Twice the Temptation (11 page)

 
“Yes, I did.”

 
“Forgive my skepticism. And please don’t call on me again.”

 
“Now who’s being absurd?” Connoll pulled out a bottle of Madeira and two glasses, which he handed over to her. “I didn’t lose my virginity to Daisy. She wasn’t my first mistress. And I didn’t love her. She…wounded my pride, a little. I recover quickly.”

 
“But you do love me, now.”

 
However flippantly she made the statement, more than a little of her own pride rested on his answer.What was wrong with her today? To cover the sudden flutter of nerves, she held out the glasses for him to fill.

 
“That’s an odd question coming from a chit encouraging an old fool’s suit.”

 
Hm. He was correct, and she was stupid to have asked. “My question was about you,” she improvised. “It has nothing to do with me.”

 
“Ah. Explain.”

 
“Certainly. Before I waste any further time in your company, I would like to know whether or not you’re simply a magpie, pursuing whatever sparkles the most in your sight at any given moment.”

 
To her surprise, he sent her a slight grin as he accepted one of the glasses back from her and took a sip. “You don’t converse like this with Redmond, do you?”

 
“I have no need to be cross with him. His adoration has been unwavering since we met.”

 
“So has mine.”

 
She smirked. “Oh, please, Connoll. You thought I was someone else. You don’t adore me.”

 
“I admire you,” he countered.

 
“Why?” she blurted, before she could stop herself.Ninny .

 
He gazed straight at her, his deep blue eyes serious and considering. “Because whatever web you’re spinning for Redmond, with me you’ve been honest and forthright to the point of painfulness. You are, I’m beginning to realize, exceptionally brilliant, with a wit most others would weep to possess.” He clinked his glass against hers. “And that is why I admire you, Gilly.”

 
Evangeline took a drink of Madeira. Not a conventional compliment in the mix, and yet she’d never felt more genuinely flattered. This was one of the traps her mother had warned her about, obviously. Any man could be pleasant and compliant for a short time. She didn’t want her opinion listened to, her requests granted, for merely a moment; she required a lifetime of being integral to her spouse.

 
“Tell me, Connoll, if we attended the Howlett ball on Friday next, and I wore a dark blue gown, would you wear a light blue coat to complement my apparel?”

 
“No.”

 
She frowned. “Well, why not?” He might at least have considered it for a blasted minute before he refused her.

 
“Firstly, I don’t own a light blue anything, and secondly, I’m not a doll you dress to match your fancy. Now, if you said you were going to wear nothing,then I would dress in nothing as well. That is the only exception.”

 
Hm. “Lord Redmond would wear light blue for me.”

 
“So would a pet monkey.”

 
She thought she heard a snort. When she looked toward the tree beneath which the maid rested, though, Doretta appeared absorbed in her needlework, the kitten in her lap. The tiger was too far away to overhear their conversation, thank goodness.

 
“Insulting me is an odd way to show your admiration,” she said stiffly, digging into the picnic basket when he showed no inclination to do anything but sip Madeira and gaze at her all afternoon.

 
“I’m insulting your suitor, not you,” he returned smoothly. “And monkeys, I suppose.”

 
“Well, for your information, Lord Redmond is not
my only suitor.”

 
“I know of two,” Connoll said, taking a peach and pulling a very sharp-looking knife from his boot to slice it, “including myself.”

 
Her cheeks warmed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Lord Dapney has already proposed to me twice.”

 
“Dapney,” he repeated, frowning a little. “Dapney. Do you mean Viscount Dapney?”

 
“Yes, that’s him.”

 
“But he’s older than Redmond. Good God, Gilly, you may as well hold your wedding at a cemetery.”

 
“His grandson, for heaven’s sake,” she exclaimed. “The old Lord Dapney died over a year ago.”

 
Connoll handed her a slice of peach. “That makes a bit more sense, at least. I hope he’s not the grandson who bought that yacht in Dover and then immediately sank it when he decided to steer it up the Thames himself.”

 
“William has never mentioned any such thing. It must have been one of his cousins.”

 
“Any other gentlemen pursuing you? I wish to know my competition.”

 
“They are in earnest, my lord. You can’t be considered to be in competition unless you are, as well.”

 
“I’m not going to commit to an enterprise after three days, Evangeline, however tempting that may be. Dapney’s proposed twice, you said, and obviously you’ve turned him down. I won’t accept him as a serious rival. Redmond troubles me more, mostly because I can’t for the life of me figure out why you tolerate him, much less encourage him.”

 
Redmondtroubled him. Evangeline wondered how she would feel if the old earl began to court another woman, or if someone else showed an interest in him. The answer
was easy—without a second’s hesitation she would turn around and look for another man who fulfilled her requirements. She absolutely didn’t wish to become embroiled in a conflict with anyone else over either Redmond or Dapney. How distasteful that would be.

