Chapter 24
By the time Stephan returned to the house, his blood roared in his ears like waves crashing against the shore.
He was gripped in the strangest of contradictions, excited to be with his wife and pull her into his arms and bone-weary.
A strange exhaustion crept inside him, a lethargy he recognized from the brandy he had consumed earlier.
It was nearly midnight, and the house was quiet.
Stephan frowned, weighing his desire for Evelina against reason.
What if the woman had already gone to bed?
It would be unkind of him to rouse her. On the other hand, maybe Evelina was wide awake and waiting for him.
He had given her an entire day to think about their inevitable congress and to prepare herself for it.
He would simply look; he decided. Stephan would simply open the door to her bedchamber and see if she was awake, and if she slept soundly, he would leave. That was the kindly thing to do—the gentlemanly thing.
Stephan desperately hoped she was awake.
His entire body grew hot as he thought of her spread naked over the bed linens.
She could do this; they could do this. He only had to coax her into it, and after they had their amorous encounter together, Stephan was certain that she would not regret her decision.
She would want to try again and again until an heir was produced.
He opened her bedchamber door, wincing as the door creaked. Stephan slipped inside, his eyes sweeping over the darkness. His eyes settled on the massive four-posted bed. There was Evelina, her soft form wrapped in the bedlinens. He stepped closer, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light.
“Stephan?” she murmured blearily. “Is that you?”
“It is. I thought that we might…” he trailed off, watching her.
It was difficult to see with only the moonlight sweeping through the window, but he thought he discerned a flush spread across Evelina’s face. Even through the layers of bedlinens, he could see that her body trembled. “Evelina,” he said. “Are you unwell?”
She shook her head. “It is only a cold. We can—we can consummate the marriage still. Tonight,” Evelina said. “It is nothing; I can do this. My sickness will not—will not impede us.”
“You sound ill. You look ill,” Stephan said. “We cannot do this tonight.”
She was sick. Despite her insistences that she would be fine, Stephan suspected that Evelina insisted on having a congress only because she assumed that he would want to. She was right.
He did—but not like this. Only a monster would not wish to see her well.
“I will wake the cook and have some soup made for you,” he said.
Evelina sighed deeply and rubbed her cheek against her pillow. “That is unnecessary, my husband.”
“I disagree.”
Evelina wrinkled her nose, but she offered no other retort. More than any other symptom, her easy acquiescence concerned him. The woman he had married fought tooth and nail for everything; she would not surrender so easily unless there was something terribly wrong.
He left her and climbed the steps to the attic, where the staff slept.
Stephan roused the cook, who seemed delighted to help the ailing Duchess of Rothbury despite the late hour.
As Stephan returned to Evelina’s bedroom, he wondered if that enthusiasm was sincere or if the cook might be, at that very moment, thinking ill of Stephan for waking him so unceremoniously.
Evelina groaned softly. Stephan seized a nearby chair and pulled it to her bedside, dropping unceremoniously into it. “I think you have more than a little cold,” he offered.
Evelina rolled onto her back and tossed an arm over her forehead. “Maybe it is,” she said begrudgingly.
Stephan shook his head. “Poor woman.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Are you certain, though, that you do not wish…?”
Stephan arched an eyebrow. “Entirely certain,” he said. “I do not think a congress in your current state would be amenable to either of us.”
Evelina heaved a deep and weary sigh. “Still,” she murmured. “You must have come home thinking about it.”
“Of course I did.”
“I am sorry to have disappointed you again.”
Stephan chuckled and shook his head. “You have not disappointed me,” he said. “You are—any bride would be hesitant to act intimately with a man whom she has only just recently met.”
“But those brides consummate their marriages anyway,” Evelina said softly. “I know that you must have expected that I would be—I saw the expression on your face. You assumed that I had engaged in such acts before.”
Any man would have. Evelina had been married, and she was beautiful. The idea that she had remained untouched after so many years was unthinkable. A travesty, truly.
When he and Evelina did consummate their marriage, that meant Stephan would be the first man to ever have her.
He was not often a man who cared about such things, but the thought of being Evelina’s first and only lover sent a spark of pleasure through him.
“Yes,” Stephan conceded. “But what of it? I do not care if you are inexperienced, and we have time for a small delay.”
He hoped that his voice remained steady and that it did not betray his doubt.
For all that he kept insisting that delays would be permissible, Stephan was all too aware that time was short.
It was entirely possible that he and Evelina might have difficulty in producing a child, and he needed to consider that, too.
Evelina sniffed and gazed at him with bleary eyes. “I know,” she rasped, “but I do not wish to delay any longer than necessary.”
“Nor do I.”
The bedchamber door creaked open, and the cook entered.
To Stephan’s embarrassment, he did not remember the man’s name.
