Regency Temptation: The Greatest of Sins / The Fall of a Saint
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He could not imagine his Evie, sitting like a lady on a divan or at a writing desk, prepared to offer a gracious but chilly welcome and banal conversation. He had spent too many years brooding on the memory of how she had been, not wanting her to change. He could picture her in the garden, running, climbing and sitting on the low tree branches he had helped her to, when no one had been there to stop them.
Yet she would have put that behaviour aside, just as she had the eau de toilet. She had grown up. She was to be a duchess. The girl he remembered was gone, replaced by a ton-weary flirt with poise enough to keep a duke dangling. Once he had met that stranger, perhaps he could finally be free of her and have some peace.
Then, as he reached the bottom step, she pelted out from hiding and into him, body to body, her arms around his neck, and called, ‘Tag.’ Her lips were on his cheeks, first one, then the other, in a pair of sisterly but forceful kisses.
He froze, body and mind stunned to immobility. With preparation, he had controlled his first reaction to her nearness. But this sudden and complete contact was simply too much. His arms had come halfway up to hug her before he’d managed to stop them and now they poked stiffly out at the elbows, afraid to touch her, unable to show any answering response. ‘Evie,’ he managed in a tone as stiff as his posture. ‘Have you learned no decorum at all in six years?’
‘Not a whit, Sam,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘You did not think to escape me so easily, did you?’
‘Of course not.’ Hadn’t he tried, going nearly to the ends of the earth to do so? If that had been a failure, what was he to do now? ‘I’d have greeted you properly, had you given me the chance,’ he lied. He reached up and pried her arms from his neck, stepping away from her.
She gave him a dour frown, meant to be an imitation of his own expression, he was sure. Then she laughed again. ‘Because we must always be proper, mustn’t we, Dr Hastings?’
He took another step back to dodge the second embrace that he knew was coming, taking her hands to avoid the feeling of her body wriggling eagerly against his. ‘We are no longer children, Evelyn.’
‘I should hope not.’ She gave him a look that proved she was quite aware that she, at least, had grown into a desirable young woman. ‘I have been out for three Seasons.’
‘And kept half the men in London dangling from your reticule strings, I don’t doubt.’ Lud, but she was pretty enough to do it. Hair as straight and smooth as spun gold, eyes as blue as the first flowers of spring and lips that made his mouth water to taste them. And he might have known the contours of her body, had he taken the opportunity to touch it as she’d kissed him.
The thought nearly brought him to his knees.
She shrugged as if it did not matter to her what other men thought and gave him the sort of look, with lowered lashes and slanted eyes, that told a man that the woman before him cared only about him. ‘And what is your diagnosis, Doctor, now that you have had a chance to examine me?’
‘You look well,’ he said, cursing the inadequacy of the words.
She pouted and the temptress dissolved into his old friend, swinging her arms as though inviting him to play. ‘If that is all I shall have out of you, I am most disappointed, sir. I have been told by other men that I am quite the prettiest girl of the Season.’
‘And that is why St Aldric has offered for you,’ he said, reminding them both of how much had changed.
She frowned, but did not let go of his hands. ‘As yet, I have not accepted any offers.’
‘Your father told me that, just now. He said you are keeping the poor fellow on tenterhooks waiting for an answer. It is most unfair of you, Evelyn.’
‘It is most unfair of Father to pressure me on the subject,’ she replied, avoiding the issue. ‘And even worse, it is unscientific of you to express an opinion based on so little evidence.’ She smiled again. ‘I would much rather you tell me what you think of my marrying, after we have had some time together.’
‘I stand by my earlier conclusion,’ he said. It made him sound like one of those pompous asses who would rather stick to a bad diagnosis than admit the possibility of error. ‘Congratulations are in order. Your father says St Aldric is a fine man and I have no reason to doubt it.’
She gave him a dark, rather vague look, and then smiled. ‘How nice to know that you and my father are in agreement on the subject of my future happiness. Since you are dead set in seeing me married, I assume you have come prepared?’
