Page 15 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
Well, let’s see how he responds to this.
Chapter Five
Evan stood in front of his hunting lodge, which was a little west of Whitestone Manor. He watched Lady Wyndam’s luxurious coach approach as it turned along the drive. He knew the conveyance carried Mrs. Angela Berry. He couldn’t deny the sense of excited energy surging through his blood. The lady wanted to be alone with him; she wanted to be courted. He certainly wanted to be alone with her.
He’d had two whiskies already to calm the fire rising in his blood. Now, he wasn’t sure those libations had not made things worse. For the first time in over a decade, he was palm-sweating, uncertain about how to approach a woman. There were many reasons for this. The most worrisome thing was the strength of his own attraction to her.
As for courting her, he might not know enough about American women and not enough about her as an individual woman to plan the right way to court her. Unfortunately, he had already used the tactic of highlighting the ways she differed from the women in England, the way she wore her hair and the way she dressed. He’d done this as part of his mission. To make her feel a little off balance, to make her feel unsure and to look to him as a source of guidance and security.
In the days that followed, for the first time since he’d begun to work for the Home Office, he felt like a reprobate for having manipulated a target. But not just a target but a woman whose large, emotive hazel eyes had touched him deep inside. Eyes thathad haunted his dreams at night and crept into his thoughts during the day.
And then she sent that letter. That incredible letter.
Court her?
Yes, he wanted that too. He wanted to court her in the way she needed to be courted. The strength of his desire to please her ran counter to the needs of his mission. He would have to balance these two opposing drives within himself.
That she’d sent the letter itself hadn’t impressed him as much as the content. He’d expected a letter, but he had expected her to ask his advice on selecting her dresser or something like that. Instead, she had made demands of him in opposition to his suggestions. It showed a strength of mind that he hadn’t expected.
The carriage came to a stop. He was so wound up that he didn’t wait for the coachman; he went to the carriage and opened the door. The windows were open, and the interior was illuminated enough so that he could see the pale tan oval of her face and meet her hazel eyes.
Eyes that glittered with happiness. Happiness to see him? Or just excitement over the situation.
“Welcome, Mrs. Berry.” He reached out, and she placed her pale gray suede gray gloved hand in his hand, which he lifted to his lips.
It took him a few moments to even be able to have an awareness of the other occupant, an auburn-haired woman of mature years.
“This is my lady’s maid, Mrs. Davies.”
He turned to Mrs. Davies and smiled. “Welcome to Briarwood House, Mrs. Davies.”
He moved away from the door to allow the coachman to set up the steps. Then Evan helped Mrs. Berry out of the carriage. Once she stood beside him, he observed her. Did she wear that dark blue dress of heavy wool with the prim white lace collar on the high neckline to defy his previous suggestion that she wear less conservative clothing?
The dress was well-tailored and clung to her curves. The very primness of the garment teased his desire to see her curves stripped bare. Inwardly, he shook himself. He had best focus on the importance of his mission. They would only be intimate should it please Mrs. Berry. Yes, he could overwhelm her with a romantic, sensual seduction. Easily he could do this. It was apparent from their meeting the other day that she desired him.
But he didn’t want her that way.
She was a woman with a strong will and a strong intellect. He wanted her to choose a dalliance with him with both her will and her intellect.
A dalliance?
Really? Was that what it was to be called?
An inexplicable hollowness settled into his stomach. A sensation that unnerved him. Of course, it would be a dalliance. What else could it be? What else would he want? He didn’t want to wed the woman. Aside from not being ready for marriage, his uncle, the Duke of Holsworthy, would only accept an English noblewoman for his bride. Not that he wouldn’t go against his family’s wishes; he wasn’t a puppet of his family, after all.
But how happy would an American woman be as the wife of a duke’s heir? Marriage alliances with men of his rank were alliances of two families and a matter of social roles, not romance.
And a woman like Mrs. Berry, while she might indulge in a brief dalliance, would not be happy in the position of long-term mistress. Despite her modest dress, she possessed fabulous wealth. His superior’s intelligence had revealed not only that she had inherited wealth from her late husband but also that she’d been paid extravagant wages by her late father-in-law, which had been increased by astute investments by the family.
He’d never been intimately associated with a woman like her before. And he could have intimate access to her only for a fleeting time.
That was what logic had to say about the matter.
Yet, his emotional reaction still unnerved him. It was an unexpected weakness on his part. And an unpredictable variable at that.
The coachman had helped Mrs. Davies out of the carriage, and she was directing him to unload the luggage. Soon, two chests sat on the drive. Only two. So, he learned another thing about Mrs. Berry: she was an efficient traveler.
Angela stared up at Lord Ashington. When he first opened the door and reached to take her hand, his expression revealed his happiness at seeing her. It had instantly relieved her sudden anxiety to be there. It had also made her tingle from head to toe with an answering joy to see him.
