An Unlikely Alliance (4 page)

Exasperated laughter bubbled out of her.
"Leave before I change my mind, you cad!"

He took a long, lazy bow before tipping his
hat and exiting through the front door. Insufferable man. Now all
she had to do was survive dinner and try to make her daddy proud at
the theatre. It was well known that only the richest families in
New York made their way to the theatre on Friday nights.

****

Royce tried to be patient as he watched the
clock strike six, but found it nearly impossible to stop pacing in
his study. She was late. Was this normal for her? Was she okay? And
why the devil was he pacing in his study, worrying over this woman
he barely knew like some besotted fool?

He needed to get his head on straight with
this one. Nothing was working like it was supposed to. He had even
lied about hiring a new French chef, hoping she would at least feel
the need to come to dinner if he promised amazing food. It took him
hours to find a chef good enough to hire, and even more money than
he would ever admit to convince the chef to go along with his
little scheme.

The woman was ruthless! She laughed when he
sent her jewels and sent them back with a note that instructed him
to donate them to charity! Charity! When he brought her flowers,
she said she was allergic; and this morning when he brought in
another bouquet, the butler tried to send him away.

None of his usual tricks were good enough.
His last hope, his final hurrah, was seduction by food. Desperation
had forced him to his knees, humbling him beyond belief.

"Monsieur!" the chef yelled from the
kitchen.

Oh, God, tell me that isn't smoke I
smell.

"I cannot work in conditions like these,
Monsieur! I quit!" Smoke billowed from the kitchen, causing Royce
to cough before he was able to respond. What conditions did the
chef speak of? What was he talking about? Not wanting to humble
himself one measly inch by actually stepping foot into his own
kitchen, he impatiently waited in vain; instead he heard a loud
curse and nearly shouted when the smoke seemed to thicken.
Relenting, he muttered an oath and stepped over the threshold into
a realm very unfamiliar.

"Monsieur, wait! The dinner! What am I to
do? I paid you!" There I go again with the desperation.

"You can have your money back!" The chef
spat on the floor and stomped out, leaving Royce to face the
kitchen staff, each of them with looks of horror on their
faces.

"Can somebody please tell me why there is
smoke everywhere, and why the new chef felt the need to quit?"

The entire kitchen staff, fire now put out,
were covered in a buttery sauce from head to toe.

Royce tried to stay calm as he walked to the
closest of his staff and stopped. "You, explain. Now."

"You see, sir, there was a rat, and we tried
to get it before the chef saw. He has this terrible fear of rodents
and when he saw it, part of his apron caught fire from the stove,
and I panicked."

"You panicked?" Unfortunately the story made
sense. "And what, pray tell, did you do?"

"I threw sauce on him."

"You threw sauce on the new chef," Royce
repeated, glancing around at the guilty faces in the room. The
young man nodded, waiting for his obvious consequences.

As Royce was opening his mouth to deliver
the sentencing, Evelyn walked in and gasped. "Is anyone hurt?"

All eyes shifted to him. How he wished he
could have been burned in the fire, so she would at least touch
him. He shook his head and told the rest of the kitchen staff to
get cleaned up and resume their duties.

Turning to Evelyn, he sighed. "I'm afraid I
have no food for you." He felt utterly defeated and foolish. Every
object his eyes flashed to seemed more like a torture device than
an object with which to make food. It was hopeless. Even if he knew
what to do, he was convinced anything he made would taste awful,
sealing his fate with Evelyn once and for all.

Evelyn put her hands on her hips and sighed.
"Well, that won't do."

"I'm sorry, Evelyn. Apparently my new
chef—whom I hired just to impress you, might I add—has a terrible
fear of rats and caught fire upon seeing one on the floor. To
prevent catastrophe, my always-able kitchen staff threw sauce on
him. That was about the moment I smelled the smoke for myself and
ran in. Though I am loathe to admit it, I did not save the
day."

