Treasured By the Earl (Lords of the Night Book 4) Read online

  It matters not now.

  A jostle at his elbow brought Evan back into the present and the conversation. Rogue looked at him with speculation in his expression. “Do you attend tonight in the hopes of finding a lady to court?”

  “That hasn’t been on my schedule for many years, and well you know it.” He shook his head in the event the other man didn’t grasp the meaning of his words. For his son, he had to remain strong and calm. If something were to happen to that boy, he’d never forgive himself, and his ire would turn on his beast until neither he or the dragon would come out alive. “I am content enough with my life.” His son was the last link he had to Victoria.

  “Are you, though?” the earl continued in a quiet voice. “You cannot lie to your friends; we have all been where you are now. Some of us have struggled more fiercely than others.”

  Evan didn’t know the more intimate details of how Rogue had won his lady, but it must have been life changing. “I am well enough. I have Cecil.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. He ignored it in favor of smoothing a hand down the black clothing he’d chosen as his highwayman’s guise.

  “If you should change your mind, I’m here to assist.” Rogue’s smile briefly lifted Evan’s spirits. “Finding love again isn’t as terrible as you might think.”

  “Thank you. I had that once; it ended in disaster, so I’m leery of doing it again.” He sent his gaze around the crowded ball room once more. There was something intriguing about seeing guests in costume with their identities obscured. It almost made him believe that anything could happen and that magic might linger in the air. “By the by, have either of you heard from Mountgarret? I thought he would have sent word by now.”

  His friend the viscount had been out of pocket since his hasty wedding in January. Afterward, he’d set sail for parts unknown with a new bride, who was much a stranger, while he’d wrestled with the call of the sea and the pull from his merman half.

  Manchester nodded. “I have, actually.” His piercing stare landed on Evan. “Since I haven’t seen you about recently, I haven’t been able to tell you. The brief letter was dated late February, posted from somewhere in Jamaica.”

  “And?”

  The duke shrugged but his grin was dazzling. “Apparently the pair have found their way and are enjoying married life. He alluded to an adventure concerning his beast. I suppose we’ll hear about it when they return to England.”

  “That is all to the good.” Evan’s chest tightened, for the news could have gone either way. “Was there words of their plans?” He missed being able to talk about personal matters with the viscount, for it had long been him and Valentine against the other two in views and beliefs.

  “They intend to spend time at Mountgarret’s estate in Ireland for a bit. Intend to come back to London mid-April.”

  “Oh, I do hope their story brims with romance,” the duchess said as her eyes twinkled. “It’s wonderful when you men find a happily ever after.”

  Lady Devon promptly nodded. “I agree. And no doubt it will be a tale for the ages. I’ve always wondered at the viscount’s life.” Her smile was enchanting and Evan all at once understood why the earl had become entranced. “I cannot wait to hear how the viscountess came to terms with his beast.”

  Because life—their life—always boiled down to that. Their beasts must always take precedence, and the women they chose had to accept the darker part of the Cursed Lords.

  And when they didn’t… Evan shoved that thought from his mind. “I am sure he’ll enjoy regaling us with the stories.”

  “He left you a private word,” Manchester continued. He pulled a small ivory envelope from a clever pocket sewn into the lining of his costume. “Here.”

  “Thank you.” Pleasure swelled within Evan as he took the missive and then tucked it away into a pocket of his own. “I look forward to reading it.” At least his friend hadn’t forgotten him.

  “The Cursed Lords must stick together,” the duke reminded him with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “Should you need to talk…”

  “As I told Devon, I am well enough for the moment,” Evan said with a bit more bite in his voice than he’d intended.

  But the duke had never been one to take a hint, and was a meddler besides. Rather a fatal flaw, that. He pressed on. “Perhaps you’ll find a woman to warm your bed this rainy night, Coventry.” Manchester swept out an arm, presumably to encompass the spirited gathering. “Or rather a shadowy corner for kissing until the unmasking at midnight?” He arched an eyebrow.

