Authors: Maggie Robinson

Lord Gray's List (16 page)

BOOK: Lord Gray's List

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“What a wicked waste. People are starving, Ben.”

“Don’t lecture me again, Evie. By get rid of, I mean give away to the poor. I’ve asked Mrs. H. to make extra for just that purpose. We Grays know our Christian duty, even if you think me a layabout.”

“Oh.” This charitable side of Ben was new to her.

But she
should
have known. She considered herself an expert on Lord Benton Gray. She’d wasted two years of her life on him.

Evangeline felt a brief twinge of shame. Perhaps she’d been foolishly vindictive. After all, it was
she
who had rejected
him,
not the other way around. How he spent the rest of his life should have meant nothing to her.

But his antics had sold a lot of papers, and helped her with her own charities, even if he was not a complicit participant.

The scuffle on the stairs told her lunch was about to be served. She sat on the chaise and tried to keep a straight face when Callum entered. He bore a huge silver tray loaded with bowls of stew that smelled divine, bread, cheese, wine, and more of the cook’s apple tart. Between Lady Pennington’s breakfast and Ben’s lunch, Evangeline would not have to eat another morsel again tonight.

Ben leaped up and moved some boxes off a scarred drop-leaf table whose leg was wobbly and tied with twine. Evangeline vowed not to climb up on
it
—one disaster a day was enough. She supposed she should appear sufficiently manly before Callum, so she went to a corner, took down some up-ended chairs and carried them to their makeshift dining table.

Ben eyed the loose rush on the seat. “I hope I don’t fall through that.”

“I can bring up a proper chair for you, my lord,” Callum said.

“Nonsense. Don’t bother. If worse comes to worst we can picnic on the floor. Right, Ramsey?”

Sitting on the floor would lead to lying on the floor. And lying on the floor—perhaps she was only projecting her own unleashed desires. Evangeline sat on her own spindly chair and buttered a piece of bread. “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she said gruffly.

“Thank you, Callum. Thank Cook, too.”

“Is there anything else I can get you and Mr. Rams-Ramsey?”

Evangeline stifled her giggle.

“No, that will be all. We may need your help—and John’s, too—when the carters come. We’ll shift what will be going to the front of the room.”

“Very good, my lord. Enjoy your luncheon, my lord. And Mr. R-Ramsey.”

It was very easy to enjoy. This was the third meal Evangeline had eaten prepared from Ben’s kitchen and his cook was a treasure. From what she had seen of his household, it was very well run. Ben’s mother was probably responsible for that. A pity she had not been able to exert such discipline over her only son.

Ben wolfed down the food as if he were starving, but Evangeline’s nerves prevented her from truly enjoying the meal. She was more worried than she let on about the goings-on at the newspaper office. If she could understand
why
they were under attack, inept as it was, she’d feel much better. Well, she investigated things. She’d just have to investigate this.

“Aren’t you going to eat your apple tart?”

“Lord, no. I’m too full to think about it.”

“You’re much too skinny, you know,” Ben said, helping himself to her plate.

She couldn’t retort that he was much too fat. He was perfect. “Imagine if I looked like your mistress Veronique. No one would believe I was a man,” she said lightly.

“Veronique is not my mistress anymore. I’ve given her up.”

Evangeline sat up a little straighter. This was news of the front-page variety. “Really?”

“Yes.” He filled his mouth with apples.

A one-word answer was insufficient, especially when he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Did you tire of her?”

“No.”

Blast him anyhow. She watched him swallow and thought about stabbing him with a silver fork. She picked up her wineglass instead, staring into its ruby depths. She had no head for spirits lately—every time she indulged she wound up beneath or on top of Benton Gray.

“So, who is her replacement?”

“I haven’t had time to interview mistresses, my dear. You’ve been keeping me far too busy.”

Did he mean the newspaper or . . . Double blast him.

Before she could say something scathing, he crumpled his napkin and stood up. “We’d best get busy now. You take the left side of the attic; I’ll take the right. I’ve got your list to help me.” Their conversation seemed to be at an end.

Evangeline poked under more Holland covers. She found a small dresser with one knob missing and a handsome trunk that was big enough to hold a dead body. It was oddly empty—she had been hoping to find love letters or eighteenth-century gowns. No traces of Ben’s boyhood, either—no toy soldiers or stuffed rabbits. Between the bureau and the trunk, there would be enough storage for an ordinary laborer’s clothes. She slid the trunk forward a foot before Ben crossed the room.

“That’s too heavy for you. Let me.” He’d removed his jacket and waistcoat, and his shirt was streaked faintly with dirt, which Evangeline found comforting—the attic was eerily pristine. He dragged it to the door, a strange expression on his face.

She wanted to ask him what he’d found in the boxes he’d pried open, but could see for herself. Ironstone dishes, a few pots, a rolled mattress and a faded quilt. Ben was quiet as he returned to his side of the room, his sunny demeanor absent.

Was he annoyed with her for asking about his mistress? She’d tried not to let her jealousy show. Evangeline knew she was nothing like Veronique, could never hope to be, and that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

It didn’t really matter. Soon whatever was between them would be relegated to an attic of its own. Ben would find a new mistress, and Evangeline would . . .

