Evangeline, Lady Courtenay, has suffered through two bad marriages, and is done with men.

Richard Campion is only passing through London, never intending to stay.

But one searing glance across a crowded ballroom upends both their worlds…

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Part of the Scandals series: the very last, absolutely, positively final book.

The latter part of this book takes place at the same time as Love and Other Scandals, so you'll see Joan and Tristan again, from a different angle. I tried really hard not to re-write those scenes, though. There's also a brief appearance by Francesca and Edward from One Night in London.

The first time Evangeline was widowed, it was a relief.

She hadn’t wanted to marry Viscount Cunningham; she hadn’t even known him. He had been her father’s choice—and very nearly her father’s age—in a vain attempt to rein in Evangeline’s “wild and ungovernable” nature, as Sir Robert Bennet had disapprovingly termed it. Her transgressions had ranged from sneaking a ride on her horse in her brother’s old breeches to allowing a barrister’s son to kiss her, rather passionately. Her mother had wept from the shame of it. Evangeline had also cried, and promised to reform, but to no avail. She’d been barely seventeen years old, and had met Cunningham exactly twice, when her father marched her down the aisle of the church to become his viscountess.

The best thing that could be said of their marriage was that it was blessedly short. They were horribly mismatched. Evangeline, young and outgoing, liked dancing, masquerade balls, and theater, the more outrageous the better. Cunningham preferred fishing at his Scottish estate, drowsing by the fire over a good book, and maligning the French with his cronies at his club. Within a year, neither wanted anything to do with the other.

One evening four years after they wed, Cunningham went to bed early after dinner, complaining of indigestion. He never woke. A fatal attack of bilious dyspepsia, the doctor informed her the next morning.

Evangeline hadn’t been there. Always cross when unwell, Cunningham had told her to leave him be, and she had been at a masquerade, drinking champagne with other gentlemen and a woman she suspected was a courtesan. It had been marvelous.

“And now you’ll have to wear black,” said her friend Fanny, Lady Woodville. Fanny was a dozen years older, and a widow with a substantial fortune. She was dashing and opinionated and Evangeline admired her greatly.

“Of course I will.” She plucked listlessly at the black crepe they were attaching to bonnets. Cunningham would have wanted a decent mourning, and Evangeline felt remorseful enough not to deny him that.

“What a pity you look marvelous in black,” remarked Fanny.

Evangeline pursed her lips to keep from smiling. “You shouldn’t say that to a widow.”

“I imagine a host of gentlemen will say it soon enough.” Fanny leaned toward her and lowered her voice. “It’s not as though you killed him.”

“Of course not!” Evangeline hissed back, glancing fearfully at the closed door. “But neither am I…”

“Sorry he’s dead?” supplied her friend when she hesitated.

“Heartbroken.” Evangeline gave her a guilty look. “I feel as though the prison cell has been unlocked.”

Fanny smiled in understanding. “It has been, my dear. And a world of consolation awaits.”

The second time Evangeline was widowed was more upsetting.

She observed a proper mourning for Cunningham, but then decided she was due a little freedom… and pleasure. The Earl of Courtenay—Court, he begged her to call him—was tall and fit, handsome and charming. He was only thirty-one, which seemed vital and young after Cunningham, and he pursued her with a very flattering abandon.

She never meant to marry Court. It was only an affair, to savor the sort of pleasures she had heard of, but never experienced with Cunningham. Court was ardent, romantic, and terribly good in bed, and she was careful to be discreet.

But not discreet enough. When her father called on her unexpectedly one day, and discovered the two of them in a highly compromising position, he threatened to call out Court. Once again, over her furious protests, Evangeline was unwillingly married to a man she didn’t love.

It was even worse than the first time. Court lost interest in her almost as soon as the ink was dry in the parish register. It turned out his favorite sport was chasing young widows and married ladies, and he didn’t mean to give it up. Nothing Evangeline did deterred him: not pleading, not seductive attire, not the sight of her flirting with other men. By the end of the third year, Evangeline had realized it was hopeless, and resigned herself to another empty marriage.

