Surrender (14 page)

She wished she were not flushing. His sister had said very much the same thing, she thought, carefully looking away.

“I am assuming this is about the free trade. I happen to know that your husband was involved in it for some time, but not recently.” He hesitated, twirling the red wine in his glass. “He must be eager to help you,” he finally said. It was a question.

She took a sip of her sherry. How could she respond? “I do not want to deceive you. I am in need of the services of a smuggler, and, yes, Jack has agreed to help me.”

“And now it is Jack? Did Greystone make advances?”

Evelyn stood so abruptly some sherry spilled. “That is a terrible thing to ask,” she said, shaken.

Trevelyan also stood. “You are agitated. Yet you are never at a loss for composure. I take it he most definitely made at least one very improper advance. But then, how could he restrain himself?” His eyes were so dark now that they were navy blue.

What did that mean? And what should she say now? She did not want to lie to Trevelyan.

“It is getting late,” Evelyn finally said. “It is past Aimee’s bedtime. Would you excuse me?” Realizing that he would quickly guess that something illicit had transpired, or worse, that she had some absurd interest in Jack, Evelyn called to Aimee, who was about to fall asleep on the floor. “Come on,
chérie,
let’s bid our guests good-night.”

But Trevelyan caught her arm. “You did not deny it,” he exclaimed.

She bit her lip. “I am a grown woman. I can manage a rogue or two.”

“I do not want him treating you callously, Evelyn, and I do not want you getting hurt. You have suffered enough. He will hurt you if you become involved with him!”

She shivered, oddly dismayed. “I am hardly becoming involved—not the way you mean.”

His stare became searching. “Don’t you remember that once upon a time, I felt far more than kindly toward you?”

“That was a long time ago,” she said softly.

“Yes, it was, and we are both older and wiser now—and, I suppose, independent.” Trevelyan released her and smiled at Aimee. “Sweet dreams, Aimee.”

Aimee yawned. “Good night, my lord.”

“I will be right back,” Evelyn promised. As she stepped into the hall, holding her daughter’s hand, her heart was racing swiftly. She was almost certain that Trevelyan was still interested in her. She was unsure of what to do. She hardly wished to lead him on.

She instantly thought of Jack. Evelyn hurried Aimee upstairs, still able to hear her guests below, softly conversing. Adelaide appeared in the hall, coming forward. “Let me put her to bed, madame, as you still have guests,” she said.

Evelyn bent and hugged her daughter. “Did you have a good time?”

Aimee nodded. “That was the best picnic ever, Mama.”

Evelyn kissed her. “Then sleep tight. We will certainly have another picnic, soon.” She watched Adelaide and her daughter go into the bedroom. It had been a wonderful afternoon. It was comforting to know that she did have family who cared—and a loyal friend in Trevelyan. But she did not know what to do about his interest in her—if it were romantic, as she suspected. Then she reminded herself that she had a year of mourning ahead. No decision had to be made.

She slowly went downstairs, approaching the salon. She could see John gathering up the remaining plates and platters. Matilda was folding up the picnic blanket. The fire blazed and several kerosene lamps remained on, and the scene remained a cheerful one. “Where is Trev?” she asked.

“He is outside, loading up the carriage,” John said.

Evelyn went into the front hall, taking up her shawl as she did so. And then she faltered.

It was twilight now, and from where she stood, she could see outside, through the window next to the front door. Trevelyan stood beside the carriage—alongside Jack Greystone.

* * *

H
E
LEANED
AGAINST
THE
TREE
, taking a puff of his cheroot, staring into the brightly lit salon where Evelyn sat with her daughter, John, his fiancée and Ed Trevelyan. Everyone was laughing, smiling, conversing. Everyone was sated and content. It had been a long, pleasant afternoon—for everyone except himself.

He knew he stared at Evelyn and Trevelyan. He had not been able to take his eyes off them—her—for the past hour. They were not only seated closely together, they had been carrying on an intimate conversation for most of the time he had been spying upon them.

Trevelyan could not take his eyes off her.

Jack cursed, but softly. It was impossible, but he was almost jealous.

