Page 9 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
Evangeline squeezed Emily’s hand and squared her shoulders. As always, the mention of her father sent a spear of ice into her stomach, but she could hardly afford to show it. “Thank you.”
“And the weather is quite… pleasant for this time of year.”
Evangeline glanced at the window where it had just begun to rain. “Indeed,” she said.
Mr. Linfield sighed and, after a glance at his mother, said, “I do apologize. I have to go along with it, you know. To appease her.”
“I understand completely,” Evangeline said dryly.
“Mama is quite settled on me marrying a Duke’s daughter, and I have had no rest about it until I agreed to pay you a call.”
“I appreciate your honesty.” Evangeline pursed her lips as she looked at the young man. “I assume you are not in fact in pursuit of a wife?”
“Lord, no.” His flush spread. “Pray excuse my language.”
He would make a good poet, Evangeline reflected. He had just that style of dark beauty and flashing eyes that would work exceedingly well in fiction—and the delicateness of his complexion and physique merely added to the image.
“Our aunt is the same,” Emily whispered, leaning forward. “You would not believe how many callers we have received this morning alone.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Linfield’s gaze darted to Evangeline’s face. “Does that explain the expression of weariness that crossed your face when I was announced?”
Evangeline colored. “Was it that plain?”
“Perhaps only because I was looking for it.” He held out a hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Evangeline. I thought I would encounter another simpering Miss, but if you are as reluctant to receive callers as I am to call, I think we shall get on splendidly.”
At most, he could only be one-and-twenty; a mere boy, not a man. Still, from the encouraging glance her aunt gave her, Dorothea expected her to encourage him—clearly, a match with a Viscount’s second son could be tolerated if only she could be married and fast.
But, if she had to be married tosomeone, Mr. Linfield seemed better than most, and so, Evangeline took his hand and received a rather robust shake for her trouble.
“I believe we shall get on splendidly,” she said.
* * *
The only sign Zachary gave that he registered his mother entering the room was the way he tightened his fingers on his newspaper and held it a little higher in front of his head. They had yet to discuss his behavior from the previous night, and although that moment was inevitable, Zachary preferred to delay it as long as possible.
The Marchioness of Harley, Zachary’s mother, seated herself at the breakfast table and helped herself to some jam. Zachary risked a glance at her to find she was spearing him with the same narrow-eyed gaze that he prided himself on being able to employ.
“I see you are none the worse for wear,” she said. He laid the newspaper down. “I confess myself surprised after all you consumed yesterday.”
He did, in fact, have a headache, but he merely took another sip of tea. “If you are intending on scolding me, I had rather you did it sooner than later.”
“Your temper got the better of you last night.”His temper was, to his chagrin, quick to flare and usually slow to dissipate. Yesterday, however, had been the exception to the rule; something about sharing the night with the strange lady had eased his temper to the point that he felt positivelylight.
That sensation had, of course, faded with the advent of the morning and his hangover. But he remembered the way it felt, speaking freely without expectations. He still remembered, when he closed his eyes, the way it felt to kiss her. The little gasp she’d made when he’d touched her tongue with his, and the way she had clung to him as though she was drowning, and he was her savior.
Zachary was not much accustomed to being anyone’s savior, and the sensation was so unexpected, so addicting, that if he was not careful, he could give over every waking moment to thinking of her. He still had her shawl.
“My temper,” he said when the silence made it apparent it was his turn to speak. “Yes, perhaps it did. But when you consider the provocation—”
“No provocation justifies your behavior.”
There it was, the mention of hisbehavior. When he was on the Continent, she knew little of what he did, but now he was back, and they were both on display for theton. Their curiosity mixed with their disgust, and it was a toxic combination.
“If you are to find a wife—” she continued.
“I have no intention of finding a wife.” He placed his knife down with a sharp clatter and bit back the impending rise of his temper. It was molten, boiling inside him, ready to explode. “I did not return to England with the purpose of marrying.”
She raised her eyebrows. Although she was now five and forty, she still retained much of the legendary beauty that was spoken about even now. His father had been the man lucky enough to take home the diamond of the season, and although age had faded her a little, there was merely a hint of gray by her temples, and her eyes were still the sharp blue they had always been. They lingered on his face.