He had fallen into a trap of some kind, he was sure. And here was one more proof that this was not the transparent child he had left, who could not keep a secret. Before him was a woman, clearly angry at his misstep, but unwilling to tell him what he had said, or how he was to make amends. ‘Prepared?’ he said, cautiously, looking for some hint in her reaction.
‘To celebrate my imminent engagement,’ she finished, still waiting. She then gave an exasperated sigh to show him that he was hopeless. ‘By giving me some token to commemorate the event.’
‘A gift?’ Her audacity startled a smile from him and a momentary loss of control.
‘My gift,’ she said, firmly. ‘You cannot have been away so long, missed birthdays and Christmases and a possible engagement, and brought me nothing. Must I search your pockets to find it?’
He thought of her hands, moving familiarly over his body, and said hurriedly, ‘Of course not. I have it here, of course.’
He had nothing. There had been the gold chain that he’d bought for her in Minorca and then could not raise the nerve to send. He had carried it about in his pocket for a year, imagining the way it would look against the skin of her throat. Then he’d realised that it was only making the memories more vivid, more graphic, and had thrown it into the bay.
‘Well?’ She had noticed his moment of confusion and was tugging upon his lapel, an eager child again.
He thrust a hand into his pocket and brought out the first thing he found, an inlaid wood case that held a small brass spyglass. ‘This. I had it with me, very nearly the whole time. At sea they are dead useful. I thought, perhaps, you could use it in the country. Watching birds.’
Any other woman in London would have thrust the thing back at him in disgust, pointing out that he had not even taken the time to polish the barrel.
But not his Evie. When she opened the box, her face lit as though he had handed her a casket of jewels. Then she pulled out the glass, gave it a hurried wipe against her skirt to shine it and extended it and put it to her eye. ‘Oh, Sam. It is wonderful.’ She pulled him to the nearest window and peered out through it, looking as she always had, into the distance, as though she could see the future. ‘The people on the other side of the square are as clear as if I was standing beside them.’ She took it away from her face and grinned at him. The expression was so like the way he remembered her that his heart hurt. She was standing beside him again, so close that an accidental touch was inevitable. He withdrew quickly, ignoring the flood of memories that her nearness brought.
She seemed unmoved by his discomfort, sighing in pleasure at her improved vision. ‘I will take it to the country, of course. And to Hyde Park and the opera.’
He laughed. ‘If you actually need a glass in town, I will buy you a lorgnette. With such a monstrous thing pressed to your eye, you will look like a privateer.’
She let out a derisive puff of air. ‘What do I care what people think? It will be so much easier to see the stage.’ She gave a sly grin. ‘And I will be able to spy on the other members of the audience. That is the real reason we all go to the theatre. Nothing in London shall escape me. I share the gossip the next day and show them my telescope. In a week, all the smart girls will have them.’
‘Wicked creature.’ Without thinking, he reached up and tugged on one honey-coloured lock. She had not changed a bit in his absence, still fresh faced, curious and so alive that he could feel her vitality coursing in the air around them.
‘Let us go and watch something.’ She took his hand, her fingers twining with his, pulling him back into the house and towards the doors that led to the garden that had been their haven.
And he was lost.
Chapter Two
He ought to have known better. Before coming, Sam had steeled himself against temptation with prayer. His plan had been to resist all contact with her. Just moments before, he had assured her father that he would be gone. And yet, at the first touch of her hand, he had forgotten it all and followed her through the house like a puppy on a lead.
Now he sat at her side on a little stone bench under the elm as she experimented with her new toy. It was just like hundreds of other happy afternoons spent here and it reminded him of how much he missed home, and how much a part of that home she was.
Evie held the spyglass firmly pointed into the nearest tree. ‘There is a nest. And three young ones all open mouthed and waiting to be fed. Oh, Sam, it is wonderful.’
It was indeed. He could see the flush of pleasure on her cheek and the way it curved down into the familiar dimple of her smile. So excited, and over such a small thing as a nest of birds. But had she not always been just so? Joy personified and a tonic to a weary soul.
