How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (17 page)

“Actually, I'm to blame for monopolizing Captain Gilbride's attentions,” Michael swiftly interposed, “and I do apologize. The good captain had some questions about the work we do at St. Margaret's, and I thought to enlighten him—with Miss Evelyn's assistance, of course.”

He gave Mamma a sweet smile, one Evie thought no less charming than Gilbride's and a great deal more sincere. The dear man was trying to draw her mother's fire away from her, but she knew with a sinking heart that it would only make things worse. Unfortunately, he either didn't understand or didn't care, because he chattered away as if Mamma wasn't glaring at him with poorly concealed antipathy.

“I tend to get carried away with enthusiasm when discussing my work,” Michael said cheerfully, “so you must place all the blame on me and not your daughters.”

The stiff, square set of Mamma's shoulders now reminded Evie more of a scarecrow than a bird of prey—one that would soon come down off its peg and chase them around the room.

“Really, Mr. Beaumont,” her mother snapped, “I hardly think a social occasion is the appropriate venue for talking about
your work
, as you term it. I believe there is no one more charitable than I—”

She stopped to level her scarecrow gaze on Evie, who hadn't been able to hold back a small, choking noise.

“—than I,” her mother repeated. “But I have heard quite enough discussion of those Irish persons that you and my daughter insist on aiding. I really must ask that you refrain from any more talk on that topic whilst under my roof.”

“And certainly no one can blame you, Lady Reese,” Will smoothly intervened. “As Captain Gilbride has already noted, you must place the blame on us. Mr. Beaumont was simply doing a kindness by answering our questions.”

Evie, whose stomach was now so twisted she thought it might never unknot itself, dredged up a grateful smile. When Will nodded back, his blue gaze also transmitted a clear warning message.

“Your generosity is commendable, William,” Mamma said, sounding like she didn't think it commendable at all. “But Mr. Beaumont knows how I feel about this subject.” She flicked a quick glance in Evie's direction that seemed full of calculation. “And I must insist he not raise the issue again, or he will no longer be welcome in my house.”

As it so often did when she was annoyed, Mamma's voice rose to the level of a clarion call, drawing the eyes of several guests. Evie stared at her, aghast, and with a mounting anger that her mother could be so rude. Even though she understood how little Mamma cared for Michael, her behavior this evening had been mean-spirited and beyond the pale.

“Mamma, that's hardly fair.” Evie barely could speak past a throat gone tight with anger. “Michael is the soul of charity, and he doesn't deserve your disapprobation.”

Eden hissed out a breath and squeezed her hand in warning, but Evie was too furious and too humiliated to heed the signal. She was used to her mother needling her, too often embarrassing her in public. But to attack Michael directly—the kindest man Evie had ever met—seemed to tap into a foul brew of shame and resentment she could no longer repress.

“I think it's simply
awful
the way you treat him, and I won't stand for it a minute longer,” Evie exclaimed, barely registering the appalled looks on the faces of the others. She only had eyes for her mother, whose features turned as hard and unforgiving as a basilisk's.

“Do not deign to lecture
me,
my girl,” her mother said. “I will not stand for it.”

Evie jumped to her feet, anger propelling her upward. “What are you going to do about it, Mamma? Throw me out to the street?”

Michael let out a distressed
tsk
and took her elbow in a gentle grip after he came to his feet. “Evelyn, your mother has every right to decide what topics are suitable for her daughters to discuss. I'm only sorry that I have offended her so deeply.”

Evie gaped at his apologetic, hang-dog expression, and then shook her arm free. “How can you say that? Her behavior toward you is disgraceful. I simply don't understand how you can stand there and take it, day in and day out.”

Will shook his head. “Lady Reese, why don't you allow me to—”

“Stay out of this, Will,” Evie warned, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Much to her surprise, he rolled his eyes and then nodded, as if giving her permission to carry on.

“Evelyn Whitney, you will not say another word,” her mother rapped out. “If you do—”

“Goodness me, what a lively discussion,” a cheerful voice interrupted.

Evie choked back a relieved gasp at the sight of her father's face popping up behind her mother's shoulder.

“Oh, thank God,” Eden muttered.

“I can only assume you are discussing politics,” Papa said jovially, even though his round, pleasant face was wrinkled with concern. “Really, gentlemen, must we bother the ladies with so dreary a subject?”