It came to an end the night Viscount Ambrose returned home early and discovered Court in bed with his young bride. Ambrose shot him—not in a duel, which would have been shameful enough but widely accepted as the proper way to settle the issue between gentlemen, but right there in the bedchamber, while Lady Ambrose shrieked in the background. Then he’d had his servants dump Court, bleeding and naked, on the front steps of their house. Court had died, wrapped in a tablecloth, on his own dining table.

The scandal had been immense.

“This time you’re truly free, don’t you see?” was Fanny’s consoling advice after the funeral.

Evangeline’s father had died the previous year. After forcing Court to marry her, he’d never lifted a finger to prevent her husband from making a mockery of their marriage. Men were allowed all the wickedness, while women bore all the shame.

“Yes, free,” she said bitterly. “Free to be called the Black Widow in every drawing room in London. Two husbands dead before their times! Young or old, no man is safe!”

Fanny waved that away. “Rubbish. You’re still young and beautiful. You’ve got a very handsome fortune. Enjoy it all.”

Perhaps, Evangeline reflected, that was the only thing she could do. Scandal couldn’t hurt her, not now. She’d grown a tough shell over the years, as people whispered that she was a foolish, flighty young bride, then a wanton widow just waiting to cause a scandal, then a scorned, shrewish wife who’d trapped an earl into marriage only to drive him into another woman’s arms. If everyone already thought her wicked and immoral, she hardly had a reputation to protect.

And that meant… freedom. She could do whatever she wanted now—and not do anything she didn’t want to do—such as marry again.

Evangeline vowed to herself that she would never make that mistake again.

No man was worth it.

1812

She was going to be late.

It was her own fault, of course. She hadn’t really wanted to come. While not exactly shunned, she was hardly a darling of society, and it was a bit of a mystery to her why she’d been invited to the Allens’ benefit ball.

“Because Henry Allen made a wager at White’s that he can raise more money from his benefit ball than Lady Cartwright can,” was Fanny’s explanation.

“He must have wagered very dear, if he’s willing to go to such lengths to win,” Evangeline retorted.

“He always has done,” observed Fanny. “No head for gambling, that one. Still,” she went on, “you might as well go. It’s for a good cause, after all, and I shall be there.” When Evangeline still hesitated, she added, “And it will give Beatrice Allen the start of her life, to see you walk through her door again.”

“The invitation was in her handwriting,” said Evangeline sourly.

Once upon a time, she had considered Lady Allen one of her good friends. After Court’s ignominious death, though, Beatrice had ceased responding to her letters. Evangeline had always suspected that was as much Lord Allen’s doing as Beatrice’s own wish, but it still stung. Allen had been one of Court’s bosom bows, and Evangeline knew he had been well aware of her husband’s predilection for seducing pretty young women. She also suspected Allen shared it, and had probably recoiled from the scandal as a threat to his own affairs.

Beatrice, perhaps, had dropped her friendship as a way of keeping peace in her own household.

Fanny smiled in victory. “Then she must want you to come, my dear.”

So Evangeline gave in—or rather, fell for Fanny’s manipulations yet again. And now she would be even later than could be called fashionable, as the carriage crawled in fits and starts along the street toward the well-lit house with footmen on the steps. Twice she nearly told the coachman to turn around and take her home, or on to Fanny’s home, where she regularly spent the night to avoid the long drive home. But again she dithered, until the last side street had been crossed and there was no alternative but to stop in front of the Allens,’ screw up her courage, and go inside.

“Lady Allen,” she cried warmly, clasping fingertips with the hostess. “How delightful to see you again.”

Beatrice Allen faltered a moment before she assumed a smile that was both simpering and stiff. “And you, Lady Courtenay.”

