The Earl I Adore (17 page)

“Evan, wait.”

“And lose our opportunity at victory? I should think not.” He held out his hand, and Sophie allowed him to pull her up. She had the impression that if she refused to join him, he would simply leave her there. With her properly on her feet again, he started forward, his steps brisk.

Blast, blast, blast!
She set off after him, her dainty pink slippers offering little protection against the hard ground. Yet the pounding of her feet was nothing compared to the battering of her pride. He was as good as running from her.

He turned right at the next intersection, then left at the one after that. His strides were confident; he knew where he was going now. Desperation settled deep in Sophie's gut, seeming to grow with every step they took. This was supposed to be her chance. She had only days left before the world would know about her family's shame. She
had
to make him see her differently—to see her as desirable—before then.

She had no illusions like her mother. The marital contract couldn't be written quickly enough for him not to learn the truth. And truly, she wouldn't want it to be. What she did want was for him to see her—
really
see her—and understand the perfect couple they would make before his view was tainted by the scandal.

Then, and only then, would she have a chance at happiness with him.

The way he saw her shouldn't be based on her selfish, reckless sister. If she couldn't turn his head before the news broke, then there was no chance in the world she would turn it after.

Evan's strides were long and purposeful, carrying him ever closer to the end of the maze, with her scurrying along behind him. Her heart rebelled, pounding loudly in her ears as she cast about for a way to stop him. He paused, and she gratefully leaned over to catch her breath, willing her heart to slow down. He poked his head forward and looked both ways, then turned to her with triumph lighting his eyes.

“The end is in sight! We're almost there.”

Perfect
. In a matter of moments her chance would be lost. “Just a minute, please. I need to catch my breath.”

He nodded and paced away a few steps, as though sensing that she wanted him closer, not farther. “My apologies. I do have that competitive streak. I want this win for both
of us, after the way things went yesterday. Are you all right?”

Sophie exhaled before offering him a wan smile. Was she all right? Not in the least. He had to have recognized the look in her eyes, yet he couldn't get away fast enough. “I'll live,” she said, unable to keep the hitch from her voice.

Tilting his head, Evan watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Letting out a soft breath, he stepped forward and held out his hand. The kindness that she so loved in him was reflected in his firelit eyes as he smiled. “I'm a beast for rushing you. Allow me to regain my status as gentleman.”

She looked down to his proffered hand, his strong and capable fingers stretched out to her in invitation. What if this was the most encouragement she would ever get from him? What if she stopped waiting for him to be moved by his heretofore unseen ardor, and instead seized whatever opportunity fate gave her?

Her body tensed in excitement and fear. Terror, really. Did she have the nerve to actually do such a thing? To set aside everything she had ever been taught and take control? Moistening her lips, she straightened to her full height and met his gaze. The stakes were too high. She couldn't leave her destiny to chance.

Stepping forward, she slipped her fingers into his, curling them as he had shown her yesterday. His naturally followed suit, bending to provide resistance.

She took a deep breath, tightened her hold, and tugged him sharply forward.

His eyes went wide in the quarter second before their bodies met, but after that his reaction was lost to her as she closed her eyes, lifted on her toes, and pressed her lips to his.

E
van couldn't have been more shocked if the king himself had jumped from the hedge. One second they were racing to the end, and the next Sophie's lips were pressed against his. They were warm and petal soft, not at all unpleasant but so unexpected he didn't move a single muscle as he tried to figure out what the hell he should do.

Their joined hands were trapped between them, her fingers still gripping his tightly. She smelled of roses and lemon and something uniquely her that he couldn't quite pinpoint. As his mind reeled, she moved, leaning into him more fully. Honest to God, it was impossible to think clearly with the feel of her soft, full breasts pressed against his chest and her breath warming his cheek.

Of its own volition, his free hand slid around her waist, pulling her more firmly against him. She made a breathy little sound against his lips, surely the most enticing sound he had ever heard. Her kiss was unschooled, but driven by a passion that the deepest part of him recognized and responded to. He tilted his head and parted his lips, allowing the tip of his tongue to slip along the seam of her lips.
So sweet.

He'd never experienced a kiss so honest and real. One that he felt all the way to the pit of his stomach, like the sensation of stumbling down a step he hadn't known was there. One that made him long for so much more from her. The rest of their surroundings seemed to fade away, the soft light of the lanterns little more than a muted glow, the music far away, as if heard from underwater.

God, but she felt incredible. He could sense her curves and the danger of letting himself get carried away with her—something he suddenly desperately wanted to do. He pulled his hand free of her grasp and slid it behind her neck, holding her to him more firmly. Her fingers slipped up his shoulder and delved into his hair, her fingernails scraping lightly along his nape. Chills cascaded down his back, and he pulled her tighter still against him, reveling in the feel of her softness pressed against his chest.

