought to justice, he didn't want to draw more attention to her than necessary.

Andrew shook his head, determined to focus on the task at hand. Thoughts of Eve never failed to distract him.

The wind took up its lonesome wail again, and, once again, the draft swept from behind the wall. There was an opening of some sort here, he was sure of it.

Running his hand carefully over the smooth, wooden surface Andrew finally came across a lip in the wood, so subtle that one would hardly know it was there.

Pressing against the wood, he allowed himself a grin of triumph as the panel sprung forward, revealing a safe hidden behind.

His grin widened as he remembered Eve's concern at how he would get into a locked safe. Taking a small, sleek blade from his pocket, Andrew bent to his task.

Opening the safe was the easy part.

Using whatever was inside to help him win back her trust was the challenge.

"Oh, my dear you look simply heavenly. I knew the pink would be spectacular on you."

Evelyn had been studying her reflection in the looking glass and looked up now to catch her cousin's eye.

Anna looked stunning in bronze satin, the colour making her pale hair seem even lighter, her eyes darker. The contrast was beautiful.

Evelyn had never felt particularly beautiful in her whole life, especially growing up in the shadow of Anna's incomparable looks.

When she and Andrew had— well, for a short time she really had felt quite pretty.

But now, this evening, she could almost believe that what Anna said was true.

Evelyn had spent hours getting ready for tonight's ball, much longer than she usually would.

After a leisurely soak in a lavender bath, she had allowed Molly free reign with her hair, and the abigail had taken to the task with relish. Now, Evelyn's hair was softly curled and piled atop her head, with tendrils falling to frame her face. For decoration, one of Anna's headbands encrusted with diamonds and pearls coiled around the tresses.

Pearl and diamond earrings and a matching necklace completed her jewellery selection.

The gown itself was another of Anna's, hemmed to fit Evelyn's smaller stature. It was a pale pink satin, with ruched sleeves and piping around the waist.

There had been a chiffon overskirt, but Molly had removed it since it couldn't be cut cleanly, which suited Evelyn perfectly. She had never done well with too much adornment and ornamentation in any case.

White satin evening gloves and a white fan, and she was as ready as she would ever be.

"Ash's eyes will be on stalks." Anna grinned.

Evelyn whipped round to glare sternly at her mischievous cousin. "Anna," she scolded, reaching for her fan, "I have already told you there is nothing between Lord Ashdon and me."

"Yes," Anna moved to the door, "and I believe you less now than I did then. I cannot wait to see his reaction. He will be rendered utterly speechless, no doubt."

She was incorrigible, but Evelyn had to admit that Anna's words gave her a little thrill of excitement.

Would Andrew be rendered speechless? Would he like how she looked?

Should she even care, when she hadn't yet decided how she felt about him? Of her love for him, there was no doubt. But could she forget everything he'd said?

Either way, Evelyn was honest enough to admit that whether things worked out between them or not, she very much wanted him to think she was beautiful tonight.

Unfortunately, Andrew had already left for the ball with Jonathan since they'd been roped in by the vicar's wife to help with decorating.

Evelyn had laughed at Andrew's bemused reaction to the request while Jonathan explained to him that, in their small village, it wasn't unheard of for the gentry to get their hands dirty.

Rather than be affronted, however, Andrew had seemed to find it all very amusing, and he'd set off with an enthusiasm that had surprised Evelyn.

The ladies made their way downstairs, spirits high, especially Anna's, since she had discovered that Mr. Grant had cried off, citing some urgent business or other. Anna didn't offer up any further information, not the least because she hadn't cared enough to ask.

They bundled into the carriage, grateful for the hot bricks and blankets on such a cold evening.

It wasn't long before they arrived at the Assembly Rooms and joined the line of carriages dropping off parties of people as they went.

There were calls of greetings and shouts of laughter and an altogether jovial atmosphere that one couldn't help getting caught up in.

Anna clutched Evelyn's arm excitedly, and they made their way up the steps and into the ballroom.

"I hate these damned things in Town, and I hate them here."

Andrew scowled at one of the many mamas with single daughters who was making her way over, sending the woman scurrying off in a different direction, and pulled at his too-tight cravat.

He had stupidly believed that since this ball was a country dance in the local assembly rooms and not a grand affair at Almack's, he would be safe from scheming mothers and their single daughters.

As it turned out, country mamas were even more determined and less scrupulous than their city counterparts.

It was too much to be borne, particularly since he was already in a foul temper.

He had hoped to accompany Evelyn here this evening, even if she was still being just-about civil to him.

He hadn't had a chance to tell her of his findings because she refused to spend any time alone with him. He had the papers on him now, burning a hole in the pocket of his superfine evening jacket.

And when he'd resolved to find a way to travel alone with her to this damned dance, he'd been accosted by the vicar's gimlet-eyed wife to hang decorations for tonight's festivities. He'd done so with good grace, of course, but it had disappointed him not to come with Eve tonight.

And, rather annoyingly, from the second he and Jon had walked in, there'd been the inevitable feeling of the vultures circling.

Jonathan lifted a glass of too-warm, too-weak champagne and took a gulp, grimacing as he swallowed.

"Come man, it's not so bad," he said unconvincingly.

In answer, Andrew merely arched a brow.

After a moment or two of a sort of stand-off, Jonathan relented with a sigh.

"Fine. It's excruciating. But look on the bright side. You may find the woman of your dreams."

Andrew tensed.

This was the perfect opportunity to inform Jonathan that he already had.

"Well, now that you men—"

The word's died in his mouth as he looked across the ballroom and saw Eve step inside.

She was so beautiful it damn near made his heart stop beating.

And she had no idea; that was the kicker.

Andrew was used to debutantes, widows, demi-mondes — all of whom were extremely beautiful, and all of whom were fully aware of the fact and used it advantageously at every opportunity.

But Evelyn was entirely without conceit, without confidence in herself, and it boggled his mind. How could she not know that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world? How could she not know that a man would die a thousand times over just to be close to her?

"Close your mouth, Ash, you're embarrassing yourself."

Jonathan's voice crashed through the haze of desire Andrew was drowning in, and a good thing too. Things had been about to get extremely uncomfortable.

"Who are you staring at anyway?"

Andrew's eyes snapped to Jonathan's but not for long. He couldn't help it. He was drawn to her as a moth to a flame.

"I'm not staring," he said whilst staring.

She was making the rounds with Anna, curtsying and, to his disgust, having her card filled at a rapid pace.

He'd bloody well kill any man to put his hands on her, even if it was for a dance.

"Just go over and ask for a dance before you have an apoplexy."

Once again, Jonathan's words brought Andrew's attention back to him.

"What do you mean?"

In answer, Jonathan lifted two more glasses of champagne and handed them over.

"You think I haven't noticed you salivating over my cousin, despite what you said the other night?"

Andrew couldn't very well deny it, but he wasn't thrilled about the picture Jonathan had painted either, that of some sort of rabid dog, so he said nothing.

Jonathan, who had been facing the dancers, turned fully now to face Andrew, his expression serious.

"I just need to know what your intentions are, Ash. I'd hate to have to kill you."

Andrew automatically scoffed at the idea that Jonathan could.

"My intentions..." he said gruffly, looking across the room at her once more. "Where do I start?"