“I was delighted to receive your invitation,” she went on, unable to resist a little vengeance. “Such a worthy cause! How very noble of you and Lord Allen to take it up. Those poor, dear children deserve every bit of your support.” Beatrice’s eyes flashed murder. “And ours, of course—we fortunate society who can afford to provide for them,” Evangeline added lightly.

The beneficiary of tonight’s benefit was to be the Foundling Home. Evangeline suspected Allen had contributed a few bastard children himself to such homes, and she had to admit the irony was partly what had persuaded her to come.

“Yes,” said Beatrice Allen, her face and her tone wooden. “Of course. We are so pleased you accepted.”

You hoped I wouldn’t have the nerve, thought Evangeline as she tipped her head graciously.

Well. Enough of that ancient history, water so far under the bridge that it had reached the ocean. Lately Allen had decided he was a philanthropist, and a patron of sundry impressive causes. He’d named this event a “benefit ball,” with the noble (somewhat ostentatiously so) goal of raising funds for the Foundling Hospital. There would be music, a singer, and several prominent guests of honor making short speeches about their work, and then an appeal for funds.

Evangeline knew she’d been invited for her wealth, not for her company. Tonight, she decided she would not care. Defiantly she smiled and nodded at a passing matron who was goggling at her. She’d come to enjoy herself, no matter why she’d been invited.

“At last!” Fanny reached for her hands and pressed them as Evangeline joined her. “Thank God you’ve come. I thought I might perish of boredom.”

She smiled at her friend. “You are never bored.”

Fanny rolled her eyes. “Beatrice wanted that opera singer—do you know the one I mean? The Italian woman?” She waved one hand impatiently at Evangeline’s blank look. “Quite scandalous, I believe. Allen refused to have her. He’s such a tedious fellow.” She lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and raised it in salute.

“So there’s not to be a singer?” Evangeline also took a glass. She adored champagne. It was one of the few unadulterated pleasures of these ton events.

“No, only musicians. Lord Allen invited several speakers.” Her expression said everything about that. “It will be a miracle if I survive the evening without dozing off.”

“Hush,” said Evangeline with a laugh. “We mustn’t slight the speakers before they even begin.”

“You’re far more patient than I,” murmured the other woman. “Although one of the honored guests is rather handsome. When he speaks, I shall be very attentive indeed.”

“Oh?” Evangeline flicked open her fan. “Which one?”

“An explorer. He’s to speak of his journeys in Africa tonight. Or the Arctic. I’m not sure, and it doesn’t matter.”

Now that would interest Evangeline. She looked around in real hope. “How fascinating. Who is he?”

“His name is Campion,” said Fanny. “Swiss, and extremely handsome, did I mention it?”

“Twice, as a matter of fact,” Evangeline replied dryly.

Fanny grinned. “Let us beg an introduction.”

Evangeline laughed and agreed.

Arm in arm, they made their way through the crowd. Fanny had embraced her reputation as an eccentric, knowing the vast Woodville fortune made her a highly favored eccentric. Tonight she wore peacock feathers in her turban and a gown of printed Indian cotton that blazed brightly in the candlelight. Evangeline aspired to be so bold.

Lord Allen appeared in front of them. “Lady Woodville! How do you do?”

“Very well, sir, although I was anticipating the soprano, and I hear you refused to have her.” She turned away from his suddenly pinched face to scan the room. “Where are our guests of honor?”

“Mr. Cambridge, the geologist, is with Lady Allen,” said their host, recovering his poise. “And Lord Michael Layne, the famed astronomer, is just by the windows there.”

“I’ve no interest in geology or astronomy,” she told him bluntly, even as he raised one hand as if to lead her to meet either man. “Where is the explorer?”

“Ah, Richard Campion!” Lord Allen rocked on his heels, looking pleased with himself. “The king has just bestowed a knighthood upon him.”

Fanny raised her brows. “Excellent! Allow me to present Lady Courtenay to Sir Richard, then. She’s been longing to make his acquaintance—quite fascinated with the Nile, don’t you know.”