For a woman who was good with words, she could not finish her sentence.

C
HAPTER
17

B
en forced himself to breathe deeply. He’d had no idea the damned trunk was here. If he thought about it at all, which he refused to let himself do very often, he’d supposed it was in some room at Castle Gray.

Once it had held his toys when he was a boy. It had also held him for an uncomfortable number of hours after his father locked him into it. He couldn’t imagine why his mother had it shipped down to the London townhouse—it was hardly a souvenir of their troubles either one of them would want. Maybe it had been filled with linens or china when they packed up and fled Scotland all those years ago.

He was glad to be getting rid of it, even if it was moving where it still would be over his head. But he might not be involved with
The London List
forever—he would eventually find a buyer, even if he had to take a financial loss. Evie could rob some other man of his sanity.

He stacked up a few ugly brown landscapes. Bare walls would be preferable to these pictures. Whoever they hired might have plenty of belongings of their own anyway. He emptied a carton and shoved mended sheets and chipped china haphazardly into it. The pile by the door was growing with basic household requirements.

He was a damned generous employer, wasn’t he? Ironic, when all he’d wanted to do was close down the gossip factory that Evie started. Those back issues he’d seen this morning had none of the sensational stories she was so good at writing. Of course, they were so dull they were only good to line a cat box.

There must be a happy medium. Ben had made compromising a fine art, and so he would reform the paper, one edition at a time.

He was so lost in thought that he startled when Evie put on hand on his shoulder. “I think I’m finished on my side. We should get back in case we have men show up early. What have you got there? You’ve been staring at it forever.”

“A teapot. The lid is missing.”

“It’s pretty.”

It was hand-painted, patterned with vines and roses and purple violets, an ultra-feminine object. “You can have it if you like it. I can’t see a strong, strapping pressman putting his leaves into it.”

“It’s far too fancy for Mr. Ramsey, too.”

“Save it for when you’re your sister.” The absurdity made Ben laugh, and the knot in his chest loosened. “Do you ever miss corsets and petticoats?”

“Not often. The usual state of our finances made my options somewhat limited when it came to fripperies. And I was always at least a season or three behind in my gowns. Pantaloons liberate me from all that silliness.”

“You’ve enough money now to indulge yourself. How long are you going to continue this masquerade?”

“It depends, doesn’t it? When you’re ready to give up the paper, perhaps I’ll return to my former life.”

Then Ben had best get cracking finding a buyer. As charming as Evie looked in her trousers, it simply wasn’t right to bury her female self under superfine and Hessians.

It wasn’t right for her to bury herself under anything that covered her translucent skin. Ben realized in their several recent encounters she had been more or less dressed. Even ten years ago, their coupling had been so quick and clandestine there had been little opportunity for total nudity.

A totally nude Evie was just what he wanted to see at the moment, something to take his mind away from his maudlin memories. There was a chaise over in the corner whose carved mahogany legs looked like they could support their weight—she
was
too skinny by half. Of course it had been a mere few hours since the other attic, but this one was much nicer. The first encounter of the day should always be followed soon after by a second. It was Ben’s Law.

How to maneuver her to the chaise?

He was a much better liar than Evie.

He rose from his haunches slowly, then stumbled.

“What’s the matter?” Evie asked, concern in her voice.

“Dizzy,” Ben mumbled. “Don’t feel well all of a sudden.”

She leaped up. “I’ll go get Callum or John.”

That would never do. “No! Don’t want to be a bother. Just get me over there so I can lie down for a minute. Clear my head.”

“You should never have drunk all that wine in the daytime,” Evie scolded.

“You’re one to talk. Brandy for breakfast.” He’d better stop talking before she brained him with some attic artifact. It was true he’d had most of the wine that had been sent up—Evie had been guarding herself against him without even knowing his diabolical plans. Of course, he hadn’t known of his diabolical plans himself an hour ago.

His cock was fully aware now of those plans as Evie hovered at his elbow, guiding him to the chaise. She smelled of sandalwood and was as pale as the frost on the windows. She looked worried. Good.

“My neckcloth,” Ben said weakly. “I’m about to strangle. Do I feel hot?”

Evie laid one cool hand on his forehead while she worked the knot of his necktie with the other. “I don’t think you have a fever.”

There she was wrong. He was burning up for her as she bent over him, her lips a little chapped from the cold and all their morning kissing. She looked tired, too—he had not meant to insult her earlier, but she worked and worried too hard and the bruising under her dark eyes was evidence. Wouldn’t it be heaven if they could curl up here and take a nice long nap?

After he fucked her.

Ben frowned. The term “fucking” was so crude. There should be a better word invented for what happened between them. He’d think of one later when he had more time to give it the attention it deserved. Right now, he had other things on his plate.

He shuddered violently. “I’m so cold.”

“I thought you said you were hot!”

“Hot . . . cold . . . just not right . . .” Did he seem sufficiently delirious? Perhaps he was overdoing it.

Evie straightened. “I’m going to get one of your servants.”

