Chapter 3
Evelina tugged self-consciously at her hat, checking once more to ensure that her long locks had not managed to escape.
They had not. She lowered her head, fixing her gaze on the untouched tankard of ale before her.
Evelina had come to the tavern many times already, disguised as a young man each time, and thus far, no one had even given her a second look.
Still, she lived in dread that she might be caught.
“Good evening, handsome,” a voice purred.
Evelina’s eyes darted to the speaker. She was a beautiful woman, voluptuous and confident in her scarlet gown.
Her breasts threatened to spill forth from her bodice as she leaned forward.
The man she was speaking to grinned and took a hearty swallow from his ale.
He gave the woman a long, appreciative look that sent a jolt of discomfort roaring through Evelina’s veins.
She did not think that it was a respectful look. The man whistled between his teeth and abandoned his drink, approaching the woman with a coy, cat-like confidence. “You’re a pretty thing,” he said.
The man came too close to the woman. He placed his hands over her thighs and hitched up her skirts. Evelina’s breath caught as the woman’s stocking-clad calves came into view.
“Lift my skirts any further, and I’ll expect payment,” the woman said, smiling.
Evelina bit her lip, torn between looking away or continuing to watch. Even if she was still a virgin, she was no young miss ignorant to what transpired between a man and woman. But seeing congresses arranged so openly made her feel as though she was watching something deeply private.
“I want to examine the goods before I pay for them,” the man said.
When he hitched the woman’s skirt even higher, Evelina averted her gaze. The goods! How dare this detestable man speak to this woman as if she were some—some fruit that he was purchasing? Something like fury rose inside Evelina.
She did not fault the women in the tavern for earning money as they did. Evelina had visited the tavern often enough to realize that many of these women had no other means of work, so they pretended to be charmed by the endless array of disreputable men. But these men—
Men in the ton were not inherently better, for rakes were readily found, but they conducted themselves with a veneer of respectability which these men lacked. Did that mean the rakes were inherently better? She supposed not. At least, the men in the tavern were honest about their desires.
Evelina looked away. If she wished to have a child, she would inevitably need to have congress with a man.
But if that was all, did she even need to marry?
Evelina had imagined that she would marry and have congress with some common man, but a new and scandalous idea began to take root in her mind.
Maybe she did not need to marry at all. A sharp chill swept over her, and she rubbed her forearms in a vain attempt to warm herself.
Can I really do it? Evelina wondered.
Evelina curled her hands around the tankard to steady herself.
She did not need to marry to have a child.
But could she—could she truly do this? Women who bore children out of wedlock were disgraced among the ton.
Maybe she could lie. She could leave for a wellness retreat and return with a niece or nephew.
Evelina averted her gaze, inadvertently meeting a man’s dark eyes.
His tanned skin and disheveled hair gave him the ruggedly handsome appearance that Evelina associated with sailors, but there was something odd about him.
Even from across the room, Evelina could discern that his shirt was of finer quality than most sailors could afford, and his dark gray jacket—though clearly worn—was too well-tailored for a common man.
Her breath caught in her throat as she realized that the man’s own gaze never wavered. He was examining her just as she was him. Evelina tore her gaze away, her heart beating so frantically that she thought she might be ill. Should she ask that man to engage in a congress with her? Could she do it?
The woman in scarlet had gone, taking the man with her.
Evelina fixed her gaze instead on two women, one clad in violet and the other in blossom; their gowns were several decades out of fashion but would have once been considered lavish.
The woman in violet had climbed onto a man’s lap.
Evelina took a quick, instinctive swallow of her ale and grimaced at the unpleasant taste.
She could never be so forward with her desires, could she?
Evelina glanced back to where the dark-eyed man had been, but she found he was gone. Her heart sank. He had probably been seized by one of these confident women. Evelina took a steadying breath. That was fine; she would simply practice her charms on another man. There were many in the tavern.
Her eyes swept over the crowd, all the working men and women.
She found a familiar face. Evelina’s muscles tensed, and her breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes swept over the face again—the green eyes, the strong chin, and the blond hair.
There was no question about it; that was one of her footmen.
Evelina ducked her head, her heart thundering against her ribs. What would she do if her own footman caught her? There was no acceptable reason for a lady like her to be in a tavern, and she could not trust that footman to keep her secret. No—
She had done enough for a day. It was time for Evelina to return to her townhouse.
Evelina abandoned her ale and, keeping her head low, hurried to the door. Her eyes lighted on the waiting hackney. She nearly laughed with relief. At least, her escape was close at hand!
A woman’s moan cut through the air, and Evelina froze.
Was someone injured? She turned her head, all her muscles tense.
The sight that greeted her eyes was not of a woman being hurt.
Evelina gasped and stumbled back, her eyes wide.
Even in the dark, she could discern the familiar scarlet gown in the alley beside the tavern.
The man’s hands grasped her waist as he braced her against the wall.
Her slender legs wrapped around his waist.
Evelina watched, transfixed. As the man thrust into the woman, she snapped her hips forward to meet him. She tossed her head back, moans tearing from her throat. The man grunted, his face red with the exertion of his labors. A lump lodged itself in Evelina’s throat. This was a congress?