Mamma turned an offended gaze on her husband. “My dear sir, if you only knew—”

“Yes, my love, in a moment,” Papa interrupted, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Mamma pressed her lips into a tight line, clearly choking on the hasty words she'd been about to utter. Evie's father was a mild, genial man who rarely intervened with his wife and children, or interfered in the domestic affairs of the household. But on the infrequent occasions when he felt called upon to do so, Mamma had always known better than to contradict him.

“Evie,” Papa continued, giving her a warm smile, “I've been telling Lord Templeton about that edition of
Gulliver's
's
Travels
I recently acquired. Would you please fetch it for me from the library?”

In the wake of her father's timely intervention, Evie's anger began to drain away, replaced by horror as soon as she realized how thoroughly she'd embarrassed herself. She loathed making scenes and calling attention to herself, and yet she'd behaved just as rudely as her mother. All she could do was nod in response to her father's request, pathetically grateful that he'd given her a means of escape.

“Take your time, my girl,” her father added.

“I'll go with her,” Eden piped up, rising to take Evie's hand.

“You will stay with your mother,” Papa said. His mild tone nonetheless brooked no opposition. “Now, go on, Evie. As I said, take your time.”

“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered.

She couldn't bring herself to look at Michael. He must think her as great a shrew as her mother. But she did cast an involuntary glance at Will as she brushed past him. The sympathy and worry etched on his face almost made her burst into tears.

Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, she walked at a moderate pace toward the door. The room seemed enormous as she passed the other guests, all looking at her with gazes mingling sympathy and amusement. Thank God they were intimate friends of the family and knew very well that Mamma was not averse to raising her voice in company. Still, there would be no avoiding some gossip and teasing as a result of their quarrel, especially since it involved Michael. It would be a long time before Evie's mother forgave her for that, and there would be consequences. That was doubly unfortunate, since Michael already had enough enemies in the
ton
—people who would be only too eager to tarnish his name. She felt sick with shame at her mother's mean-spirited behavior and at her own lapse in good manners.

But Evie couldn't help wishing Michael would defend himself just once when Mamma treated him with such disdain. Though he could be passionate about the things he believed in, it irked her no end that he wouldn't stand up for himself when he became the target of insults. Tonight seemed little different from the incident at the Duchess of Campworth's ball, when Evie had been forced once more to come to his defense.

Then, again, why did she have the right to expect anything different from Michael when she rarely stood up for herself?

Finally, she reached the wide double doors. Their senior footman opened them, casting her a slight, sympathetic grimace. Evie forced a wan smile, grateful for his kindness but embarrassed that even the servants felt sorry for her.

She paused in the hallway, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks as she wondered what to do. Neither Papa nor Eden—nor Michael—would be annoyed if she didn't return to the party. In fact, they probably expected her to scurry away and hide like she so often did. Telling her to fetch the book had simply been Papa's way to defuse a nasty situation and allow her to leave the room. Evie knew for a fact that Lord Templeton had no desire to peruse old editions of books, since he only cared about his horses and his next meal. She should just go upstairs, crawl into bed, and wait for Eden to come up and report on how she and their father had smoothed things over. That's how it usually worked when her mother was angry with her.

But as she hovered at the staircase, trying to decide whether to go up to her bedroom or down to Papa's small library, an image of Will's face, with that warm, accepting look in his eyes, swam in her vision. He hadn't been the slightest bit embarrassed by the scene and had even seemed to encourage her with that nod of his. More than anyone but Eden, he understood what her mother was like, and he'd told Evie more than once when they were children that she should stand up for herself. That Mamma would respect her more if she did. How ironic was it that she'd given Will the exact same advice about his father the other day? Now, here she stood, on the verge of sounding the retreat.

Yes, she'd been dreadfully disrespectful to her mother, and she would apologize for that lapse. But this time, she would
not
bear the fault for causing the scene in the first place, or allow her mother the satisfaction of effectively chasing her away to her room. Evie had done too much running already, and it was past time she stopped responding that way to every little crisis. Because she'd grown up afraid of her mother's disapproval, she'd learned to fade into the shadows when it came to expressing her true feelings and standing her ground. But she found herself growing heartily sick of retreat, and equally sick of people thinking she was a coward.

Starting with Will. She'd been a coward with him, too, and she refused to behave that way any longer.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted up her skirts and marched down the staircase to the library. A small voice in the back of her mind questioned why it was so important to show
Will
that she wasn't afraid—not Michael. She knew she should have the courage to face that question head on but told herself there were only so many battles she could fight in one night.