“Don’t leave me!” he grabbed her hand and pulled her down. “Just keep me warm with your body. I’m sure I’ll be fine . . . soon.” He gave a few more dramatic shivers for good measure and saw the misgiving on Evie’s face through his own slitted eyes. Groaning might be a good strategy at this point, so he did.

“This is ridiculous,” Evie mumbled as she settled like velvet over him.

“Don’t ever go . . . can’t live without you.”

Christ
. Where did
that
come from? He
was
sick—losing his mind. He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see Evie’s reaction to that tall tale. He’d been getting along just fine without Evangeline Ramsey for a decade.

She squirmed at his words, then stilled. Surely she must feel his erection fair to bursting from his falls. His mind might be going—had in fact tumbled over an abyss—but his body knew exactly what it was supposed to be doing. His arms locked around Evie—she felt so good, her slender body pressed against him. How much better it would be if he were a magician and could remove her clothes by some judicious prestidigitation.

“You are not sick at all,” she said, her lips buzzing against his bare throat.

“I am. Sick with desire. Please don’t try to get up.”

She ignored his wishes, lifting herself as high as his embrace would allow. “Benton Gray, you
dastard
.” She hissed like an angry snake.

“Thank you. I consider that a step up from calling me bastard. I know you don’t think you want to do this again, but perhaps I can persuade you.” He grinned up at her, not one bit afraid, although he probably should be.

“You just—we just—not three hours ago—you cannot possibly—”she sputtered.

“Oh, yes, I can. I really, really want to. Can’t you tell?” He gave a little thrust from his comfortable position. “And for once, I don’t want all these damn clothes in the way. Humor me, Evie. I want to see all of you. Just this once, and then I won’t bother you again. Unless you want me to.”

If she agreed, she’d be making a much more deliberate decision than their recent hasty couplings. True, she’d been just as aggressive as he, a full participant in this . . . whatever it was, even if afterward she tried to push him away.

What harm could befall them? They were two adults, long past the first blush of youth.

“I promise I’ll give you up by Christmas,” Ben added, trying to sweeten his offer. “We’ll go back to—”

Evie elbowed him. “
What
? You cannot expect me to bed you again and again for days on end!”

“Why not? It feels so good. So
right
. And Christmas will be here before you know it. Think of this as an early present to yourself.” He watched her eyes sparkle and cheeks flush. She was almost beautiful when she was angry, and so easy to provoke.

“A—a—a
present
! You insufferable lunatic! It’s a wonder you can find a hat for that swollen head of yours.”

“It’s not my head that’s swollen, sweetheart. You have to admit it would be much more fun without the impediment of clothing. I can’t remember the last time I saw you completely naked.”

“That’s because you never did. And you never will! Let me go this instant.”

It had been a dream too good to be true. He should have play-acted his role a few minutes longer. Why, he’d not even had the chance to kiss her again.

Ben sighed and relaxed his arms. She flew off the chaise and stamped about the room, muttering various imprecations concerning his immortal soul.

“I’m sure you are lovely underneath everything. I wonder, are your nipples more rose-pink than apricot? I should have liked the opportunity to judge them in the daylight. I suppose I’ll just have to use my imagination.”

“You are not to imagine anything! If I think for one moment that you are sitting across the desk undressing me in your demented mind, I shall have no choice but to quit working for you immediately!” She was almost screaming, sounding most unlike a Mr. Ramsey.

Ben sat up and retied his neckcloth, really feeling a bit fuzzy and headachy now. Evie usually had that effect upon him. “Hush now. You’ll attract the attention of the servants.”

“Good! Let them know the debauched criminal they work for!” She picked up the teapot and smashed it against a wall.

“Criminal? It is not I destroying property that does not belong to me. In a country where one can be transported for stealing a handkerchief, one should be more careful with teapots.”

“It was ruined anyway.” She stopped her pacing, looking woefully sober. “I cannot, will not, be your mistress, Ben. I’m sorry if my actions have led you to believe otherwise.”

He shrugged, attempting to resurrect his devil-may-care persona. “ ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast.’ ”

“There will be no more talk of breasts,” Evie said darkly. “Or any other part of me. Are we clear?”

“Indeed we are.” He hauled himself off the chaise, feeling unusually dispirited. Someone forgot to tell his cock however, and he adjusted his breeches accordingly.

“I’m going back to the office. You make the arrangements for all this.” She waved her hand at the neat pile. Presumably Severson had already gotten hold of people to deliver it and they were on their way.

“Let me get the carriage brought round.”

She shook her head, stubborn to the end. She really was a little fool. Well, not little. She was taller than most gentlemen of his acquaintance. “No. I’ll walk.”

“Have you forgotten someone might be after you?”

“I’ll not live my life in fear of silly threats. From anyone, even you.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, damn it!”

“Then leave me alone, Ben. We have a professional relationship. Nothing more.”

She opened the attic door and bounded down the stairs. It was a superb exit.

And a total lie.

Ben had time before Christmas. He’d make good use of it to bring her to his bed if it was the last thing he did this year.

BOOK: Lord Gray's List

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