"Well, you needn't discuss your fantasies, or I will actually kill you. I am the better shot," Jonathan quipped.

"That sounds more like a fantasy of yours, Jon," Andrew automatically retorted.

It was a moment like millions of others, and yet, with this conversation, they both knew a change was coming.

Andrew would no longer be Jonathan's best friend and partner; he would be Evelyn's husband, if she would have him. She would be his priority from here on in, and their hare-brained and sometimes debauched escapades throughout Europe would be over for good.

"So, it's real then?" Jonathan asked quietly.

Andrew put the depth of his sincerity into his tone.

"The most real thing I've ever experienced," he answered frankly.

Jonathan nodded, and the gentlemen shared a moment of understanding before he spoke again.

"So, does this mean I shall have to find another partner then?" he quipped.

"I'm afraid so. Of course, she hasn't actually agreed to marry me and is, in fact, ignoring me."

"Oh?"

"She heard me the other night, denying my feelings for her."

"Ah."

"Exactly."

"Well, you've been in worse scrapes with the fairer sex."

"I've also never really given a damn before, Jon."

Jonathan smiled with his usual mischief. "Perhaps it's just as well. You don't do well rusticating in the country, remember? What would you do if you did manage to convince her? Becoming a countrified man of leisure? You'd be bored to death within a week."

It was Andrew's turn to grin. "I can assure you that I would be anything but bored locked away in the country with your cousin. In fact—"

"All right," Jonathan laughingly cut in, "you do not need to go into detail. Trust me, I would infinitely prefer if you didn't."

"You approve then?" Andrew asked after sharing a laugh with his oldest friend.

"I do," answered Jon simply.

Andrew looked back toward Eve, and his gut clenched when he noticed that she was dancing a quadrille with some dandy who was watching her a little too salaciously for Andrew's liking.

He watched as she smiled up at her partner, looking relaxed and happy and not tied up in knots the way she had with him for the last few days.

He felt suddenly morose. She looked decidedly happier out of his company. He made her miserable. And she deserved better than that.

"She can do better than me," he said quietly, more to himself than to Jonathan.

But the other man responded anyway. "Undoubtedly," he said with insulting swiftness. "But she doesn't want to do so."

Andrew's heart leapt with hope. "You think so?" he asked, hating how desperate he sounded but unable to do anything about it.

"I know so. She has that same sickening look in her eyes when she sees you as you have when you see her. The whole thing is revolting," he said with a shudder.

Andrew grinned. "Perhaps I should go to her then," he said.

Jonathan threw his eyes to heaven. "Of course you bloody should," he said, but his grin was as wide as Andrew's own.

Evelyn's jaw hurt from the effort of keeping her insincere smile pasted on her face.

Mr. Phillips, with whom she was dancing, was a kind, jovial sort, even if his hands had a tendency to roam where they shouldn't.

Ordinarily, she probably would have quite enjoyed the attention she was receiving from the man. But then, ordinarily she wouldn't be receiving any.

She couldn't quite countenance the overall amount of male attention she was receiving tonight. It was unusual for her.

Rather than the experience being enjoyable, however, it just highlighted to her that there was one man who didn't seem inclined at all to pay her attention. The man who had been brooding in the corner since she'd arrived, chatting to her cousin, and frankly, ignoring her.

How had it come to this?

Foolish though it was, Evelyn had spent a great many hours over the last couple of weeks imagining herself married to Lord Ashdon, raising a family with him, and generally living in loving, bucolic bliss on his estate.

Now, he stood across a room from her and didn't even acknowledge her existence.

Her righteous indignation was fading more and more. She was fast on the way to regretting her fury at his behaviour.

What if he were being truthful? What if he loved her and truly regretted his words?

She felt that the whole thing was hopeless. He hadn't come near her at all. It would seem that he'd decided to give up on her.

The pain was acute.

Evelyn listened with half an ear as the orchestra ended the quadrille and indicated, with a few bars, the beginning of a waltz.

It was an unusual quirk of their little village that the waltz, still extremely scandalous in most places outside Town, should be played at all.

But it was, at every event. Evelyn had never danced it because she'd never been asked.

And now, with Mr. Halsop her next partner bearing down on her, she found that she didn't want to dance it. It seemed too intimate, somehow, to be swept into the arms of a man for whom she felt nothing.

And even if she wasn't head over heels in love with Andrew Carlyle, Mr. Eugene Halsop wasn't the type of man to inspire feelings of any sort in her.

Evelyn's eyes darted to the door then back to the fast-approaching baron's son. She'd never make it on time, not without it looking entirely too obvious, and her aunt would have her head.

Perhaps she could claim fatigue or a sudden megrim.

As Evelyn was concocting a story in her head, Mr. Halsop's way was suddenly blocked by the giant figure of a man that could only be Andrew.

His back was to her, and he fully blocked her view of Mr. Halsop, so she couldn't even gauge what sort of conversation they were having as Andrew bent slightly to speak to the smaller man.

After a moment or two, Andrew turned to her with a triumphant and altogether arrogant smile, while Mr. Halsop scurried off like a frightened mouse.

Without a word, as the strains of the waltz began, Andrew bowed then swept Evelyn into his arms and took off across the dance floor.

The feeling of being in his arms was so wonderful that, for a moment, she was rendered entirely speechless and allowed herself to enjoy the dance.

But after a while, when the temptation to lean against his solid chest became very nearly overwhelming, Evelyn forced herself to lean back and look into his glinting, mossy eyes.

The look in his gaze as she made contact took her breath away. He was regarding her so tenderly, so intently. He looked — well... he looked like a man in love.

Her heart was hammering so loudly in her chest she was surprised the whole ballroom didn't hear it.

"Andrew," she whispered, not even sure what she wanted to say.

"Eve—" He spoke at the same time.

She laughed softly and nodded her head slightly, indicating that he should speak first.

"Eve," he repeated, and she watched as he swallowed hard, trying not to get distracted by the corded muscles in his throat.

It would be terribly inappropriate to reach up and run her tongue along it, wouldn't it?

"Eve," he spoke again, and she whipped her eyes back up to his own.

"Y-yes?" she said a little breathlessly, and his wolfish grin told her he knew where her thoughts had been.

"You look exquisite," he said simply, and she felt her cheeks flame with pleasure.

"Finally noticed, did you?" she quipped, still a little stung at his ignoring her.

But the way he was looking at her now, did, she had to admit, go some way toward mollifying her.

"Finally?" he asked, pulling her slightly closer. "I haven't been able to form a coherent thought since you walked through the doors."

Well, he certainly had a way with words.

Could she believe him? Could she throw caution to the wind and accept his proclamations of love? It was oh so tempting.

The doubt and fear that had held her heart in their vice-like grips thus far began to dissipate slightly. She felt the return of the giddy happiness she had felt with him in days past, and it made her want to throw caution to the wind and have some fun again.

"And yet you could form sufficient thoughts to have a conversation with my intended dance partner and scare him away," she quipped with a small smile.

His answering grin was one of pure devilment, and it made her heart race.

"A man who is so easily scared away isn't worthy of a dance with you, my love. Especially not a waltz."

Oh Lord, there he went calling her his love. She was fast falling under his spell yet again.

"So you admit that you scared him?"

