Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Grimacing through the faint ache that still bothered her ankle, she headed out of the bedchamber and limped along the hallway.
She had forgotten that her friends might be lurking nearby, but they were fortunately absent as she continued on toward the other side of the landing, unhindered by any interruptions.
By now, everyone else would either be in their chambers or downstairs, the manor eerily silent as if it was holding its breath in anticipation.
Coming to Hugo’s door, she did not hesitate and she did not knock. With all the might of her fury and frustration, she swung the door open and marched inside, closing the door behind her.
Of course, some rational part of her knew that this was beyond improper, a situation far worse than Hugo had placed her in when he had spoken to her in the study, but she was too agitated to care.
“What is this?” she asked, brandishing the jewelry box.
Hugo, seated by the fireplace, looked up in surprise. His eyes, so exactly like those jewels, widened and his jaw dropped open. She had shocked him with her intrusion, which was something at least, but it was not yet the satisfaction she had gone there to seek.
“I see that we are breaking rules again,” he said, recovering. A half-smile lifted his lips as he took a sip from what appeared to be a glass of port.
“Sometimes, it is necessary,” she replied tersely, shaking the jewelry box again. “Why did you invade my bedchamber to leave this?”
“You do not like it?” he asked, rising.
“It does not matter what I think of it,” she shot back. “It is not mine.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “On the contrary, Evelyn. Did you not see the note?”
“I saw it.” She closed the gap between them and thrust the box into his chest. “But it is not mine. Clearly, it is destined for Selina.”
“If it was for her, I would have put it in her room,” he pointed out, making no move to take the box, so that Evelyn had no choice but to keep holding it there against his chest.
He had undressed for the evening to make himself more comfortable.
His tailcoat and waistcoat were draped over the back of a chair, his white shirt untucked and unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing a sun warmed triangle of skin that Evelyn’s eyes kept drifting to, noting the lines of muscle that could just be peeked.
“I cannot accept it,” Evelyn croaked. “Give it to my friend instead.”
Hugo’s expression darkened, his hand coming up to grasp her wrist lightly. “I will not,” he said, his voice firm. “It is not hers. It is yours. A gesture of my gratitude.”
“Gratitude? For what?” she rasped, his palm rough and warm against her skin.
“For helping me,” he replied. “For being a presence that I have needed.”
She peered up into his eyes, her heart hammering like a desperate prisoner. “I have offered you no help that would warrant such a gift, Your Grace. I have not… earned something so… lovely. No, Your Grace, there is no possible way that I could ever wear this.”
“Why not?” he asked, subtly taking a half step forward, bringing them so close together that Evelyn found she could not breathe, like he had moved into the air between them and stolen it all.
How do I explain? How is it not already obvious? Her mind raced with a suitable response, but the right words were all tangled up with the dizzying effect of his proximity and the reminder of all the moments where they had been this close before.
“You see, you cannot give me a reason,” he said silkily. “The necklace is yours, and such a beautiful thing must be worn. Would you deny it its destiny?”
“Would you ignore mine?” she blurted out, her breathing ragged. “I cannot wear this necklace because… you have no right to give it to me. If I accept this, it will feel like… like… a mark. Your mark. On me. And… it is not appropriate when I am… expected to marry another gentleman.”
Intensity flared in those unusual blue eyes of his, his grip upon her wrist tightening ever so slightly, as if to confirm what she had said.
That he did wish to leave his mark upon her, to stake his claim to her.
Of course, she reasoned, she must surely be imagining things, for it was Selina that he wanted; had he not proven that by taking Evelyn’s advice?
His hand slid down hers as his gaze wandered to her lips, and he did not stop staring at her mouth as he took the necklace box from her.
What is he thinking? Why is he looking at my lips like that? Her heart whispered a suggestion that made her breath catch in her throat. Why else would a man gaze at a woman’s lips like that, if he was not thinking about kissing her?
“I bought it for you because I saw it and I thought that no one else should have it but you,” he said, opening the box. “It is as if it was made for you, and I must see you wear it.”
He gently pulled the necklace free of its trappings and discarded the box.
The thin silver chain and the exquisite little jewels draped elegantly from his fingertips as he walked around her, and when he brought the jewelry over her head, the cold metal touching her skin, she found she could not even gasp in shock.
