He Said Yes Read online

  "I'm sure you can find—"

  "You have said that you wish to repay me in some small way," he interrupted her. "After viewing this room, I am now willing to let you. I beseech you, make this house livable, if not for yourself, then for me."

  "But you reside in Mayfair, my lord."

  "You are going to be difficult no matter what, aren't you?" He moved toward her, his lithe stride not unlike that of a stalking cat.

  Fortunately, Mr. Grunne chose that moment to announce that dinner was served. Evelyn looked from the footman to the marquis. It seemed that her benefactor would not be dashing out the door this evening.

  The thought of them sharing a meal as though they were residing in a normal household was disquieting. She could handle the dinner hour well enough. Grunne would be there as footman, his presence at the serving board all the defense she required. It was the interlude following dinner that had Evelyn worried. Whether she liked it or not, the marquis meant to linger.

  "Come," Marshall said placing her hand on his arm.

  "Shall we see if we can find the dining room. I suddenly find myself very hungry."

  The innuendo was unmistakable, but he was holding her hand much too tightly for Evelyn to think she could free her­self. He escorted her into the foyer, then turned in the direc­tion of voices, the house being small enough for them to hear Mrs. Grunne's flustered remark that this would be the first meal they would be serving the marquis, thus it had to be perfect.

  Once they were seated in the dining room, Marshall im­mediately pointed out the room's shortcomings. "You should have plenty to keep yourself occupied" he remarked as they began the meal with a thick asparagus soup. "Every room in the house seems to need attention."

  Evelyn refrained from replying. Grunne was standing be­hind her, posed to serve the next course. Deciding silence would serve her better than trite words, she concentrated on her food.

  Marshall sensed what she was about. He instructed Grunne to set the dishes on the table, then dismissed him, in­sinuating that he and the lady preferred to dine without an audience.

  Evelyn remained silent until the footman quit the room, then turned to look at the man sitting at the head of the table. "You are, without a doubt, the most irritating man I have ever met. Is there no way I can convince you that your inten­tions, while flattering, are wasted."

  "No," he replied candidly. "Nor can you convince me that you aren't itching to redecorate this dreadful house." When she set her mouth in a hard line, he laughed. "Where is the admirable honesty you were speaking of earlier, Miss Dennsworth?"

  She relented with a frustrated sigh. "Very well, my lord. I would dearly love to take this neglected house under my wing. It is a project that would keep me occupied for months. But need I remind you again that I have no intention of remaining under this roof."

  "Need I remind you that you are under my authority," he said his expression suddenly stern. "I gave the magistrate my word that I would see to your comfort."

  "You bribed him into giving me over," she retorted re­calling Rivenhall's choice of words. "That is not the same thing, and well you know it."

  "The end result remains the same."

  "Then I am a prisoner here, as I was at Clerkenwell."

  Marshall tossed his napkin to the table. "Damnation, woman! Must you twist every word I say."

  "You requested honesty of me," she reminded him.

  "Then be honest with yourself," he said more harshly than he intended. "You are without funds, accused of theft, and soon to stand before the bench. You are under my care, whether it pleases you or not. Why make a difficult situation worse by fighting me at every turn?"

  "Because if I don't fight you, I'll—" Evelyn stopped her­self before blurting out the words. It was not her manner to rant and rave. She had been raised with quiet dignity, and she refused to relinquish it. Removing her napkin from her lap, she laid it beside her plate and swept out of the room be­fore the marquis could stop her. "If you'll excuse me, my lord. I find my appetite lacking."

  Marshall watched her go, angry with himself for losing his temper.

  Evelyn stopped in the middle of the foyer. She wanted to go upstairs and shut herself away in the bedroom, but she wasn't certain Lord Waltham wouldn't come looking for her. Deciding on fresh air instead she took a shawl from the closet in the foyer and returned to the garden.

