Chapter One #2
Evans stepped closer, and she braced her hand against the wall for support.
The scent of cloves and clean cedar surrounded her as he drew near yet still maintained a reasonable gap between them.
He shook his head and dropped his gaze. A heavy sigh filled the space between them, and for a moment, she thought he would reach out and touch her.
Stroke his finger along her jaw, cradle her chin in his hand, force her to meet his gaze as he closed the distance and—
She pushed the thoughts away. How could she imagine such a thing so soon after her husband’s death? Did she even want Evans to touch her or was it the years of loneliness and neglect that had left her desperate and trembling with need?
Cassandra held her breath, unable to bear his proximity without indulging in the fantasy that had plagued her since he’d walked over the threshold.
Her husband had neglected her for years, abstaining from all forms of affection or kindness except to put on a show for society.
He’d abandoned her bed after their son had been born, choosing the companionship of whores and mistresses over his own wife.
Her body burned for a simple caress or a tender kiss.
It was starved and fearful, and yet it craved that physical connection. Her husband had given her none of that.
She leaned toward Evans, even though she turned her face away, unable to meet his eyes.
Shame choked her, stealing her confidence.
Fear tore through her at the prospect of his rejection…
or reprisal. Curse James for instilling such dread in her.
Cassandra closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to ground herself.
The scent retreated. Her eyes flew open and a deep breath filled her lungs. The cloistering panic subsided even as disappointment flooded her when he took a step back.
“It no longer matters.” His smile offered a small measure of comfort as he placed distance between them. “If you wish for me to leave you and this household, then I will obey without question.” At her silence, he bowed, shattering the intimacy of the moment. “Forgive me, madam.”
Evans skirted around her to exit the study.
Cassandra grasped his arm, pulling him to a halt. His lips parted as his gaze met hers. “Evans.” Her voice cracked. “Promise me one thing.”
“Anything you desire, madam.” Heat flickered like a matchhead in his expression before shifting to one of cool composure.
“If you remain here, you will never mention my marriage in any capacity to me—to anyone ever again.” Cassandra tightened her grip on his arm. “James is dead. While I cannot stop others from their words of sympathy and endless condolences on my loss, I can ask that you refrain from doing the same.”
“Madam.” He shifted his gaze from her hand resting on his arm to her face.
“My husband is dead, and my marriage is over.” Cassandra’s grip slowly loosened until her fingertips barely brushed his sleeve. “I have no desire to be reminded of it daily.” Her voice wavered as a realization came over her like a gentle rain, washing the film from her mind and leaving her stunned.
As a supposedly grieving widow, she would find a whole new world of opportunity before her.
“As you wish, madam.” Evans’s response broke her from the reverie.
“This new post will come with vastly different expectations.” Cassandra removed her hand from his arm. “Are you willing to take on the challenge?”
“For you, I would take on the Lord of Devil’s Acre himself.”
“Quite a bold statement,” Cassandra quipped, amused at his choice of metaphor involving one of the most infamous crime lords in London. “Would you have challenged my husband in my defense?”
“Without question.” The vehemence of his statement stole her response. She blinked twice before he continued. “Is there anything else you require this evening, madam?”
Cassandra admired his ability to shift the ebb and flow of a conversation to divert tension or instill it. A truly masterful gift when wielded in a social setting. She filed that little tidbit away for later musings.
“No, that will be all, Evans.” She smiled, a true smile, the first one in ages. “Thank you.”
“Good evening, madam.” He bowed and left her in the still silence of the study.
In a matter of moments, everything had changed. No longer was she under the yoke of a tyrant, but free to make her own decisions—to live her own life. With her son grown and now duke, Cassandra could explore her passions and desires—her dreams.
If only she knew what they were.
*
Reuben Evans counted himself fortunate to still be alive.
Since the first moment he’d walked into the opulent house on 25 Grosvenor Street, he’d known beyond a shadow of a doubt that this house—this family—would be his demise. And he’d embraced it. This was his purpose, and he would not stray from it.
Yet he had not anticipated the captivating allure of the Duchess of Tolland. Curse her.
