He Said Yes Read online

  "And you think to kiss me again," she said as calmly as possible.

  "If you allow me the pleasure, I would be hard-pressed to refuse it." His eyes were gleaming now, all traces of fatigue washed away by the topic they were discussing.

  "And if I refuse?"

  "Then I shall endeavor to persuade you otherwise."

  Evelyn considered his reply for a long moment, realizing that she could very well be cutting off her nose to spite her face. Since the marquis was being forthright enough to admit that he hoped to seduce her, the least she could do was to let him know she had no intentions of making the seduc­tion an easy one.

  "We encountered one another on Bond Street, not White-chapel Road."

  "And I thought I had met a soft-spoken shop girl," Marshall replied thoroughly enjoying the conversation. "I see now that your tongue can have a sharp edge."

  "Only when necessary, my lord. I am not guilty of steal­ing anything, nor am I intimidated enough to become a will­ing victim of another aristocrat's ego." She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. "I am indebted to you, but not to the extent that I will become your fool."

  "I suppose you have no reason to trust any of us," he con­ceded. "However, I assure you that I will ask nothing more than you are willing to give."

  "And if I decline to give you anything, my lord what should I expect in return? To be returned to the place where you found me?"

  His gaze lingered on the stubborn angle of her chin. "No matter what transpires between us, I will never take you back to Clerkenwell. You have my word."

  Evelyn believed him, believed the conviction in his voice and the honesty in his eyes. She nodded. The conversation wasn't what one would expect to have over tea in the early hours of the morning, but it was a necessary one. She real­ized that what she was agreeing to was near insanity, but until she had time to reason things out, and hopefully find an alternative course of action, there was little she could do but accept the man's generosity and hope for the best.

  "Very well, my lord. I will accept your word if you will accept mine. I am duly appreciative of your kindness, but do not expect it to be repaid with anything more than Christian gratitude."

  Marshall focused on her face as a cool smile curled his mouth. "You can begin expressing your gratitude by doing as I asked. My name is Marshall."

  Addressing the marquis by his first name seemed more intimate than the kiss they had shared last night. Evelyn knew the kiss, not his benevolent actions, was the reason he had used the term "progressed" and the telling phrase "in private."

  Needing a few minutes to sort out what her response would be, Evelyn nibbled on a slice of toasted bread then finished her tea. She refilled her cup before seeking the mar­quis's attention a second time. "You believe me innocent, then?"

  "I believe you innocent," he replied his gaze unwavering. "I also believe that Lady Monfrey encouraged her husband to dispatch the constable far too quickly. No doubt her maid will find the brooch when she does the weekly laundry, or the lady herself will happen upon it. The charges will be dropped and the future will once again look bright."

  Marshall didn't say that he intended to make sure Evelyn's future was brightened by his presence. He realized that his words were deceptive, but he'd deal with his con­science later. For now, he was pleased that she looked rested and some of what he suspected was a dry and biting wit had returned to her speech.

  He moved away from the window and sat down, stretch­ing his long legs out in front of him. The hour required him to be on his way, but he found himself wanting to linger. Although he had spent the night in a chair, he had rented a room for his driver. The man was now seeing to the horses.

  Marshal! allowed himself to relax. It seemed unusually pleasant to simply sit in the same room with Evelyn Denns­worth while they both took tea. The silence between them was pleasant rather than strained. The morning sunshine brightened the room, making him think of his childhood and all the days he had hurried to watch the morning tide wash over the beach near their Ipswich estate. He'd often taken his breakfast on the cliffs overlooking the English Channel, bis­cuits and fried meat pilfered from the sideboard as he made a mad dash through the house.

  It had been a long time since he'd thought of those days. His father had been alive then and as full of life as any man could be. The summers spent in the country had been won­derful. They both enjoyed sailing and had spent as much time as they could on the Channel, returning to the seaside manor late in the afternoon, dripping wet, but content in each other's company.

