Page 28 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
“Pray excuse me for descending on you in this way,” the gentleman said, bowing. “You must be Lady Evangeline? I see reports of your beauty are not wrong.”
The Dowager Marchioness frowned slightly but made no comment, and Evangeline smiled in private agreeance. Compliments such as these soon lost their sparkle when they were handed out with such frequency.
“Thank you, …?” She let her voice trail away with an upwards inflection, waiting for him to supply her with a name.
“Lord Riffy, Lady Evangeline.”
The Earl of Riffy was at this moment standing in her drawing room. “I see,” she said, coming in and seating herself down on the sofa. He also sat. “And to what must we attribute this call?”
“To satisfy your vanity, I suspect I should say it is to pay a call on you,” he said with an easy smile, “but as a matter of fact, it is because I miss my dear friend dearly, and I am accustomed to spending much more time with him than I can at present.”
Just another reason for the Marquess to leave, she thought viciously, linking her hands together in her lap. “You must not seek to satisfy my vanity,” she said. “I have very little of it left after such an extended period of time with His Lordship.”
The Earl raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?”
“If you are his good friend, you may know that his propensity to flatter ladies is none at all,” she said, warming to her task. Perhaps this friend might be the key to persuading him to leave.
“That does not surprise me.” Amusement colored his voice, and he glanced at the Dowager Marchioness, who gave him a weary smile in return. “My friend the Marquess does not usually seek to recommend himself to members of the opposite sex.”
“Perhapsyoumight do him some good, My Lord.”
He smiled. “Alas, our friendship is longstanding enough that I fear I have little chance of influencing him even a little.”
“Am I to presume you are speaking ill of me?” the Marquess said from the doorway. Once again, and even more irritatingly, a flush spread across Evangeline’s face. “Do you like this?”
She kept her gaze firmly on Lord Riffy as he stood to greet his friend with clasped hands. Lord Riffy was a man of marriageable age who had shown some level of interest in her. A passing amount, clearly—from the easy way he spoke with the Marquess and his mother, it was clear that his reason for coming to visit had indeed been for them.
But if she could persuade Lord Riffy that she was an excellent choice for a wife…
Never mind Mr. Linfield. Zachary—the Marquesshad been right there; he was too young to be seriously considering marriage. Lord Riffy, however, in his late twenties or early thirties, was an extremely eligible match. It was a wonder she had not encountered him before.
“Good heavens,” her aunt said from the doorway. “We have guests! But—why did no one inform me?”
“This is Lord Riffy, Aunt,” Evangeline explained, hurrying forward to soothe the distress on her aunt’s face. The last thing she needed was for Dorothea to call for her smelling salts again. “He is a friend of the Marquess’—but,” she added in a much lower tone, “he seems much better-natured.”
Her aunt looked at Lord Riffy with some suspicion, but after he had come and introduced himself, his easy charm an immediate recommendation, she announced, “You had better stay to dinner!” and that was that.
Dinner was a necessarily awkward affair. Her aunt had insisted on putting Evangeline beside the Marquess—probably to shield herself from the necessity of speaking with him—and placed Lord Riffy by Emily’s side.That, too, was likely deliberate: to prevent the Marquess from getting any ideas. Evangeline understood the reason behind the arrangements, but that did not make them any more agreeable to her.
The Marquess, too, seemed somewhat unwilling to speak. So, he regretted the incident just as much as she, did he? Was it shame that compelled him to silence or something else? The thought was likely to drive her mad.
At the other end of the table, Lord Riffy and Emily appeared to be getting on well; her aunt was in good spirits as long as the Marquess said nothing, and the Dowager Marchioness of Harley seemed amused by Lord Riffy’s endless charm. AndEvangelinewas forced to watch it all from a considerable distance.
“The partridge is particularly good today,” the Marquess said after a moment. She spared him the briefest of glances and found him frowning at his plate. Perhapshehad not meant to say something so banal, either.
“The partridge is as good as it ever is,” she said. “Our cook is an excellent one.”
“Of course.” This was unexpectedly polite. She shot another glance into his face, only to find him looking directly at her. She flushed and glanced away.
“Lady Evangeline, I would like to speak with you, if you would be so kind—” he started, but she shook her head vehemently, gripping her knife as tightly as she could manage.
“Thank you, My Lord, but I had rather not.”
“Not even to discuss—”
“I beg you would not even speak of it,” she hissed. No one else appeared to have heard their conversation, but if they did or guessed what had occurred between them—
No, surely not. No one would have guessed it because it was so wholly out of character for her.