He was a portly man with red hair and an overall good-natured look about him.
More importantly, he was a competent cook; Stephan was a little surprised that his grandmother had left him one.
“Your Grace, I have brought the soup you requested.” The cook placed his silver tray, a bowl of steaming soup in the center, on the table beside Evelina’s bed.
The gentle, heady scent of rosemary and butter filled the air. “I hope this helps.”
“Oh! You did not need to wake him!” Evelina exclaimed, casting the cook an apologetic look. “I am so sorry.”
The cook shook his head and bowed. “It is a great pleasure to be of service, Your Grace.”
Stephan watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. Evelina was kind in her interactions with the staff, which was refreshing. His grandmother had always been something of a tyrant with them, and she was his only real reference for how a woman might manage a household.
The cook departed, and Evelina pulled the tray into her lap. She took a spoonful of soup and swallowed it, closing her eyes. “Oh, it is excellent,” Evelina murmured.
“I am glad.”
Stephan leaned forward and let his forearms rest across his legs. He watched in silence as Evelina ate her soup. After a moment, he lit a candle and brought it to her bedside. With the light, she looked even worse. His suspicions were confirmed; her face was flushed.
He raised a hand to her forehead, and she started a little. Evelina’s skin was hot and clammy with sweat. “You might be feverish,” he said, furrowing his brow. “I should send for a physician.”
“Not tonight,” she said, placing the tray aside.
Stephan glanced at the bowl, relieved to see that she had eaten most of the soup. She was clearly unwell, but if she was willing to eat, Evelina could not be that terribly ill.
“If you are still ill in the morning, I want to send for a physician,” Stephan replied. “That is my final offer.”
Evelina laughed, the sound a ragged and sharp thing. She rolled onto her side and watched him through hazy eyes. “Fine,” she said.
Stephan stifled a yawn and rolled back his shoulders.
He had a wild thought of sinking into bed beside Evelina; her bedlinens looked like utter bliss, and a terrible fatigue was seeping into him.
It had been a long day of work and a long night spent drinking with Murrayton.
If he left, Evelina would believe he was upset or disappointed.
She would think that he had only come to her wanting a congress and that he was leaving because he had not gotten one.
Stephan should not care what she thought; this was a marriage of convenience and nothing more. If that was so, why did he feel the need to keep reminding himself of that, though? Stephan could make no sense of his hesitation or of his earnest desire to ensure that Evelina did think well of him.
“How was your day?” he asked.
Evelina frowned, considering the question. “It was fine,” she said at last. “I had the dubious honor of encountering the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Ice sank into Stephan’s veins, and he sat upright in his chair. “She came here?” he asked.
Evelina nodded. “It was nothing. I think she only wanted to unnerve me. Or maybe she hoped that I would be afraid of her and agree to be her ally. It is difficult to say.”
Stephan’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. “I see.”
He listened as Evelina recounted her unexpected meeting with the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury.
Once she was finished, Stephan smiled despite himself.
“I am certain you upset her by saying that you will have your own house and allowance,” he said.
“She does not like to be undermined. I wish I had been around to see the look on her face when you said that to her!”
Evelina shrugged, as though it was of little consequence. “If she is going to besmirch my name, she ought to at least know who she is dealing with.”
“Yes.” Stephan paused, thinking. “I shall speak with her, though. This house is no longer hers, and she is not welcome here.”
Stephan doubted that his grandmother would listen to him, which nipped vexingly at his pride.
He ought to force her to the countryside or some far-flung place.
Once he had an heir and the dukedom, he would do just that.
Stephan liked to think that he was—if not good—a decent man.
He respected women and was aware that, in many respects, the world was crueler to them than it was to a man.
His grandmother would only seek to undermine him, though.
She was too dangerous to remain in London, especially if she intended to pay Evelina these spiteful little visits.
“You look as though you are going to fight her,” Evelina said.
“In a manner of speaking.”
Evelina pressed her lips together, her fever-bright eyes darting over his face. “Is it difficult, being in London?”
Stephan curled his fingers around the arms of his chair. Sometimes, he would sit or stand and imagine that he still felt the rocking of a ship. He found his eyes sweeping over every man who passed him in the street, searching for signs of danger.
“It is different,” he said.
That was the simplest answer and the safest one. It was the one that did not unlock anything undesirable or awful. At times, the war had been intolerable, but Stephan missed the fighting and the sea and testing himself far more than he had ever missed anything in his life.
“Tell me about it,” she said. “What was it like?”
He smiled wryly. Stephan had vague memories of once liking how Evelina had never asked about the war. That was always what everyone wanted to talk about with him. He supposed that he ought to have anticipated her eventually asking, though. She was his wife, after all.
Stephan settled in his chair. “Let me think about where to begin.”