Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
T he following evening, as planned, Ezra escorted his mother to the Duke and Duchess of Ravensmere’s home for dinner. What he had assumed would be a small affair turned out to be quite the opposite. His carriage, along with several others, lined up before the ducal residence, dropping off a steady stream of guests invited to dine.
Many of them, he noticed upon helping his mother alight, were young, unmarried, eligible gentlemen—no doubt all invited for the sole purpose of courting Lady Evangeline.
Lady Evangeline...
He took a calming breath and steeled himself for seeing her again. The image of her standing knee-deep in his marble fountain, water cascading behind her, her gown plastered to her very womanly—and very attractive—form, was still fixed in his mind like a painting.
He doubted he would ever forget the memory, or be able to look at her again without imagining what his mind at this very moment was conjuring.
They walked up the front steps and were greeted by the duke and duchess, Lady Evangeline nowhere in sight.
“Good evening, St. George. Glad you could make it,” Ravensmere said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“It is good to be here. Thank you for the invitation.”
“It is our pleasure, my lord,” the duchess said, offering a polite smile.
He returned the gesture and moved into the withdrawing room, following the stream of other guests. The space was large, a young lady playing the piano while others stood in groups, speaking and observing. A few lingered on the outskirts, preferring to remain apart from the crowd.
One of them was Lady Evangeline, who, at that moment, seemed deeply interested in a potted plant in the far corner of the room.
Ezra frowned.
Taking two glasses of wine from a passing footman, he crossed the room toward her.
“Is that Lady Evangeline hiding from her guests this evening?” He gestured to the room, nearly spilling his wine. “I know I’m not the most adept gentleman at such formal gatherings these days, but I do believe most of the people here this evening are here to see you.”
He offered her one of the glasses. “A little fruit courage, perhaps, my lady?”
She threw him a small smile and stepped toward him, accepting the wine and taking a generous sip. “I do not care for anyone here, my lord. And I’m still mortified that I have to face you.” She paused, a small frown marring her otherwise perfect brow. “My sister said I should forget what happened yesterday, not speak of it again. But I cannot. I’m sorry you had to see me in such a state. I know I’ve shamed myself.”
Instinctively, he reached out and ran a finger beneath her jaw, lifting her chin. At her startled gaze, realization struck him, and he pulled his hand away quickly. “Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to touch you.”
And yet he had. And he could not regret it. Her skin was soft and warm—scalding, even—and the brief contact had awakened something in him. It had been so long since he’d touched a woman, much less longed to.
He gathered himself and pushed back the unwelcome thoughts.
“I merely wished to say… Do not feel ashamed or awkward around me. I would loathe for something so trivial to cause you distress. I’m not concerned by what happened. Nor do I think any less of you for it.”
“You are very kind. I wish I weren’t so hard on myself, but I want to do well this Season. I do not want to shame Rosalind or Ravensmere. The duke has been so very kind to us all.”
“I’m certain his kindness is because he loves your sister and wants the best for her family.”
“That is partly true. But his kindness began before there was anything between Rosalind and His Grace.”
“Ravensmere is a good friend to have.” He turned and scanned the room. Several gentlemen stood watching them, some subtly, others not at all. “There are a number of gentlemen quite fixated on our little corner,” he muttered.
Ezra tried not to be annoyed by their interest in Lady Evangeline—and failed.
He enjoyed speaking with her. She was intelligent, personable, not a silly chit. The idea that he might be denied her attention because of the constant flow of gentlemen vying for her attention this Season irritated him more than it should have.
The dinner gong sounded somewhere deep within the house, and Lady Evangeline let out one of her familiar troubled sighs. “Well. I suppose we must go in and dine now.”
“I do hope I’m seated near you, my lady. Your company, besides that of Ravensmere and the duchess, is most preferable.”
A small blush touched her cheeks, and he wondered at it.
“I believe you’re seated near Ravensmere, my lord. I do not think we’ll be close enough to even converse the smallest bit.”
Disappointment tugged through him at the news, but he followed the guests out of the withdrawing room and into the dining room before taking his seat. Just as she had said, they were seated at opposite ends of the table. At least he had Ravensmere beside him.
Once the ladies had sat, the gentlemen followed, and the first course—a rich mushroom soup—was placed before them. The savory scent wafted up from the bowl, making Ezra’s mouth water.
“Thank you for being kind to Lady Evangeline,” Ravensmere said softly. “I heard what happened yesterday. I understand she was quite distressed.”
“It is of no concern,” Ezra replied. “It’s already forgotten.”
Ravensmere nodded and picked up his spoon. They ate in silence for several minutes, broken only by conversation about Ezra’s travels and his plans now that he was back in London.
Laughter echoed from the far end of the table. Ezra glanced that way, his eyes narrowing as Lady Evangeline threw her head back in a peal of laughter at something a gentleman seated beside her had said.
“That’s Mr. Fournier,” Ravensmere explained. “He attended Lady Evangeline’s coming-out ball. They seemed to get along well. She mentioned him by name the other day, so Rosalind thought it a good opportunity to have him to dinner.”
“Of course,” Ezra replied stiffly, hoping his interest wasn’t obvious. Lady Evangeline could speak to whomever she wished. He was merely caught off guard by the sound of her laughter. Nothing more. “Lady Evangeline is a lovely young woman. I believe she will marry this Season. I only hope she gains all that she wishes.”
Ezra’s attention shifted again toward her, and he couldn’t help the flare of jealousy that he wasn’t the one seated beside her, enjoying her laughter, her conversation, her liveliness.
Not that he didn’t enjoy speaking with Ravensmere—but this dinner would have been far merrier if they had all been seated together.
“And what about you, St. George?” Ravensmere asked. “Will we be seeing you about town more frequently? It would make many mothers of the ton very happy.”
“No. Not yet. I’m content to watch from afar this Season. Perhaps next year I shall think differently.”
Ravensmere reached out and clasped his arm.
“You cannot allow what happened in Italy to stop your life. That was not your fault.”
As it always did whenever someone mentioned his past, guilt curled deep in Ezra’s gut. How easily others shifted blame—but it was his fault. He’d failed to keep Luisa safe. He’d promised her nothing would happen, and then something did. Something fatal.
“Ah, my good friend, but it is my fault—and you know it as well as I do.” He reached for his wine and downed the contents, signaling a footman for more. “I must marry one day. But it is not this day. Let me be content with your company and the comfort of this fine beverage, and be done with it.”
Ravensmere looked at him with pity, and Ezra ground his teeth. He did not want pity. He wanted people to hate him as much as he hated himself. Not be kind and feel pity. He deserved none of that.
“Very well. Drink as much as you like. I want you to enjoy yourself—so much so that you never leave England again.”
He nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”
Liar…