Determined to ignore—for now—the indisputable and inconvenient fact that she was annoyed with Michael and
not
annoyed with Will, she opened the door to the library. She paused a few seconds to allow her eyes to adjust, since only an Argand lamp on her father's desk and a small fire in the grate lit the room. Crossing to the fireplace, she extracted a spill from a brass container and used it to light a wall sconce as well as a branch of candles on the small occasional table next to her father's reading chair.

As she started to peruse the shelves for the Swift volume, Evie breathed in the welcome scents of leather, parchment, and her father's snuff. She loved this room and spent as much time there as she could. Although not nearly as large or well stocked as the library at Maywood Manor, it held a fine collection of poetry, novels, and the classics. At her father's insistence, the big leather chairs were comfortable rather than fashionable, and the Wilton carpet was plush enough to lounge on in front of the fireplace and while away the afternoon with a book. Most importantly, the library was her father's domain, a refuge from her mother's bothering and fuss.

She spied the requested book on one of the uppermost shelves and was reaching for it when a slight stir of air fluttered the hem of her dress. A moment later she heard the door close. Sighing, she came down on her heels, knowing her moment of respite was over.

“Can I help you with that?” His deep voice sent flutters dancing low in her belly.

As Evie spun around, she almost lost her balance and had to make a grab for one of the shelves. “Wolf,” she exclaimed, startled into blurting out his nickname. “What are you doing here?”

In the soft light, he did look rather like a wolf. His hair was a rough gold and his high cheekbones and rugged jaw lent a hard, almost fierce, cast to his features. As he prowled across the room, she had to resist the temptation to press a hand over her pounding heart. There was no reason for Will to make her nervous, and she needed to start believing that
right now.

When he stopped just a few inches from where she'd plastered herself against the bookshelves, the slow, devastatingly attractive smile that curled up his oh-so-masculine mouth sent her pulse racing like a runaway horse. He stretched out an arm, resting a big hand on the mahogany shelf next to her head. It effectively caged her in.

“Why, Evie,” he said in a voice that made her shiver, “I've come to see if you need help.”

Will braced a hand next to Evie's head, taking in the sweet flush that gave color to her pale, perfect skin. Her golden eyelashes fluttered as she cast her gaze down toward the vicinity of his feet. When she slowly sucked in a breath, the tops of her generous breasts lifted in tempting white mounds over the modest neckline of her dress. All he had to do was dip his head and he could easily trail his tongue across that glorious expanse of feminine flesh.

What the hell was he thinking? He'd come down here to see how she was, not to seduce her. Eden had lobbied to be allowed to follow her sister, of course, but her father had prevented that with only a few soft-spoken words. Lord Reese rarely threw his weight around in his household, but when he did, everyone paid heed. His lordship had then taken Beaumont off to speak with Lord Templeton and Mr. Garvey, while Lady Reese had commanded Alec and a protesting Eden to join the other guests. She'd sailed away with the two of them in her wake, pointedly leaving Will to his own devices.

And leaving him in a quandary, as well. Lady Reese's actions had clearly indicated that he was to follow Evie in another obvious effort to throw them together. And as much as her agenda made him wary, following Evie was
exactly
what he wished to do. He'd seen the sweet girl's fury give way to hurt and shame, and he'd seen the tears start to well up in her big eyes, only half-hidden behind the glint of her spectacles. At that point, he'd wanted to take both Lady Reese and Michael Beaumont by the scruffs of their necks and knock their bloody heads together. Evie's mother was a harridan
par excellence
, and Beaumont didn't have the good sense to know when to keep his fool mouth shut.

It had taken him only moments to decide what to do, Lady Reese and her blatant attempts to match-make be damned. Evie was his oldest friend, and the image of her alone in the library, crying her eyes out over her mother's cruelties, gutted him like a rusty blade.

Alec, naturally, had tried to stop him. In fact, he'd even attempted to follow but Lady Reese had clamped onto him like a bulldog with a bone.

Will wasn't overly concerned with her ladyship's clumsy attempts to turn him into an eligible suitor for Evie because Will knew nothing of the sort would happen. He would simply comfort his friend and escort her back upstairs when she was ready to return to the party.

But that was before he saw her, the candlelight turning her hair into a gold waterfall and softly outlining the lush body that was clad simply in a dress of pale green silk. She'd turned with a gasp when he came into the room, but then stilled, her shoulders pressed into the bookshelves as if she unconsciously sought to brace herself. Though he told himself she couldn't possibly guess his thoughts, that shy, downcast gaze and the slight tremble of her pretty mouth contradicted him.