He kept his eyes downcast, waiting for her
dainty footsteps to begin to move away, telling him he had lost her
once and for all. His only bait was destroyed, and he already
admitted defeat. After what seemed like several minutes, he looked
up to find Evelyn pulling food from the nearby cupboard.

"What are you doing?" Curiosity dripped from
every word.

"Making you dinner." She scooted past him
and smiled. Unable to control the urge to smile, he did just that,
and helped her with a nearby apron, putting one on himself as
well.

"So what are we cooking, my lady?" Royce
went to the stove, ready to work.

"I had my heart set on that delicious lamb
over there with the sauce I see splattered all over creation."

Royce laughed. "Well, we could always clean
it up." He wiped his finger across the gooey substance and lifted
it to his lips. It was delicious.

"I want a taste," Evelyn suddenly said
behind him. He nearly forgot to breathe as he lifted the sauce to
her pink lips. Face flushed, she leaned forward and closed her eyes
as her velvet tongue licked his finger.

It took every ounce of self-control he
possessed not to pull her into a tight embrace and never let go.
Every fiber of his being screamed at him to take her now, to make
her his, yet she wasn't like everyone else. Had any of his
mistresses seen a mess like this, they would have screamed and run
out of the house. Not Evelyn. No, she offered to cook and clean up
as if it was a normal occurrence for chefs to be set on fire. She
was truly special.

When her eyes opened, they locked on his.
And for one brief moment he thought she might be the one to look
away. Instead it was he, the coward, who glanced down, breaking the
connection. It was too much. Impossible that he would be the weak
one, but here he was ready to flee, because for once in his life,
he found a woman he wanted for more than a week. A woman he wanted
to promise to forever. A woman his father would have wholeheartedly
approved of.

It scared him out of his wits.

Chapter
Five

Evelyn tried to ignore the shortness of
breath and the sound of her own heart beating wildly out of her
chest. It proved to be difficult when her eyes locked with Royce's;
she almost looked away, but Royce—strong, egotistical Royce—was the
first to break the lingering gaze, telling her yet again the man
was a lot less confident than he seemed.

Drat him for being so endearing. She wanted
to laugh when she saw how defeated he looked, yet when she heard
him admit his little plan, she felt nothing but sympathy for him.
He expected her to leave.

Well, she wanted to prove him wrong. She
wasn't like those city girls he was constantly surrounded by.
Gathering some courage, she walked by him to pick up the knife near
his hands. Part of her wanted to point it at him to see what he
would do; the other part told her it wasn't proper for a young lady
to point knives.

"What … are you doing?" Royce asked,
perplexed.

Evelyn had the knife aimed at him in an
unladylike manner, then laughed. "Hmm, I do wonder how good you are
at defending yourself. Would you fight back even though I'm a
lady?"

Royce laughed, loud and beautiful. It made
his entire face more enchanting. His eyes crinkled at the corners,
and his dimples appeared more pronounced than before Evelyn nearly
dropped the knife and wanted to curse, because now it seemed like
it was he who had the upper hand. Laying his hand over hers, he
leaned in. "My dear, I would rather fight you than my choice of
anyone in the world."

She licked her lips and whispered, "Why
me?"

The room seemed to hum with passion as his
grip tightened across her hand. Trembling almost imperceptibly, she
met his gaze. His eyes were heightened with awareness.

"Because," he whispered into her ear,
sending shivers down her spine, "it might be my only chance to
touch you or be near you. I'll take what I can get."

She didn't want to move. If she moved, he
would move; yet she needed to get out of his deadly embrace. Why
was her body rebelling against her? As she prepared her escape,
Royce released his grip on her hand, sending the knife sailing to
the floor. He pushed her out of the way and released a curse so
loud it nearly shook the walls.

Cringing, she looked down. The knife was
pointed directly into his boot. Fighting the urge to laugh, even
though it was terribly rude of her, she cupped her hand over her
mouth and gasped. Albeit not particularly convincingly, as Royce
sent her a searing glare. "Get. It. Out." He said pointing at the
offending blade.