  Warmth crept up the back of Evan’s neck. As much as he adored his friends, sometimes they quite warranted a facer or two. “I can have that at Bête Noire.”

  Devon launched into the teasing, with apparent glee that had his wife rolling her eyes. “Better caliber of ladies here though.”

  “Behave, Rafe.” The countess rapped the earl’s arm with her fan. “I see Felicity across the room and I intend to chat with her, so don’t cause a scandal while I’m gone.” The look she exchanged with her husband brimmed with such heat that Evan retreated a step. “Come, Alice.” She linked her arm with the duchess. “Let us leave the men to their argument. And if your husband has matchmaking on his mind, I do not wish to bear witness.”

  “Don’t I always behave?” Rogue rejoined, much to the laughter of both the duke and Evan. He blew his wife a kiss.

  Manchester exchanged a glance with Evan once the countess departed with the duchess in tow. “Sisters.”

  “A necessary evil, wouldn’t you say?” Evan adored his sister, Felicity, but there were times when she drove him to distraction, which is why he’d tried to host enough ton events in recent months in the hopes she’d find a husband and his responsibility toward her would end.

  And she’d no longer be under foot or in his house in case something destructive happened. Yet she held onto the belief that he couldn’t care for himself and needed a female to look after him, had said she wouldn’t accept any man’s suit until he found himself settled.

  A deuced check mate, that.

  “My opinion on that changes daily.” The duke’s grin held a long-suffering edge that Evan completely understood, for everyone in their set knew that the duke’s sister—Devon’s new wife—had a strong will of her own and wouldn’t let either man bully her. Then the duke sobered. Concern shadowed his eyes. “You’re the last of us, the last who have held out against marriage.”

  “I had a marriage.” Evan crossed his arms over his chest. Why the devil wouldn’t his friends leave off? “Fate chose to end it.”

  “Be that as it may.” Manchester blew out a breath. “It wouldn’t be amiss if you should begin courting again. Enough time has passed, and it would remove that loneliness I spy deep at the backs of your eyes, the looks of envy you bestow on Rogue and I.”

  Damn it all to hell. Of course Manchester would know; he’d experienced the same. “No.” Evan shook his head and pushed his heart behind the wall for its own protection. “My capacity for love died that day with my wife.”

  “Are you certain or has time softened the reality?” The duke’s whispered question was no less commanding than if he’d shouted it. “Was your heart truly engaged? Time twists perceptions to soothe the ragged feelings left behind.”

  The heat of embarrassment surged through Evan’s chest as he stared back at the duke, his friend for so many years while they wrestled their beasts together. “I loved her, after a fashion. Perhaps loved the idea of romance, I’m not certain. However, I’m better off by myself with Cecil, keeping him safe, guiding him, preparing him for when it’s his time.”

  For that was his child’s lot in life with the curse as well.

  “Then don’t look for forever. Enjoy yourself in the now.”

  Evan snorted. “I’ve had my fill of empty liaisons, Manchester. They are meaningless. I have my books, my work, and bourbon and wine if things turn desperate. Life, for now, is tolerable.”

  “But is it happy?” The duke’s glance stopped just short of pity.

  “That is irrelevant.” Evan unbent enough to wave a hand. “You and Devon have found love and romance. That doesn’t mean such states are for everyone, no matter that we might long for them.” He sighed. “Besides, what is the point when the curse cannot break for another four years and nine months?”

  Manchester rolled his. “There is more to consider than the curse. I learned that in the most horrid of ways and almost lost Alice.”

  “I remember.” The duke’s story was both heartbreaking and inspiring. “Perhaps I am not that man.”

  “What of your beast?” Apparently, the duke wouldn’t let it go.

  “He is the one constant in my life, and the reason my anger remains at a low simmer.” His voice wavered. “He is the reason I am a widower, and perhaps if I have the chance, I will kill him myself.”

  Inside his head, the dragon laughed and the sound echoed about the chambers of his mind. You can try, human, but I will always win. I am stronger in all the ways that matter.