  Marshall stared into the fire for a long moment before turning up the cup and finishing off its contents. It returned to his saucer with a soft but audible clang that drew Evelyn's attention.

  It was awkward not knowing what to say. Deciding it was best to keep the conversation focused on the problems at hand Evelyn said "The magistrate, I've forgotten his name—"

  "Rivenhall," Marshall supplied. "A fair enough man, or so I've been told."

  "Yes, well, I certainly hope so," she mumbled then con­tinued in a more audible voice. "The magistrate informed me that I was being placed in your custody. I assure you, my lord I will do nothing to dishonor your faith in me."

  "I don't expect you to. I will arrange for whatever be­longings you have at Madame La Roschelle's to be re-treived and brought to you as soon as possible. In the meanwhile, will you be content here? I'm sure the Widow Reardon can find a book to occupy your time until I return this evening."

  "You will be coming back?"

  Marshall noted the hint of excitement in her voice. If he played his cards right, and he was a very good gambler, their current estranged friendship could satisfy both of their needs. Of course, he'd have to play his hand with delicate skill. It could prove uncomfortable for both of them if he tried to be her friend on one hand and the seducer of her in­nocence on the other. Still, things could work out. She trusted him, somewhat at least. Time and patience would re­move any other obstacles.

  He pulled his timepiece out of his vest pocket, noting the hour. "I must leave you now," he said. "Do not hesitate to ask for anything you need."

  "Thank you," Evelyn said coming to her feet. She'd been sitting on the side of the bed for lack of another chair. She took a quick breath, then said what was on her mind. "I will repay your generosity as soon as I am able," she told him. "I have a little money."

  "Keep it," Marshall said walking to where she was stand­ing by the bed.

  "I realize you are not concerned about the coin you have spent, my lord but I am," she replied, holding on to what self-respect the previous day's events hadn't already shred­ded. "I was not raised to accept charity easily."

  "Then accept my friendship," Marshall replied softly.

  For the life of her, Evelyn couldn't think of a thing to say. The marquis was standing so close she could see the stains on the front of his shirt where she'd cried her eyes out while he'd held her securely in his arms.

  Marshall looked at Evelyn with the same unconfined in­terest. He stared into her bright blue eyes and felt a disturb­ing emotion, one that had nothing to do with lust. It was a soothing feeling, indefinable, but strangely comforting. Then she licked her lips, and he had to clench his hands to keep from reaching for her.

  She'd taste like tea and plum jam, he thought, then smiled.

  Evelyn smiled back. "I accept your friendship, my lord, and offer mine in return. Although why a man such as your­self would want it, I haven't a clue. There is nothing extraor­dinary about me."

  "On the contrary, I find you extremely extra-ordinary," he said softly. "And my name is Marshall, not my lord. I would very much like to hear you say it."

  Evelyn looked away, staring at the enameled sugar caddie on the tray instead of the man.

  When she didn't respond Marshall stepped closer. "Friends often refer to each other by their given names. It isn't a pun­ishable offense, Evelyn."

  The sound of her own name being spoken so gently
brought her head around but she still couldn't make herself say his name. It came too close to admitting that she longed for more than his friendship.

  "We know nothing of each other," she said instead.

  "It takes time for people to become acquainted."

  The sun was fully risen. A single shaft of golden light spilled through the open window, making Evelyn's hair shine. Cautiously, Marshall reached out to touch a curly wisp of it, gently pushing it back behind her ear. "Can you not accept what has passed between us without question for the time being?"

  Once again Evelyn was reminded of the kiss. A full minute ticked away, each second counted by the small pendulum clock on the dresser, before she spoke. "I will do my best."

  "Good. Then relax, sleep the day away if you wish," Marshall said. "I will return this evening, and we shall begin our acquaintance."

  She stared at him, feeling more helpless than she had in jail. There was something about this man, something beyond his surprising kindness, that made her feel as if her life was no longer her own. At any moment she expected him to turn into what she'd heard most gentlemen of his class thrived on being, selfish and extravagant in their ways, mindless to any­thing but their own pleasure. And yet, he was smiling at her, and looking for all the world as if he simply enjoyed her company.