 
“What are you thinking?” Connoll asked, leaning back against the oak tree trunk and looking like the image of…well, of precisely what he was—a handsome, virile, powerful member of the peerage. And those eyes…

 
“I’m thinking that your presence presents something of a puzzle for me,” she answered truthfully.

 
“Did you expect that I wouldn’t be interested in you?” He handed her another slice of peach.

 
It was a very good peach. “It’s not that.”

 
“So youdid expect that I would be interested in you.”

 
Evangeline shrugged. “I’m pretty.” As he grinned at that, she threw an acorn at him. “I have no more control over my features than keeping them clean,” she said defensively. “Their arrangement is God’s decision. I daresay you know you’re devilish handsome, Connoll. Refusing to admit something so obvious and so insignificant is mere silliness.”

 
“An interesting point. Very well, we are two well-favored individuals, stamped with our features by the Almighty. Why do I puzzle you, then?”

 
She hesitated. A few days ago she wouldn’t have been able to imagine herself having such a straightforward conversation with anyone, much less a gentleman. Even more surprising, she enjoyed talking with him, even when they were battling. Especially when they were battling. She didn’t think she’d ever witnessed her mother and father arguing—the viscountess made a statement, and the viscount agreed with it. No matter what it
was, and no matter who might be correct.

 
“I’ve been rude to you from the moment you fell on me. Why areyou here?” she countered. “Aside from your admiration of my character, which you didn’t know until later.”

 
The marquis laughed. She liked the sound, merry and open—rather like she’d begun to think he must be. “Because when I kissed you, you slapped me.”

 
“That’s—”

 
“But before you slapped me, you kissed me back. You didn’t faint, you didn’t panic, and you didn’t scream bloody murder and compromise both of us.” His smile softened. “You kissed me back. And it was a very nice kiss. I wanted to experience another one. Several, in fact.”

 
Evangeline sat back. What was wrong with her? This man would question absolutely everything she ever said or did, he would never give in and let her win an argument, and still what she wanted most at that moment was to throw herself on him and just let him kiss her. It had been avery nice kiss. And the successive ones had each been better than the first.

 
“Don’t tell me that now I’ve stumped you,” he murmured, setting aside the remains of the peach in favor of some delectable-looking sandwiches.

 
“I don’t want to discuss kissing any longer,” she said flippantly, hoping her cheeks didn’t look as heated as they felt. For goodness’ sake, if Redmond only kissed a little better, and Rawley a little worse, she wouldn’t have to be considering anything at all.

 
“Actions speak louder than words, eh?” He set aside the plate and leaned toward her.

 
“No!” she blurted, blocking his mouth with her glass of Madeira. “Go back onto your side of the blanket.”

 
“Very well,” he returned with a jaunty grin, complying, “but I’d rather be over there.”

 
Talk about something else, she ordered herself.Think about something else . “Are the rumors true?” she asked, shifting about for anything to set him as much off balance as he’d put her. “The ones that said you just returned from Paris?”

 
“I will only answer that question while waltzing. With you, in case you were going to attempt something nefarious and substitute someone else.”

 
“But—”

 
“We’ve already established that I’m escorting you to the Howlett ball on Friday, and that you’re wearing blue and I’m not. We’ll dance there.”

 
“That was a hypothetical situation.”

 
“Not if you want me to answer your question.”

 
She sputtered. “Oh, very well.”

 
“Excellent.” He grinned again. “Have some cheese.”

 
“There you are,” Lewis Blanchard said, pausing beside a potted palm tree. “What the devil are you doing skulking in the shrubbery?”

 
Connoll grabbed his friend’s shoulder and yanked him behind the fronds. “I’m observing unseen. If you stand out there and talk to me, people will either think you’re mad or they’ll see me. While I don’t mind the former, the latter could be slightly embarrassing.”

 
“What are you observing, then?” the earl boomed in his version of a whisper.

 
“Lower your damned head. You look like a lighthouse.”

 
Somehow Lord Ivey managed to fold most of himself behind the palm tree. “Good God. I think I’ve broken
my spine. What are you looking at?”

 
“Not what. Whom. Miss Munroe.”

 
“Your Miss Munroe?”

 
He liked the way that sounded, though Gilly would be the first one to correct that misapprehension if she ever heard it. “Yes, my Miss Munroe. Hush.”

 
“But—”

 
“I’m also listening.” He’d spent evenings in an odder fashion than this, he supposed, but not recently. After going to the bother of securing an invitation to a very loud and long-winded lecture on Shakespearean metaphor, he should at least be flinging similes about the room. That, however, would have defeated his purpose in being there, which was nothing more and nothing less than deciphering young Miss Munroe.