She knelt and pulled the knife out of his
boot, noting it hadn't quite penetrated all the way through the
thick leather. What was all the fuss about anyway? As she looked
up, Royce was smirking. "I knew it would happen soon."

"What?" She was still looking up from the
ground.

"You'd be on your knees before me,
worshipping the ground I walk on."

Knife still in hand, Evelyn raised it above
her head, making a sweeping motion to hit his foot. At the last
second she put it into the floor and sent him a sweet smile. "Maybe
you should wait to insult me until I'm not holding sharp
objects?"

Royce swallowed once, looking away.
"Noted."

By the time Evelyn had put down all weapons,
and Royce had moved all sharp objects away from her reach, they
only had minutes before they needed to be at the theatre. They
rushed through dinner like lunatics, and then hurried to the
waiting coach.

"That was lovely." Evelyn laughed.

"Wasn't it? I must say I rather enjoyed
watching you drink your wine in one gulp. Don't think I've
witnessed anything like it. Say, you aren't feeling tipsy, are you?
Oh, and stop giving me that look! It's not as if I would take
advantage."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "If that's not a
lie, I don't know what is. And no, I'm not feeling tipsy. You need
to wipe that look of disappointment from your face. How dare you
think you can get me drunk! It's more likely, in the case of a
competition of drinking between us, you would be passed out before
I would feel a thing."

"False. I'm calling your bluff." Royce
pointed at her. "No way does a woman drink more than a man. It
isn't done. What do they do in Louisiana? Put ale in your milk as a
child?"

"Please. As if ale would do anything to a
person like me. It's so watered down, one could drink it when
dehydrated and still be standing straight."

Royce shifted in his seat before asking,
"What about liquor?"

"Am I to understand that you want to know
what your family's fine whiskey does to my feminine
sensibilities?"

He nodded.

"I've never had it."

At this Royce's eyes widened in shock but
quickly went back to normal as he laughed. "Well, we will have to
remedy the situation. Can't have you bragging about your drinking,
having never had the finest McArthur whiskey New York has to
offer."

Evelyn tried to ignore the gentle tug of
warmth she felt in the carriage with him. The man had entirely too
much charm to do any good.

"Tonight," she said, surprising herself.

"Tonight what?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Tonight," she leaned towards him, "you can
give me a sip of your famous whiskey. Will that be enough to
satisfy your morbid curiosity?"

Licking his lips, he brought his face within
inches of hers, which was quite a feat for bouncing around in a
coach as they were. "A taste? A moment? Just one? With you? Will
never be enough."

It was silent the rest of the way to the
theatre.

As Royce took her arm, she fought every
fool-hearted emotion threatening to spill over into her thoughts.
By the time he had led her to the box, she was so tightly wound one
more touch from him would have surely tipped the scales in his
favor. He was winning her over! Curse him!

She jerked her hand free of his arm and
plopped into the nearest seat, not realizing her plopping was quite
loud. Two men stood and introduced themselves as Royce's brothers.
Heat crept up her neck as Royce introduced her. As if her
embarrassment couldn't get worse, Royce decided to sit right next
to her. His thigh was touching hers in the most improper way,
making her want to lean against the opposite side. Except that's
where his brothers were seated. She couldn't escape. And, for the
love of God, she needed a fan!

"You look flushed, m'dear; are you
okay?"

Royce's low voice surprised her, causing a
little squeak to escape her lips. She looked up to the ceiling,
hoping something would drop on him, so at least her heart would
stop beating so erratically!

"Maybe some air?" she managed to
suggest.

Nodding, he helped her up and escorted her
out of the box. As soon as they were outside, she was able to
breathe again. The crisp night air was just what she needed. And
then she looked at Royce, leaning against the stairs with arms
folded, and suddenly felt hot again. None of her discomfort had to
do with temperatures.

Closing her eyes and sending up a quick
prayer to resist the devil of a man, she marched toward him and
pasted a smile across her face. "I'm ready!"

"Liar." Unmoving, he stared at her.

"No, I'm fine."

"Are we going to stand here in the cold and
argue all night, or shall I take you home? You don't look
well."