  Evelyn knew she was being foolish. She had nothing in common with the Marquis of Waltham. Nothing upon which to base a friendship, or anything else.

  Uncomfortably aware of her thoughts, she searched for the words that would bring their goodbye to a close. Thinking of nothing more than what anyone would say to someone who was about to leave, she smiled cordially and said "Good day, my lord."

  "Ahhh, so easily you forget," he laughed lightly. "I will not budge an inch until you have spoken my name," he in­sisted. He hadn't had more than an hour's uncomfortable sleep in a lumpy chair, but he felt unusually light of spirit. It was as if by taking on this woman's burden he had somehow lightened his own.

  Evelyn held her breath for several heartbeats before re­leasing it to say, "Good day, Marshall."

  "That's better," he replied softly.

  A silent duel began between them, each knowing it was time for him to leave, each dreading it for their own private reasons.

  Finally, Marshall did what Evelyn had unknowingly been waiting for him to do. He lowered his head and kissed her. While his hands remained at his sides, the kiss was beyond the boundaries of a normal friendship. The experience of being kissed was still so new and enchanting, it was impos­sible for Evelyn not to feel as if all her dreams had suddenly come true.

  She returned the kiss, not as brazenly as Marshall was giving it, but with enough enthusiasm for him to know that he could arouse a spark within her. His eyes opened and glanced toward the bed. For an instant he imagined himself picking her up and putting her in the middle of it, then com­ing down on top of her. He imagined her response, shock then protest, followed by a sweet surrender.

  He closed his eyes again, deepening the kiss as much as he could with only their mouths touching. Then he pulled back, slowly.

  "Until this evening," he said, stepping back, then turning toward the door. He paused short of putting his hand on the knob and looked back at her. "Enjoy your day. And remem­ber, you are not to worry."

  She almost bobbed a curtsey and said, "Yes, milord." Instead she nodded, unable to do anything else until the door closed behind the marquis. Then she sank onto the bed.

  Not worry!

  How could she do anything but worry? Besides facing the possibility of being labeled a thief in a court of law and being hauled off to prison or a workhouse for God only knew how long, she now had to worry about her heart. For having it broken would be the end result if she allowed her­self to become enthralled of the Marquis of Waltham.

  And the man was most definitely enthralling. She'd never met anyone like him. Aside from the fact that he had man­aged to free her from Clerkenwell, he believed her innocent of any crime. That in itself was more blessing than Evelyn could imagine. She couldn't bear the thought of having peo­ple believe her a thief.

  Why had she allowed him to kiss her a second time?

  Already knowing the answer, Evelyn looked about the room. What would she do for an entire day? Unaccustomed to being idle, she collected the teacup from the windowsill where the marquis had left it and carried it to the tray. Then she nibbled on a slice of toasted bread and finished off the tea. Once that was done, she simply sat down in the chair and stared out the window, hoping some order would come to her thoughts before the marquis returned that evening.

  Five

  Marshall arrived at his Mayfair town house and immedi­ately summoned Druggs to join him in the library. The sec­retary appeared in a freshly starched shirt and dark suit.

  "Clear my calendar as much as possible for the remainder of the week," he was told as his employer removed his jacket and tossed ft onto the chair in front of the fireplace. "Do you have my sister's calendar available? I dread the thought of how many balls will be forced upon me this week."

  Druggs sat down in his customary chair. Having an excel­lent memory, he rarely had to refer to his notes. "Lady Winnifred will be attending the opera this evening. Afterward you will be expected to dine with Lord and Lady Clarendon. Tomorrow night is the Granmer ball, a small affair compared to most. Nothing the following evening that I have been in­formed of as yet. The end of the week will bring the Trehearn ball, an event I am told your sister awaits with high anticipa­tion."