‘You can adjust it, just by turning here.’ He reached out and, for a moment, his hand covered hers. The shock of connection was as strong as ever. It made him wonder—did she still feel it as well? If so, she was as good at dissembling as he, for she gave no response.
‘That is ever so much better. I can make out individual feathers.’ She looked away from the birds, smiling at him, full of mischief. ‘I clearly made the best bargain out of your empty pockets today, sir.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘If you had reached in and pulled out a snuff box, I’d have had a hard time developing the habit of taking it. But a telescope is very much to my liking.’
‘Was it so obvious that I did not bring you anything?’ he asked, sighing.
‘The look of alarm on your face was profound,’ she admitted and snapped the little cylinder shut to put it back into its case. ‘But do not think that you can get this away from me by distracting me with a necklace. It is mine now and I shan’t return it.’
‘Nor would I expect you to.’ He smiled back at her and felt the easy familiarity washing over him in a comfortable silence. With six years, thousands of miles travelled and both of them grown, none of the important things had changed between them. She was still his soul’s mate. At least he could claim it was more than lust that he felt for her.
She broke the silence. ‘Tell me about your travels.’
‘There is not enough time to tell you all the things I have seen,’ he said. But now that she had asked, the temptation to try was great and the words rushed out of him. ‘Birds and plants that are nothing like you find in England. And the look of the ocean, wild or becalmed, or the sky before a storm, when there is no land in sight? The best word I can find for it is majesty. Sea and heaven stretching as far as the eye can see in all directions and us just a spot in the middle.’
‘I should very much like to see that,’ she said wistfully.
He imagined her, at his side, lying on the deck to look at the stars. And then he put the dream carefully away. ‘Wonderful though some times were, I would not have wished them on you if it meant you saw the rest. A ship of the line is no place for a woman.’
‘Was naval life really so harsh?’
‘During battle, there was much for me to do,’ he admitted evasively, not wanting to share the worst of it.
‘But you helped the men,’ she said, her face shining when she said it, as though there was something heroic about simply doing his job. ‘And that was what you always wanted to do. I am sure it was most gratifying.’
‘True,’ he agreed. He had felt useful. And it had been a relief to find a place where he seemed to fit, after so much doubt.
‘If it made you happy, then I should like to have seen that as well,’ she said firmly.
‘Most certainly not!’ He did not want to think of her, mixed in with the blood and death. Nor did he want to lose her admiration, when she saw him helpless in the face of things that had no cure.
She gave him a pained look. ‘Have you forgotten so much? Was it not I who encouraged you in your medical studies? I watched you tend every injured animal you found and dissect the failures. I swear, you did not so much eat in those days as study the anatomy of the chops.’
‘I could just as easily have become butcher, for all I learned there,’ he admitted. ‘But working over a person is quite a different thing.’ Sometimes, it was its own form of butchery.
‘You learned human anatomy in Edinburgh,’ she said. ‘Through dissection.’
He suppressed a smile and nodded. Evie was as fearless as she had always been, and no less grisly, despite her refined appearance.
‘You did many other things as well, I’m sure.’
‘I observed,’ he corrected. ‘It was not until I left school that I could put the skills to use. Now I am thinking of returning to Scotland,’ he said, to remind them both that he could not stay. ‘I still have many friends at the university. Perhaps I might lecture.’
She shook her head. ‘That is too far away.’
That was why he had suggested it. She was clinging to his sleeve again, as though she could not bear to have him taken from her. He considered detaching her fingers, but it was very near to having her touch his hand, so he left them remain as they were. ‘You will be far too busy with your new life to waste time upon me. I doubt you will miss me at all.’
‘You know that is not true. Did I not write you often in the last years? Nearly every week, yet you never answered.’ Her voice grew quiet and, in it, he could hear the hurt he had caused her.
‘Probably because I did not receive your letters,’ he said, as though it had not mattered to him. ‘The mail is a precarious thing, when one is at sea.’ He had received it often enough. And he had cherished it. In the years they’d been apart, her correspondence had grown from a neat ribbon-bound stack to a small chest, packed tightly with well-thumbed missives, so familiar to him that he could recite their contents from memory.
