Lady Eve's Indiscretion

run with him in double harness, as you so delicately refer to the state of holy matrimony.”

Another look passed from Jenny to Louisa—a smug, satisfied, so-there sort of look.

“What do you two think you know?”

Jenny sat beside him. “We know, Brother, that we saw Evie driving out with Deene, which would have been remarkable enough.”

He did not ask, for Louisa’s expression confirmed she was dying to shock him further.

She took the remaining end of the bench. “We also know that when they came tooling back, there was Deene, reclining against the seat like the Caliph of Mayfair, and Evie handling the ribbons.”

Evie. Handling. The ribbons… News, indeed. Westhaven rose and turned to glower at them. “You will not remark this to Eve, and you will not tattle to Their Graces.”

“Too late.” Jenny looked worried now, and Louisa looked annoyed, which was her version of what others would call anxiety. “Mama came to the door to see us off on our perambulation, and she saw Evie driving Deene’s team too.”

Bloody hell.

“We need to warn Evie,” Westhaven muttered. This was what came from making purely social calls on one’s parents, from heeding a wife’s gentle admonitions to spend more time with his siblings.

Now the damned look was directed at him, and he knew very well what it meant. Jenny—ever anxious to be helpful—spelled it out for him anyway. “Yes, Brother, we do need to warn Evie.”

He left them there on the bench, no doubt hatching up more awkwardness for him to deal with. When it suited his family, he was the heir, the duke-in-training, and therefore called upon to handle whatever odd business nobody else wanted to handle.

He desperately hoped Their Graces lived to biblical ages to forestall the day when he graduated to the title altogether. While he was offering up a short prayer to that effect, he found Eve in the music room.

“Greetings, Sister.” She was sitting at the piano, the instrument dwarfing her petite presence.

“Gayle!” She hurried off the bench and hugged him tightly.

A man with five sisters did not dare admit to having favorites. He appreciated each of them for their various attributes: Maggie for her courage and brains; Sophie for her quiet competence and practicality; Louisa for her independence and well-hidden tender heart; Jenny for her determination and kindness.

But Evie… Evie was just plain lovable. Where Jenny smiled and dragged him about by the arm, or Louisa called him a dolt, Evie hugged him and called him by his name.

“Were you thinking to play an etude?” he asked, leading her to a settee against the wall.

“I was thinking to have some privacy. Shall I ring for a tray?”

“No, thank you. As soon as His Grace catches wind of my presence, I’ll no doubt be sequestered in the ducal study with several trays, a decanter, and such a lengthy lecture on whatever damned bill is plaguing our sire at the moment that my appetite will desert me. You’re in good looks, Evie.”

She was. Eve was an exquisite woman in a diminutive package, but today there was something a little rosier about her complexion, a little more animated in her bearing.

“I got some air, which on a spring day is never a bad idea. How is Anna?”

He was ever willing to expound on the topic of his countess, but he couldn’t let Eve prevaricate that easily.

“You were out driving with Deene.”

Some of the life went out of her. “Are you going to castigate me for this? I know Lucas has a certain reputation among his fellows.”

“Every unmarried man of means at his age has a certain reputation among his fellows, whether it’s deserved or not.” Though she had a point—at least before his travels, Deene had been somewhat profligate in his appetites.

Somewhat profligate? Was there such a thing?

“He can be decent company.” Eve didn’t seem to be defending the man so much as justifying her actions to herself.

“He has been a firm friend to this family, Evie. I do not raise the subject of your outing to criticize you in any way. I’m asking, rather, because I want to know what the man did that got you to take up the reins when, for seven years, everything your entire family has done in that direction has been unavailing, hmm?”

* * *

Gayle was going to be a superb duke. He had a kind of quiet perspicacity about him that fit well with the obligations of both an exalted title and being head of a large family. But he hadn’t yet learned to hide from his eyes the hurt and puzzlement Eve saw virtually every time she caught her brother regarding her.

“I’m not sure what Deene did.” She rose from the sofa, and being a good brother, Gayle allowed her space by remaining seated. “I suppose it was what he didn’t do.”

“I should also like to not do it, then, whatever it was, as would Louisa, Jenny, and—I regret to inform you—Her Grace.”

“Merciful heavens.”

He did rise, but ambled over to the piano bench, sat, closed the cover, and rested an elbow on it. “It’s just a ride in the park, Evie. If you want my advice, go on as if it didn’t happen.”

“Stare them down. One of Her Grace’s favorite tactics.”

She settled beside him on the piano bench, realizing that she wanted to talk to somebody about this outing with Deene.

“He simply put the reins in my hands and jumped out of the vehicle before the horses had even come to a halt.” Recalling the moment brought a frisson of anxiety to her middle but also a sense of blooming wonder.

“He assumed you were capable of handling a team, which you are.”

Gayle was frowning, as if he, too, were puzzled.

“I am not.” She got to her feet. “I was not.” Again he let her wander the room while he watched her out of curious green eyes. Deene shared Westhaven’s build—tall, a shade more muscular than lanky—but Westhaven had hair of a dark chestnut in contrast to Deene’s blond, blue-eyed good looks.

“I assumed I wasn’t capable,” she eventually clarified. “He proved me wrong, and I have never been happier to be wrong, it’s just… why him?”

“Does it matter? You enjoyed an outing and learned something wonderful about yourself.”

As usual, the man’s logic was unassailable.

“They’re a lovely team, his geldings. Marquis and Duke. His stud colt is King William.” She felt sheepish recounting these details, almost as if she were confessing to Deene taking her hand or kissing her cheek.

“I’ve met His Highness, and if he’s brought along properly, I agree with Deene he’s a one-in-a-million horse. St. Just was quite taken with him as well.”

“Devlin is taken with anything sporting a mane and a tail.”

And then, with breathtaking precision, Westhaven made his point. “You were once too.”

Rotten man. Rotten, honest, brilliant, brave man. How did Anna stand being married to such a fellow?

Eve sank onto the settee but did not meet her brother’s gaze for some time. His four little true words were underscoring something Eve had long since stopped allowing herself to acknowledge: by eschewing her passion for all things equestrian, she’d firmly closed an unfortunate chapter of her life and minimized the possibility of any more severe injuries to her person.

She’d also given up one of her greatest joys and told herself it was for the best.

“I made a small misstep in my enthusiasm to take the reins,” she said.

Gayle waited. He was an infernally patient man.

“I did not want to be in Deene’s debt, so I agreed to assist him in separating the sheep and goats among the Season’s offerings on the marriage market. He has no sisters…” She fell silent rather than further justify her actions. She wasn’t sure they could be justified, except on the odd abacus that had taken up residence between her and the Marquis of Deene.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate your aid in this regard, Evie.”

There was something ironic in Westhaven’s comment, but not mean. Westhaven would never be mean to his siblings—probably not to anybody—but he could be quite stern and serious.