  The roses she had been tending before the marquis's ar­rival were now dressed in moonlight. Evelyn drew the shawl more closely about her shoulders and looked up at the wan­ing moon. She had always had faith that her destiny would be found in a dress shop, among bolts of silk and satin. Beyond that dream, she had sometimes thought of a husband and a family, but never in specific terms. And never had she imagined her life becoming so intricately entwined with a man like the Marquis of Waltham.

  Marshall finished his dinner, taking time to compliment Mrs. Grunne on the broiled turbot she had served. The ma­tronly servant blushed; then being too well versed in her role to inquire about Evelyn's unfinished meal, she began clear­ing the table.

  Marshall retired to the library, unpleasant as it was, to smoke a cigar and think. Relaxing in a somewhat lumpy wingback chair, he considered the challenge he had under­taken. His lot in life was not an unhappy one. He loved his family, enjoyed the estates he had inherited and the time he spent sailing. The only thing he lacked was a woman who could satisfy his physical needs without the complications of marriage.

  What he had found was an unexpected virgin, a vicar's daughter. It was almost laughable that he, a man of experi­enced means, was now sitting in an ill-furbished library suf­fering from sexual frustration. If he had any sense, he'd leave Miss Evelyn Dennsworth to her high-and-mighty morals and find another female.

  If he had any sense?

  He frowned. The question was becoming redundant. A riddle without an obvious answer, a puzzle as perplexing as it was challenging.

  Deciding he could either retreat to his club or do his best to resurrect the evening, Marshall snubbed out the thin che­root in a small brass ashtray and went in search of Evelyn.

  It took only a few minutes to find her.

  "We seem to be forever walking out on one another."

  Evelyn turned to find the marquis standing surprisingly close. She blamed herself for being engrossed in a bout of self-pity. Had she been thinking clearly, she would have heard his boots on the flat stones of the walkway. She looked at the black onyx pin in his cravat, rather than his face, and replied, "Perhaps it is because we are at cross purposes, my lord."

  "A situation I am doing my best to rectify, if only you will stop seeing me as a seducer of innocents. My motives may not be those of a saint, but I do want to be your friend."

  She met his gaze then, and for a brief second she could almost believe him. "It may be obdurate of me, my lord but I cannot allow myself to entertain a friendship that will gain me nothing but the title of mistress."

  Marshall had thought his anger under control, but it rose again, like trout to a well-baited hook. "Then allow this, my lovely Miss Dennsworth."

  Before she could think to stop him, Evelyn found herself in his arms. Instead of the gentle, arousing kisses he had given her in the past, his mouth was hard and hungry, pun­ishing her in the most seductive way possible.

  She trembled both in response to his kiss and to the knowledge that she wasn't being nearly as stubborn as she should be. There was no way she could prevent herself from reacting to the marquis's touch. Especially when he softened the kiss, running his tongue along the seam of her lips, en­ticing them to open. When they did he took her mouth with a carnality that made her legs go weak. Warm pleasure began to radiate from the very depths of her, and Evelyn knew she had lost another battle in the ongoing war.

  Slowly Marshall lifted his mouth. It was all he could do not to drag her into the shadows and take what he wanted. He took a deep breath of cool air, forcing his body to relax. Restraint had never been a problem befor
e. Why did this woman make it seem an impossible task? He tipped her chin up, waiting until she met his gaze.

  "I have promised that I will not use force or circumstance against you," he said. "I will keep my word."

  Still dazed by his kiss, Evelyn stared up at him.

  "You will learn to trust me," he said. "And I will trust you when you tell me that you will not run away. You will remain here and let me aid in your defense."

  When she didn't reply immediately, he kissed her again. A quick, hard kiss that made her blink with surprise.

  "Promise me that you will remain under this roof until you are freed of the charges. Give me your word. And know that whatever happens between us will happen because we both want it."

  Hoping she could continue to resist what the marquis as­sumed was inevitable, and realizing that if she had really wanted to leave she could have marched out the door any hour of the day, Evelyn was forced to admit that she was al­ready too deeply involved with the marquis to sneak out in the middle of the night.