Discomfort flitted over Allen’s face as he was finally forced to speak to Evangeline. “Lady Courtenay. How good of you to come.”

“Thank you, sir.” She smiled, ignoring his strained expression. “I hope we shall do a great deal of good tonight for the orphan’s home.”

“What? Oh yes, yes.” He cleared his throat. “I see Campion now, Lady Woodville. If you’ll pardon me, I shall bring him to make your acquaintance.” He gave a quick bow and shot off through the crowd.

“Do you think he’ll come near us again tonight?” asked Evangeline in amusement.

Fanny snorted. “He wants two hundred pounds from me for the foundling home. He’d better come near, and bring that explorer with him, if he intends to collect it.”

“I know you’ll give it anyway, for the children,” said Evangeline.

Her friend gazed at her in affront. “Of course I will. But there’s no reason I can’t make Allen work for it, is there? It was his decision to throw a party instead of simply asking for subscriptions.” She went back to studying the room. “Besides, he’s too young for me, but I do believe you will like him.”

“Lord Allen?” Evangeline shuddered. “Never.”

“No, the explorer!” Fanny tapped her arm with her fan. “Mark my words, he’s a fine one.”

“I’ve no need of a man, thank you.” This was an old conversation between them.

“Need! Who said anything about need?” Fanny scoffed. “I speak of wanting a man.”

“It sounds to me as though you want him for yourself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m far too old for him.” Fanny’s keen gaze swept up and down Evangeline. “But you’re not.”

Fanny was only twelve years older than Evangeline, but sometimes she took an excessive delight in imagining various matches and love affairs for her. “I feel twenty years older just hearing you say that,” she said tartly.

“At least you don’t look it. Here he comes.” Fanny arranged her face into a welcoming expression as Lord Allen approached, a tall, sandy-haired man barely visible behind him. Evangeline finished her champagne and glanced around for a servant or table where she could dispose of the glass. It was advisable to consume more wine, rather than less, before speaking with members of the ton, but it was always so awkward navigating introductions and conversation while holding a glass. A footman whisked up beside her and she gave him the glass with a grateful look.

“Lady Woodville, Lady Courtenay, allow me to present to you Sir Richard Campion,” Lord Allen was saying.

Evangeline was smiling, her hand already extended, when she looked into Campion’s face.

Oh Lord, she thought with a sinking heart.

“My lady.” Campion gazed back at her with crystal blue eyes. Tall, lanky, handsome as sin, and Evangeline felt the heat of his smile deep in her bones.

“Sir.” She ducked her flushed face as she curtsied.

“He has come to regale us with stories of his adventures into the dark heart of Africa.” Lord Allen pushed out his chest proudly. “I expect you’ve seen all manner of beasts and savages, eh, Campion?”

“Yes.” He flashed a distracted smile at his host before his gaze veered back to Evangeline, like a compass needle seeking north.

Still scrambling for composure, Evangeline put up her chin. “Savages? Of what sort?”

Campion seemed startled. “Oh—some of the tribes treat each other quite brutally, ma’am. They are fierce warriors.”

Evangeline thought she’d take some of the dragons of the ton over any warrior, any day, for fierceness. God above knew they’d shredded her to pieces.

“Savages,” drawled Fanny, sounding disappointed. “How novel. Do explorers ever encounter anything else? Are there no civilized, gentle, or even kind peoples in the greater world?”

“I daresay not,” Evangeline cut in as Lord Allen’s face turned a shade of puce. “Do the Africans cut off their peoples’ heads with guillotines, as the French do? Or make public spectacles of hanging them, as the English prefer?” She tipped her head to one side and tapped one finger to her lips as both men stared at her in dumbfounded silence. “It would take some doing to surpass the brutality of our own land, I imagine.”