  The duke looked at him for long moments. Then he finally nodded. “In any event, you are here, Coventry, and you must make peace with the beast within. We all do. And in the doing, you might as well live your life instead of survive it.”

  Perhaps his friend had a point. And Cecil could do well with a mother. Without the presence of a gentle female, would he turn out more warped as an adult than his father? He took a deep breath and let it ease out between his teeth. “Fine. If a lady catches my eye, I could manage a mild flirtation until the unmasking at midnight,” he finally conceded.

  “Capital.” The duke clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Circumstances change and fate can surprise us.” His satisfied grin didn’t bode well.

  “Bastard.” Evan rolled his eyes. “I’d rather have my sister settled and—”

  “Felicity can worry about herself for a time. Find a woman, whisk her into a shadowy alcove and return to the business of enjoying what you’ve been given, man.”

  Evan made a crude gesture that set the duke to laughing, but he took the first steps into mingling with the crowd.

  Throughout the course of the next hour, he danced with a few ladies, all beautiful and intelligent in their own rights, but none of them interested him longer than the few minutes he’d partnered them.

  During a lull when the string quintet took a much needed refreshment break and the crowds thinned, Evan caught his breath. One of the ladies standing with her back to him near a grouping of gilt chairs seemed as familiar as the lines on his palm. His heart froze and then thumped back to painful life a moment later as she turned, but her intricate Venetian mask of bronze and black obscured her face. Yet, those lips! He knew the shape of that mouth intimately as well as the graceful lines of that ivory neck.

  Victoria.

  Ghost from the past? Or perhaps it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Could a miracle have happened after all this time? Barely acknowledging the questions as he moved, he stepped in her direction. The hair color was all wrong, though. Where his wife had possessed waves of gold, this woman had tresses so silvery white they resembled platinum.

  Such adornments don’t matter when there are other points of the body to satisfy.

  He ignored his dragon’s crass comment. One thing was certain: he refused to wait for the unmasking before he discovered her identity.

  When Evan reached her side, he dared to grab her hand. “Such a lovely woman shouldn’t remain alone for the rest of the evening.” He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed the back of her wrist, right where her glove ended. She used to adore when he did that.

  The unnamed lady gasped. Behind her mask, her blue gray eyes widened—the same eyes he’d dreamed of for seven years. “I’m waiting for someone. He went to fetch punch…”

  Those dulcet tones, oh so familiar, flowed over him and awakened parts of him he’d thought long dormant. “Then he can wait until I’m finished.”

  Our mate! There was no mistaking the wonder in the dragon’s tone.

  Excitement climbed Evan’s spine while he escorted the lady in the Renaissance-style gown behind a grouping of potted hothouse plants and ferns. How was such a thing possible? Did it even matter? Once sufficiently hidden from eavesdropping couples, he dropped his hands on her shoulders and peered into her eyes. “Good God, Victoria. Is that truly you after all this time?”

  The woman pulled from his hold and retreated until the wall against her back prevented further movement.

  Of course her skittishness after so many years was understandable. “Oh, I think yes.” Almost shaking with need and surprise, he advanced upon her. Daring much once more, he touched a finger to the black satin ribbon behind her head that secured her mask, and with a flick of his wrist, he tugged and the knot unraveled. When the mask fell away and she scrambled to catch it, he sucked in a breath and caught it before she could. “It is you.” Joy flooded him, swamped him in heated waves as he stared. “I thought you dead.”

  “I’m not…” She shook her head, her eyes wide with confusion and fear. “You are mistaken.”

  “No.” Forgetting himself and the fact they were in public with the potential for discovery, Evan framed her face with his hands. Damnation but he wanted her, wished to reacquaint himself with her body. “Ah, Victoria.” He lowered his head, claimed her lips, and proceeded to soundly kiss her. After all, he hadn’t seen his wife for seven years and he’d sorely missed her.

