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Authors: Maggie Robinson

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“I’m not going to sit at home and tat and bake biscuits,” Evangeline replied, feeling herself flush at her impolitic words. “I mean, your lace is exquisite, and you’re a marvelous cook, but I’m hopelessly undomesticated. When forced to—and I was, often, as a girl—I can do the basics, but I’d much rather not.”
Lady Pennington patted her hand. “No, you’re a crusader. Which is why your Ben is so clever to hit upon a scheme that you cannot refuse.”
“But I can’t marry him!” Evangeline cried. “He’ll break my heart.”
“Pish. You’re made of stronger stuff. Even if he disappoints, as all men are wont to do—women, too—you’ll have your charity.”
“I cannot promise to obey him.”
“Well, you can say the words and keep your fingers crossed beneath your bridal bouquet. I did so twice.”
“Amy! You lied in church?”
“I’m sure I’m not the first. The point of marriage is not obedience—not for either wife or husband. A good marriage provides congenial companionship. Give and take and compromise for a common cause. You don’t want to be a lonely old woman like me.”
“Oh! You shame me. How selfish I am to go on—”
“Stop. I’m honored you chose to come here. But I admit I’ve been thinking of looking for a man again. Perhaps after Susan has found a husband this spring. I can put an ad in your paper.” Her china blue eyes twinkled.
Evangeline managed to keep her mouth from gaping open. “I shall be happy to oblige to see you married again.”
“You foolish girl! As if I want to spoil my golden years catering to some peevish man. I am surprisingly content living in Town with all this luxury. But it wouldn’t go amiss if every now and then I had someone to warm my bed.”
Now Evangeline couldn’t help but show her shock.
“Close your mouth dear. You’ll catch flies if any are brave enough to live through this nasty winter. Do you suppose because I am nearly sixty that I’ve lost all desire? However, most men my age are not appealing. And they, despite their handicaps, are looking for a silly young thing to produce heirs, not a plump country grandmama. No, no more husbands. If Garwood were not so very stiff-necked, I’d make him an offer, though he’d probably drop dead. He’s quite a fine looking fellow, don’t you think?”
Evangeline choked, then threw her head back and laughed so hard she began to cry again. Lady Pennington took her to her capacious bosom, heedless of the damp to her bed jacket. “There, there. Let it all out. And you know you must accept Lord Gray’s proposal. Your marriage may start off as a convenience for the both of you, but I bet one of my lemon scones that it will turn into a love match. Wait and see.”
Evangeline knew already that she loved Benton Gray, damn his glorious hazel green eyes. But she would lose her hard-won independence unless she kept him at arm’s length. All the security in the world was not worth subjugating herself to the whims of a notorious rakehell.
“I’ll think about it,” Evangeline sniffed, even though her mind was nearly made up.
February 28, 1821
 
E
vangeline had insisted that the banns be called, which was damned aggravating. Ben had been perfectly willing to pony up for another special license—if he could do it for that stuttering fool Maxwell, he could do it for himself.
He was as much a fool; he might not stutter, but the sight of Evie waltzing around the office in skirts had been enough to break his concentration. She had allowed him to furnish her with a new wardrobe as an early bride-gift, and wore fashionably elegant wigs which completely transformed her.
Mr. Ramsey was long-gone, rumored to be off to India with his lover. In his place was his sister, who had come to Ben brokenhearted at her brother’s scandal. What could he do but hire the poor girl in his place? She also had a way with words, as anyone could see from reading the past few weeks’ editions. And yes, wasn’t he a generous-hearted soul for hiring the sister of the very scoundrel who’d blackened his name for so long? True, he’d kept Evelyn Ramsey on at first because the lad knew all the ins and outs of
The List,
but Evangeline was surprisingly smart for a woman. And they would not be caught in their own scandal, because Ben had done the right, practical thing and proposed almost immediately. It was time he settled down—one would have to in all honesty agree he’d sown enough wild oats to provide a kingdom’s worth of porridge.
Evangeline Ramsey might have a bad brother, but she was a virginal spinster, caring singlehandedly for her father—not a beauty, to be sure, but anyone might admire her great height and bearing. One didn’t dare to speak against her in any case, for it was obvious Ben was protective of his future wife, keeping her to himself rather than dragging her off to ton parties. All the head-scratching and whispering didn’t seem to affect him at all, and it was reluctantly acknowledged that Lord Benton Alexander Dunbarton Gray was not the amusing man he used to be.