  "Bloody hell!" Marshall said. He poured himself a drink. It was too early for spirits, but since his intention was to have a bath then a few hours sleep, the brandy served a use­ful purpose. "I suppose there's no way out of it," he relented with a frustrated sigh. "Very well, do what you can to give me a few hours of peace and quiet."

  "Yes, your lordship. Will there be anything else?"

  Marshall sat down behind his desk. "I installed Miss Dennsworth in Southwark. The accommodations are less than desirable. How soon can you find a suitable residence?"

  Druggs addressed this question with the same ease in which he had answered the first. "I looked into the matter late yesterday, after realizing the haste at which you wanted things done. I believe I have already achieved the goal. There is a small, but suitable, house in Lambeth. The rent is reasonable and the neighborhood well kept. The former res­ident, a gentleman in his late sixties with a fondness for gar­dening, has put it up for lease. Failing health forced him to the country and into the care of a relative, or so the agent in­formed me. I viewed the house early this morning."

  "And?" Marshall prompted impatiently.

  "It is a well-maintained residence, my lord. The size is somewhat smaller than you are accustomed to, of course, but I think it will meet the lady's needs. The footman is will­ing to stay on, and he assured me that his wife would be agreeable to assuming the role of cook and housekeeper, if the position were to become available."

  "Excellent," Marshall said. "As always, Druggs, your ef­ficiency is impressive."

  "Thank you, my lord. As to the other items on your list, I am seeing to their satisfaction as quickly as possible."

  "Clothes."

  "Clothes, my lord?"

  "Miss Dennsworth's wardrobe," Marshall said. "She lived above the shop. Send someone, a very discreet someone, to collect her things. I want the house readied today. I shall col­lect the new resident and escort her there myself, before I'm forced to endure the opera and Lord Clarendon's dinner con­versation. The man talks more than a magpie."

  Druggs didn't seem the least bit flustered by the chal­lenge before him. He stood up, nodding respectfully before saying, "Very well, my lord."

  After the secretary departed Marshall allowed himself the pleasure of a few minutes alone. Druggs had the matter of a suitable house under control. Once he had Evelyn living comfortably within its walls, he would begin the task of changing his role from friend to lover. The attraction already exis
ted, and if the way she responded to him was any indica­tion, it wouldn't take long. The lovely Miss Dennsworth wouldn't surrender easily, he was sure of it, and in many ways that made the chase more appealing. Like most men, he enjoyed a challenge, especially if the reward was worth having.

  Several hours later, freshly shaven and rested, Marshall returned to the library. He was sorting through the corre­spondence on his desk when a light knock on the door inter­rupted him. He wasn't surprised when it opened to reveal a pretty young girl of ten with bouncing blond curls and vi­brant blue eyes.

  "May I come in?"

  "Of course," he said. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Lady Catherine?"

  The youngest of his two sisters walked undauntedly around the desk and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Nothing in particular," she confessed, shrugging her shoulders. "Miss Perry is taking a nap. I'm supposed to be doing the same, but I came down the back stairs so she wouldn't know I'd left my room." She smiled, as if sneaking away from her gov­erness was worthy of a reward. "I just wanted to see you. You're always going about with Winnie."

  "Your time will come," Marshall assured her, disliking the idea of Catherine growing up too fast. She was a nymph of a child always poking her adorable nose into things that didn't concern her. He'd never been able to resist the way she grinned up at him, knowing full well that if any female in the household had the ability to twist him about her little finger, it was she. She also had a knack for saying the most outra­geous things in such a youthful manner that she often caught him off guard. Today was no exception.

  "I won't be easy to please when it comes to a husband" she announced precociously, then climbed onto the edge of his desk. She crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands in her small lap. "When I'm old enough to fall in love, I shall find a nice young farmer, smile at him in just the right way, and have the whole thing over with before my eighteenth birthday. You will have to marry one day, and Winnifred has her eye on at least an earl, so my husband can be whomever I wish him to be. Papa said so."