More than any desire he'd ever felt, Will wanted to lean down and cover that mouth with his own, drinking deep of her sweet, gentle nature and innocent sensuality.

Instead, he pried his fingers from the bookshelves and forced himself to take one step back. And then another.

Evie's gaze lifted from the floor and she blinked a few times, as if to focus on him. Then she expelled a tiny breath—of relief, he thought—and let her shoulders relax.

“Will—I—” She stopped and frowned. “What are you doing here? Did Mamma send you after me?”

He shrugged, trying for a casual smile. “She certainly didn't seem to mind that I came, but that's not why I followed you.”

She looked troubled by his answer. “Why, then?”

He rolled his eyes. “Evie, you nit, I was worried about you.”

The teasing endearment brought a wry twist to her gorgeous mouth. He'd always liked her mouth, with its classic, rosebud pout that seemed so at odds with her shy, serious personality. But now he had to admit he was becoming captivated by it, spending more time staring at it then actually listening to the words that issued from her lips.

As if to prove that point, she pushed the bridge of her spectacles up and frowned again. “Will, did you hear what I just said?”

“Of course,” he said. “You just thanked me for coming to check on you.” Thank God at least some part of his idiotic mind had been paying attention. As an intelligence agent, he'd always had impeccable discipline, but Evie was proving almost fatal to his focus.

She gave her head a tiny, doubting shake, and Will suddenly remembered how good she was at reading him. He needed to remember that, and to remember he had a job to do too.

“I also said you didn't have to do it,” she said. “I'm fine. Truly, I am.”

He studied her face for a few seconds. When she arched her eyebrows in a silent, ironic commentary, he let out a reluctant laugh. “Yes, so I see.”

She leaned back against the bookcase but this time simply appeared to be getting comfortable.

“I'm not a child any longer, you know. I'm not going to fall apart and cry whenever Mamma scolds me.” Then she gave a self-deprecating grimace. “Well, not very often, anyway.”

He glanced behind him, then took a third step back to settle on the edge of her father's desk. “No one could blame you if you did. Your dear mother deserves a thundering scold herself for her abominable behavior tonight.”

Again her mouth pulled into a wry, adorable twist. “Don't worry. Papa will take care of that.”

“I find that a little difficult to imagine.”

She laughed at his sarcastic tone. Evie had a beautiful laugh—rich and soft, like a velvet scarf drifting through the air. He suddenly had a compelling urge to hear that laugh issue from her throat while she was naked in his arms, with him buried deep inside her sheltering body.

That image had the unfortunate consequence of turning him hard. He shifted uncomfortably, mentally issuing a stern warning to his randy member.

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” Evie said, blessedly unaware of his silent struggle. “He was most displeased tonight. I'm sure he and Mamma will be discussing it after the guests depart.”

“For all the good it will do.” A moment later, Will wished he'd held his tongue, for her smile died and the humor fled from her eyes.

“Mamma will behave a tad more nicely for a day or two,” she said somberly, “but then everything will return to normal.”

“Good God, Evie, how does your father put up with her? He's the mildest man anyone could hope to meet.”

She frowned thoughtfully, as if genuinely pondering the question. “Well, it's not generally a problem for him or the others. I'm the one who drives her so distracted.” She sighed. “Mamma can't seem to help picking at me, and I can't seem to help annoying her.”

Will rose off the desk and took a long stride in her direction. His hands twitched with the need to pull her into his arms, but he resisted, even though every impulse in his body urged him to do so.

“Evie, you've done nothing wrong. You've
never
done anything wrong, and your mother is entirely at fault. The failing is hers that she cannot see the sweetness of your nature.” He couldn't touch her, but he put as much honest emotion as he could into his voice.

She stared up at him, blinking as if stunned by his outburst. Then her lips parted in a tremulous smile. “It's kind of you to say so, Will. I try to get along with her, but nothing I do seems satisfactory.”

She gave a bewildered shake of the head that cut his heart in two. When he was a lad, he'd fumed in silence when her mother scolded and bullied, but now it seemed worse. For so many years, he hadn't been there to try to protect her, to soothe her battered feelings or joke her around as he'd done in the past. Where had it all gone so wrong between them?

Evie's gaze slid away from his, and she flushed a faint pink. “She's been worse these last few months, and I don't know what to do about it. It's . . . mystifying.”

To Will, there was nothing mystifying about it. Michael Beaumont's courtship was the cause. Will didn't want to push her too hard, though. Not when she was obviously feeling fragile.