"I admit nothing," he declared dramatically as he spun her round the outskirts of the dance floor.

"Come now, my lord. Let us have only honesty between us."

He narrowed his eyes at her as if assessing her character, and she couldn't help the laugh that drew the eyes of several surrounding people to them. But she didn't notice, and he didn't care.

"All right. I might have... suggested that he would prefer to sit this dance out."

He widened his eyes in a comical impression of innocence, and she laughed again, feeling lighter and freer than she had in a long, long time.

The waltz came to an end, but Evelyn was loath to remove herself from his arms.

Before she felt that she had to, however, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, making her shiver in wicked delight.

"Walk with me on the veranda?"

She didn't trust herself to speak, so she nodded her consent.

Without another word between them, Andrew held out his arm, and Evelyn grasped it tightly, not entirely trusting her legs. He made her feel such overwhelming emotions; she wouldn't be surprised if she collapsed into a heap at his feet.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Offering only the barest of smiles to people who tried to get their attention as they walked by, Andrew swept Evelyn out into the cool night air.

Their dance had been both torturous and rapturous, and even more so because he dared to hope that she might be thawing toward him.

If he could end this thing with her uncle and win back her trust at the same time, he'd be the happiest man in Christendom.

They moved toward the balustrade that bordered the small veranda outside the Assembly Rooms, and Andrew stood and drank her in as she looked out at the night sky.

It was a crisp, clear night, and the moonlight lent an air of magic to the evening.

Her hair looked lighter illuminated as it was. She looked ethereal and so beautiful he could have wept.

He was so in love with her it felt very close to being driven mad.

No wonder great poets before him had written epics about love and all it entailed. She would inspire such greatness in him had he the talent for writing as the Shakespeares of the world.

As it was, his skills lay more in physical acts, and he was more than willing to show her, by those means how he felt, though perhaps a balcony in the middle of winter in full view of almost the entire population of her village was a slightly inappropriate venue for such things.

The wind took up, and he was suddenly surrounded by the floral scent of her, and it was too much to bear.

He reached out and smoothed his thumb along her cheek, drawing her attention to him.

She gazed at him wide-eyed, and Andrew allowed himself to hope that he saw love shining in the dark, simmering depths of her eyes.

As though they were two puppets being controlled by forces outside themselves, they moved toward each other, and their lips fused, making Andrew feel as though his heart had come home.

But, once again, logic would rear its unwelcome head.

Much as he could spend the rest of his days standing here with her soft lips pressed against his own, there were important matters that needed to be dealt with before they could move on with their lives.

Reluctantly breaking their kiss, Andrew kept hold of Evelyn's shoulders and spoke in a low, urgent voice.

"Eve, listen carefully to me. I found the evidence you were looking for in a hidden safe in your uncle's study."

He watched as the blood drained from her face, and he wished, not for the first time, that he could just pick her up and run away from all of this. Take her to his home and keep her safe.

But that wouldn't do. She needed to see justice for her father, for her own sake. Besides, she was entitled to her money, and he would see that she got it.

He would never want her left helpless, devoid of any choice in how her life was to turn out.

If she consented to be his wife, he wanted it to be because she wanted it as much as he, not because she was backed into a corner.

"They are exactly as you said. Everything pertaining to your uncle's hiring a mystery brute to murder your father, right down to his solicitor's bribery."

She looked completely shocked, and he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze of support.

"You did it, my love. You will finally be able to bring Spencer to justice."

She was so silent and so still that Andrew began to worry she was having some sort of episode.

But in the next moment, her eyes filled with tears, and a huge smile lit up her face.

"Oh, Andrew," she said, launching herself into his arms, "We did it. You and I."

Andrew wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet, burying his face in her rose-scented curls.

He set her on her feet and captured her mouth in a brief, hard kiss.

"Soon it will all be over," he said. "Soon, you'll have what you've always wanted; revenge for your father's murder and enough money to move away from here and go wherever you want."

He watched her face closely and was heartened by the shock then disappointment that flickered across her features. Could it be that she had really forgiven him? Could it be that she wanted him to keep her with him?

"Y-yes, it will be wonderful, I'm sure," she said a little stiffly, her smile starting to look strained.

Andrew had wanted to wait until this whole sordid matter was sorted out once and for all, but he couldn't bare the idea of hurting her, if indeed the thought of not being with him did hurt her.

"Eve — I know you have a lot on your mind right now, and I certainly know that this is neither the time nor the place but... well... I wanted to ask you—"

"Evelyn, there you are. Mama is having an apoplexy about you disappearing and bringing hellfire raining down on the house of Spencer or something to that effect. I think she's been at the punch."

Anna's dramatic declaration interrupted him, which was probably just as well. It would have been madness to ask for Evelyn's hand in the midst of all this chaos.

There would be plenty of time to do so after things had been resolved.

"I'd better go in." Eve smiled at him ruefully.

He smiled back and couldn't resist smoothing a golden curl back from her brow.

Anna's cough was about as subtle as a carriage barrelling through St. James's.

Eve turned to go, but Andrew gripped her elbow and bent to whisper discreetly in her ear.

"Sweetheart, with your permission, I want to take the papers to my — I mean, to an organisation in Town. One much better equipped to deal with such matters than a country magistrate. If I leave immediately, I shall be back by tomorrow with all the help we need."

Evelyn frowned, looking terribly anxious, and Andrew's heart sank at the thought that perhaps she didn't trust him.

But her next words sent it soaring into the boughs. "Andrew, no. I do not want you travelling alone so late at night. And if my uncle discovers the papers are gone, and that you have left at the same time..."

She hesitated then reached out and clasped his hand in her significantly smaller one.

"I do not want anything to happen to you, especially on my account."

Anna began to sound as though she were coughing up a lung.

"I'm coming, Anna," Eve snapped impatiently.

In response, Anna huffed, muffled something about obstinate little cousins, then turned on her heel and stomped back inside.

Andrew barely paid any heed. "Don't worry about me, my love. I have been in much trickier situations than this."

She looked about to question him, but time was of the essence, and he was far too tempted to blurt out the truth of his job as it was.

So, without giving her further opportunity to argue, he kissed her soundly once again then turned to leave.

He stopped at the door to the ballroom and turned to offer her a reassuring wink.

"I will return tomorrow, sweetheart. And then we can put all this behind us and start planning a future free from your wicked uncle."

Her smile was enough to lighten even the darkest of days, and Andrew carried that image with him as he made his excuses and raced back to the Park to get ready for his immediate departure.

It was folly, indeed, to travel at this time of night, and Andrew knew it.

As he waited for Beast to be rubbed down and re-saddled after his ride back from the Assembly Rooms, he thought only of the positives: the sooner this was over and done with and Spencer handed over to the authorities, the sooner he could marry Eve and start a life with her.

Really, he probably could have gone straight on to London, but Andrew wanted to make sure his horse was well rested before a ride through the darkness.

He felt a sharp pang of guilt for what would befall Jonathan and Anna when they found out about their father's duplicity, but he vowed to do everything in his not insignificant power to ensure that they suffered but little for their father's actions.

The quick note he'd penned to Jonathan included an explanation of events, along with a heartfelt apology that he hadn't waited to tell his partner all of this in person. But there would be plenty of time to sit down and discuss the ins and outs when he returned.