Ben hadn’t much to laugh about lately—Evie’s father had been too ill to leave his bed to attend their wedding, and she would not hear of marrying without his presence. It was not his deteriorating mind that was the problem, but a common cold that had laid him low now for over a month. If anything, the news of his daughter’s impending marriage seemed to break through his fog, and he was nearly as impatient as Ben to see the matter accomplished. So it was enormous relief on all sides when he improved enough so they could finally set the wedding date for the first of March, a scant three months from the time Ben had stormed into the offices of
The London List
and ogled Evie’s backside.
He was ogling it right now. Ben had eschewed any sort of bachelor celebration and was spending the night before his wedding—the scandalous whole of it—with his beloved in his bed. He couldn’t believe he had talked her into staying, but of course it hadn’t been painless. He’d been forced to add Patsy to his household staff despite her glaring unsuitability as a lady’s maid. Severson was not happy, but Callum and John and the rest of the younger men were tripping over themselves to impress the girl. There was bound to be trouble belowstairs, and Ben was steeling himself for a lifetime of it on all the floors of his house.
However, at the moment trouble was far from his mind. Evie reclined on his bed, reading a book. Yes, damn it, reading. The fact that she did it naked was some consolation, but he couldn’t help but want her to toss the bloody thing on the floor and pay him some attention. If she looked up, she would see his robe tenting into the next street. He cleared his throat.
“Did you say something?”
“Would it matter if I did? What is that you’re reading, anyway?” He sounded petulant even to himself.
“Don’t be a bore, Ben. I was just making good use of my time while you bathed.” She shut the book and smiled up at him like a damn Delilah.
“It would have been better if you had joined me,” he grumbled, untying his robe and sinking into the mattress.
“Are you saying I’m dirty? I took a bath before your coachman picked me up.”
She looked clean. She looked
delicious
. Downright lickable. “I can’t tell.” He took an experimental sniff. “Still the sandalwood? What about all that fancy French perfume I gave you?”
“You really have to stop giving me things, you know. All those fripperies are a dreadful waste of money when so many of our countrymen are going hungry.”
“Evie, I’m giving away my money to strangers as fast as I can make it. At least let me spend a little of it on you. It pleases me.”
Her lips turned up. “And you must be pleased as often as possible.”
“I must. I must be pleased fairly soon or I’ll go mad.”
“Oh, you men are always complaining—you’re
in pain
from your lustful nature, or some such, trying to wheedle your way up some poor girl’s skirts.”
“You’re not wearing any.”
Evie looked down at herself. “Why, I’m not. How shocking. Are you in pain, my lord?”
“I’m dying, Evie. Only you can save me.”
She laughed. “What rubbish. I suppose that line has worked for you a time or two.”
He’d never said anything like it before, but she didn’t need to know. Theirs was, after all, a business arrangement. “Is it working now?”
“It might be. You might have to do some more persuading.”
He could do that, and did. His first attempt at persuasion was to place his tongue into her feminine core, which she obligingly opened to him. Worshipping her with his mouth was not difficult, and she seemed vested in the outcome, which was not long in coming. He glided up her body, still using his tongue as a disarming weapon, teasing her skin as she shivered, using his fingers to touch what his mouth didn’t. He was as persuasive as he could be, limited as he was by only two hands and one wicked tongue. But there was something left in his arsenal, which Evie to her credit had found as she came out of her sensual stupor.
Her grip was velvet, her intentions clear. Turnabout was fair play, and she wriggled on the bed until she was able to take him into the lush heaven of her mouth. Ben forgot who was persuading who—whom? Correct grammar was equally distant at this moment. He lay flat on his back, utterly captivated and happy to be at her sweetest mercy.
But he wanted to finish this round of their evening deep inside her body, his own covering hers in primal possession. Some might call him old-fashioned. He simply called himself lucky that tonight would be repeated for the rest of his life until he drew his last breath. Ben was optimistic that Evie would keep him entranced until he didn’t have a tooth in his head. She’d had an unaccountably strong hold on him so far without really trying. What would she be like if he could make her love him?
For he would. He had years to practice and a fortune to fritter away on her pet causes. She couldn’t deny him forever.
If they had a child together, their bond would grow even stronger. He might plant his seed in her tonight, now that their marriage was on the morrow. There was no need to be careful, no scandal to skirt. He could lose himself and find himself, all at the same time.
“Evie.” Stark need was upon him. She raised her black eyes, looking much as the first temptress Evie must have to poor Adam. “I want to come inside you.”