‘You had no such excuse at university,’ she reminded him. ‘I wrote then as well. But you did not answer those letters, either. It rather appeared to me that you had forgotten me.’
‘Never,’ he said fervently. That, at least, was the truth.
‘Well, I will not allow it to happen again. Edinburgh is too far. You must stay close. And if you must teach, then teach me.’
He laughed, to cover the shock. It was not possible, for so many reasons. While he was not totally unwilling to share the information, he did not dare. She was a grown woman and not some curious girl. Discussing the intimate details of the human body would be difficult with any female. But with Evie, it would be impossible.
And if she was to marry, their circles would be so different that even casual conversation would be infrequent. Next to a duke, he would be little better than a tradesman.
‘You know that is not proper,’ he said at last. ‘Your father would not allow it. Nor would your husband.’ They both must remember that there would be another man standing between them.
And more than that.
He was forgetting himself again—and forgetting the reason he had to stay away. They could not be friends any more than they could be lovers. He had spent years away from her, known other women and prayed for a return to common sense. Nothing had dulled his feelings for her. The desire was just as strong and the almost palpable need to rush to her, catch her in his arms and hold her until the world steadied again. If she married, it would be no different. He would still want her. He would simply add the sin of adultery to an already formidable list.
He patted her hand in a way that showed a proper, brotherly affection. ‘No, Evie. I cannot allow you to spin wild plans, as you did when we were children. I must go back to my life and you to yours.’
‘But you are staying in London for a time, aren’t you?’ she said, looking up at him with the bluest of eyes, full of a melting hope.
‘I had not planned to.’ Why could he not manage a firmer tone? He’d made it seem like he might be open to persuasion.
‘You must stay for the engagement ball. And the ceremony.’
As if that would not be the most exquisite torture. ‘I do not know if that is possible.’
Her hand twisted, so that her fingers tightened on his. ‘I will not allow you to go. Even if I must restrain you by force.’ She should know that she had not the strength to do so. But she had tried it often enough, when they were young, tackling him and trying to wrestle him to the ground in a most unladylike fashion.
The idea that she might attempt it again sounded in his mind like an alarm bell.
‘Very well,’ he said with a sigh, if only to make her release his hand. ‘But I expect I will leave soon after. Perhaps, instead of Scotland, I shall return to sea.’
‘You mustn’t,’ she said, gripping him even more tightly before remembering herself and relaxing her hold. ‘It takes you too far away from me for too long. And although you did not speak of it, I am sure it must have been very dangerous. I would not have you put yourself at risk, again.’
It had been quite dangerous. He was sure that he could tell her stories for hours that would have her in awe. Instead, he said, ‘Not really. It was a job. Nothing more than that. Unlike St Aldric, I must have employment if I am to live.’ The words made him sound petulant. He should not be envious of a man that had been born to a rank he could never achieve.
She ignored the censure of the duke, which had been childish of him. ‘You must have a practice on land. I will speak to father about it. Or St Aldric.’
‘Certainly not! I am quite capable of finding my own position, thank you.’ In any other life, an offer of patronage from a future duchess would have been just the thing he needed. But not this woman. Never her.
‘You value your independence more than our friendship,’ she said, and released his hand. ‘Very well, then. If there is nothing I can say that will change your mind, I will bother you no further on the subject of your career.’
There was one thing, of course. Three words from her would have him on his knees, ready to do anything she might ask.
And since they were the three words neither of them must ever speak, he would go to Edinburgh or the ends of the earth, so that he might never hear them.
Chapter Three
There was really nothing more to say. She had all but dismissed him, with her promise not to meddle in his affairs. Yet Sam was loathe to take leave of her. When would he get another such chance just to sit at her side, as they always used to? She was examining the box that held the spyglass, as though it were the answer to some mystery.