Besides which, it wasn't really his story to tell, and he hoped that once Jon read the note, he would go to Eve, who would fill in the blanks.

Andrew had no doubt that as shocking as it would be for Jonathan, his best friend would do right by Evelyn and wouldn't allow anything bad to befall her while he was away.

It was a colossal relief to be so close to bringing the matter to a conclusion, and Andrew was riding high on a wave of euphoria at the thought of the future that now lay before him.

Which was probably why he was distracted enough not to notice that he had company in the stable yard until it was too late.

The distinctive click of a pistol being cocked froze Andrew to the spot.

"Good evening, my lord."

The sound of Peter Grant's cold, nasally voice raised Andrew's hackles. He'd always hated the man, always known that he would have uncovered something sinister had he been given more time to dig deeper.

And, of course, he'd known Grant was in this up to his neck from the conversations he'd heard and the behaviour he'd seen. He just didn't know how or why.

"Will you please turn around? I'd hate to shoot a man in the back. 'Tis cowardly, you know."

Andrew gritted his teeth.

He could easily disarm the man; in fact, he would take great pleasure in doing so. But for now he wanted to play along and see if he could make sense of this.

Andrew turned slowly and faced Grant, who was holding the pistol steadily aimed directly at Andrew's heart.

"Is there a particular reason you want to shoot me this evening?" he enquired politely.

"Oh, several," sneered Grant, "but as long as you comply with my wishes, I shall be lenient. I might even let you live."

Andrew's ego was itching to plant the man a facer. Let him live, indeed. But he'd learned long ago that these sorts of games were won with patience and keeping one's cool.

"And what wishes might they be?" he asked, his tone still casual, his mind working frantically.

The stable boy was bound to appear with Midnight soon. Surely Grant wasn't stupid enough to continue this in front of possible witnesses.

"Why don't we continue this somewhere less open?" Grant smiled, as though he were suggesting a drink at White's.

So, he wasn't stupid after all. But then, Andrew had known that.

Grant indicated with a wave of his pistol that Andrew should precede him toward the house.

Andrew began to walk, starting to regret his insistence that Jonathan stay behind at the ball while he slipped back to the house.

He had been over-anxious to get the matter brought to a close and had felt too guilty at keeping Jonathan in the dark to want to spend any more time with him. He wished now he'd just thought "sod it" and let Jon come along.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Andrew pressed now, making his way toward the house as slowly as he could.

"Of course. This is about you interfering where you really shouldn't, my lord. I should have thought you'd learned that from previous examples."

Andrew momentarily wondered what he meant, but, rather than allow himself to be distracted, he kept focused on the matter at hand.

"What have I interfered in?"

"Really, my lord? Are we going to play this game?"

Andrew had had enough of pandering to him.

They'd reached the house now and had stepped into the conservatory at the back.

The house was silent and still; no doubt the staff were taking advantage of the family being gone for the night and had made themselves scarce.

Of course, someone would come if Andrew called, but he wasn't yet sure what this was about and had no intention of alerting anybody to the situation until he got the information he wanted.

He stopped moving and turned once again to face the other man.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Grant, but I'm growing tired of this," he warned, his voice like steel.

"All right then, let us be frank," the other man said, his gun still trained on Andrew's chest. "The papers that you stole from Spencer's study, I want them back."

Grant's demand proved to Andrew that what he thought about the other man was true: Grant was a small fish who swam in ponds he wasn't equipped for. Andrew never would have owned so soon. Now he knew exactly what Grant wanted, before the other man had even ascertained whether Andrew had them or not! He had no cards left to play with. He'd shown his hand.

"Papers?" Andrew asked with feigned innocence. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mr. Grant narrowed his eyes then smiled an icy smile.

"I had hoped you would be cooperative, my lord."

"And why should I be?"

"Well, it's very simple. You hand over the papers, or I instruct my men to carry out the plan to gain us some leverage."

Andrew frowned. What the hell was he talking about?

"I can see by your expression that you've been underestimating me." Grant flicked a piece of lint from his jacket before continuing to speak. "I really wish people wouldn't do that. It annoys me so."

Andrew's instincts told him that something was wrong, very wrong.

"Why don't you speak plainly, Grant? What exactly do you want? And what exactly are you talking about?"

Grant released a dramatic sigh.

"What I want exactly are those papers."

There was no longer any point in feigning ignorance, not if he wanted to know what Grant had planned.

"You seem inordinately protective of your father-in-law's affairs. How touching." Andrew's tone dripped with sarcasm.

"I don't give a damn about the old blighter's affairs." Grant laughed. "I have Anna, which is all I've ever wanted from him."

"Why so keen to help him then?"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured that out, Ashdon. Aren't you supposed to be impressively intelligent?"

Andrew's mind was working at a rapid pace, piecing together hundreds of little pieces of information and, suddenly, he knew.

His heart sank as he realised just what type of person he was dealing with here, and he'd left Eve alone. Granted, she was with her family, and Jonathan would never let any harm come to her but then, he didn't know she might be in danger.

Think, Andrew, he instructed himself, all the while ensuring that his mask of indifference didn't change.

"You know..." He kept his tone casual as they remained standing in the cold conservatory, facing each other, though his heart was hammering with the speed of a runaway carriage. "...I never did quite understand how you came from such —ah — humble beginnings to a lofty place in society and more money than Croesus."

As Andrew had hoped, his subtle reference to Grant's dubious beginnings angered the man if the sudden ticking at his temple and clenching of his jaw was anything to go by.

"I mean," he continued, pressing his advantage, "your parents were nobodies really, weren't they? Me, being the son of a Peer, I knew that I would be welcomed by the ton. But you? No, you somehow clawed your way in, didn't you?"

Grant's dull blue eyes were snapping. Andrew was definitely taking a risk. If the man was as bad as Andrew suspected he was, he was either completely unhinged or evil, neither of which was a good option for a man holding a gun.

"How right you are, Ashdon. Not all of us were born to privilege. Some of us had to earn our place."

"And you did that by helping influential gentlemen to conceal their dirty work? I almost expected more from you, Grant. For a while there, I had thought you a noteworthy adversary."

Grant's hand flexed on the gun, but Andrew wasn't afraid. He'd never feared death before. But then, he'd never had someone he wanted so much to live for before Eve. But old habits died hard, and Andrew would not be cowed by the idea of death.

"Again you underestimate me," Grant spat, and that madness Andrew feared began to rear its head. The man's eyes were crazed, and his breathing became laboured as he appeared to struggle to hold on to his control. "Do you really think I made what I did of myself by helping the fat cats of the ton to conceal a few bad debts or blackmail attempts?"

Andrew had started inching ever so slowly toward the door. He needed to get away from Grant and get to Evelyn.

He'd known Grant was involved. He'd just had no idea how much.

"I made my money by getting my hands dirty, my lord," he spat the title like an insult. "Who do you think that damned fool Spencer got to kill his brother in the first place?"

Andrew's fists clenched as he imagined the pain and suffering his beautiful Eve had experienced because of this man and his crazed need to be someone important.

"Are you saying you killed Evelyn's father?" he asked quietly, working harder than ever before to keep his tone neutral.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." The other man grinned. "And that's not all, Ashdon. You have no idea how far my reach goes, how much I'm capable of now that I have a little power."

