Wonderful (2 page)

Evangeline was so shocked to hear the word
mistress
that she could barely bite down a gasp of astonishment. Living as she had at a girl’s boarding school, she’d never associated with loose or disreputable people. If Florella was truly a mistress, then she qualified as being the most scandalous person Evangeline had ever encountered.

Florella was unbuttoning her dress, the fabric falling away to reveal a very shapely bosom. The man watched, seeming bored, as if he regularly viewed naked flesh and was too jaded to be moved by it.

Florella’s sleeves were next, as she exposed a very frilly, very elaborate corset.

The man arched an arrogant brow. “Bryce spends enough to keep you in very fine undergarments.”

“Yes, he does. Lucky me.” Florella grabbed her breasts, as if offering them to the man, and she grinned. “Are you hungry? Would you like a little nibble?”

“If I said yes”—the man shrugged—“how would I explain it to Bryce? I’m too honest for my own good, and I’d feel compelled to tell him.”

“I’ll tell him myself. You won’t have to.”

“He’s my friend,” the man insisted.

“So he won’t mind sharing.”

Florella hiked up skirt and petticoat and climbed onto his lap, straddling him so her bosom was directly in his face. She was riffling her fingers through his hair, fussing with his shirt. She leaned down and touched her lips to his in a brief kiss that thrilled Evangeline, riveting her with a peculiar sort of excitement she didn’t understand.

She’d had very limited experiences with men in her life, had never had a beau, or even a close male acquaintance. She’d been kissed several times, but it had been when she was an adolescent and allowed to attend the harvest fair. She’d sneaked off with a few boys and had found the groping and pawing to be particularly stimulating, but much of the exhilaration was due to the danger involved.

If Miss Peabody had ever learned of the indiscretions, there was no predicting what might have happened. Evangeline would likely have been expelled, and as she’d gotten older, she’d had the sense not to flirt. So it had been years since she’d participated in a romantic interlude, and she’d never seen two adults kissing.

She’d always heard risqué stories about how adults behaved when they were alone, but she’d never expected to witness such antics. Her rampant curiosity was one of her worst traits, and she wasn’t about to creep away before she saw quite a bit more.

“Bryce won’t care,” Florella persisted, her lips brushing the man’s again. “He’s very generous, and he likes me to be happy.”

“And you’d be happy if we were lovers?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

The man scoffed. “If you think Bryce would be nonchalant about it, you’re mad.”

“If he’s upset by it, we can switch. I’ll leave him, and
you
can have me instead.”

“Me! I have no desire to support you. I’d have to take out a loan merely to keep you in undergarments.”

“I have very expensive tastes.”

“Poor Bryce. How does he afford you?”

“I’m worth it,” Florella claimed.

The entire moment was so erotically charged that Evangeline could scarcely breathe. She felt as if she’d stumbled on an alien world she hadn’t known to exist. She wanted to burst into the room, to question them about their relationship, their opinions on sin and morality.

How could they so flagrantly eschew decency and decorum? How did they rationalize it? How would they carry on later, when they were seated across from each other at the supper table?

Florella appeared frozen, as if waiting for something special to transpire, but the man wasn’t inclined to oblige her. Ultimately, he said, “I’ll ask Bryce. If he gives me permission, I’ll consider it.”

“Oh, you beast. Didn’t you travel to the country to enjoy yourself? If you’re going to be a stick in the mud, what’s the point?”

“The point is I won’t deceive a friend.”

“You men!” Florella snorted. “As if you have any loyalty.”

“I have
some,
not a lot, but some. I wouldn’t waste it on you.”

Florella began massaging her breasts, her crafty fingers circling round and round as if trying to mesmerize him. The movement had Evangeline eager to touch her own breasts. Her nipples were throbbing with an ache she’d never noted before.

Her skin was tingling, her ears ringing, and she was so fixated on the pair that a wild bull could have raced up and she wouldn’t have noticed.

“Boo!” a man whispered from directly behind her.

“Ah!”

Evangeline yelped with fright and lurched away from him, and it pitched her into the room where the lovers were still together in their chair.

At her sudden arrival, they both stiffened with surprise, then Florella leapt to her feet, shoving her skirt down her legs. She whipped away, showing Evangeline her back, yanking at her sleeves and bodice.