  "I won't leave," she said seeing the triumph in his eyes the moment the words were spoken.

  "Good then we can get back to becoming acquainted."

  He tugged her inside, picked up his wineglass and sat down on the sofa.

  Once Evelyn was seated in a nearby chair, he began to re­gale her with tales of his childhood and the first time his fa­ther had taken him sailing in the Channel. She told him about her dream to own her own dress shop, of the pleasure she gained by creating something beautiful from a bolt of cloth. They talked for several hours, discussing whatever came to mind. Before she knew it, the clock was chiming midnight.

  Marshall, acting as casually as possible, stood and stretched. "The hour is late," he said knowing full well she wasn't going to invite him to stay the night. He could insist, but then the last few hours would have been in vain. He smiled to himself. Wooing a stubborn young woman was more work than he had expected.

  Unsure what to do, Evelyn remained seated. Their con­versation had taken her mind off the real reason the marquis had come calling. A momentary panic rose within her when he moved to where she was sitting beside the fireplace. The night was warm, so there had been no reason to light the logs Mr. Grunne had stacked on the grate.

  "I will call again as soon as time allows," he told her.

  Evelyn wasn't sure if she should be relieved or insulted. One moment the man was acting as if having her was his sole purpose in life, the next he was bidding her good night as though she was an old and dear friend.

  "I shall show you to the door," she replied knowing how ridiculous the remark must sound to him.

  "There is no need. I can find my way out."

  Accepting that and the fact that the evening had turned out to be an enjoyable one after all, she gave him a cordial smile. "Good night, my lord."

  "Marshall," he said. "I shall not leave until you have said it."

  "Good night, Marshall."

  "Excellent. We are making progress." He leaned down and kissed her then, not the intoxicating way he had kissed her in the garden, but a gentle, lingering kiss that made her body feel so light she grasped the arms of the chair for fear that she might actually float into his embrace.

  She sat in the parlor for a long time after he left, thinking about the chain of events that Lady Monfrey's false accusa­tion had started. The marquis was everything the men of her previous acquaintance had not been. He had come to her res­cue when she had needed a knight in shining armor. He was titled, handsome, generous to a fault, highly intelligent, irre­sistibly charming, and definitely stubborn. But she was strong enough to resist him.

  The problem was, Evelyn wasn't entirely sure she wanted to resist him.

  The nuances of society that made their relationship such an unorthodox one had to be considered of course. A woman's social acceptance was a matter of birth. No matter how well-mannered or educated she was, her recognition was dependent upon either her father or her husband. While highly respected for his devoted lifestyle, her father had still been a commoner. As for a husband Evelyn knew she was spinning dreams around the marquis, but she couldn't help herself. If he was this kind this solicitous of a woman he only wanted to bed what would he be like with a woman he truly loved?

  Seven

  "You have a caller, Miss Dennsworth."

  "A caller?" Evelyn turned away from the painting she had been studying, an atrocious battle scene that added to the bleak atmosphere of the library.

  "Mr. Druggs," Grunne informed her. "He is employed by Lord Waltham."

  "Oh," she said more than slightly surprised. "Then, I shall see him, of course." She paused midway of the room. "Please ask Mrs. Grunne to serve some refreshments."

  Evelyn wondered what Mr. Druggs could possibly want of her. Reminding herself that regardless of what anyone thought she had nothing to be ashamed of, she strolled into the parlor with her chin high.

  "Mr. Druggs," she said smiling at the slenderly built man. He was clean shaven with a long nose, upon which a pair of spectacles were perched. His features expressed a certain seriousness, but his gaze seemed friendly and his manner re­assured as if he thought nothing of the circumstances that had catapulted her into his employer's life.

  "Miss Dennsworth," he greeted her in a pleasant but for­mal tone. "I hope I am not intruding."

  "Of course not," she replied waving him back into the chair. "I must admit some surprise. Lord Waltham did not mention that anyone would be calling."

  "I met with his lordship this morning, as is my custom," Druggs explained. "He has delegated certain matters into my hands."

