Plus, he was an earl. A Scottish earl, but still, he had to adhere to some sense of propriety—including knowing how to leave his hands off her person. How to keep his men’s hands off her person.
Her feet solidly in place, she tilted her chin upward. “Anything your household requires, I can do it, my lord. I can join the kitchens, I can sweep, mop. I can sew. I can contribute, my lord, I swear it.”
He stifled a guffaw. “Now why would a fine lass of the ton be willing to trade in silks and madeira for a scullery maid’s life?” He grabbed her wrist, stripping off the glove from her right hand. He flipped it palm upward and examined her skin in the moonlight. He snorted. “Soft. This hand has never once felt a scrub brush in it.”
She yanked her hand away. “Looks can be deceiving, my lord.”
“Can they?” His eyebrow had not fallen from its high perch.
“The fortitude of my will is able to see me through anything, my lord. I can and I will do whatever is necessary. No matter how dirty. No matter how low. I swear upon it. I need this. I need to leave with you tonight.”
“Yet your will cannot see you through whatever it is you are trying to escape?”
The murmur of the voices grew louder, footsteps crunching on the gravel pathway coming their way.
Time was running out.
She exhaled through gritted teeth. “My will is smart enough to know what I can and cannot survive. And I cannot survive what is ahead for me if I stay.”
His folded arms lifted slightly. “Why would you choose ruin, as that is surely what you are hoping for by asking to leave with us?”
“If ruin alone would help me, I would have done that the first night of this affair with a random gentleman. Ruin will not help me escape what is ahead.”
He stared at her blankly, his eyes still edged with skepticism.
He wasn’t taking her seriously—nothing of what she’d said had filtered through his brandy-soaked brain with any sense of urgency.
The footsteps drew closer.
Only a few precious seconds left.
Desperation sent her hand flinging out and she drew the dirk from the belt about his waist. Her hands in a flurry, she shoved the blade of the dagger between her breasts and yanked it downward, slicing open the gold embroidered bodice of her gown.
Her mother’s gown, the only thing she had left of her.
For how the sound of the fabric ripping sliced Evalyn to her soul, it was a sacrifice she had to make. She needed to leave. Tonight.
Her breasts half spilling forth, her nipples only barely concealed by the tattered gold and white fabric, she held up his dirk between them. “Don’t make me trap you, Lord Dunhaven. Give me your word I can come with you tonight, or I throw this dagger out into the pathway. I scream. They find us together like this and you are going to be bound to me in ways you would never want to be.”
That threat made it through his brandy-addled mind.
The fury on his face was instant and his lips pulled back as a low growl shook his chest. Shook the air around him. “Brutal little harpy.”
Without breaking eye contact, she threw the dirk behind her. It hit the ground, skidding into the granite gravel.
His next breath seethed from his mouth, his eyes skewering her.
But his ire didn’t bother her. It couldn’t. Not with what awaited her.
Her words slowed, softened to the slightest shaking whisper. “My stepfather is Baron Falsted and he will demand satisfaction.” She grabbed his forearm, the cords of muscle under his coat sleeve steel against the grip of her fingertips. “But I don’t ask that of you. I only ask that you swear you will take me north. Far away from here where I can disappear. Please. I am begging you…begging you, my lord. Please.”
His cheek twitched and his slow burr deepened into a rage that sent her legs trembling. “Baron Falsted?”
Her head bobbled in a frantic nod.
He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and his arms fell to his sides. “Aye, then it seems I’m saddled with extra baggage on the journey home.” He glanced up at the night sky. “We leave in two hours, lass.”
“In the darkness—in the middle of the night?” Her look flew up to the stars above. “But—”