Lord Allen seemed to be choking. “Yes, well, that is a very harsh view, Lady Courtenay. I beg your pardon, my ladies, but I must introduce Sir Richard to our other guests.” He forced a laugh. “He’s much in demand, you know!”

“Of course we know,” said Fanny tartly. “That’s why you invited him—to lure in the rest of us.”

Evangeline was fighting hard not to laugh at the men’s expressions, Lord Allen offended, Campion thoroughly nonplussed. She smiled at both of them. “That is quite true! And see how splendidly it has succeeded. Go forth and encourage people to donate generously, Sir Richard, for the children’s home.”

“I—“ His disconcerted gaze jumped to Fanny, then back to Evangeline. “Naturally I will, madam.” His words were faintly clipped with an accent she hadn’t noticed before.

Because you could barely hear him over your own racketing pulse, ninny.

“Right, right!” Lord Allen shuffled sideways, as if he would break into a run at any moment. “This way, Sir Richard.” And he all but dragged the explorer away.

Fanny watched them go. “The man was tongue-tied—almost an idiot. It seems unlikely his speech will be exciting.” She turned to Evangeline. “Hopefully he recovers his wits when he’s not staring at you.”

She snapped open her fan and tried to chase the blush from her face. She could still feel her pulse throbbing recklessly. “I’ve been rendering people speechless for years. Why should he be any different?” She gave a tiny huff. “Allen likely put a flea in his ear about wicked women. He must have thought he’d encountered one in the wild tonight.”

Fanny snorted. “If so, I think he’d like to make a closer study of the species. I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

“You are not old,” Evangeline returned, “merely a busybody.”

Her friend laughed. “That’s a privilege of age. I never felt at liberty to speak my mind until I reached the age of forty.”

“And then it all came spilling out without subtlety or discretion.” She pointed her fan at her friend. “Do not start plotting to throw me together with Richard Campion.”

“Plotting.” Fanny snorted again. “As if I need to! He’ll do that himself, mark my words.”

Evangeline said nothing. The last time a man had looked at her with such open interest, and elicited such a response in her, had been Court. Fortunately for her, this time she knew better than to fall for it.

The speakers surpassed Fanny’s dour predictions. Mr. Cambridge, the geologist, spoke with enthusiasm and energy about his studies. Lord Michael meandered a bit, talking rather a lot about the ancient Greeks and their study of the heavens, but Sir Richard lived up even to Fanny’s hopes, portraying himself as a modern Gulliver, visiting foreign lands where he was both humbled and honored, and speaking with a genuine reverence for all he’d seen.

“I never knew ordinary rocks could be so enervating,” said Fanny as the crowd applauded at the end. “But that Campion fellow was worth every farthing, even before he dances with you.”

Evangeline choked on a sip of champagne. “Fanny.”

“Don’t scold me,” murmured Fanny, her gaze fixed over Evangeline’s left shoulder. “I’m only giving you warning.”

Evangeline turned around and came face to face with the explorer, just as Fanny had said.

“Lady Courtenay.” He bowed. “I hope you remember me.”

“Of course.” She smiled brightly—too brightly, probably. “It’s not even been two hours since we met.”

“Indeed?” He smiled back. Her heart took an unwanted leap at the sight. His eyes crinkled up and an endearing little dimple appeared in one cheek. He was, as Fanny had said, very handsome. Devastatingly so, to be honest. “It seemed much longer to me.”

“That must be a sad judgement on the company present.”

“Not at all.” His smile dimmed a degree, but his eyes never wavered from her. “It is entirely due to you.”

The nerve he had. She found it both alarming and exhilarating. “How so?”

“I could not stop thinking of what you said earlier. You were the only person to encourage me to solicit donations for the children. I entreated everyone with whom I spoke to make a generous donation to the cause—a foundling home, is it not?”

“Well done, sir,” she said in mild surprise. “The children deserve it.”

