The Earl I Adore (14 page)

Certainly not what he might have expected her to say. “I see. And you're telling me this because . . . ?”

“Because long silences and I don't get along well. And I feel as though I've been lying to you by keeping my mouth shut. Well, at first it was because I was too nervous to talk to you, and then because I was afraid I would make an even worse fool of myself around you than I already had, but now I feel as though the truth must come out.” She inhaled and exhaled in short succession as though relieved to have it out.

He stopped, turning in order to face her. Her smile was sheepish, apologetic even. “What on earth would you have to be nervous about around me? I make a point of being nice to all the young ladies at the events I attend.”

“Do you make a point of being handsome, too?” As soon as the words were out, she slapped her hand over her mouth and groaned. Dropping her hand, she widened her eyes at him. “Do you see why I thought it best to keep my mouth shut? A lady does not say the first thing that pops into her head.”

“I wouldn't say that. Before she died, my grandmother was quite a plainspoken woman. Everyone knew exactly what she thought of them. As the Dowager Countess of Evansleigh, she was most definitely a lady.”

She glanced heavenward as though he had completely missed the point. “Yes, an
old
lady. Such things are permitted among the elderly. They've quite given up on worrying what others think of them, I believe.” She gave a little half-shouldered shrug. “Try as I might to practice restraint, I shall always be adept at ending up with my foot in my mouth. I suppose that means for the next thirty or so years, I have to get used to being uncouth until such time I can be labeled eccentric.”

They were all just keeping up appearances, weren't they? Saying and doing all the correct things so society wouldn't brand them unfit to be part of their stratum. Sometimes it seemed to Evan as though all he ever did was pander to social correctness. Go to so many parties, dance with the proper number of women, spend an adequate amount of time at the club—all in the name of avoiding the roving eye of the
ton
, ensuring that no one narrowed their eyes and noticed that things were not as they seemed. He couldn't risk anyone seeing past his cultivated façade.

He and Sophie had more in common than she probably realized. “Well, you may always count on me to ask you to dance, couth or not.”

Sighing, she shook her head. “You shan't have to
worry about asking me to dance after next week. Mama and I will be on our way back home to Appleton by then.”

An unexpected pang of disappointment thumped in his chest. “Ah, so the decision to return has been finalized. I had hoped you'd be able to stay long enough to attend the opera with me.”

She pushed a wayward curl back from her temple, her gaze flitting out over the water. “Sadly, no. I fear I don't know when we might see each other again after the week is out.”

He dipped his head, catching her eye and offering a small grin. “Not just talkative, but dramatic, too, I see. You forget that there will be opportunities aplenty during the Season, especially now that we are such great friends.”

It was nice, knowing that she'd be there. Someone with whom he could shed a bit of his mask and simply enjoy the company. No ulterior motives, no pretenses, just friendship and mutual regard.

But she didn't return his smile as he expected. Instead, her humor slipped away even more. “I'm not making myself clear,” she said quietly, glancing down at her hands. When she looked back up, the regret in her eyes made his heart sink. “There will be no more Seasons for me, I'm afraid. When I go home, it will be for good.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the announcement. “I don't know what to say. Has something . . . happened?”

In his experience there was only one reason that a debutante would step away from the matchmaking frenzy that was the Season: marriage. He swallowed, unable to believe that could be the case.

Had she accepted a proposal that he was unaware of? If she had, she sure as hell didn't seem happy about it. A
forced match, then? The idea of her sweetness being soured by an unwanted marriage made his fists tighten at his sides.

Her chin ticked up a notch, proud but not haughty. “Yes. Let us just say that my family's situation has changed.”

Ah
. Christ, now he felt like a proper jackass. He knew her family was purse-pinched, but he hadn't realized they no longer had a feather to fly with. Damn tactless of him to even inquire. All the joy seemed to have leached out of her, leaving her cheeks pale and her eyes lacking their usual spark. She didn't hold his gaze, instead peering out over the swiftly moving water.

Damn it all, he had asked her here to make her happy, not to make things worse for her. “In that case, I think some allowances can be made.”