He rested a finger along the curve of her jaw and nudged a bit until she, reluctantly, looked at him. “You do know the reason for her ill temper, don't you?” He softened his probing with a smile.

She wrinkled her nose, which made her spectacles tip slightly askew. He couldn't help thinking again that she was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

“I do, and you're a beast to make me acknowledge it,” she said with a sigh. She reached for his hand, moving it away from her face. She squeezed his fingers for a moment, then let go and wandered over to the antique globe on a mahogany stand next to her father's desk. Slowly, she set the ball spinning, staring absently down at it. Will followed but simply stood by her, waiting for her to answer.

“It's Michael,” she finally said. “She can't stand him, and it's so unfair. He's a terribly nice man. If she'd just give him a chance.”

Will had no right to be jealous, but the ugly twist in his gut at the warm tone in her voice mocked that idea. Still,
terribly nice
wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of love, was it?

“Your mother has always been the worst sort of snob, Evie,” he said. “I'm not defending her by any means, but wasn't it predictable that she would object to Beaumont's Catholic heritage and beliefs?”

When she scowled at him, he held his hands up. “You know it's the truth.”

“But Papa doesn't object to Michael's religion.”

“That's because the Beaumonts are rich. Your father is both a kind and practical man.”

“That's a perfectly horrible way to put it,” she said indignantly. “You needn't make Papa sound so . . . so mercenary.”

Will dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss Evie's impending engagement to a man who might be a traitor. At least he assumed that's what they were talking about. Perhaps it was time to find out, once and for all, about the nature of her relationship with Beaumont.

“Evie, I don't mean to pry—”

“Then don't,” she interrupted.

He dredged up a rueful smile that he hoped made him look both charming and harmless. But the way her eyes narrowed with suspicion told him he'd failed.

“I care about you, Evie,” he said. “I don't want to see you get hurt.”

Now her eyes popped wide open. “You think Michael Beaumont would hurt me? That's rich, coming from you.”

Now he wanted to tear his hair right out. Instead, he finally gave in to the overriding impulse and gripped her by the shoulders. She startled under his hands and her mouth formed a surprised oval.

“Just tell me the truth,” he growled. “Are you going to marry Beaumont, or not?”

She flushed a bright pink, and managed to look both embarrassed and annoyed. “Not that it's any of your business, but Michael has not, as yet, asked for my father's permission to court me.”

He scoffed at the dodge. “Trust me, Evie, he will.”

Because she couldn't deny that, she simply glared up at him. He found the obstinate set to her jaw and her refusal to be honest with him completely infuriating. He'd been closer to Evie than anyone but her twin. Surely that gave him the right to know exactly how she felt about Beaumont.

Plus, it was his job to keep her out of danger, as he could never forget. That was the true reason for his ire.

“If—
when
he does make it formal,” he ground out, “are you going to say yes?”

She tilted her head, searching his face. The light from the lamp on the desk glinted off the lenses of her spectacles, obscuring the expression in her eyes, and suddenly she seemed opaque to him.

He gave in to another misbegotten impulse, plucking the spectacles from her nose and placing them behind him on the desk.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to reach around him to reclaim her frames. He clamped his hands back on her shoulders, preventing her.

“Answer the question, Evie.”

She stared up at him, her cornflower-blue eyes dark and huge in the muted, flickering light. They held a measure of defiance but also an intense vulnerability, as if he'd somehow stripped her naked.

God, he only wished he could.

She spluttered at him for a few moments and then tilted her chin up at a defiant angle. “Why
shouldn't
I marry him? He's a kind, generous man, and we share many interests. And he's devoted to me.”

The part of his brain that processed her words balked at her response. The other part, the part that had nothing to do with his mental capacities, was caught by the sensation of warm, bare skin under his hands. He spread his fingers wide over her shoulders, nudging them under the narrow strips of lace at the top of her puffed sleeves. It would take only a flick of his hands to push those ridiculous little bits of fabric down, fully exposing her shoulders and the tops of her breasts.

“William Endicott, what are you doing?” she asked, trying to sound outraged.

He wasn't fooled. Not when he felt small shivers coursing through her muscles and saw the flutter of her golden eyelashes.

“Yes,” he replied, ignoring her question. “I've noticed how Beaumont follows you around like a lovesick puppy.”

Evie stiffened. She whipped a hand between them and pointed it up at the tip of his nose. “Now, you listen to me—”

He cut her off. “Do you love him?” Her little tirade died on her lips. She drew in a stuttering breath, too shocked to answer.