  The woman in his arms stilled at first, but then she struggled and fought as if she were a trapped tigress. She planted both palms against his chest and shoved until he stumbled backward. Her body shook like a leaf in the wind. Terror lined her expression and shadowed her eyes that were so round the pupils almost swallowed the irises. Then she raised a hand. Seconds later she delivered a hard slap to his cheek and the sound of that movement resounded in the space that did much to cool his ardor.

  Her breath was labored, harsh and ragged as she stared, horror evident in her posture and the tremble of her lips. “I don’t know who you speak of, but I am not her.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Miss Damaris Sheffield gaped at the man who stood before her, the man who’d dared to kiss her without introduction, the man who had called her by a completely different name that had darkened his brilliant and arresting emerald eyes.

  Even now he hadn’t moved from their location relatively hidden behind a grouping of potted plants. He watched her with his head tilted slightly as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her, but he was determined to prevail against the puzzle she represented.

  Who was he?

  Because she couldn’t quite believe what was happening, Damaris forced a swallow into her suddenly tight throat. She shoved the marvelous sensations that had accompanied that kiss to the deepest recesses of her mind, and she said, “You need to leave.” If she wasn’t careful, the anxiety that rose in a chilling tide within her would completely overwhelm, and she’d embarrass herself in front of this stranger who threatened her world.

  “I need to take you home,” he replied. His well-modulated voice sent warning tremors up her spine and his presence filled the small space they both occupied. He was both terrifying and intriguing. “Where you belong.”

  The shaking that always accompanied the anxiety moved through her limbs. She clasped her hands to quell the worst of it. Oh, where was her aunt? Only she had the knack to calm her. The more Damaris attempted to glance beyond the man’s wide shoulders, the more he glued himself into her line of vision until all she saw was him, dressed in black, a domino mask obscuring his face.

  Like a nightmare.

  Beyond the imposing feeling, the man towered over her average height. Perhaps standing at six feet, his raven hair—glinting with strands of silver throughout—gleamed in the candlelight, his body trim and tensed. His jaw, strong with a hint of dark stubble clinging to it, distracted her, as did the chiseled, sensuous lips that had so recently been pressed to hers. There was no doubt the man was pleasing to the eye, and the heated feelings he’d invoked in her were nice. The longer he stood there, the greater his scent wafted to her—leather, spices, and a smokiness reminiscent of fireplaces.

  How very… odd and… comforting at the same time. She’d known that blend before.

  Retreating as far as she could without trying to claw her way through the wall, she moistened her lips and then frowned. “I am deeply sorry, but you have me mistaken for another.” Yet a tiny niggle of something had occurred upon seeing him. What was it and why did she feel almost disappointed when it didn’t come to fruition?

  He flicked his bright gaze up and down her person, and she shivered. It was almost as if he’d physically caressed her, so intimate was the gesture. “I am very rarely mistaken on anything. To that end, your name is Victoria.”

  “No.” She shook her head so vigorously that a lock of her hair tumbled from its coiffure to drift over her left shoulder. “It is not.”

  When he yanked off the domino mask and let it drift to the floor at his booted feet, a stricken expression crossed his handsome face. For one second, shock and disillusionment warred for dominance in his eyes before both emotions fled and determination took their place. Absently, he stroked long, gloved fingers over his cheek where she’d slapped him. “I was so certain you were Victoria…”

  Her chest tightened at his obvious distress. Poor man. Perhaps his confusion was genuine if somewhat misplaced coupled with that enthusiasm he’d shown with the kiss. “Again, I am not.” Her voice wavered, but she cleared her throat and strove for a stronger showing this time. “My name is Miss Damaris Sheffield. I came tonight with my aunt; she is a friend of the Earl of Devon’s mother.”

  Stop talking, Damaris! Why was she babbling? This man was nothing to her, and he surely didn’t care about anything in her life.

  “I don’t accept that for the truth.” The man stepped toward her once more and clutched at her hand. When she yanked it from his grasp, he sighed but retreated, widening the gulf between them. “Where do you live?”