“Thank you for reminding me of them,” he went on. “It added greatly to my satisfaction with the evening to think of the unfortunate children who may be helped as a result of my speech. I confess that I do not always attend closely to the deeper purpose behind these evenings.”

Not many people did. There were some genuine patrons of charitable causes, but Evangeline would have guessed that most of the guests tonight had come for the entertainment. They would donate fifty pounds for the benefit of the orphans, and then spend several times that at the wine merchant or the modiste.

“May I beg the pleasure of your hand in the next dance?” asked Sir Richard.

Evangeline looked at his extended hand, in its pristine glove. Fanny, the traitor, had managed to melt into the crowd and leave her alone with the man. “I don’t think that would be wise, sir.”

“No?” He lowered his voice. “Are you a dangerous creature?”

“Why, yes!” She pursed her lips in irritation, even though she’d meant to smile and laugh it off. “I am. I thought Lord Allen would have warned you.”

“I have scaled Mont Blanc and sailed around the Cape of Good Hope.” His dimple reappeared. “I am not afraid of a beautiful woman.”

She hesitated. Merciful God, he was attractive. He met her gaze so directly. His eyes were such a startling blue because his face was tanned. His hair was not blond, but brown, bleached by the sun. At his collar, where it curled, she could see the darker color. Most London gentlemen were as pale as the ladies.

This man was not a Londoner, though. He had climbed mountains and sailed oceans and ventured deep into uncharted territories.

If Fanny were right about him…

Perhaps she might not mind being studied more closely for one evening.

“Once,” she said, placing her hand in his.

“Only once?” He led her to join the formation of couples. Evangeline caught the startled glances of the fellow guests and dancers.

“We are not acquainted, sir.”

The smile he gave in reply was nothing short of wicked. “We shall become so, while dancing.”

She sighed and tried to look unmoved by his flirting even as it made her heart speed up. It had been a long time since a man flirted with her like this.

With some effort she concentrated on the dance. It was a long country dance, where all the couples took their turns going up and down the set, which gave her plenty of opportunity to see the shocked expressions around her. Evangeline had stopped caring what the matrons of society thought of her, but it still irked her that they couldn’t even allow her this one, eminently ordinary and respectable, dance without openly displaying their horror. She told herself it must be envy, because Sir Richard was without doubt the most gorgeously virile man in the entire room.

Perhaps in the entire country.

“What brought you to England?” she asked when the dance brought them together for a few moments.

“My sister,” he replied. “She married an Englishman and begged me to visit her here. She wished me to meet my young nephews.”

“How very devoted.”

He grinned. “She encourages me to attend events like this. It is her hope that I will become attached to English society and not wish to leave.”

“Do you wish to leave?” She smiled as she said it. “Of course you do. An explorer won’t discover much of interest in England.”

He gave her a searing look. “I would not say that.”

The dance sent them separate ways. Evangeline caught Fanny smiling—smirking—at her, and it took real effort to keep from glaring back at her friend. She went through the motions of the dance, newly aware of the curdling glances sent her way by every other woman in the set. That wasn’t right. She hadn’t done anything remotely scandalous tonight.

When she was back by her partner’s side, she tried to talk of mundane things. “Your presentation was well-received,” she told him.

“Was it?” He smiled faintly. “It seems my travels are the most interesting thing about me.” He lifted one shoulder in an almost Gallic shrug.

I doubt very much that’s true. Evangeline’s pace slowed as her interest grew. “You must know they are fascinating, especially to the British who have felt penned in by wars these last several years.”

“Then they should go where the wars are not. Do you find my travels fascinating?”

“Yes,” she said before she could remember to be sophisticated and disinterested. “Very.”

He touched her arm, even though the dance didn't require it, and she felt it like the hot burn of a candle flame, passing too near her skin. “I would be very pleased to tell you more about them.”

She should be wary. He was wildness and temptation and sin, his fingertips barely brushing the skin above her glove and setting off the most ferocious want she’d felt in years. She saw his flirting for what it was, recognized the desire in his focused gaze, and that should have protected her against all of it.