She gave his cock one more agonizing kiss, then settled back for him to have his way. He hoped it was her way as well, this union of their bodies. Tomorrow he would parrot words in church that had been written centuries ago, but tonight was his true, wordless pledge. He would be the man she needed for as long as they were blessed to live.
Ben looked into her eyes through each twist and thrust, until his crisis was near. He had to kiss her, taste her, consume her as he emptied himself into her perfection. They were one, though two hearts beat frantically. She had his, and he would make it his life’s work to earn hers.
March 1, 1821
 
T
here was a tentative tap at the bedroom door.
“Bloody hell. This is our wedding night! Now what?”
“Hush, Ben. It’s not as if you have waited months to take my virginity. You bedded me just this morning, and very satisfactorily, too. Come!”
Severson poked his head in, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the ground. Evangeline was still covered from head to toe in Ben’s robe, which she preferred to the useless lacy confections he’d bought for her. She had pulled up the covers to her chin besides, so the poor man didn’t need to look so embarrassed.
“Lord Gray, Lady Gray, I hesitate to intrude. But there is a couple downstairs who are most anxious to see you. They say they were bound for your wedding when the axle of their carriage broke.”
Ben had relented and agreed to appear in print one last time. He’d allowed her to put notice of their engagement and future wedding on the front page when she had been stumped for a story last month, but the exact details had been private. Who could these well-wishers be?
“We didn’t invite anyone besides our parents and Lady Pennington to the wedding,” Ben grumped. To his mind the wedding this morning had been a poky affair, with old Severson of all people serving as his best man, but Evangeline had been adamant. No bridal veil and brace of bridesmaids for her. When she was ready, she’d step into society on Ben’s arm. Until then, she wanted him all to herself, just to make sure he really was sufficiently reformed—she planned to make sure of it every single evening and mornings besides.
In a month or two she might dispense with those itchy wigs and go about in public in her own fashionably shorn locks. Ben wanted her to grow out her hair again, but she rather liked the freedom of short hair. If she had to give up her trousers, she could at least have something of Mr. Ramsey left.
“Who are they?”
“A Major and Mrs. Ripton-Jones, my lady. Perfectly respectable people, if I’m any judge of character.”
“Imaculata!” Evangeline gasped.
“No, my lady. The gentleman called her Anne.”
“Severson, offer Major and Mrs. Ripton-Jones some refreshment. We’ll be down shortly.” Evangeline jumped out of bed. “Oh, good lord, she’s married the old gent. When she said she would have taken ancient Lord Hastings as a husband, I didn’t believe her.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Ben asked.
“Surely you remember Lady Imaculata Egremont.”
Ben lost the ruddy color on his cheeks. “I swear I never touched her, Evie. I admit I did
see
her. It was hard not to. And I suppose she pursued me a bit. But she was a wild little thing, too wild even for me. I love only you and will always be true.”
“Oh, shut up and get dressed, Ben. I never told you, but she came to me before Christmas. With a gun, actually. She was behind all those strange events at the office. The broken window and the honey in the box of sorts, etcetera. I thought it best to place Lady Imaculata far out of reach in a position in a gentleman’s household.”
Ben’s response was comical. “What? Are you all right? Of course you are—here you stand with that lunatic grin on your face. You found that scatterbrained—and apparently dangerous—girl a job? As what? Mischief maker-in-chief? Evie, what have you done? Think of all the ads her father’s placed in the paper! Lord Egremont will come after you. He’s been crazed to get her back since she disappeared.”
“I imagine so. I’ll explain later.
“But it’s our wedding night,” Ben grumbled, picking up his breeches from a chair.
“And we have many more nights ahead, my darling. Especially if you love only me and will always be true.”
Ben paused, one foot tangled in his pants leg. “My God. I just said that, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and without a priest’s suggestion. For the record, I love you, too.”
Ben’s breeches dropped to the floor. “Ah, Evie, what fools we’ve been. I thought you married me for the money for your charity projects.” He shuffled toward her, somewhat hampered by the fabric at his ankles, and took her in his arms.
“Don’t be absurd. I married you for you. How could I not? I’ve loved you since you were twenty years old. I must say I like how you’ve grown up.”
“I can show you just how much I’ve grown—”
“Yes, yes. I have eyes. Put that thing away for half an hour. I am just dying of curiosity. And just maybe we’ll have an exclusive for the paper next week!”
“The paper. Always the paper.” Ben brushed his lips at the back of her neck and her every hair stood on end.
“Printers’ ink is in my blood, I’m afraid. Be a lamb and do up these buttons.”