It appeared that this was to be a confession of all of Grant's crimes.

"I was right. All those years ago, when I suspected you of selling information to the French? When I suspected you of betraying your own country. Wasn't I?"

Grant shrugged nonchalantly.

Andrew could have throttled him.

His mind suddenly flew to Jonathan, to his friend's face as the mysterious gunman had taken aim and fired at Gabrielle. His scream as her body slumped to the cold, wet ground. They'd never quite been able to figure out who it could have been. Was it possible? Had it been Jonathan's own brother-in-law?

"Good God, man. What is the matter with you?" he bit out.

"Nothing that clearing up loose ends won't fix," Grant answered laughingly. That laugh was one of the most chilling Andrew had ever heard. "But I grow tired of all of this. You'll give me those letters, and I'll get rid of you, and everything will go back to normal."

It was Andrew's turn to laugh.

"You really think I'll just hand them over and let you kill me? You're more insane than I thought."

"Not insane, Ashdon. Just an excellent planner. The way I see it, you have two choices. Give me the letters and accept your fate, or watch while the men I have hired to follow your precious Evelyn squeeze the life from her. All it will take, Ashdon, is one word from me."

Andrew had never felt anything like the cold snake of fear that coiled around his lungs, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

"So, what's it to be?"

Think, Andrew, he told himself frantically again.

"Fine. You win," he said, after forming a hasty and probably not-very-well-thought-out plan in his head. "I have the papers but not here. I can take you to them, but she is not to be touched. You are to send no messages for her to be harmed."

Peter scoffed at Andrew's demand.

"You're a fool, Ashdon. To throw away your life for the sake of an insignificant chit."

"Do we have a deal or not?" Andrew snapped.

"We do." Grant smiled, but it was as evil a smile as Andrew had ever seen. "Frankly, I have no desire to hurt Miss Spencer. The fallout will be so frightfully dull, Anna wailing and Jonathan hell bent on revenge." He yawned. "So tiresome, you understand. Plus, I've never been a fan of mourning periods, and I would detest having to keep up appearances for such a little nobody."

The fiery rage that swept over Andrew nearly had him reaching for Grant and throttling him. But he wanted the man away from Spencer Park, away from wherever Eve was. If he could manage to convince the madman that he'd gotten the papers to London, then he might just be able to convince him to travel all the way there.

It wouldn't take long for word to spread to headquarters that Andrew had returned to Town, and they'd seek him out immediately. Grant would be captured before he'd ever be able to send a message for Eve to be harmed.

And once Andrew knew the danger of her being captured had passed, he'd be able to take his time showing Grant just what happened to people who threatened the woman he loved.

So, with a smile of his own, he turned and led the way to Grant's carriage to begin the journey.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Evelyn was growing more agitated by the second, but Anna and her aunt weren't showing any signs of slowing down.

She wanted to get back to the house so she could fret about Andrew in peace.

Jonathan had offered to dance with her, but she'd refused. Just like she'd refused refreshments, offers of walks, and all attempts at conversation.

Truth be told, she was rather glad that her aunt and Anna were so distracted. She wasn't in the mood to act as though everything were all right.

Right now Andrew was probably on his way to London, and this whole thing would be over.

Her guilt reared its head once more as she thought of the fallout for her beloved cousins. No doubt, they would be shocked and upset. But would they also feel utterly betrayed by Evelyn's silence?

Evelyn scanned the ballroom and was momentarily distracted by the arrival of the incredibly tall, incredibly handsome Captain Townsend. He'd arrived after all. Anna would, no doubt, be pleased.

She scanned the room again, trying to pick out Anna so she could inform her cousin that he'd arrived. But it wasn't necessary, she soon discovered, as she watched Anna, who had always been on the tall side and, therefore, stood out from the crowd, spy Captain Townsend across the room at the same time as the captain spotted her.

Evelyn's breath caught at the look that passed between the two. It almost made her blush, as though she were watching something intimate between them that nobody else should be privy to.

They moved toward each other, and Evelyn knew, without a doubt, that Anna would be occupied for the rest of the evening and would not be bothering with Evelyn for some time.

Jonathan had disappeared into the card room, following Uncle Geoffrey's example, and Aunt Millicent could barely be seen past the feathers and turbans of her cronies, who had all settled in to pick at the passing crowd like vultures over a carcass.

She was quite alone.

Evelyn stood a little straighter. She was alone!

Nobody was watching. Nobody really cared a jot right then what she was doing. She could sneak out and get back to Andrew, try to convince him not to do anything dangerous. Or at least offer to go with him.

It was scandalous, of course, to offer to ride alone with a gentleman. But she loved him and believed that he loved her, and she didn't really care what people thought of it.

With her mind made up, Evelyn went to collect her cloak, trying not to draw attention to herself.

Once outside, a footman offered to call for the carriage, but Evelyn stopped him with some convoluted tale of waiting for her cousin first.

His smirk made her uncomfortable; he obviously had his own opinion on what she was up to. Odious man.

But she couldn't take the carriage and leave her family stranded.

Evelyn huffed out an impatient breath and looked around, hoping for some inspiration.

The nicker of a nearby horse drew her attention, and she crept round to where the noise had come from.

Midnight! Of course, Jonathan had ridden the horse earlier when the vicar's wife had demanded his services.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, Evelyn closed her eyes and kissed goodbye her reputation before hitching the satin skirts of her gown up around her thighs and hefting herself onto the horse's back.

The saddle gave her no choice but to ride astride, and, frankly, she preferred to ride this way, in any case.

Hopefully, there would be nobody about at this time to witness her disgrace.

As silently as she could, she whispered to Midnight, assuring the horse that it was she and not some stranger who had clambered inelegantly onto his back.

Clicking her heel against his flank, she set off at a steady trot before she reached the main road toward the estate and set the horse to a faster pace. Galloping was out of the question, given the darkness of the night, but hopefully she wouldn't be too far behind Andrew.

Evelyn arrived at the stables, furious with herself for her cowardly thoughts throughout the journey.

The whole ride home she'd convinced herself that she wasn't alone on the road, that someone had been following behind her. Which was ridiculous, of course, and she didn't like feeling like a silly little miss.

But she hadn't been able to shake the feeling that someone was watching her, and it was with great relief that she entered the familiar surroundings of the stable.

Bringing Midnight to a stop, she watched as Robert, the stable lad came rushing over, a lantern dancing in his hand.

His face was a picture of concern.

"Don't worry, Robert. I'm perfectly safe, as is the rest of the family."

He still looked stricken and opened his mouth to speak, but Evelyn quickly cut across him.

"I know it is a little unorthodox for me to have turned up like this but, well... the least my family know of it the better and really—"

"Miss," Robert's voice interrupted Evelyn, and the urgency in his tone sent ice water through her veins.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, not moving from the horse's back.

"It's Lord Ashdon, Miss. He — well... Mr. Grant. That is to say, there was a gun and—"

Evelyn's heart stopped beating then kicked back in, racing loudly.

"What do you mean? Has he been hurt? Lord Ashdon?"

"Not as yet, ma'am. But, well... it could be a matter of time. After what I saw, well... heard really—"

Robert was fast becoming incoherent, and Evelyn wanted to throttle him, but if he were dead, she'd have even less information.