It did not.

She had been tarred by scandal before, sometimes for things she had done but also for things she had not done; she had tossed her head and declared she didn’t care, but the gossip and stares had left their mark. Tonight it felt as though the part of her that had been weighed down by all that had finally reached the breaking point.

“Indeed,” she murmured, letting her fingers slide through his as she released his hand. “I believe I would like that.”

The dance was ending; they made their bow and curtsey and Sir Richard offered his arm to escort her from the floor. “May I call on you?” he rasped, ducking his head slightly until his lips almost brushed her ear. Evangeline shivered; he wasn’t much taller than she, just enough that if she turned her head and raised her chin, her lips would meet his.

She could barely think; her skin prickled and her breath seemed to sear her throat dry. “Yes,” she said. “Good evening, sir.” She slipped free to hurry to Fanny’s side, reaching for her fan.

Fanny glanced at her, then looked closer. “My dear, are you ill?”

“Yes.” Evangeline seized a glass off a passing footman’s tray and gulped down the champagne, hoping it would cool the fever sizzling inside her. “I feel a fit of madness coming on.”

Keenly Fanny peered past her. “Heavens above,” she said, sounding pleased. “He has aroused your interest.”

Aroused was a terrible word to use now. Evangeline gave her friend a dark look.

Fanny turned fully toward her and took her hand. “My dear, you have spent your whole adult life as a resentful wife or an unhappy widow,” she said quietly. “You are not dead. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

Evangeline hesitated. “But I made such a mistake with—”

“This is a different man.”

“And it ended so very badly with—”

“Break it off with Campion before he can break it off with you,” replied Fanny, who knew all her history with men, as well as all her fears and worries. “The man is leaving England within the week,” she added gently. “He won’t be here to cause a scene or become a nuisance. Really, he is quite perfect for your needs.”

She was having a hard time arguing with that. “I don’t dare,” she whispered.

Fanny, the old busybody, understood again. “Take him to my house. Your usual room is always kept ready for you.” She released Evangeline with a final squeeze. “And Brumley will throw the man out, forcibly if necessary, if he causes any trouble.”

Evangeline’s mouth was dry. Could she really do this? Without thinking, she glanced toward the man in question, and found his vivid blue gaze fixed on her.

Fanny waved one hand. “You may thank me later.” And she strolled away without a backward glance.

Evangeline felt as if every candle in the room was shining on her, highlighting the sinful desire warming her blood. Taking a strange man home to bed him, with no thought of anything else! Of course other women had done it, but she’d never been this wicked herself. She had always let the men pursue her; even Court had had to woo her for a month before she gave in to his seduction.

Sir Richard hadn’t even tried to seduce her. She felt his desire like the heat of a red-hot stove, but all he’d actually asked was to call on her…

Strangely, that calmed her. He hadn’t pushed her—nor would he. This time, she would be in charge. This time she would set the rules, and this time she would not get burned by it. She was a widow; she was her own mistress; and she hadn’t had a lover in over a year. She wanted Richard Campion with an intensity that both unsettled her and thrilled her, and he wanted her in turn—and he was leaving London, virtually on the morrow. From his speech, she knew he was gone for years at a time, plenty of time for him to forget one wicked widow in London. There was no risk of consequences.

She turned on her heel and looked his way. He hadn’t moved since she left him, and as if he’d heard a summons, he came straight to her, winding efficiently through the crowd.

“Perhaps,” she said to him, “you would care to pay your call on me tonight.” Her heart thudded as she gazed at him. “Perhaps… now.”

His breath caught. His throat worked. “Now,” he repeated.

Feeling like a different—wilder, reckless, lust-crazed—person, Evangeline nodded. “My carriage is outside. Will you come?”

Color rose in his face. “Now?” he asked again in a guttural tone fraught with meaning.

She nodded, meeting his eyes squarely.

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”