Page 30 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
Zachary barely had time to point out that he did, in fact, not know when Evangeline and Percy approached the pianoforte together. “It has come to my attention that Lady Evangeline and I share a similar taste in music,” Percy said as Evangeline seated herself by the piano. Zachary found himself wishing rather viciously that Percy wasnotthe adept singer he likely was. “She has chosen to forgive the fact I have not sung in a long time, so I must ask everyone else to do the same.”
Evangeline smiled as she began playing, and Zachary watched them together. She seated, fingers flying over the keys with an adeptness he could not imagine possessing, and Percy standing behind her like Adonis, with his blond hair and stature.
“Do they not look good together,” Lady Pevton murmured audibly to his mother. Zachary glanced at them both to see his mother frowning at the singing couple.
“Yes,” she said eventually, “though I confess he must have a lot of competition.”
“I can speak for her heart,” Lady Pevton said. “It is unattached.”
Emily tightened her hands together in her lap. “Perhaps this time she shall be lucky,” she whispered.
Zachary looked down at her but decided it would be prudent not to enquire further. If he was to learn she had led more young gentlemen on in the hopes they would, in turn, lead her to the altar, he wasn’t certain whether he would laugh or cry. Someone needed to teach the girl that desperation was not becoming.
Yet as she looked up at Percy, their voices intertwining—his was a rather pleasing bass—irritatingly enough, she did not look desperate. In fact, she looked rather lovely.
And every time he looked at her, he saw her as she had been on the bed, her mouth open, cheeks flushed, and eyes unfocused. The utter wanton loveliness of her, her artless seduction, the way she had enticed him on with every breath, every gasp, and every liquid moan. Just at the thought of it, his body responded, hardening at the sound of her voice—that beautiful, angelic voice—calling his name.
The song ended, and the room burst into applause. Zachary blinked and brought his hands together, hardly knowing what he was applauding for. Percy took Evangeline’s hand in his, and they bowed together.
“A lovely couple,” Lady Pevton repeated, almost forcibly, as she hurried to congratulate them and no doubt to ask Percy if he would do Evangeline the honor of marrying her now, rather than waiting the period for a courtship.
Unreasonably annoyed, Zachary took the first opportunity to leave, finding his way to the darkened library. This time, Evangeline would not find him here, he thought bitterly. She would be too busy flirting with her newest conquest, and his friend would be another one lost in her sea of suitors.
Lady Evangeline, by far the most eligible lady in town, attracting yet another man to her seductive web. He shook his head, brushing the bitter thoughts aside. She might be popular, but it was clear from his watching her that she was not appreciative of the attention.
The thing that irritated him, he told himself, was that Percy had beenhisfriend and came to visithim. He was jealous—for indeed, he recognized the emotion in his breast as clearly as he despised it—for Percy’s sake. Nothing else.
Yet somehow, even when he closed his eyes, he could see Evangeline looking at him, that pleasure-drenched smile on her face.
She would never look at him that way again.
ChapterThirteen
Despite Evangeline’s very clear instructions to Zachary to leave Emily alone, he apparently had no intention of doing as she asked. After all, why would tangling in the sheets withherhave any bearing on his pursuit of her sister?
None, apparently. It was enough to make her fizz with frustration as he took Emily out to walk in the gardens and engaged her in the library, learning her favorite books. Books, she was certain, he wouldn’t like. What man enjoyed the delights of a circulating library and the types of fiction Emily indulged in?
Yet there he was, suffering through the sordid delights of another romance in an attempt to find something in common for them to talk about.
Evangeline adjusted her shawl about her and trailed her fingers across the barbed thorns of the clipped rose bushes. “Don’t tell me you find him charming,” she said scathingly.
“He’s kind,” Emily said. “And you know, when he first arrived, you were convinced he could not be kind.”
“He has a monster of a temper.”
“Which, you must confess, he has been holding remarkably well.” Emily gave a small smile. “Do you remember last evening when Aunt Dorothea invited Lord Casmere to dine with us because she knew Lord Casmere hated the Marquess?”
Evangeline had indeed been intimately aware of the situation, having had Dorothea come and tell her all about her latest ploy to drive the Marquess out of the house. Evangeline could have told her it was all for nothing.
“If I invite his greatest rival here and make it plain it will be a common occurrence, surely he will leave,” Dorothea had said excitedly. And though Evangeline had been certain the Marquess would not leave with such little provocation—not when she had offered so much more—she had agreed, intrigued to see how he would react opposite the only man who was reported to have beaten the Marquess at cards.
Suffice to say, the experiment had been as unsuccessful as Evangeline had feared. The Marquess had held his temper in check although she had noticed him grip his knife rather tightly, and his eyes had barely flickered when Dorothea had openly invited Lord Casmere to visit again, any time he pleased. Lord Casmere had, his gaze firmly on Evangeline, assured her he would.
“You know, I think you quite misjudge him,” Emily said, coming to stand by the bench at the very end of the garden. A plaque dedicated to their late mother, who had once loved to sit in this garden, was hammered along the back in gold. “He is not a beast at all.”
“Please don’t tell me you intend on marrying him.”
“Of course not,” Emily said comfortably, “but I hardly think I shall be given a chance to refuse him.”