She looked up sharply, her brows pinched together. “Allowances? But I'm not asking for anything.”

“Stop pestering me, or I'll change my mind,” he teased, knowing full well he was confusing her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “Fine, fine, you've talked me into it.”

“Talked you into
what
?” she asked, completely at a loss now. At least there was a spark of interest lighting her dark eyes. That little glimmer within her that made her so unique in his circle of acquaintances.

“Were it not for the wind, you and I both would have had perfect scores in the last round. Therefore, since you put up such a convincing argument, I shall make good on my promised enticement, Sophie Hood, and sing for you.”

S
ophie gaped at the man, not entirely sure if he was joking or not. “You wish to sing for me?” It was such a monumental leap from what they had been talking about, she couldn't quite follow his reasoning.

“No, but since you insist, and since I am such a gentleman, who am I to refuse?”

From discussing her family's fall from grace, to an impromptu concert? “All right,” she said slowly, unable to think of anything else to say. Was he attempting to cheer her up? Or did he simply wish not to dwell on her family's misfortune? She pursed her lips, watching his face closely. She didn't see any mocking in his expression, not even the first hint of ridicule. All that she could perceive was his light teasing and genuine intent to follow through.

“Let's see,” he said, glancing past her shoulder. She turned too, peering down the empty river path. They'd walked farther than she'd realized, and she could only just make out the others through the trees and up the hill.

He nodded once. “Yes, I think we are far enough that no one will hear me embarrass myself, especially with the sounds of the river. Well, no one but you, of course.”

He
was
trying to cheer her up. Her heart melted as
the corners of her lips curled up in a small smile. “If you embarrass yourself—and I sincerely doubt you will—then it will only serve to make us somewhat more even in terms of having humiliated ourselves in front of the other.”

“There you go with the tallying again. I
will
march you back to your mother, young lady.”

Where was this silliness in him coming from? He was making it impossible not to grin, not to let go of the darkness that weighed on her heart whenever she thought of her family's situation. Putting her hand over her heart, she said, “I promise, not another word. Now, I'm ready whenever you are, my lord.”

His shoulders rose as he drew in a deep breath, looking genuinely nervous for the first time. “Very well. I shall sing an aria from
Idomeneo
. Since it is only the two of us, I'm not going to sing at full volume. Consider this a softer, more dolce interpretation of the song.”

He rolled his shoulders a few times and licked his lips. Sophie bit back a smile—he truly was nervous. It was adorable, really. It was nice to know there was something out there that made that composure of his slip. She waited patiently as he shifted his feet, opened and closed his fists at his sides, and then cleared his throat.

She was just about to give up on him when he drew a breath, closed his eyes, and began to sing.

He started very quietly. So much so that she found herself leaning forward, wanting to hear him over the sounds of the river beside them. But as the song began to build, his voice opened up, sounding rich and pure and so lovely it brought gooseflesh to the exposed skin of her arms. The words rolled off his tongue, unintelligible to her in literal terms, but beautiful and stirring nonetheless. Slowly she began to realize that he was repeating phrases. He'd sing it first one way, and then again in a
totally different way, his chest rising and falling with the music he so clearly heard in his mind.

She closed her eyes, listening to every rise and run, every vibrato, every deftly changed key. She could feel the lightness of the song. It was hopeful and happy, and just being witness to his interpretation of it made her feel the same.

Sighing, she gave herself over to the experience. She couldn't have ever imagined his singing to be so beautiful, so wholly moving. He didn't need an orchestra or a grand hall with carefully designed acoustics. His singing wasn't meant to be perfect; it was meant to be an expression of the music within him. It was meant to be sung in the forest, among the trees and the wildflowers, with an interloper like her somehow being lucky enough to hear it.

When the last note ended, he drew a great breath and finally opened his eyes. He looked at her, a hesitant smile on his lips. She stood there, awed, so impressed and honored that he would share this part of himself with her that she couldn't come up with a single thing to say. She, of all people—completely at a loss for words.

Shifting, he gave a little lift of his shoulders. “I believe applause is customary.” His words were teasing, but she saw the hint of self-consciousness lurking in his tentative gaze.