And he was watching her hands caress it. Had they been so graceful when last he’d seen them? He could remember stubby fingers and ragged nails from too much time running wild with him. Today, she had not bothered with gloves and he could see the elegant taper of each digit that rested on the wood. He could sit there happily, staring at those hands for the rest of his life.
‘This is where I find you? In the garden, flirting with another. I swear, Evelyn, you are harder to catch than a wild hare. I cannot leave you alone for a moment or you shall get away from me.’
The words came from behind them and Sam flinched as he guessed the identity of the intruder. The voice marked the end of any privacy they might have this afternoon. Or possibly for ever, assuming the duke had any brains. If Sam had been Evie’s intended, he would never have allowed another man near her. He rose and turned to greet his newfound enemy face to face.
If Sam had been called to give a professional opinion on the man approaching them, he’d have proclaimed him one of the healthiest he had ever seen. Under his expensive clothing, St Aldric’s form was symmetrical. There was not an ounce of fat and no sign that the perfection was achieved with padding or cinching. His limbs and spine were straight, his muscles well developed—skin, eyes, teeth and hair all clean, clear and shining with vigor. Likewise there were no wrinkles on his brow, of age or care, and no evidence in expression of anything but good humour. His gaze was benevolent intelligence, his step firm and confident. If Sam had been forced to express an opinion of another man’s looks, he’d have called this one exceptionally handsome. From the toe of his boot to the top of his head, the fellow was the perfection of English manhood.
It made Sam even more conscious of how he must look in comparison. Lord Thorne might think him a threat to Evie’s happiness. But with his worn blue coat, thin purse and modest future, a duke would hardly notice him. Unless Evelyn had grown to be as foolish as she was beautiful, she would have no trouble choosing the better man.
As if to prove his point, Evie rose as well and held out her hands to the duke. She smiled warmly and greeted him with genuine affection. ‘St Aldric.’
‘My dear.’ He took her hands and held them for a moment, and Sam felt the uncomfortable pricking of jealousy and the punishment of being forgotten. She was pulling the other man forwards by the hand, just as she had lured Sam to the garden to sit beside her. It was yet another proof that the communion he had felt between them was nothing more than the warmth she showed all living things.
Now she was smiling back at him with proper, sisterly pride. ‘I have waited long to introduce the two of you and now I have my opportunity. Your Grace, may I present Dr Samuel Hastings.’
‘The one of whom you speak so fondly. And so often.’ There was a fractional pause between the two sentences, as if to indicate jealousy, or perhaps envy of the attention she paid to him.
‘Your Grace?’ Sam bowed, giving a peer the required respect.
The duke was watching him in silence and Sam was sure, if they had shared something as egalitarian as a handshake, it would have become a test of strength. In it, St Aldric would have felt the roughness of the calluses on his hands made by a firm grip on a bone saw, then he would have been dismissed as not quite a gentleman.
‘Doctor Hastings.’ But it had not taken something so common as physical contact to do that. The less-than-noble honorific had been enough. The duke’s frosty demeanour thawed into a handsome smile, now that he had assured himself of Sam’s inferiority. Then St Aldric gave Evie another fond smile. ‘I have been quite looking forwards to meeting this paragon you have been describing to me. I swear your face fairly lights up when you speak of him.’
‘Because he is my oldest and dearest friend,’ Evie said dutifully. ‘We were raised together.’
As brother and sister. Why would she never say it? It would make life so much easier if she would understand the significance of that.
‘We spent very little time apart until he went to university,’ she added.
‘To be a leech,’ the duke replied blandly. It made Sam feel like a parasite.
‘A physician,’ Evie corrected, protective of his dignity. ‘He was ever so clever when we took lessons together. Good at maths and languages, and fascinated by the workings of the body and all things natural. Sam is a born philosopher. I am sure he is most wonderful at his job.’
‘And you have not seen him in all these years,’ the duke reminded her. ‘I shall try not to be too jealous of your obvious affection for him.’ Then he stated the obvious, so that there might be no confusion. ‘If Dr Hastings has not come back to sweep you up before now, the man has quite missed his chance.’