  "And those matters concern me?"

  "Most assuredly. The first one is of course a household al­lowance. The marquis mentioned that you have decided to do some refurbishing of the interior. I am to make funds available, including enough to pay for additional servants. However, Lord Waltham was at a loss as to how many you would require. If you will enlighten me, I shall arrange for their temporary employment."

  Evelyn looked at him in amazement. "Just like that? I suggest that a carpet or two needs replacing and the marquis sends you to call."

  "His lordship wishes for you to be comfortable."

  That wasn't all his lordship wished, but Evelyn refrained from commenting on the marquis's personal agenda. "I re­ally don't see the necessity of hiring anyone," she said de­termined to get her point across even if she had to do it through a third party. "My tenure here is only temporary. There is no need for Lord Waltham to expend any more funds than he is doing already. I can manage very well with the house in its present state."

  Druggs cleared his throat with the ease of a practiced politician. "Lord Waltham made it quite clear that he found the house in need. Will three servants—two footmen and a maid of all work—be sufficient? I can have them here promptly at nine tomorrow morning."

  "Are you by any chance related to Lord Waltham?" Evelyn remarked evenly. "I noticed the same hearing impair­ment in his lordship, or is it an innate stubborn-ness?"

  Druggs's smile was sudden but genuine. "Lord Waltham is a man of strong temperament. I have known him for a good number of years, ever since his father employed my services. Whatever the reason for his actions, I would not presume to interfere, nor would I take it upon myself to do anything but that which he has commissioned me to do."

  "Yes, of course," she agreed keeping the balance of her opinion to herself. "Very well, Mr. Druggs, I do not want you blamed for my lack of enthusiasm. Send the servants if you must."

  The secretary quickly moved on to the second item on his list. Evelyn's mouth gaped open. She knew the marquis was a wealthy man, but the amount Mr. Druggs had just men­tioned was more than she could earn in a year working for Madame La Roschelle, and he was calling it a monthly al­lowance.

  "Miss Dennsworth," he urged after several minutes. "Is there anything else you require?"

  Evelyn blinked then blurted out, "I can't accept it." "Beg your pardon."


  "I can't accept the money," she said adamantly. "I assume that Lord Waltham has informed you of the charges against me." When the secretary nodded she continued. "He has al­ready been more than generous in providing food and shel­ter; I cannot allow my debt to him to be increased a hundred fold."

  "I do not believe his lordship considers it a debt."

  "I do," she told him. "One I intend to repay if at all possi­ble. Please understand that I cannot in good conscience allow the marquis to spend money unnecessarily on my be­half. I have agreed to remain here until such time as I am called to stand before the magistrate. Having given Lord Waltham my word I will accept whatever allowance is nec­essary to see myself fed and to provide anything his lordship may require when he calls. Men do like their brandy and cig­ars."

  "Yes, they do," Druggs agreed wholeheartedly.

  "As for anything else, I have no immediate needs. Please see that the allowance is reduced accordingly."

  "Lord Waltham will not be pleased."

  "Then he will not be pleased" she replied levelly.

  The smallest flicker of doubt rose in her thoughts, but Evelyn quickly mastered it. She had debated over her feelings most of the night. If she accepted more than was absolutely necessary, purchased a new wardrobe or spent lavishly on the house, then the marquis was sure to think that she was softening to his seduction. There was also the possibility that she could be found guilty of theft. In that case, both a wardrobe and new furnishings would be a waste of time and money.

  "Shall we move on to the matter of your legal representa­tion," Druggs said his diplomatic tone implying that the funds would be deposited into the household account. Whether or not Evelyn used them was a matter to be settled between herself and the marquis. "I have, with Lord Waltham's approval, of course, retained a lawyer for your upcoming de­fense. His name is James Portsman. He has experience in matters such as yours and an excellent accounting before the bench. I have given him the rudimentary details of the case, but he will need to speak directly with you. Would two weeks from today be convenient?"