Sophie smiled, but didn't raise her hands to clap. “I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid applause is quite beyond me right now. I am still paralyzed with shock at the exquisiteness of your voice, which you have cruelly kept entirely to yourself until now.”

Pleasure at her words reflected back to her in the depths of his eyes, blotting out the momentary insecurity. “I like to have a few surprises up my sleeve.”

She shared a grin with him, enjoying the warmth with which he watched her. “What did it mean?” she asked quietly. “The song, I mean. Can you translate it?”

He nodded, relaxing his shoulders and taking a step closer to her. “
Torna la pace al core
: Peace returns to my heart.
Torna lo spento ardore:
Extinguished ardor is rekindled.
Fiorisce in me l'età:
Youth is reborn in me.
Tal la stagion di Flora
: Thus does Flora's season,
l'albero annoso infiora:
make the old tree bloom again,
nuovo vigor gli dà:
and give it fresh vigor.”

A shiver of delight went through her at the way he spoke the Italian lyrics. Heavens, what she wouldn't give to attend the opera with him and hear his whispered translations again. Step One and Three-Quarters of wooing the earl seemed to be him inadvertently wooing
her
. . . .

Nodding as though she wasn't imagining his lips at her ear again, she said, “So the song
was
as hopeful as it sounded. It made me feel as though mountains were conquerable when your voice rose to its high range. It gave me gooseflesh, in fact,” she said, rubbing her arms.

His smile was as wide as hers. “Now, now—I'm certain that was just the result of the river breeze,” he said, all humbleness now that he was certain of her enjoyment. “Shall I go and fetch your wrap? It wouldn't do to leave you chilled.”

She quickly shook her head. The very last thing she wanted was for him to leave her. “Not chilled, my lord—awed. And you may deflect my praise all you want, but that was by far my very favorite opera performance, and before you make any remarks about how many I have attended, I'm not entirely certain, but I can assure you it was enough to know yours was truly wonderful.”

“Now you've gone and done it,” he said, his hands going to his hips.

“What?” she exclaimed. “I haven't done anything.”

“You've clearly upset the balance of compliments, and I cannot call myself a gentleman if I allow it to stand. Let me see,” he said, slowly circling around her. She crossed her arms and grinned, shaking her head as he inspected her. He tapped his lips with his gloved finger. “If you are to praise me so highly, I must do the same. That rules out your gown, your countenance, and your hair, as those would all be ordinary compliments.”

She could hardly believe his playfulness. He seemed as happy as she had ever seen him. “Very ordinary, and quite unbelievable,” she agreed.

He paused in his circuit and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Unbelievable?”

She inwardly cringed. Perhaps she shouldn't have said that out loud. Ladies were not supposed to point out their shortcomings, as others would see it as fishing for praise. She had simply been stating the obvious. “It's just that a woman prefers an honest compliment,” she said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. What kind of ninny reminded the man she was attempting to woo that she was in possession of average to passable looks?

For a moment, he simply considered her, his brow furrowed, as if trying to work out a riddle. “Are you of the belief that a compliment to your appearance would be insincere?”

If she could snap her fingers and return to the conversation of a minute earlier, she would happily and eagerly do exactly that. “Evan, please. There is nothing wrong with being average, and we shall leave it at that.”

He didn't respond right away. Instead, he resumed his
circuit, his footfalls soft on the packed earth of the dirt path. “When you are resting, perhaps.”

She angled her head, trying to work out what on earth he meant. “I beg your pardon?”

“When you are simply sitting quietly, as one might do in front of a mirror, I can see how you might see your features as ordinary.”

“Oh,” she said, lacing her fingers awkwardly. She was oddly disappointed to hear him agree with her. Why, oh why hadn't she kept her mouth shut? She almost rolled her eyes. Because she was Sophie, that's why. Talkative, silly, ordinary Sophie, who never could manage to keep her tongue behind her teeth.

