Chapter Thirteen
Evangeline frowned when the sound of her husband’s raised and angry voice drifted down the corridor to filter into her suite.
Clearly, something had happened at the club where he’d spent the evening, so she set aside the book she’d been reading and slipped from her bed to pad across the room. Standing at the door, she unashamedly listened. Was he in his cups or merely in a mood?
“The audacity of that man!” The outburst was followed by the crash of something smashing against a wall.
Good heavens, had he turned violent? Or was he finally relaxed enough to show his true colors?
A muffled deep voice said something in response, but she couldn’t clearly hear it. No doubt it was Darkemore’s poor valet who was directly receiving his ire.
“No, damn it, I don’t want laudanum. At least not right now.
” Another thud echoed. “I gave everything for this country, Forsythe! The military and spy life took everything from me, and yet England couldn’t care less about that.
Instead, Prinny hosted that man and others of his ilk at Carlton House last night for excess and debauchery.
Does he not know or not care that he’s being played the fool?
Clearly, he doesn’t know he’s hosted the fucking Jackal! ”
Well, he had a point. What the duke had gone through—that she still didn’t know the full details of beyond what he’d told her last night—didn’t seem to equate to respect now. But without knowing the history, she could only speculate. And who did he refer to?
Another crash sounded, followed by a low exchange of voices. Then a door slammed, and she frowned. Where was he off to? An angry stomp of footsteps indicated he was heading along the corridor. Seconds later, a barrage of knocking fell on her door.
Dear God, what state will I find him in? It brought back memories of Marklesfield when he was in his cups. So much so that a wave of fear washed down her spine.
The latch rattled. “Let me in, Evvie.” Again, he rapped on the wooden panel.
“Are you drunk?”
“Unfortunately, I am not.”
At least there was that. After manipulating the lock, she swung the door open. “What do you want?”
“You.” The duke stormed into the room. Clad only in evening breeches and a lawn shirt whose tails had been tugged free of the breeches, he had the look of an angry pirate.
She blew out a breath. “I am not doing anything with you until you calm yourself. I heard some of your outbursts just now.”
For a fleeting moment, stark vulnerability filled his expression before it vanished beneath a look of arrogance. “I suspect you are how I will find that calm.”
“If you’d just let yourself?” It was the closest thing to honesty she’d had from him since meeting him, and while she gawked, he closed the distance, slipped his good arm about her waist then claimed her lips in a hard, possessive kiss that made her senses swim.
The heat of him seeped through his thin shirt as well as her lawn shift to sear her skin and fire her need.
How could he arouse her so quickly and with naught but a kiss?
When he wrenched away, he sought out her gaze with his. “You are becoming my safe harbor from the storms inside me, and I need that grounding now.” The golden flecks in his deep brown eyes glimmered in the candlelight. The plea for help he didn’t speak aloud was loud in his very being.
And it made her heart flutter. “All right.” She nodded. “Let’s talk about why you are so irritated tonight.”
“Echerson is kissing Prinny’s arse and bringing his sycophants with him; it’s a dangerous game he’s playing, not only for the regent but also for England.”
What did that mean? A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Why do you despise him?”
“You don’t need to know that in this moment.” As he spoke, the duke walked her backward. When he stopped at a winged-back chair, he settled into it then pulled her down into his lap so that she straddled him. “I want to know more about you.”
“I’m happy to share anything you want.” She held his face between her palms, reveled in the rasp of his stubble against her skin and still she kissed him. It was impossible to resist him, so she set to work in a bid to seduce him.
“Ha.” His weak hand rested at the small of her back. “Tell me about your marriage to Marklesfield. How long was it?”
“Ten long years. He was a friend of my father’s.
Between the two of them, the match was arranged, and I had no say in it.
” His presence was powerful, overwhelming, and soon she would drown in him.
The press of his hardened member along her arse fed her own desire.
Despite the secrets he kept from her, despite the confusion of this marriage of convenience—of physical satisfaction—she wanted this man, needed to feel the slide of his body against hers, had to know he felt something beyond friendship for her if only for a moment.
Was he even capable of that?
“Did he ever care for you in that time?” His eyes were dark with desire, but he made no inroads into touching her. Did he wait for her to lead?