And the moment he had the thought, he puffed hard on the cheroot and then tossed it to the terrace, grinding it out with his boot heel. Why should he care what transpired between his friend and Evelyn? Trevelyan had once been a rogue, but he was now a marrying man—and the heir to a barony. Evelyn was a widow in need of a wealthy husband. They were perfect for one another.

Jack, on the other hand, was a ladies’ man. He was an unconscionable rogue, an unrepentant rake—and he was also a smuggler and a spy. He had no time for romance or relationships, and no inclination for either. He liked it that way. The sea was his mistress, smuggling—and danger—his life.

He was only going to help her get her damned gold out of France because she was a widow with a daughter, irresponsibly left with almost nothing. He was going to help her because it was the damned right thing to do. She was also too beautiful to refuse. He was just going to have to be very careful not to allow himself any genuine interest in her. He was going to have to exercise extraordinary restraint. And he certainly must forget the intimacy they had shared. He must ignore the temptation she posed when they were in the same room.

The cozy afternoon was now breaking up—the sun was setting, and the group would be driving home in the dark. Evelyn had left the room, taking her daughter up to bed, or so he assumed.

He realized that Trevelyan was leaving the salon. Surely his friend wasn’t leaving just yet. Surely, he intended to make advances.

Jack started around the terrace, toward the front of the house. As he did, Trevelyan came outside, carrying two wicker baskets. Jack sauntered toward the carriage as Trev set them inside. He turned and saw Jack. Briefly, he was surprised.

Jack smiled, but he did not feel particularly welcoming. “Have you enjoyed your picnic with Lady D’Orsay?”

Trev’s smile was slight. “Hello, Jack.” He rearranged the baskets in the backseat then stepped away from the carriage. “It has been a very pleasant afternoon, but obviously, you know that. How long have you been lurking about?”

“Just for a moment or two,” he lied unabashedly.

Trev stared rather skeptically. “I cannot imagine why you did not join us. John and I are your friends.”

He could have joined the little group. The Trevelyan family had been financing local smugglers for generations. The baron had invested in Jack’s operations several times, and rather heavily. Trevelyan had actually accompanied him on several runs, some years back—for the sheer adventure. And once in a while Trev directed an operation for Warlock, although Jack had never learned any details. He had transported him to St. Malo nine months ago, leaving him there on some nefarious mission.

“Apparently, I have arrived too late to participate,” Jack said with a smile.

“Apparently.” Trev leaned on the carriage. “Are you calling on Evelyn?”

He felt his smile vanish.
They were on a first-name basis.
Of course they were. “I’m hardly calling on her servants.”

“I cannot imagine any association betwixt the two of you having a proper conclusion.”

“Really?” He was amused. “Are you her champion now?”

“I am if that is what I must be.”

“And has she told you what she wants?” Trev wasn’t a seaman, but he was a capable, courageous man. With his connections, he could easily hire a smuggler to help Evelyn—if she dared to approach him.

“No, she has not. But I imagine she thinks to invest in the trade with you, and while I do not like it, her husband has left her in a poor way, and you are a safe bet.”

So she hadn’t asked Trevelyan to go to France and retrieve her fortune for her. “You never answered my question. Have you enjoyed your afternoon with the countess?”

“I’m surprised you would even ask. What red-blooded man would not enjoy an afternoon in her company?”

“I remember the days when we raced about this countryside together, about the time when I captained my first ship. We drank and wenched wildly.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Are you smitten with her?”

Trev’s eyes widened. “Why would you ask me such a question?”

“We are friends. I am curious.”

“I have known Evelyn for years. She is going through a difficult time—I intend to do what I can to help her through this patch. Right now, we are friends, and we are catching up.”

As Jack absorbed that statement—with some doubt—Trevelyan said, “And you? Are you in pursuit? Or will you respect the fact that she is a widow, grieving for her deceased husband?”

Before Jack could consider how best to respond, he heard the front door open and he turned. Evelyn stood in the doorway, seeming pale, clutching a shawl tightly to her chest. His heart slammed as their gazes locked.