He stopped directly in front of her, his brilliant, icy blue eyes holding hers hostage with their earnestness. “It's when you speak, and listen, and laugh, and smile, and even frown that your beauty comes alive. When you are you, unable to be still or even quiet, you have a luminosity to your countenance that could never be considered ordinary.” His lips relaxed into a soft, almost tender smile. “Which, in my very educated opinion, makes you rather extraordinary, Sophie Hood.”

She gaped at him, unable to believe what he was saying. It was the loveliest thing anyone had ever said to her. Butterflies danced to life in her belly, stealing her breath with the force of the sensation. “You certainly know how to even a score,” she breathed, doing her best to smile normally.

He stepped closer to her, tilting his head down to meet her gaze. “I know how to speak the truth, that is all.”

Her heart hammered a staccato beat within her chest, and she moistened her lips as she exhaled shallowly
through her mouth. No man had ever spoken to her like that before. Even more remarkable, he seemed to mean every precious word.

Her gaze fell to his lips, those lovely lips that had said such beautiful things to her. They looked soft, and supple, and more inviting than any man's lips had a right to. Swallowing, she looked back and met his gaze. Was it just her imagination, or was the look in his eyes inviting as well?

“Evan,” she whispered, desperate to know if she was imagining the look he was bestowing on her or the unbelievable magnetic attraction between them. Almost of their own volition, her fingers slipped into his, and instead of pulling away, he closed his hand to hold hers tighter. She didn't move, hardly even breathed, as she relished the warmth of the touch and savored the inherent strength of his body, evident in little more than that whisper of touch between them.

Light laughter from around the bend startled her out of her trance. Someone was coming! Sophie's body went limp with disappointment, and she dragged in several breaths, trying to recapture her composure. Blast their miserable timing!

Evan stepped back, breaking their contact as his eyes darted down the path toward the sound. “It looks as though we have company,” he said, straightening his shoulders. He sounded nonchalant about it, as if the intruders hadn't just ruined a perfectly wonderful moment.

By the time Miss Paddington and her chaperone rounded the bend, Evan and Sophie were a respectable distance apart, both staring out over the scenic river. They murmured greetings to the others as they passed, and stood silent as the pair continued out of earshot. When
Evan turned back to her, it was with a polite smile that made her heart sink. “I think perhaps we should rejoin the group,” he said, holding out his elbow.

Trying valiantly not to show her disappointment, she nodded, placed her fingers on his sleeve, and allowed him to guide her back toward the party. It was hard to believe now that he possessed the sort of passion she had glimpsed in his singing. Yet even with the frustrating interference upon their time alone together, at least now she knew there was hope.

*   *   *

“You are awfully quiet tonight.”

Evan blinked and glanced up. He hadn't even heard Julia come into the library, let alone walk over to his seat. Closing the unread book in his lap—a translation of
The Barber of Seville
—he set it on the table beside him and smiled. “Busy day.”

The ride home had been quiet as well, with Evan, Julia, and Harry all lost in their own thoughts. Julia had steadfastly ignored the baronet before they had deposited him in front of his inn, but that was preferable to the little jabs she'd been taking at him earlier. Evan had been distracted by his own thoughts, idly considering the unexpected progression of the day.

“Indeed it was,” his sister responded, a tired grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I fear I may have gotten a bit too much sun on my face, but it was well worth it. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Nodding slowly, he said, “Yes, I did, actually. The archery was particularly entertaining, even without winning.” He couldn't remember ever enjoying the sport quite so thoroughly. Having Sophie as a partner had been an unexpected delight. She had the unique ability to be happy and lighthearted even when she was failing.
She had tried as hard as she could, and when she had fallen short, she had no thought of herself, only for him. He got the impression that she was the sort who kept getting up, no matter how many times she was knocked down.

Julia settled herself on the chair at the other side of the table. “It was absolutely priceless seeing Sophie's face when she hit the hay bale that first time. One would have thought she'd hit the bull's-eye.”

He grinned. Sophie's exuberance was one of her best traits. Today she had proven remarkable company, making him laugh and banter in a way that felt more genuine than he could ever remember. He was glad they had fallen into friendship over the last week. Being around her seemed to lift something inside him, that invisible weight that had been his constant companion all these years. She was a sweet person, and he was happy to know her.