Reluctantly Ben got them both dressed and they found their uninvited guests in the double parlor. Evangeline managed to not gape too obviously at the darkly handsome man who held a sandwich to the lips of Lady Imaculata Egremont with his right hand, the left sleeve of his coat pinned neatly to his side. The couple both hastily rose from the little table, Imaculata blushing in competition with her back-to-its-original color red hair, which was also neatly pinned in place.
“Evangeline! I wish you happy! Gareth and I read about the impending wedding in
The London List
and wanted to come to thank you in person. I’m so sorry we’ve disturbed you at this late hour.”
Evangeline smiled. “Nonsense. It’s not even eight o’clock.”
“But it’s our
wedding night
,” Ben continued to complain.
“I say, I am sorry. My wife insisted we see you as soon as we got to Town, Lord Gray. When my Annie wants something, it’s hard to deny her. I’m sure you know the feeling.”
“I’m afraid I do, Major. Please be seated. Well,
Annie,
I see congratulations are due all the way around.” Ben looked at the new Mrs. Ripton-Jones expectantly.
“Gareth and I have come to town to get my money,” Lady Imaculata said. “Now that I’m married, Papa will have to turn it over to me.”
“But I asked her to marry me without knowing she was an heiress,” Major Ripton-Jones was quick to add. “And I
did
know her history, once she told me who she really was.
The List
reached even my distant corner of Wales, as you know from my letter. And when she told me what had happened to her—my poor love.” Major Ripton-Jones squeezed Imaculata’s hand. “I’ve promised her not to kill the bastard with my one bare hand, but I don’t mind telling you I’ll enjoy making the old goat squirm tomorrow.”
Ben was naturally puzzled, and Evangeline could see she had some explaining to do later. “What can we do to help?”
“Just write a story about us. Gareth is a genuine war hero, a fine man. I want to surprise those people who doubted I had a lick of sense in me. Explain I’m completely reformed. When our children come up to London, I don’t want them to be ashamed.”
“And find us a housekeeper. My Annie has many talents, but cooking and cleaning are not among them,” Major Ripton-Jones said in his delightful Welsh burr.
“Done, on both counts,” Evangeline said, rising from the settee. “Come see us tomorrow to give us the particulars of your courtship. I imagine it was very romantic.”
Lady Imaculata—Annie, now—nodded. “Gareth saved my life when I burned his house down.”
“Not the whole house, mind you, just the kitchen wing. And it was a mercy, if you know what I mean. We’ve been taking all our meals in the village inn since, but that’s becoming somewhat inconvenient now that we think Annie is increasing.” Major Ripton-Jones beamed at his wife, and her blushes intensified.
That was quick work. Ah. True love. Evangeline could see she needed to alter Major Ripton-Jones’s entry in her notebook. What a perfectly delightful way to end the day.
Well, it wasn’t ended yet. It was her wedding night, and many more delights were to come if she had anything to say about it.
Arrangements were made for the following day and good-byes were said. She and Ben stood alone in the parlor.
“I believe you have something more to tell me,” Ben said, with an edge to his voice.
“And the particulars are too unpleasant to divulge on our wedding night. Let’s just say I helped Lady Imaculata Egremont escape from an ogre. Ha! Lord Ogremont! Sometimes my wit positively astounds me.”
“You are much too easily astounded.” He was close now, his green eyes glittering. She put a few blackened fingers on his cheek.
“Don’t be mulish, dearest. I didn’t tell you everything because I wasn’t looking for a knight in shining armor to save the world. I’d quite given up that such a man existed. Until you.”
Ben fiddled with her buttons. “Don’t try to sweet-talk me.”
Evangeline lifted a winged dark brow. “I don’t want to
talk
to you at all.”
With a growl, Ben pounced. Evangeline prayed Severson would forget to collect the Ripton-Jones’s supper tray until much later, for it seemed the baron was not going to formally consummate their marriage in the baroness’s suite but on the parlor floor.
And she had no objection. How could she? Evangeline had her exclusive for next week’s edition and a handsome new husband. Joined together, they’d give readers satisfaction as long as
The London List
landed on doorsteps and dining room tables.
But tonight was dedicated to a different sort of joining and a much more satisfying satisfaction than Evangeline’s usual solution to a problem. She didn’t need clever words or concise descriptions, for frankly Ben blasted all rational thought out of her head when he—
Oh. Yes. When he did that. And
that
.
“Did you say something, Evie?”
“No,” she sighed happily. “I’m speechless.”

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