The man who’d snuck up on Evangeline was probably thirty, and he looked enough like her, with the same blond hair and blue eyes, to be a relative. He snapped, “For God’s sake, Florella, cover yourself.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Florella said.

“You’re such a whore,” the blond man declared, but without any rancor. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

As with the prior word
mistress,
Evangeline had never previously heard a person utter the word
whore
, and she was stunned to the core of her being. What type of asylum had she entered, and what was she to do now?

“She wanted a tumble,” the dark-haired man explained, “but I thought I should check with you first to see if you’d mind.”

“Honestly, Florella,” the blond man scolded, “we’re all aware that he’s richer than me, but stop being a mercenary for two seconds, would you?”

“Sorry,” Florella said again. She turned toward Evangeline, which meant they all three turned.

“What have we here?” the dark-haired man asked, still lounged in his chair as if nothing odd had occurred.

“The door was ajar. She was peeking through the crack.”

“Well, she certainly got an eyeful.”

“I scared the devil out of her.” The blond man approached and made a slight bow to Evangeline. “I’m Bryce Blair.” He waved dismissively at Florella. “This is my good—and very disreputable—friend, Miss Florella Bernard. And this”—he gestured to the man in the chair—“is Aaron Drake, Viscount Run.”

Evangeline’s heart sank.

Lord Run was the owner of the estate, her host, and cousin to Evangeline’s betrothed, Vicar Bosworth. What was she supposed to say? How could she justify her conduct? What if he tattled to Vicar Bosworth? Evangeline’s engagement would likely be over before it had begun.

“Hello,” she glumly mumbled.

“And you are…?” Lord Run inquired.

“Miss Evangeline Etherton.” He gaped at her, clearly not recognizing her name, so she added, “I’m your houseguest.”

“
My
houseguest?” Lord Run said. “I don’t have a houseguest.”

“Yes…ah…the vicar’s mother, Widow Bosworth, arranged it with you.”

“That’s very curious. I don’t remember her contacting me.”

The three of them were staring as if Evangeline had grown a second head, but Lord Run’s assessment was the most intense of all, his shrewd gaze probing for information and details that Evangeline had no idea how to supply. She flashed a tepid smile, hoping to generate a hint of a smile in return, but he simply glared and pointed to her gray dress.

“Are you a nanny? A governess? What?”

There was no way to hide her identity. She had to reveal herself. He’d learn who she was soon enough.

“I’m the vicar’s fiancée.”

There was a shocked silence, then Mr. Blair asked, “Vicar Bosworth—as in Ignatius Bosworth?”

“Yes,” Evangeline said.

“He’s marrying? Truly?” Mr. Blair persisted.

Miss Bernard chimed in with, “He’s marrying
you?”

“Yes.”

Lord Run seemed the most bewildered by the news. He studied her even more intensely. Finally, he said, “
You
are engaged to Cousin Iggy? Seriously?”

“Yes.” It might have been the sole word Evangeline could speak.

There was another fraught silence, then the trio burst out laughing in loud, rude guffaws.

Evangeline had never been more mortified and didn’t know why they were so amused. Was she an inappropriate bride for the vicar? Was she too far beneath him? Or was the vicar inspiring their hilarity? Were they surprised by his betrothal? Were they humored that he’d settled on Evangeline? Why would they be?

Was Vicar Bosworth horrid? Was Evangeline the only one who hadn’t been apprised? What sort of mess had Miss Peabody orchestrated?

What’s so funny?
she yearned to demand.

But instead, she spun and ran, their chortles following her down the hall.

CHAPTER TWO

“Hello, Miss Etherton.”

Aaron smirked as she jumped a mile high.

It wasn’t that late, but he’d had too much to drink, and with Bryce and Florella having traipsed off to bed, he’d been brooding and moping. He’d traveled to the country specifically to improve his mood, and his pouting seemed to defeat the entire purpose of the journey.

“Lord Run!” she snapped. “You can’t be in here! What are you thinking?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, which was the truth.

He was in her sitting room, and he’d been there for quite awhile, lounged in a chair and listening to her stomp about in the dressing room. It had sounded as if she was pacing and venting.