"Why don't you tell me what happened, from the start. And—"she continued as he went to rush into another, no doubt, garbled speech. "—take your time please."

Robert thankfully heeded her, and Evelyn listened with ever-dawning horror to his tale.

According to Robert, he'd been coming round the side of the stable, having readied Beast for Lord Ashdon's journey, when he'd seen Mr. Grant sneak up behind the other man, pistol raised toward him.

The clever lad, rather than alert them to his presence, had listened closely to their conversation and then followed them to the conservatory.

He'd been about to raise the alarm when Evelyn had come thundering into the stable.

"When did they leave?" she demanded, her stomach turning with fear for Andrew.

"Not above fifteen minutes ago, Miss," said Robert. "Shall I go and raise the alarm now, Miss?"

"I-I'm not sure." Evelyn's mind was whirling, and Midnight was prancing around beneath her, sensing her mood.

The most sensible thing to do would be to send Robert to the village to get Jonathan and anyone else who could help, but that would waste valuable time.

Without another moment to doubt herself, Evelyn turned Midnight around and faced the woods.

If they were in a carriage, they would be a lot slower than Jon's prize stallion.

Evelyn took a deep, steadying breath, making up her mind.

It would appear that her highway robber was about to make one final appearance.

Turning her head to Robert, she spoke swiftly whilst reaching down and plucking the lantern from his grasp.

"Time is of the essence," she said a little breathlessly, anxious to go. "You must go to the village and tell my cousin Mr. Spencer to come at once. Tell him everything you told me."

"Of course, ma'am," Robert said, "but where are you going?"

"I'm going to rescue Lord Ashdon," she called and, without another word, set off into the distance, lantern in hand and prayers for Andrew's safety in her heart.

Andrew couldn't quite believe the depths to which Peter Grant had sunk on his journey to wealth and respectability.

It seemed that since Grant had decided that Andrew was no longer a threat, since he intended to kill him, he had no desire to keep his dastardly past to himself.

For the last few minutes, he had taken great delight in regaling Andrew with tales of acts he'd committed for a hefty price until he'd built his way up to hiring ruffians to do the dirty work and had begun trading in state secrets rather than acts of violence for a price.

Andrew offered not a single comment or reaction. He wouldn't feed Grant's ego by appearing even remotely interested.

And obviously he wasn't about to let the man kill him. But he wouldn't make any sort of move until there was a goodly distance between this carriage and Eve.

As long as she was nowhere near, he would—

"Stand and deliver."

Andrew's heart damn near stopped beating at the commanding, recognisable, female voice that suddenly sounded in the still night.

"What in the blazes?" shouted Grant as the carriage came to an abrupt stop.

He would kill her himself, Andrew thought furiously as Grant kicked the door open, his temper roused, and preceded Andrew out of the carriage.

Andrew stepped out in time to see the coachman scrambling from the seat of the carriage and moving to the side. It was so similar to the first time she'd robbed him that he almost laughed. Almost.

"Miss Spencer, what a pleasant surprise."

Andrew's blood ran cold at Grant's welcome. The whole bloody reason he'd not disarmed the man from the start was so he could get him away from Eve, and here she was, ruining it all.

He stepped around from behind Grant and saw her fully.

If the situation weren't so dire, Andrew would have burst out laughing.

There she sat, regal as a queen, the satin of her gown the height of fashion, her jewels sparkling in the white moonlight.

It would have been an extremely fetching sight if she weren't sitting astride with far too much of her legs on show for Andrew's liking. He wanted to be the only one seeing that much of her body.

Her cloak was folded in front of her, concealing what he assumed was the same pistol she'd used for her last run of hold-ups.

"I wish I could say the feeling was mutual," she responded coolly to Grant's welcome, and Andrew, much as he was furious with her, couldn't help but respect her gumption.

Of course, he wouldn't let her know that he admired her even an iota. When she looked in his direction, he made sure to communicate his fury with his facial expressions as well as his words.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he barked.

Her jaw dropped open in surprise before she frowned in that way that he recognised as her fast losing her temper.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she snapped. "I'm rescuing you."

Andrew threw his eyes to heaven and prayed for patience before speaking again, trying to keep his tone even.

"You shouldn't be here, Eve. Turn the horse around and go home before you get hurt."

"Before I get hurt?" she scoffed. "From where I'm sitting, it looks as though only one of us has been abducted by this mad man. And it wasn't me."

"Now, now, there's no call for animosity, is there? I am a relative, after all," Grant cut in.

"Only until you hang for what you did to my father," she answered sweetly, "then you'll be my dead relative."

Andrew couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped at her words.

God, he loved her. He could strangle her right now, but he loved her.

Grant didn't seem to find her words amusing, however.

After stepping back, he pressed the gun against Andrew's temple.

Evelyn gasped and stared in horror at Andrew, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

He gave as imperceptive a shake of his head as he could, to indicate that she shouldn't cry, shouldn't worry.

"I suggest you get out of the way, Evelyn," Grant snarled. "The only reason there isn't already a bullet in your head is because your viscount here traded his life for yours. Don't make me regret my agreement to his suggestion."

"Andrew, you didn't," she whimpered, and Andrew's gut clenched.

How he hated seeing her so upset, so frightened.

He smiled at her, trying to reassure her.

"Of course I did, my love," he said softly, and her answering smile, tearful though it was, was worth a hundred guns to his head.

"This is all very touching," Grant drawled, "but we really do have to be going. So kindly get out of the way, or I'll have to put a bullet in him."

"Not if I put one in you first," Evelyn retorted.

There was a moment or two of tense silence before Andrew decided this had gone on long enough.

With one swift movement, he turned and grabbed Grant's wrist. He pressed it back until the other man cried out with pain and dropped the pistol.

Both men dived for the gun. Grant got there first but Andrew gained purchase on the ground quicker. He flipped Grant onto his front and punched him with all his might.

Pain exploded through Andrew's hand, but he ignored it and grabbed the pistol.

Andrew jumped to his feet and trained the weapon on Grant, who lay still but looked positively murderous.

"Eve, my love, are you all right?" he called, not taking his eyes from Grant.

When she didn't answer, he turned to see what the problem was, and, not for the first time that night, his heart stopped in fright.

Apparently, Grant hadn't been lying when he'd said that he'd had some henchmen watching Eve, for she stood with one on either side of her, holding an arm each.

His jaw clenched in fury as he watched her struggle, her screams silenced by the hand of one of them covering her mouth.

There would be nothing for it now.

He'd have to hand over the letters and hope that Grant had meant it when he'd said killing Eve would be more trouble than it was worth.

She'd never forgive him, but at least she'd be alive.

Releasing an oath of frustration. Andrew stood back and lowered the pistol.

It was over.

Evelyn's eyes filled with frustrated tears as she watched Andrew.

She saw the moment he decided to give up, and it crushed her.

He would hand over the papers now, and it would be all her fault.

The entire ride here, she'd swung between worry for Andrew and fury that Peter Grant had been the one to kill her father.

It was nearly impossible to comprehend.

And now she was going to have to watch him walk away, never having to be held responsible for his crimes.

If she could just get away from this pair of oafs, Andrew wouldn't feel so concerned for her.

Then, as Grant stood back on his feet and grabbed the pistol with a triumphant smile, inspiration struck.