Trev made a harsh sound. “You have a caller,” he said, sounding displeased. “And Jack? Whatever you are thinking, you should think differently.”

Jack turned and stared at him. “Since when do you tell me what to think?”

Before Trevelyan could answer, Evelyn hurried down the front steps. “Hello, Mr. Greystone.” She spoke in a rush, glancing worriedly between them.

“Are you really going to continue calling me Mr. Greystone?” Jack asked, smiling. “I prefer it if you call me Jack.”

She bit her lip and looked at Trevelyan.

Jack glanced at his friend, whose expression was taut. He knew without a doubt that Trev did not want to leave now.

“It is a bit late to call,” she said uneasily. She looked back and forth between them now. “But we do have some matters to conclude. Would you like to come inside?”

Jack glanced at Trev. “Drive with care,” he said with a shrug. “The roads are difficult at night.” He started for the steps.

As he did, Evelyn came down them. He faltered, realizing she meant to speak with Trevelyan now. He had no intention of going inside and leaving them alone together. He stared as Trevelyan took both of her hands in his. But as hard as he strained to overhear them, he could not detect a word either one said, not until Trev bowed and Evelyn said, “Good night.”

He wondered if a romance was brewing.

And a few moments later, Trevelyan, John and Matilda were driving away.

* * *

“
H
AVE
YOU
ENJOYED
your picnic?”

They were now alone in her salon, where so recently there had been a cheerful indoor picnic.

Evelyn realized that her heart was racing, as indeed, it had been doing since she had first realized that Jack Greystone was at her door. But now they were very much alone and she was acutely aware of it. She was rather breathless. “You have a way,” she said slowly, “of arriving very unexpectedly, at the most unusual hour.”

He smiled. “It is a habit—one that keeps me from the gallows.”

She cringed at such a direct reference to his possible fate.

“What is wrong?” He slowly approached, his gaze searching. “Does the thought of my swinging from the end of a rope bother you?”

“Of course it does,” she cried, unnerved by the graphic remark, which he seemed to relish making. He paused so very close beside her.

“You did not answer my question—but you do not have to. I happened to glance through your window before Trevelyan came outside.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his olive-green wool jacket.

Evelyn rushed to the fire to push at it with the poker. If only she had expected him, she thought, she would not be this nervous. Or was she lying to herself? His presence was so appealing. He simply filled up the room and dominated it. No other man had ever made her so acutely aware of his proximity.

Suddenly she stiffened, poker in hand. Greystone had walked over to her and now stood behind her. “You have had a pleasant afternoon.” His breath touched the nape of her neck, the side of her cheek. “I did not realize that you and Trev were such old and dear friends.”

She turned, bumped into his chest and leaped away. Why was he crowding her? Was he being mocking? It certainly sounded that way. “We have something in common,” she said nervously. “We knew each other as children. How long have you known him?”

“Since I was a boy,” he said, continuing to smile and stare relentlessly. “His family is very involved in smuggling, and has been so for generations.”

“Then you know he is a good man.”

“He will soon court you.”

She froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do not pretend you do not know that he is swinging upon your hook.”

It was hard to think clearly with him regarding her so intently. “What?” Then, as she realized what he had said, she proclaimed, “He is hardly on my hook!”

“Of course he is. And you know he is smitten with you.” Jack turned and paced slowly, restlessly, about the salon.

Evelyn clutched her hands together. Why were they discussing her friendship with Trev? “I sense he is interested,” she finally said. “I hope that is not the case.”

“Why not? He will eventually remarry. So will you. Or won’t you condescend to marry a baron, which is the title he will come into?” He wasn’t smiling now. He stopped pacing and faced her directly.

“I am in mourning. I have no plans to remarry.”

“Of course you do. It would be odd—extremely so—if you did not.”

Is this what he thought? That she planned to remarry, while still in mourning? Did he believe her interested in Trevelyan? She was stunned.

“I take it he has yet to kiss you?”

She gasped. “He is a gentleman.”

“So I was right.” His smile came and went.

It was so hard to breathe. “Why are you asking me about Trevelyan? Haven’t you come to discuss going to France?”