“I should like that.” She gave him a wry smile. “But I can well imagine what Mrs. Summers’ reaction would be were she to find me napping without any clothes on.”
McAlistair frowned and glanced around the room until his eyes landed on the armoire. Without a word, he retrieved her night rail. She accepted it with a murmured thanks and, after a bit of maneuvering, succeeded in pulling it over her head without dropping the counterpane.
She ignored the amused expression on his face. “I suppose…I suppose I shall see you at dinner.”
He stared at her a moment, then reached down to cup her face with his hands. “And after,” he murmured before taking her mouth in long, thorough kiss.
Evie felt her heart lighten even as her blood warmed.
After. He’d come to her again. It wasn’t to be just an “only.”
She was smiling a bit stupidly when he drew away.
“Lie back down,” he urged. “Sleep.”
Seeing no reason she shouldn’t, Evie did as he suggested. She was nearly asleep when something occurred to her. She opened blurry eyes to find McAlistair reaching for the door.
“McAlistair?”
He turned back. “What is it?”
“Did they ever find the Burnetts?”
“No. They didn’t.”
Had she not been so tired, she might have remarked on his hesitation. Instead, she closed her eyes and slept.
McAlistair stood at the door a few minutes longer, watching the steady rise and fall of Evie’s chest and contemplating the tightness in his own.
There was no regret in his heart for what they’d done. He refused to allow his own shame to taint the most beautiful gift he’d ever received.
What troubled him now was how he cared for that gift. He’d lied to Evie. Only minutes after taking her innocence, after sharing a piece of his past only his family knew, he’d stood four feet away and lied to her.
He’d done it out of instinct—to protect her and himself—but that didn’t alter the fact that it had been a lie, or that one day, one day soon if there was to be any chance of forgiveness, he would have to tell her the truth.
The men Mr. Carville had sent never found Mr. Burnett.
But he had.
Twenty-six
Evie woke smiling into her pillow. She’d dreamt of McAlistair: of his rare smile and elusive laugh and of the glorious two hours they’d spent together in her bed. She rolled to her back and stretched luxuriously. The aches and soreness of her body were another welcome reminder of how she’d passed the afternoon and how she hoped to pass the night.
There remained the question, of course, of how she would spend her nights in the days and weeks to come. Eventually, she would have to leave the cottage. And then what? Would that be the end of the affair? It was better than the “only” she’d worried over earlier, but was it what she wanted?
She sat up and stared thoughtfully at the dim light piercing through the drapes. Did it matter, really, what she wanted? Openly becoming McAlistair’s mistress was out of the question, as was hoping she might hide a long-term liaison from her family. The only avenue left was marriage.
She was taken aback by the flicker of excitement that thought elicited.
She’d never cared for the concept of marriage.
To relinquish control over one’s life to another human being was a terrifying prospect, and a path she believed too many women took out of necessity rather than choice. There was a shameful lack of opportunities for women to earn their way in the world…as few as there were ways for her to be with the man she desired without first promising to love, honor, and obey.
She grimaced at the mere thought of promising to obey.
Did she desire him so very much?
She sighed heavily, and as she sighed, caught sight of herself in the mirror over the vanity. Little could have stunned her more than what she saw reflected back. She looked exactly, exactly—right down to the wistful eyes—as Mrs. Summers had when she’d been contemplating her love for Mr. Fletcher.
“A coincidence,” she heard herself murmur. “Only a coincidence, or a trick of the light, or…”
Oh, damn and blast, she was in love with McAlistair.
How could she hope to deny it? She thought of him constantly, wanted him outrageously. She wished him back the moment he left a room, and wished him closer the moment he came in. She hurt for the frightened boy he’d been, and was endlessly fascinated by the powerful man he’d become.
She’d gone to bed with him.
She was considering marriage, for sweet pity’s sake…well, she was considering the possibility of being amenable to the idea of marriage, but still—marriage.
“Oh, damn.”
“Evie?”
The sound of Mrs. Summers’s voice and a rap at the door had Evie jumping up out of bed with a nervous start and carefully erasing all signs of wistfulness from her expression. “Come in.”
Mrs. Summers appeared, looking slightly refreshed from her nap, but still pinched about the nose and mouth.
Oh, dear. Evie sent her an overly bright smile.