Evelyn said a swift prayer that her plan would work before closing her eyes and letting her body go limp.

"Bloody 'ell. She's fainted," one of the brainless ruffians exclaimed.

As one, they let go of her, and she dropped with a painful thud to the ground.

"What are you doing, you idiots?" she heard Mr. Grant snarl.

She risked a quick opening of her eyes and saw that her captors were solely focused on Mr. Grant and he on them.

Taking a gulp of air for courage, Evelyn sprang to her feet and ran as fast as she could toward the trees.

She heard the commotion behind her — the shouts, the curses. Then, the unmistakeable, terrifying sound of a gunshot.

Evelyn froze, waiting for the searing pain. But nothing came.

Whirling round in confusion, she felt the whole world slow to a horrifying, devastating stop.

Andrew stood before her, looking straight at her. And for a moment, she couldn't understand what had happened.

But as she watched, the colour drained from his face, and his eyes, his beautiful, full-of-life eyes, grew dead and glazed over before, with a sickening crash, his body fell to the ground.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Evelyn heard a blood-curdling scream followed by a piteous moan, but she didn't realise that the sounds were coming from her.

"Andrew. No. No, Andrew, please. Please, please wake up. Please."

She was rambling as she ran toward him and dropped to her knees at his limp body.

She had no idea where he'd been shot or if he was breathing, and she couldn't gather her thoughts enough to check.

Her teeth were chattering, and, on some level, she knew she must be in shock.

This is all my fault. All my fault. All my fault.

The words played over and over again in her mind as she ran shaking fingers over his face, his hair, his chest.

Her hands stopped as she felt a faint but steady beat in his chest, and she wept in earnest with relief. He was alive.

But he was still in danger. Mortal danger.

She needed to get help, but, before any of that, she needed to make sure that Peter didn't finish the job.

Reaching inside his coat, she rummaged around until she found the letters.

Leaning down to his ear, she whispered quickly as Mr. Grant and his cronies approached.

"I'm sorry, my darling. I will be back, I promise. I love you."

Pressing a kiss against his brow, she stood and faced her cousin's husband, her father's murderer.

Raising her hand high enough for him to see that she clasped the letters, she turned and darted into the trees.

Her slippers were torn to shreds, the branches of what felt like thousands of trees scraping her skin and snagging her hair, but on she ran.

She could hear the pounding footsteps of her pursuers, growing ever closer. The cacophony of gunshots tearing through the air as they took aim after aim at her.

They were gaining on her, and it wouldn't be long before they caught up, she was sure.

But if she led them on a chase long enough for Robert to bring Jonathan back from the village, he would aid Andrew, and right then, that was all she cared about.

Her lungs were burning, her chest heaving, and her eyes watered as the wind whipped up a frenzy around her.

Just as she began to slow and thus give up hope, she spotted a glimmer in the trees ahead of her.

Without coherent thought, she ran toward it.

Behind her came the sound of a pistol being cocked once more, and Evelyn thought this was it.

She would never see Andrew again. Never know if he would be all right, if he would live.

She closed her eyes in anticipation of a shot but instead, felt a pair of strong hands grasp her shoulders and pull her to the side.

Looking up, she caught a quick glimpse of Jonathan, looking for all the world like an avenging angel before he thrust her away from him and strode forward to block Mr. Grant's path.

Grant fairly skidded to a halt.

"J-Jonathan," he stuttered, "thank goodness you are here. Your cousin seems to have run quite mad. She shot Lord Ashdon, and I—"

"It's over, Grant." Jonathan cut across the other man's desperate ramblings, his tone brooking no argument.

"But, but—"

"But nothing," Jonathan bit out. "Both you and my father will pay for this for a very long time. I will personally see to it."

Jonathan turned toward Mr. Carter, who was standing by with a group of villagers, holding various weapons, all trained on Mr. Grant and the two men who had pursued her.

Evelyn should have felt some sort of satisfaction seeing Grant tied up and carted off, but all she cared about was Andrew lying alone and bleeding in the woods.

"Jonathan, Jonathan, quickly. It's Andrew. He's been shot."

Her words were like a match to a firework.

As soon as she'd spoken, Jonathon took off, crashing through the woods, shouting instructions at men as he went.

Evelyn raced behind him, determined to be there to help in any way she could. If only she'd had a real weapon under her cloak, instead of bluffing. She might have saved him somehow.

They reached Andrew, still lying prone on the forest floor, and Evelyn went to run to him.

But there was such chaos, so many people, that she couldn't get near.

Jonathan seemed to be working on Andrew's injury, still calling instructions as he went, and Evelyn could do nothing but slink into the background and cry and pray with all her might that the man she loved would once again open his eyes.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The day dawned bright and cold, and with it came the first frost of the year.

Evelyn took a moment to enjoy the simple beauty of pure, untouched snow. It seemed to herald a new beginning. Something they all desperately needed. Things at the house had been more than a little strained for the past few weeks.

Jonathan had been a Godsend and had taken over the running of the estate with aplomb. He and Evelyn had had a very frank discussion about what exactly her uncle had done.

There was some money left in her trust, but not, he'd admitted, a lot.

Jonathan's plan had been to sell the estate and use the proceeds to restore Evelyn's trust fund, but Evelyn refused point-blank to allow him to do so.

This had been her home, she reminded him, though at times not a happy one. More than that, it was his and Anna's home too, and now that Anna was a widow, since hearing that Mr. Grant had taken his own life rather than spend the remainder of it in Newgate, she desperately needed to be with her family. She needed to be somewhere familiar and comforting. Lord knew, if news of Grant's suicide broke, she would need all the comfort she could get.

Aunt Millicent had taken to her rooms and wouldn't come out for God nor man, admitting visitors sporadically and spending most of her time wailing and bemoaning her lot in life.

Much as Evelyn felt nothing but mild irritation for her aunt, she had no desire to take the woman's house.

Finally, she and Jonathan had settled things. So long as she could still call Spencer Park her home, she didn't want to actually own any part of it, and, though her trust would no longer be enough to live comfortably on, it was more than a lot of people had, and she would be grateful for it.

Every day things were becoming less awkward between them all, and Evelyn was confident that, in time, she and her cousins would be able to move on from the past and enjoy their lives again.

Evelyn dressed quickly, not bothering to wait for Molly, and rushed out the door and down the corridor to a room that was becoming as familiar to her as her own.

Knocking softly, she waited for permission to enter before darting into the room.

She grinned widely at the sight that met her.

Andrew was not only awake, but he was sitting up and looking adorably grumpy.

"Good morning," Evelyn greeted him, coming forward to take her usual chair.

For the past three weeks, she had sat in this exact chair from sun up until sun down, only coming downstairs for meals and, in the first few days, to give various statements to the mysterious friends of Andrew and Jonathan who had arrived the day after Andrew had been shot.

These were presumably the friends that Andrew had been on his way to see, but whenever she questioned Jonathan about them, he fobbed her off, and, for the first couple of weeks, Andrew hadn't been well enough to ask him anything.

Evelyn still got panicky when she thought of how injured he'd been.

The bullet that had pierced his skin, just under his right rib, had stayed buried in his body, and it had taken all the skills that the local surgeon possessed to remove it safely.

