to dinner with a lady.’
He was not wearing a waistcoat, and the linen shirt fell softly over his powerful shoulders. Eve observed the contrast between the billowing white shirt and tightfitting buckskins that hugged his narrow hips and powerful thighs. Memories of that strong, athletic body pressed against hers made her tremble and she resolutely pushed them aside. As Nick came to the table she realised that he was not walking with his usual grace.
‘Your wound,’ she said. ‘Is it very painful?’
‘Only if I move too quickly.’ The corners of his mouth lifted. ‘Or if I have to fight off an angry lady.’
She ignored that. ‘May I see it?’
‘There is little to see,’ he said, pulling his shirt away from the waistband of his buckskins. ‘It is almost healed.’
‘Then why is it still bandaged?’
‘Protection,’ he told her. ‘The wound still bleeds occasionally.’ He lifted his shirt away and Eve gazed down at the white linen strips that were bound around his body. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘do you want me to remove the bandages, so that you may see I am telling the truth?’
Eve flushed. ‘I believe you.’ She waved her hand at him. ‘Pray, tuck in your shirt.’
He unbuttoned the waistband of his buckskins and she could not resist the temptation to look at the exposed skin on his stomach and abdomen, smooth and taut with a shadow of crisp black hairs, a shadow that continued on down towards—
Eve dragged her eyes away. She must not think of such things because it made the excitement stir deep inside and her knees grew weak. She sat down abruptly at the table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap while he finished tidying his clothes. Nick Wylder was a scoundrel. She must not think of him as anything else.
Martha bustled back into the room and while she busied herself sweeping up the broken glass, Eve tried to concentrate upon Nick’s story, and not upon his body. The mere thought of dining together made her mouth dry; the little table was so small their knees would almost be touching beneath it. She watched Nick follow the maid to the door and lock it after her. She was not sure if that made her feel more or less safe; might as well be locked in with a tiger, she thought as he prowled back towards her.
‘I cannot believe Bernard is involved in smuggling.’ Nerves made her voice sharper than she intended. ‘He is an odious little toad, but I cannot think so ill of him.’
Nick poured wine into her glass. ‘Can you not? It is a very lucrative trade.’
Eve was silent. After a moment she said slowly, ‘I think I told you that at one time he was always calling upon Grandpapa, asking him for money, coming to Makerham to hide from his creditors.’
‘But not recently?’
‘No. You saw him at the wedding; a modish new coat and his own carriage.’ She paused while he carved a slice of ham and put it on her plate. ‘He asked Mr Didcot about Monkhurst. He thought it was part of Grandpapa’s estate.’ She clasped her hands together, her fingers tightening until the knuckles showed white. ‘He began to—to hint that I should marry him, now that you were—that I was…’
‘Now that you were a widow.’
‘Yes.’ She did not look at him. ‘That was why I left Makerham. I feared he might…compromise me.’
‘For that alone I would thrash him,’ he muttered savagely.
She smiled slightly. ‘Thank you. But you cannot blame him; he believes you are dead. Is that not what you wanted, to catch the villains unawares?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t only that; I thought it would protect you. Once Chelston knew I was on to him, I feared that he might try to get to me through you. Making Chelston think I was out of the way removed that threat. However, when Sir Benjamin died I knew your cousin would be swift to claim his inheritance and if he suspected news of my death was a ruse then you would be in even greater danger. That is why I asked Richard to take you to my family in the north. I could be sure you would be safe there.’ His eyes softened. ‘I did not know then what a stubborn little minx I had married.’
‘If Mr Granby had told me the truth—’
‘Poor Richard was merely following my orders.’ Nick hesitated. ‘I did not know—I did not know if I could trust you.’
She shrugged, the core of misery hardening in her heart. She had thought as much. ‘And now?’ She looked up. His eyes were midnight blue in the candle-glow. Inscrutable.
‘Now I have no choice.’ He reached across the table for her hand. ‘I cannot be sorry that you know the truth, Eve, but this is a dangerous game; you would be advised to let Granby escort you to Yorkshire, to the protection of my family. I will join you there when I have finished my work here.’
‘But you could still be killed.’
He laughed. ‘Faith, sweetheart. I have faced greater dangers than Chelston and his cronies!’
Nick was holding her hand, his grasp warm and comforting and he was smiling at her in that reckless, devilmay-care fashion that invited her to enjoy the adventure. She swallowed.
‘Let me stay.’ She heard the words come out of her own mouth. ‘Let me stay and play my part in this.’ Suddenly she felt reckless, no longer afraid of the world. She put up her chin. ‘If you are going to get yourself killed, I want to be on hand to know of it!’
He was staring at her intently. ‘Are you sure, Evelina?’
She met his gaze steadily. The weeks since he had left Makerham had been the most miserable of her life; Grandpapa was at peace, there was nothing more to be done for him, but the idea of being more than two hundred miles away from Nick was not to be borne. Not, of course, that she cared a fig for him now, but he was her husband and she knew her duty.
‘Yes, I am sure,’ she said at last. ‘I will live at Monkhurst and be your eyes and ears there.’
His chair scraped back. He stepped around the table and pulled her up into his arms. She put her hands against his chest, holding him off, but all the while her heart was beating a rapid, heavy tattoo against her ribs, leaving her breathless. He looked down at her, his mouth tantalizingly close.
‘It could be dangerous,’ he murmured.
‘Being your wife is dangerous, Nick Wylder!’
With a laugh he bent to kiss her and it took all her willpower to turn her head away.
‘No,’ she gasped, closing her eyes as his lips feathered kisses down the line of her neck, causing her traitorous body to shiver with delight.
‘You cannot deny you want me,’ he murmured. His warm breath on her skin made her tremble, weakening her resolve.
‘No, but I—do not—trust—you.’
The butterfly kisses stopped. He raised his head. ‘Ah.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for,