Even as his body cried out for more, his conscience whispered at the back of his mind. He struggled to pull his wits together, so much of him not wanting to release this moment and face the consequences.

Consequences.

With an act of willpower that he hardly knew he possessed, he drew back his hands and broke the kiss, forcing his eyes open and stepping back.
God have mercy.
He needed space to think. A moment to figure out how in the hell that had just happened.

“Miss Wembley, I . . . that is to say . . .” He shook his head, unable to think of a single coherent phrase to describe how ill-advised their kiss was. It was hard to think with the rush of desire still thrumming in his veins and his heart pounding in his ears.

Her hand went to her mouth, her fingertips gliding over her lips in exactly the way he wished his own lips
were. Drawing in a steadying breath, he said sternly, “That was exceptionally unwise of me. Please accept my apologies.”

He gritted his teeth together, steeling himself against the hurt that flared in Sophie's dark eyes.

“Should I apologize as well? Is that the proper protocol after one's first kiss? I'm sorry to say I haven't the experience to know.” Her words were fast and low, nearly a jumble in her haste to get them out.

How on earth had he allowed things to come to this point? She'd heard from his own lips that he wasn't interested in her that way. It was one of the reasons he felt so at ease with her, in fact. Had he been leading her on without even realizing it?

“No, of course not. I am merely saying that we are in public, and we have no agreement, and such behavior is highly ill-advised. If we'd have been caught, I'm sure your mother would have had the first banns read by the end of the week.” Something his muddled brain should have thought of first thing, instead of being distracted by how perfectly she fit against him. He backed up a few more steps for good measure, should his brain decide to take another hiatus and leave him vulnerable again.

She visibly worked to pull herself together, lifting her chin and affixing a completely false smile in place. Her dimples were conspicuously absent, further driving home her upset. “Well, good, because I'm afraid I couldn't apologize if I wanted to. Sometimes in life, we have to take a risk. Sometimes those risks are worth it, and sometimes we're haunted by them for the rest of our lives. The thing is, you never know which outcome you'll get unless you actually take that leap.”

The lantern light shimmered precariously in her eyes, and he knew she was valiantly trying to hold back tears.
Her first kiss, and he had completely decimated whatever hopes she had pinned on it. He felt like an ass and a heel and every other horrible thing possible, but he hadn't asked for any of this, for God's sake. He was simply extending a helping hand, trying to show a bit of kindness when she was obviously less than pleased with him.

He shouldn't have stopped. When he'd seen that flicker of something different in her eyes earlier, he should have kept on walking until they were out of this damn place.

What made him even more convinced of that than anything was the fact that once her lips had touched his, he had
wanted
the kiss. He had liked the feeling of her pressed against him immensely. He'd even wished he didn't have to stop things there, God help him. He'd enjoyed every minute they had spent together this week, and the kiss felt like coming home. She was everything he hadn't known he wanted in a woman.

Sweet, a little daring, open, guileless—who would ever have thought those traits could be so endearing? That he'd find himself wanting to laugh with her, and sing to her, and teach her to shoot a bloody bow and arrow. If he were free to marry, she was exactly who he'd want at his side. Her animated face was exactly the one he wanted to see across the breakfast table as she regaled him with some story or another. Her dimples were exactly the ones he could imagine on his daughters, and her daring spirit would make his sons adventurous. Her body was exactly the one he wanted in his bed every night for the rest of his life.

But damn it all, he
wasn't
free to marry. He wasn't free to imagine a family of his own because there could never
be
a family for him.

Drawing a dark, cleansing breath, he straightened his
jacket and addressed Sophie as he might a business associate. “It is always difficult when risks don't lead to what we wish, but there will be other times, other opportunities.”
Other people.
“Now, if you'd like to follow me, I believe I've had quite enough of this labyrinth.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and a tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly before facing him again. She gave a quick nod, sweeping a hand down her skirts. “Very well. Lead the way.”

His heart ached at the pain she tried to hide, but there was nothing he could do about it . . . other than making damn sure that their paths did not cross again anytime soon.

*   *   *

By the time he arrived home that evening, Evan had descended into a foul mood. Julia had been bewildered at first, unhappy that he had cut the evening short and departed the gala without ever having stopped at the concert. On the way home, her mood had deteriorated with each of his sharp responses until they were both brooding in silence when the carriage came to a stop.

As Higgins opened the door and accepted their gloves and hats, Julia sighed long and hard. “Home again. So much more fun than remaining at the gala with friends.”

Evan threw her a less than pleased look and stalked up the stairs.

“What?” she said, following behind him. “Clearly something happened in the labyrinth, and you had to run away like a spooked foal instead of allowing me to stay and enjoy myself.”

He didn't bother to slow or turn around. “You've been enjoying yourself since you arrived. One early night will not be the death of you.”