“I rather doubt it, since I was considered an afterthought.”
“How so?” His lips brushed the side of her neck, beneath her jaw, and still, he didn’t touch her.
It was both maddening and empowering. “Marklesfield liked things in this order: drinking, his club, his mistress, hunting, gambling, his friends, and then me when he gave me thought.”
“Your father must have offered him a huge dowry.”
“Yes.” Daring much, Evangeline slipped her hands beneath his shirt to rest her palms against his skin.
When his muscles went taut, she grinned.
“He wanted the convenience of having a wife, a pretty ornament on his arm for society’s pleasure, but otherwise, he didn’t give me a thought…
unless he wanted someone to vent his spleen. ”
“He beat you.” It wasn’t a question.
“He did, and he only waited a few months into the union before that started.” Trying to find the words to continue the story, she nibbled the sensitive spot beneath his jaw.
The scratch of his evening whiskers heightened her need as did his moan of approval.
She adored how strong and solid he was beneath her hands, the way he held her, touched her, how he made her feel protected, safe—desired.
Heat flowed through her veins to replace her blood, and she nipped and licked a path to his ear.
When she gained the lobe, she gave it a light bite.
The rapid intake of his breath made her giggle.
“Whether he was in his cups or not didn’t matter.
I think he got his rocks off each time his fists connected somewhere on my body. ”
Those years were horrid, and honestly, she didn’t know how she’d survived them. If it hadn’t been for her friends, she might have taken her own life.
Michael drew his hand up and down her spine. “He didn’t want an heir?”
“Of course he did… or that’s what he said.
” Wanting to lose herself in her husband, Evangeline relieved him of the shirt, tugging it up and off his body.
A sigh escaped her as she pressed her lips to his shoulder and breathed in the scent of him.
“We’d been married a year before I fell pregnant the first time. ”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “What happened?”
A shiver of fear sailed down her spine. Slowly, she met his gaze. “Shortly after I told him the news, he laid hands on me, beat me, made certain the blows fell to my belly.” A hard swallow went into her throat. “I miscarried a couple of days later.”
“Shit, that’s beyond the pale.” As he spoke, Michael slipped a hand up her hip and under the hem of her shift. “Did you suffer the same the second time?”
“Yes.” Tears welled in her eyes. The hope that she’d put the past behind her proved it was a lie.
“A couple of years later, I was pregnant again. I tried to hide it this time, for I didn’t want to tell him.
I’d wished to remove to his country estate to protect my child, perhaps raise it away from him. ”
“You didn’t have the chance.” It also wasn’t a question.
Flutters went through her insides when he caressed her hip, her waist, her belly. “No. Somehow, he discovered my secret… to the same results. As I lay crumpled on the floor that night, hurting and bleeding, he told me he didn’t want a child that would prove a drain on his resources.”
“Fuck, if he was still alive, I’d kill him myself,” he whispered shortly before he claimed her lips in a tender kiss that brought another round of tears to her eyes.
“I appreciate the sentiment.” For a moment, she rested her forehead on his shoulder.
“After that, I stopped caring about life. And apparently, he ceased caring if society could see my bruises. Before, he’d only hit me where clothing would cover them.
After the second miscarriage and my withdrawal from everything, he beat me wherever he felt like. ”
With his weak hand, he cupped the side of her neck, urged her head up so their gazes connected again. “Did you fight back?”
“Early in the union I didn’t because that wasn’t how women of the beau monde were supposed to behave.”
“Gammon. No one should be subjected to such abuse, regardless of who it comes from.” His eyes were hard as he stared. “And after that miscarriage?”
Evangeline shrugged. “I tried to, but he put that rebellion down quickly. Being thrown against walls or having one’s head bounce off the edge of tables takes the spirit out of one rather quickly.”
Compassion warred with anger in his dark eyes. “I’m sorry, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad you were strong enough to survive.”
A tear fell to her cheek, but he was there to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. “So am I. After my father died, I told my brothers of the abuse, but they didn’t want to be involved, feared Marklesfield’s backlash.”
“Until your younger brother got proverbially into bed with your husband as well as Echerson. It seems all the vines are rotten.”
“Perhaps.”