He had robbed her of her ability to breathe entirely, his closeness firing up wayward thoughts in her mind.
I would not mind being kissed by you, she mused, her heart thumping wildly. At least then, my first kiss would be my own choice.
A faint, pleasant shiver beetled down her spine as his fingertips brushed the nape of her neck, where he was in the midst of fastening the necklace closed.
No, I would not mind being kissed by you at all…
She imagined him dipping his head to trace a gentle kiss against the curve of her neck, or right there at her nape… and that pleasant shiver transformed into a winding punch of guilt.
What on earth was she thinking, allowing such things to cross her mind? This gentleman was not for her, any more than the necklace was. Selina was the one who was interested in him. Selina was the one who had new hopes of making a match with him. Her friend. Her dearest friend.
“I should not have come here,” she managed to choke out, as she quickly skirted around him and hobbled for the door.
She concentrated on the pain in her ankle, certain she deserved every last throb of it, as she made it out into the hallway. There was no one around, a fresh flood of guilt overwhelming her as she imagined what Selina would say, would think, if she were to see Evelyn emerging from Hugo’s chambers.
Graciously, he did not try to follow her as she proceeded on down the hallway, her hand reaching for the banister as she made it to the landing.
The distance between the rooms had not seemed so immense before, but then she had had anger pushing her onward earlier, and guilt and shame did not have quite the same effect.
She was just about to reach the opposite hallway when a voice halted her, her blood running cold.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
She did not dare to turn around, for that was her father’s voice. A man who should not have been here, and certainly not at that inopportune moment.
“Evelyn?” he said coolly. “I asked you a question. What are you doing, running about in your nightdress?”
In her rush to try and give back the necklace, she had forgotten about her state of undress. Goodness, had she really gone into Hugo’s bedchamber in such attire… or lack thereof?
“I… was looking for a maid,” she replied, turning. “I… um… I hurt my foot and… it was starting to bother me again, but I could not find anyone.”
It was a weak excuse, especially as her father did not know the details of her injury. Surely, he would see right through her. Surely, he would begin berating her with such ferocity that it would wake the household and bring her shame to everyone’s attention.
Instead, her father seemed no more bothered by her presence than usual. “You should have put on a housecoat. What would people think if they saw you?” He shook his head. “Honestly, they would suspect I had not raised you well at all.”
“I apologize,” she said quickly, dropping her gaze. “When did you arrive?”
“Not long ago,” her father replied. “I will stay the night and leave with you and your brothers tomorrow morning.”
Evelyn nodded. “Well, Father, I too should be getting to bed.”
Before she had even the slightest chance of slipping away, her father spoke again. “I came at the baron’s behest.”
“Oh?” Her stomach dropped, her still-pounding heart feeling like a dead weight in her chest.
“He has proposed,” her father said. “I have accepted for you. The wedding will take place in a month. A small affair, I should think, at his country estate. That way, we will not have to trouble ourselves with sending you off after the occasion, for you will already be there.”
Trouble ourselves? Even now, having signed his daughter’s life away, he could not find it in himself to say something kind. He was probably already looking forward to a townhouse without her in it, no longer having to remind himself that he had a daughter.
“But… I still do not know him,” she urged. “You said I should get to know him first, and… I have not had enough time. I have not—”
“It is all agreed,” her father interrupted curtly. “You can get to know him once you are married.”
Without bothering to ask if she might need help getting to her room with her injury, her father walked right past her and turned left, heading along the landing to the gentlemen’s side of the guest floor.
He did not look back, he did not offer any fatherly encouragement or condolences; he just walked off with the air of a man who had managed to cross something of his list of arduous tasks.
Even without her sore ankle, Evelyn’s legs would have threatened to buckle. She leaned hard against the banister, clinging to it as if her life depended on it, the world closing in on her.
Before, there had been the tiniest sliver of hope that this match with the baron would not come to anything.
That last hope had been dashed most thoroughly, her future laid out for her, against her wills and wants.
Her opinion did not matter, for she was just a daughter of no value: marriage was the only thing she could do right in her father’s eyes.
I should have kissed Hugo. I should have kissed him, so at least I would have had that.
The thought immediately twisted, adding a sprinkle of guilt to the crushing layers of her devastation. Maybe being married off to a relative stranger was her punishment for wanting to be kissed by the man that her best friend liked, for daring to desire something that was not hers.