A gasp tore from her throat, and she stumbled back, torn between horror and fascination. Without warning, a strong arm wrapped about her waist. Evelina instinctively shrieked in surprise, but a hand covered her mouth and muffled the sound. She stilled, her senses screaming. What had happened?
She was caught. Her face burned with mortification.
A dark, masculine chuckle came from behind her. “A curious little mouse, aren’t you?”
Evelina thought distantly that she ought to be offended, angry even, at being seized and silenced like she was.
At the pet name—little mouse—as if she was some common woman on the street and not a dowager countess.
All she could think about, though, was the roaring in her ears and the hammering of her heart against her ribs.
And that infernal heat growing between her legs.
The hand covering her mouth slowly lowered, but the arm remained wrapped around her waist. Evelina swallowed hard. It was a tall and well-built man who held her. She could discern that through the haze in her thoughts. His broad chest was pressed against her back.
“Miss?”
What was that tone? Evelina would have thought confused, but this man did not hold her like he was confused. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to force her thoughts into a rational order.
Evelina leaned back against the man, her eyes still fixed on the woman in scarlet.
She appeared so unrestrained in her pleasures, so jubilant even before this disreputable man.
Was Evelina prepared to be that? Was she prepared to convince this man to—to father a child with her?
Her resolve wavered, as she imagined confronting a man, any man, and asking him to engage in an amorous congress with her.
The arm dropped, and Evelina whirled around.
It was the stranger from the tavern, the one who had met her gaze for just a moment.
The encounter between the woman in scarlet and her lover loomed large in Evelina’s mind.
It was true that her stranger was not leering at her like that other man, and admittedly, he had not asked for her price.
But he had touched her. He had called her Miss, so he knew she was a woman.
Was it possible that this man desired her? Did he desire her enough?
Evelina forced down the lump that rose in her throat and pulled awkwardly at the borrowed neckerchief. “Is this meant to be an invitation?”
He furrowed his brow and studied her for a long moment.
Evelina shivered and lowered her hands, tucking them into the pockets of her coat.
When she sneaked away from the townhouse, Evelina had convinced herself that she looked unremarkable.
She was supposed to be the sort of man who no one would look twice at, but this man was looking at her.
He knew that she was a woman, too. So what did he see?
“What do you mean by invitation?” he asked, sounding as though he was weighing the words carefully.
Evelina would have found it impossible for her face to grow any hotter, but somehow it did. Hopefully, the darkness of night would conceal the unsightly redness that swept over her cheeks. “Like—like what they are doing,” Evelina said, stumbling over her words. “The—the man and woman in the alley.”
The man’s lips twitched in amusement. “Should you be accepting invitations when you cannot even say what that couple is doing?”
Indignation flared inside her. “I am trying to show appropriate tact,” she said. “That is all.”
“I see. And what is a polite lady like you doing in a place like this and speaking about such an inappropriate topic?” he asked. “You do not belong here.”
Evelina wrinkled her nose and forced down the instinctive surge of ladylike disapproval. Her eyes snapped over his clothing once more. “You do not belong here either, my lord.”
“Your Grace,” he drawled.
Evelina inhaled sharply, searching his face with renewed curiosity. This man had no reason to lie, but he did not have the bearing she would expect of a duke. “And why are you in a disreputable haunt like this?” Evelina asked.
She was vaguely aware that the moan behind her had ceased.
The man—His Grace, she supposed—crossed his arms. “I might ask the same of you, Madam.”
“My lady,” she corrected primly.
A heartbeat passed, and Evelina wondered if she had made an error in telling him who she really was. Maybe it would have been better to lie about her identity.
“I think that a lady has far less reason to be here than I,” said His Grace. “Allow me to escort you home.”
Evelina laughed. “I came here unaccompanied. Do you believe I am incapable of returning on my own?”
“I believe a lady should not be here at all,” His Grace said. “But you know that. Otherwise, you would not have dressed as a man.”
“Even so, I do not think I should let a man as you escort me home,” she said. “You seem disreputable.”
“Do I?”
“Rakish.”
His Grace grinned. “Is that why you asked if I was giving you an invitation?”
“Yes.”
He hummed and cast her a look of theatrical contemplation. “What does that make you, then? You were watching the amorous congress of that—”
“If you are not going to help me, I shall be on my way,” Evelina interrupted, flustered. “You are wasting my valuable time.”
“And what help do you need?”
Evelina’s heart was in her throat. She curled her hands into fists, thoughts of the woman in scarlet haunting her. “I—I need—I need you to offer me an invitation!” Evelina exclaimed gracelessly.
“Oh, do you?” the duke asked slyly. “But you seem so innocent. Do you even know what a congress entails?”
Evelina’s face grew hot. She only knew a vague sketch of what a congress involved, but she refused to admit that to this strange man. “Of course, I do,” she said. “You should be more concerned about whether you can keep pace with me, Your Grace.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
She was grateful for the cover of night. Otherwise, he would have noticed the mortifying flush which she knew had swept over her face. “It is,” Evelina said. “Given how many questions you are asking, I have to wonder if you even know what you are speaking about.”
“Spoken like someone who has no idea what she is doing.”
Her heart thundered against her ribs, her pulse racing as she looked at him. “Find out,” she said.
His Grace’s expression changed. He no longer looked as though he might seduce her. Instead, he stared at Evelina as if she had taken leave of her senses. “I think we should have this conversation elsewhere.”