“Good,” he said with a bow, and departed.
She finished her lemonade, setting the glass down with a sharp clink, then returned to the ballroom. Nathaniel was speaking with a gentleman. He glanced up as he saw her and approached.
“There you are. I found you a dance partner.”
“Did you now?” she replied, with less enthusiasm than she would offer a bowl of cold porridge.
“Yes—Lord Foxworthy.”
The man he had been speaking with stepped forward. He was older than Nathaniel, with a touch of gray in his beard. What was Nathaniel thinking? This was precisely the sort of old man she didn’t want. True, he wasn’t as ancient as her late husband, but he was easily in his late thirties.
“Your Grace,” Lord Foxworthy said, “it would be my honor to dance the reel with you.”
She inclined her head. “Very well.”
When he offered his arm and escorted her toward the dancers, she glanced over her shoulder, glaring at Nathaniel.
He smiled and shrugged. “You said you wanted to dance,” he murmured—just loud enough for her to hear.
Evelyn found herself, once again, paired with a man she had not chosen, being pushed toward a future she did not want.
CHAPTER 13
Nathaniel paced his study later that night, brandy glass clutched too tightly in his hand. The memory of Almack’s still burned like bile in his throat. Evelyn—graceful, maddening Evelyn—had looked entirely too pleased, whirling about the dance floor with half the eligible bachelors of London. That had been the plan, of course. Find her a suitable husband. Someone respectable who would protect her from that scoundrel of a father. Someone who would get her out of his house post haste.
He took another swallow of brandy, welcoming the burn.
And then Halston had appeared, cutting through the crowd like a shark through the still waters. William bloody Halston with his perfect cravat and practiced smile. The golden boy. His uncle’s voice echoed in his memory:
“Young Halston is going to make quite the name for himself. He will go far. Maybe even the Privy Council,” his uncle had toldhim on one of the rare occasions that Nathaniel had visited him during a break from Cambridge.
Halston was the sort of heir his uncle wanted. Not Nathaniel. If he could not have a child of his own, then his uncle wished to be a man just like Halston. Charming on the outside. Ruthless on the inside.
Nathaniel shuddered as he thought of the time they had spent together at school. Halston, or Will, as he’d been known then, hadn’t wasted one precious chance of ridiculing Nathaniel when his status as heir changed time and again.
Nathaniel hadn’t seen Halston in years. He hadn’t even thought of him at all until tonight. But now he was back. Why? And for how long? Hadn’t he relocated to Newcastle to run his estate? At least that’s what Nathaniel remembered.
He slammed the empty glass down and reached for the decanter. Devil take it all.
He had escaped Almack’s without exchanging pleasantries with his old rival, but the damage was done. The memories had resurfaced, leaving him in a foul temper.
The house had been quiet for hours. Unable to face his bedchamber—with its proximity to hers—he found himself wandering to the music room—his uncle’s pride. A magnificent pianoforte stood in the center, its moonlight from the tall windows casting a silver glow. Nathaniel sat heavily on the bench, pouring himself another measure of brandy.
The liquid caught the moonlight as he swirled it again. He shouldn’t have another glass. He’d already had his share at Almack’s and more.
Still, tonight felt like a night for drinking.
He placed it beside him and opened the pianoforte’s lid. His fingers hovered over the keys before pressing down randomly, producing a discordant jumble of notes that matched his mood perfectly. He winced. Music had never been his talent—another disappointment for his uncle, who adored all manner of music and played five instruments.
“I didn’t know you played.”
Evelyn’s voice startled him, but he didn’t turn. Couldn’t. Not with his defenses so thoroughly dismantled by brandy and melancholy. From the corner of his eye, he saw her. She stood in the doorway, a vision in her night rail and wrapper, her dark hair loose about her shoulders. The sight of her made his chest ache in a way he could not allow.
“I don’t,” he replied, still not looking at her. The brandy had loosened his tongue. “I just sit here sometimes. Pretending I’m not someone who steadily disappoints everyone.”
He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. Too honest. Too revealing.
He sensed rather than saw her approach, felt the slight dip of the bench as she sat beside him. Not touching, but close enough that he could smell the lavender on her hair.