As he climbed the quiet staircase toward his chamber, Reuben analyzed the evening’s events in his mind. The house had been a flurry of activity with the funeral and the constant parade of guests paying their respects. Not that the man deserved it.
In life, the duke had been an insufferable bastard, although no one would have known it. He’d hidden it well from his peers, but the servants knew. His wife had lived in fear, as she’d suffered the brunt of his madness.
Reuben’s hand gripped the railing tighter.
When he’d caught sight of them through the crack in the door, his heart had ceased beating.
In all his years, he had seen men brutalize women, but never to the extent he had witnessed that night.
There would still be bruises on her fair skin, of that, he was certain. She deserved better.
And now… she was free.
Well, as free as a wealthy, titled widow could be.
He inhaled deeply and continued the trek up the stairs. At the top of the landing, he turned down the narrow hallway and unlocked his room. There was no one in this house he could trust, and he guarded his personal chambers with a protective passion.
Nothing of value lay within it. No hidden coin or incriminating documents. Not one item of pilfered silver or jewels. One could ransack the entire room, ripping up floorboards and shredding the mattress, and they would find absolutely nothing to invite temptation.
Once inside his chambers, he closed the door, locked it, and leaned against the wood.
The simple bed frame, wardrobe, and dresser with washbasin were a luxury compared to what he’d been forced to endure in the past. He took pride in maintaining a clean room and ensuring the linens were freshened often.
But more importantly, this small chamber was his and his alone.
It was the solitary place he could allow himself to breathe.
He pulled at the silk knot around his neck, tugging the fabric loose. Meticulously, he removed one garment at a time, hanging them on the small stand in the corner to wait for use the next day without fear of wrinkle or crease.
Reuben prided himself on his appearance. If there was one thing Simon had taught him, it was to remain clean and tidy. No one would spare him a second glance if he looked as though he belonged.
Then the reality of his situation settled on top of his head, weighing him down like a cart of bricks. How in the devil’s name was he supposed to remain in the dowager duchess’s service?
Granted, his argument had been sound. Orson needed to retire before he met his end in the entryway answering callers.
It had not been his intent to pursue the position of butler.
After all, he had been trained as a valet.
How hard could it possibly be to take on this new role?
It wasn’t as if he had not encountered obstacles in the past and had to renegotiate his path.
Truth was, Reuben could not leave this house.
Not yet. Not until he uncovered the truth to a mystery that had plagued him for years.
He knew her decision to leave had been a bluff as he had overheard the duke speaking to his mother earlier entreating her to remain in his home.
The duke much preferred his bachelor lodgings to this over-stuffed mansion.
The situation could not be more perfect.
He had been placed here for a reason, and until that solution revealed itself, he would remain.
But there was a problem. A lovely, complicated problem wearing widow’s weeds and drinking port alone in the study.
He retrieved a small flask of gin from the back of his wardrobe and poured a dram in the glass on the table beside his bed. Reuben exchanged the bottle for the glass and lifted it to his lips. Instead of sipping it, he poured the liquor down his throat, letting it burn a path straight to his gut.
Fuck. He sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head. What the hell was he supposed to do?
Without the duke’s presence casting a fearful shadow over the household, the demeanor of every servant, every guest would shift. He couldn’t help but wonder if hers would as well, or if she would close herself off as she had in the past, isolating in fear of reprisal.
A small smile tugged at his mouth. Somehow, he didn’t think that would be the case. The lady was too vivacious, her spirit suppressed for too long under her husband’s rigid rule and volatile temperament. She would blossom, of that, he was sure.
But could he trust himself to remain impassive, unbiased, and unaffected?
He poured himself another drink, this time savoring the burn as it settled in his stomach and warmed him from the inside out.
Reuben had pushed a boundary with her tonight. Testing the waters. Teasing her with his words and subtle inferences. Had she noticed?
A soft knock echoed through the chamber. He pulled on his shirt before answering the door.
Don, the young man who worked in the stables, stood outside his door, spinning his cap in his hand.
“Yes?”