“Easy for you to say. When I go home, I won't have
the luxury of attending such events again. While you're out gallivanting around London, I'll be stuck at home, with little more than Mama and Harry to keep me company, God help me.”

“Harry is as good company or better than anyone you'll find here.” He stopped inside the doorway of the drawing room and poured himself a glass of brandy. His mind was whirling with all that had happened with Sophie today, and he was in no mood to argue about their damn neighbor again. Since arriving on his doorstep, Julia had been unreasonably temperamental, and he was done with it.

She breezed past him and draped herself across the settee. Her eyes were narrowed, her jaw set defensively. “Is that so? Well, you could always have offered to switch companions yesterday. Sophie would have been vastly preferable company.”

Evan paused with the glass at his lips, then quickly downed a large swallow. What was he doing? Sophie's company had been vastly preferable, all right—so much so that he had seemed to forget what he was about. How could he have allowed himself to get so carried away with her? He felt vulnerable, transparent. He wanted to be alone so he could think through the knot of emotions twisting in his gut.

Tightening his grip on the glass, he lowered himself into his preferred chair. He swirled the drink in his hand, watching the amber liquid chase itself around the glass. “It's not about switching companions. You were rude to our friend yesterday, and I won't have you speaking ill of him or to him anymore.”

She scowled, sitting up a little straighter. “I don't need judgment from you, thank you very much. At least I make it clear that there is no hope of any sort of future. You
think he's being friendly, but I see the way he looks at me. If Harry gets hurt, then he does so knowing full well what my feelings and wishes are on the matter. Can you say the same?”

Evan's jaw muscles worked as he clenched his teeth. He knew exactly what his sister was saying, but his decisions were no business of hers—especially when he hadn't yet worked out his own thoughts. “We
all
know your feelings on the subject. Have a heart and try not to be so bloody obvious about it.”

“I
am
having a heart. That's the point. And since we are being so honest here,” she said, raising her nose in the air imperiously, “I consider Sophie to be a friend and I don't want to see her hurt. Don't kid yourself that she is unaffected by you. I've seen the way she looks at you when you aren't watching.”

He didn't answer, taking another sip of his drink instead. He wasn't unaware of the look Julia was referring to. He had convinced himself it was nothing, just Sophie's normal sweet self, all the way up until the moment her lips had touched his. He had been such a damn fool to think that he could simply enjoy having a true friend for once. He'd let his guard down around her, and she was the one who suffered for it.

So had he, but at least he deserved whatever suffering he caused himself.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Julia pressed her lips together and shook her head. “The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced she's harboring some sort of
tendre
for you after all.” She shook her head, her hazel eyes judging him. “It's cruel, leading her on like that. She's a sweet girl, and I don't want you hurting her.”

He couldn't have said it better himself. Still, his sister's
admonishment rankled. She was much closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. Guilt tightened like a fist in his chest as he narrowed his eyes at her. “That's enough, Julia.”

“Is it? Because I'm not sure that it is.” Kicking her skirts aside, she came to her feet, suddenly restless. “All these years, I took you at your word that you were being careful, not allowing others to get too close. I believed that you were as dedicated as I, because God knows I was holding up my end,” she said, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. She stopped, shooting Evan an agitated glare. “I'm five-and-twenty, and I've only ever been out of the county of my birth twice, for God's sake.”

He slammed down his glass with enough force to rattle the table. “I
have
been careful. If I hadn't, do you think we would be invited to bloody garden parties by your beloved vicar? Or balls, dancing the waltz and nodding to our peers as we sip warm lemonade? Do you think we would be accepted by
anyone
?”

Looking down to her fingers, she shook her head. “No, I don't imagine we would.”

Her concession didn't make him feel any better. He
had
been careful all these years, but today he had allowed himself to slip more than his sister could imagine. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I've skimmed the surface of life all these years, Jules. There are no close friends to ask questions we don't want to answer, no true enemies to wish to bring us low. I have walked a damn thin line because I know that we cannot afford the attention.”

It was a speech as much for him as it was for her. In a little over a week's time with Sophie, he'd experienced the most real connection he'd ever had with anyone. He'd opened up to the diminutive, endearing, guileless
young woman who had effortlessly managed to slip around his carefully erected walls. And look what had happened as a result.

“Do you ever feel damned?”

Evan's gaze jerked back to his sister. “Don't say things like that. Our souls have as good a chance as any.”

She came and sat on the end of the sofa that was closest to his chair. “But do you worry for your sanity?” Her voice was quiet. Bleak, even.

It was not a rhetorical question.

It was a concept he didn't want to think about. It was hard to believe that she had even voiced the question, and he knew all too well that she wasn't being facetious. He wilted back against the stiff cushion of his chair, giving a humorless, rusty laugh. “What do you think, Jules? Our father belonged in a bloody madhouse.” Words he'd never spoken aloud before, given now with a sort of stark, detached honesty.