Then there'd been the fever which had followed, the delirium, the scorching temperature, the cold sweats.

Evelyn hadn't slept a wink in those first few days.

Mercifully though, his temperature had finally broken, and, since then, every day he'd been growing a little stronger.

She ran her eyes over his face, his torso, trying as she always did to remain detached as she took in the bulging muscles of his arms, the whipcord, sinewy muscles of his chest and abdomen.

He'd insisted on having his chest bare and the coverlet pulled down, claiming that it aggravated his wound to be otherwise. But Evelyn suspected that he just enjoyed her discomfort and confusion when she saw him thus.

"Is it a good morning?" he answered now, holding out a hand and pulling her toward him. "I wouldn't know since I'm cooped up here, yet again."

Evelyn sighed as she pushed an errant black-as-night lock back from his brow.

"You really are a dreadful patient," she said, not for the first time. "Hasn't Doctor Carver told you that you will be up and about soon? But you mustn't rush it."

"It's driving me mad, my love. What I wouldn't give to be able to drag you into my arms and show you how much I miss being alone with you."

Evelyn's cheeks heated at his words, but she remained piously in control of herself.

"We are alone now, are we not?"

"Yes, we are. And every time I get the urge to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you, we get bloody well interrupted."

Evelyn grinned at his petulant tone.

"Such is the fate of a man who knocked upon death's door."

"Well, if that is the case, then I am more than happy with my decision to never do anything remotely dangerous again."

Evelyn raised a brow. Her heart soared to hear his words, but she couldn't be sure he meant them.

"Truly? You will no longer travel around Europe with Jonathan, getting into those scrapes you refuse to give details about?"

Andrew gave her a curious look.

"Well, of course not. Obviously."

"Obviously?" she repeated.

He frowned at her before answering, his words slow and careful as though he were gauging her reaction.

"I did not think my wife would appreciate me leaving her alone whilst I hightailed it to Europe every few weeks," he said quietly. "Besides, I would have absolutely no desire to leave her."

Evelyn's heart was pounding erratically, but she dared not hope that his words meant what she thought they meant.

Striving to make light of the situation, lest she was completely misinterpreting the conversation, she laughed softly before responding.

"I had no idea you had a wife, Andrew."

He looked totally perplexed for a moment before that slow, delicious smile of his made an appearance.

"Well, I don't, as it happens. Not yet in any case."

"Oh?" was all she could manage.

"I do plan on having one soon, of course," he continued. "It's only just dawned on me that whilst I've been making grand plans in my head, I haven't actually asked her yet."

Evelyn had to swallow past the lump in her throat before she felt she could answer.

"Then you do have someone in mind for the position?" she asked, her voice squeaking.

Andrew noticed it too, for his grin widened.

"I haven't heard that squeak in your voice since you robbed me, my darling," he said softly.

He reached out a hand and pulled her from her chair to sit on the bed beside him.

His warm body was pressed against her side, and Evelyn felt she could actually perish from wanting him.

If he didn't hurry, she'd end up proposing herself.

"I never actually robbed you," she argued. "I took nothing belonging to you."

"Oh, but you did, my love. You took my heart and my soul, every last bit of them."

Evelyn felt her eyes fill with tears at his wonderful words.

"I love you so much, Eve."

"I love you too," she whispered.

"You will marry me, won't you?" he asked, softly reaching up and cupping her neck, then slowly pulling her head down toward his own.

"I thought you'd never ask." She sighed before her lips finally met his.

Andrew had been right in that, as soon as he kissed her, a maid came bustling into the room with a breakfast tray.

One look at the occupants, however, had her scurrying back downstairs, and the savvy housekeeper gave word that the viscount wasn't to be disturbed again until he called for someone.

He didn't call for anyone, of course. He had everything he'd ever needed right there in his arms.

#  EPILOGUE

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, I hate these things," Andrew grumbled as he nursed a tumbler of brandy and scowled at the dancers swirling by him.

"Even when it's in your honour?" Jonathan quipped.

"Especially then," Andrew retorted. "I should have known my mother would find a way to punish us for having a quiet wedding."

It was six months since his marriage to Eve, and it had been the most glorious of his life.

They had been married at Spencer Park as soon as Andrew had been well enough to stand for the entirety of the vows.

It wouldn't have been right to have an elaborate celebration with everything that had gone on and with Anna in mourning. But Evelyn wouldn't have been happy to get married without Anna present, and Andrew sure as hell wouldn't have been happy to wait.

So the compromise was that they exchanged their vows with only Anna and Jonathan there, and it had been perfect.

This wedding celebration was his mother's doing. Evelyn had felt unable to refuse since the countess had gone into hysterics about missing her son's wedding and made Eve feel guilty for no reason.

Andrew had hoped to convince his mother of the impropriety of not waiting for the full twelve months of mourning, but when news broke of Peter Grant's sins, all bets were off, and his mother approached the party with gusto.

He watched Eve now and felt his mood improving and his expression softening into a smile. She was still the most beautiful woman in any room.

Everyone was flocking toward her, dying for an audience with the new viscountess.

Thankfully, they'd all managed to keep the circumstances of Mr. Grant's demise under wraps and, through Andrew's connections, were even able to keep Mr. Spencer's new accommodations at Newgate a secret, at least for now.

Not that Andrew cared whether people knew or not. It wouldn't change the way he felt about Eve. It wouldn't change how proud he was to call himself her husband. But he knew how unforgiving the ton was, and he had no desire to cause any distress for his beautiful bride.

As he watched, she threw back her head and laughed at something her companion said, and he felt the familiar stirring of lust heat his blood.

"Right," he said, downing his drink at once. "We've stayed long enough."

"Well, if you're leaving, then I am too," said Jonathan in response.

Andrew must not have hid his horror as well as he'd thought, for Jonathan laughed and slapped him on the back.

"Don't worry, I don't mean leave with you. I can't think of anything worse than being stuck with you and Evelyn making moon eyes at each other," he quipped with a shudder. "But I've done my duty. I'm off to get foxed at the club before I set off to pastures new."

Andrew raised a sardonic brow.

"I still say you won't last a week without me. We all know I was the intelligent one."

"We'll just see about that, won't we?" Jonathan grinned in response.

The two men shook hands and then went their separate way: Jonathan to the next assignment and Andrew to his wife.

His wife.

The words still gave him a thrill.

He couldn't quite believe he'd once thought that giving up his work for the Crown and settling into a quiet existence as lord and master of his estates would be the end of all of his adventures.

He now knew, without a doubt, that with Evelyn by his side, he was about to embark on the greatest adventure of his life.

#  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nadine Millard is a writer hailing from Dublin, Ireland. Although she'll write anything that pops into her head, her heart belongs to Regency Romance.

When she's not immersing herself in the 1800s, she's spending time with her husband, her three children, and her very spoiled Samoyed. She can usually be found either writing or reading and drinking way too much coffee.

#  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Firstly and very importantly, I need to thank all of my readers. You guys are the reason I do what I love to do and I hope we can continue to enjoy these stories together for a long time to come.

Thank you to my amazing husband and children, and my family and friends for your ongoing love and support. I love you all.

To my editors, beta readers, cover artist and everyone else at Blue Tulip Publishing, you guys rock! Every day you make me a better writer than I ever thought possible.

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