She hadn’t come down to supper, and the notion had vexed him enormously. He’d questioned the staff and had been advised that she’d had a tray delivered. Most likely, she’d been too humiliated to join them.

Ultimately—after several stout whiskeys—he’d decided he should find out for himself. By blustering in as he had, he’d already made a dozen bad choices, but he couldn’t help it.

After she’d stumbled into the middle of Florella’s failed seduction attempt, he’d felt awful. His queries to the housekeeper had confirmed that yes, she was his cousin’s betrothed, and Iggy’s mother, Gertrude, had arranged for her to stay in the manor as the wedding approached. Gertrude had claimed she’d written to Aaron about it, so the housekeeper hadn’t given it a second thought.

Of course no such correspondence had occurred. Aaron would certainly have granted his permission, but Gertrude wouldn’t have dared to ask Aaron for such a favor. She liked people to assume they were close, but they really weren’t.

No doubt she was simply hoping to impress Miss Etherton with the Bosworth’s connection to the Drake family. Gertrude was overly concerned with status and lineage, and usually Aaron was too, but Gertrude exhausted him with her fussy ways and stuffy manner. She reminded him too much of his father, Lord Sidwell, and if Aaron had wanted ridiculous posturing, he’d have remained in London.

“Go away.” Miss Etherton tried to shoo him out as if he were a strange dog that had wandered in.

“No.”

“Go!” she said more sternly.

“No.”

“I’m in enough trouble because of you. Don’t make it worse.”

“Because of me? What did I do?”

“I met your dissolute friends! I saw Miss Bernard bare her…her…”

Her cheeks turned such a bright shade of scarlet that he was surprised she didn’t ignite, and he laughed uproariously. He couldn’t remember when he’d last laughed about anything, and it made him feel better than he had in a long, long time.

“What’s so amusing?” she fumed.

“You are. You’re absolutely hilarious.”

“
I
am hilarious? I’m so glad I could be of service!”

She gave a theatrical bow, her nose nearly touching the floor, which humored him even more.

“Why were you skulking about and snooping in my bedchamber?” he asked.

“I wasn’t skulking. I’d just arrived, and I was exploring the house. The housekeeper told me I could. You were the one carrying on in full view of anyone who chose to look. If you don’t want innocent parties to witness your salacious conduct, you should shut your blasted door.”

“I should, should I?”

“Yes. And speaking of doors”—she pointed to hers—“mine is open. You may walk through it whenever you’re ready.”

He studied her, fixated on her slightest move and gesture. That was the real reason he’d come.

When she’d been in his bedroom, he’d only had a minute to take stock of her, but he recalled her as being stunning. He’d been anxious to evaluate her again, to see if she was actually as exquisite as his memory had painted her.

She was.

Her glorious blond hair was piled on her head in haphazard disarray. Her striking blue eyes were flashing daggers. She was amazingly pretty. Shockingly pretty.

Her features were perfectly sculpted, her body curvaceous and alluring. There was a fascinating air about her that was so riveting it was almost carnal in effect. A potent, joyful vigor rolled off her in waves. Was she aware of it?

She was standing across the room, and he could practically feel her beckoning him closer. He wanted to stroll over and rub himself against her. Would sparks flare? In his entire thirty years of living, he’d never encountered such an intoxicating force.

“You claimed I’d gotten you into trouble,” he said. “What kind of trouble?”

“With Vicar Bosworth. I haven’t even met him yet, and you caught me spying on your naked acquaintance.”

At her voicing the word
naked,
her cheeks grew even redder—if that was possible. He probably should have had mercy on her, should have told her not to worry, but he was from London where people deliberately tried to be boring and dull and never exhibit an ounce of emotion.

Her energetic personality was greatly enlivening.

“Is that why you had supper up here?” he asked.

“I’ve never seen such outrageous behavior in my life. I couldn’t have sat at the dining table with Miss Bernard. I’d have died of embarrassment.”

He laughed again, finding her silly and fetching and interesting in a dozen ways he hadn’t expected.

“You won’t tell him, will you?” she pleaded.

“Who?”

“Vicar Bosworth.” She swept over and fell to her knees in front of him. She clasped his hand and gazed up at him, her blue eyes beseeching and miserable. “Swear you won’t tell him about it.”