an eyebrow. “We have just begun. Lord and Lady Beckford’s was only the first. There are several more at-homes we plan to attend this evening.”
Trapped. Evleen considered walking home—it was not very far—but she could well imagine how such a course of action would be perceived, considering the heinous crimes she’d already committed this day. She could imagine, too, how short a time it would take for news of her latest transgression to reach Lord Trevlyn. Not a good idea. She wouldn’t want to hurt him again. They continued waiting, jostled by the crowd. Would the carriage never come? She stepped back, felt herself shoved away from the rest, just as she heard a voice proclaim, “Why Miss O’Fallon, what a delightful surprise.”
Montague. She recognized his oily voice and immediately felt repelled, remembering his salacious attitude toward her that night at Lord Trevlyn’s country estate. “Good evening, Lord Eddington,” she said coolly as she dared. Such a handsome man he was, almost pretty with his extremely pale complexion—did he never venture into the sun?—and flattering brown ringlets encircling his thin, patrician face. Even so, she sensed the debauchery that dwelt behind that beauteous facade. Determined to say something polite and then move on, she gathered her shawl more closely around her and politely inquired, “Have you just arrived or are you leaving?”
“Leaving,” Montague answered with a smirk. “I have done my duty for tonight. Now it’s on to White’s.”
His breath reeked of alcohol, bringing Evleen a fleeting memory of the men of County Clare, quaffing their glasses of Guiness at The Shamrock and Thistle of a Saturday night. “Delightful to see you again, sir,” she said, pulling away, “now I must get back to my–”
“Don’t go yet.” He took hold of her arm and drilled her with a gaze of blazing intensity. “Where are you going next?”
“To another rout, but I don’t know which one. Now I must get back.”
She tried to pull away, but, staggering slightly, he held her fast. “I should think it’s Lady Fanshawe’s.” He appeared to hit upon an idea and glanced toward the curb. “Ah, I see my carriage has arrived. One more rout won’t hurt me. Come, my pretty Evleen, I shall give you a ride to Lady Fanshawe’s rout.”
She would as soon ride with a tangle of writhing snakes. Besides, what would the Trevlyns say if she rode merrily off with this object of their desperate pursuit—this ultimate prize, a first son? The thought was too horrible to contemplate. “Thank you, but I most definitely think not.”
“Oh, come now, where’s your spirit of adventure? Go inform the old dragon if you like. She cannot object.”
“If you mean Mrs. Trevlyn, she most certainly can object.” How stupid could he be? Evleen had no intention of prying into Montague’s personal affairs, but still, something must be said, albeit tactfully. “I am aware you’re not yet betrothed, but I believe there exists some sort of commitment between you and Miss Charlotte Trevlyn.”
“Nonsense, I am committed to no one,” declared Montague. His eyes raked her boldly. “When we met, I was immediately impressed not only by your beauty but by your independent attitude—your spunk, if you will. Was I right? Or are you simply a poor peasant girl from Ireland, too awed by this noble assemblage to break a rule?” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “My dear Miss O’Fallon, I dare you. Come ride in my carriage.” A lecherous smile played on his lips. “I assure you, you’ll be perfectly safe—on my word as a gentleman.”
Did he think she was daft? She was certainly not frightened—after all they were standing in the midst of a crowd of people—but she was thoroughly disgusted. She tried to break free, but he gripped her arm tighter.
“I have heard about you wild Irish girls,” he murmured in her ear. “Are you one? How I yearn to find out.”
“Is my brother bothering you?”
Thomas. Just the sound of his voice caused her anxiety to drain away.
Montague instantly released his grip on her arm. “What is the matter with you, Thomas? I am not bothering the young lady, we were simply having a chat.”
Thomas smiled. “Of course you are, Montague. As always, you’re a paragon of virtue.”
Montague said, “Er... I think I shall be going.”
“Have you not paid your respects to the Trevlyns?” Thomas asked in mock astonishment. With pointed words, he added, “Most especially to Miss Charlotte Trevlyn, to whom you will soon be betrothed.”