Page 27 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
He inhaled deeply, then blew out slowly, trying to restrain himself from pressing her further for her answer. Was this what being in love was really like? These ecstatic heights followed by unbearable uncertainty.
“Evan, sometimes I feel afraid. Very afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes, afraid of you.”
“Me?”
“And of this, of us.”
“There’s nothing to fear.” He lowered himself to put his cheek against hers. “We just have to trust in each other. We have to trust in what we have and who we are when we are together.”
“Most of all, I feel afraid of myself and the things that I begin to think about. To dream about.”
“Like what, Angela?”
“Like us, going on after Christmas.”
He paused, wondering how much of his newly self-admitted feelings and thoughts she was ready to hear. How much she was really ready to face. And especially since she wasn’t well at the moment, he decided to err on the side of caution. She already had so much to cope with and to come to terms with. “It’s not out of the question, Angela, that we should continue on as lovers past Christmas. Perhaps you are not the only one who spins such dreams.” He placed a kiss on her lips, cheerfully tolerating the sourness of her breath. “You’ll promise me that you’ll be here when I return.”
It was a definite demand. Did he feel more confident about giving a demand now that she had admitted the depth of her feelings to him? Admitted the depth of her own fear of being hurt? Maybe. Love for her had driven him to do so. And in doing so, he had just revealed to her the depth of his own fear of losing her. Now, he might pay the price for such a gamble. He took a deep breath.
And he waited.
Her eyes revealed nothing of her thoughts or feelings. He had never felt so powerless in his life.
Finally, she nodded. “I’ll be here.”
Chapter Nine
In a rather nondescript office in Brighton, Evan finished telling his superior that Angela had come to England at the request of her natural, ducal father. He did not specify her father by name. He mentioned she had not been welcomed or allowed to see her father.
Mr. Abney didn’t seem surprised by this new information.
It wasn’t new information for him.
This realization put a coldness in Evan’s stomach.
“Does she intend to attempt another visit with Amesbury, or does she intend to return to America soon?” Mr. Abney looked over the top of his spectacles. “You intend to spend Christmastide with her?”
“Yes, she will be with me.” Suddenly, it seemed imperative that he make this part certain. Though he didn’t know where the intuition had come from.
“It is of the utmost importance that you can convince her that any further attempts to see the Duke of Amesbury are futile and that it would be in her best interests to return to America.”
Evan’s forehead ached. He had not realized that he’d been frowning so hard. Imperiousness did not often come so easily to Evan as it did now. This man was basically a clerk for the Home Office, while Evan was the heir to the Duke of Holsworthy. He leaned forward in his chair.
Mr. Abney’s eyes widened, and he flinched. “It would be in her best interest, my lord. She should go home and attend to the Berry family business, or perhaps she might use her considerable wealth and beauty to snare a new husband. She was never a part of Amesbury’s life, and to think she would become a part of his intimate circle at the hour of his death is absurd, don’t you think?”
“I would like to discuss this matter with the Duke of Radstock,” Evan mentioned Mr. Abney’s superior’s superior.
Mr. Abney paled and gaped at him for a moment. Then he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, no, that would not be a good idea at all. There is no need to bother His Grace with a trifling bit of business like this. I think it is best to keep the matter between the Duke of Amesbury, his family, and my office. I have been empowered to speak for the duke’s family in this and some related business.”
Mr. Abney’s chest seemed to have puffed up, and his voice rang with self-importance. But more than that, Mr. Abney’s pale blue eyes held a reptilian deadness. He couldn’t describe it any better than that.
The coldness in his middle seemed to grow heavy as lead, and his muscles became rigid. He had not mentioned Amesbury by name, had he?
Thoughts came all at once. The first was that he had been naïve to have come here and spoken with Mr. Abney. He should have known when she’d told him the truth about her father and her reception there that powerful people had knowingly placed her under a false investigation for such a serious crime as espionage.
