home.
The guests were gone, the servants in bed. He’d been downstairs having a brandy with Bryce, but it hadn’t calmed him or improved his mood. Their conversation kept meandering back to Miss Etherton, and he’d struggled mightily not to display too much interest.
Bryce was a gambler and ne’er-do-well, and in light of Aaron’s elevated position, it was odd that they were friends. But they’d attended school together as boys and had never lost their connection.
Bryce was the sort of fellow Aaron might have become if he hadn’t been his father’s heir. Aaron took his responsibilities seriously—to study, to learn the workings of their vast estates, to understand his role. Because of that burden, his life had been a tedious slog.
In many ways, Bryce was Aaron’s exact opposite. He’d been an orphan and charity case at school, his tuition paid by a kindly benefactor. He rarely mentioned his past and claimed not to remember his parents, though Aaron wasn’t sure if that was true.
Yet without the encumbrance of familial obligation, Bryce was free to live how he chose. There were no expectations to meet, no grumbling father to complain about his conduct. Bryce could gamble and carouse without worrying that anyone would notice or chastise.
He occasionally supplemented his income by performing on the stage. His plunge into theatrics was further evidence that Aaron should have cut ties long ago, but Bryce reminded Aaron of Lucas, and in Aaron’s stilted, boring world, he needed more people like Bryce in it, not less.
Bryce had surrounded himself with actors and other performers, so he’d been particularly delighted by Miss Etherton, and the more they’d talked about her, the more determined Aaron had grown.
He absolutely could not allow her to marry his cousin. The match was a grand folly in the making, and Aaron was desperate to quash it. He could imagine nothing more horrid than beautiful, charming Evangeline Etherton wed to Ignatius Bosworth. It seemed a crime against the natural order, and the universe was pushing Aaron to intervene.
He arrived at her door and, without pausing to reconsider, he knocked.
Was she still up? He hoped she was. After Iggy had scolded her in the garden, she’d hurried into the house and hadn’t reappeared. Clearly, Iggy’s behavior had upset her, so she’d be more inclined to listen to Aaron. She had to refuse the match or agree to delay until they could come up with a more viable plan.
“Miss Etherton?” he murmured. “Miss Etherton? Evangeline?”
He pressed his ear to the wood and was debating his next move, when she moaned as if she was in distress.
“No, no…” she was saying.
Without hesitating, he spun the knob and stepped in, terrified over what he might find, but she was asleep in a chair by the fire and in the throes of a nightmare.
“No, no…” she said again. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me with them!”
He walked over and knelt in front of her. He clasped her arm and shook it.
“Evangeline, wake up.”
“No!”
“Evangeline!”
She jumped to consciousness, lashing out with a fist at an unseen foe, so she nearly clocked Aaron on the jaw. He lurched back, and she barely missed him.
Gradually, her senses returned, her gaze focused, and she asked, “Lord…Run? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You were having a bad dream. I was passing by in the hall when I heard you cry out.”
She was distraught, her cheeks pale, her hands trembling. There was a bottle of brandy on a table in the corner, and he went over and poured her a glass.
“Have a sip,” he said. “It will calm you.”
“Thank you.”
He held it out, and she downed several swallows. Ultimately, she mumbled, “I hate that dream.”
“Do you have it often?” “Not often. When I’m stressed or weary, it comes to haunt me. The details are so real, I think it’s probably an event that actually occurred, but I don’t recollect.”
He pulled up a chair and sat,
The guests were gone, the servants in bed. He’d been downstairs having a brandy with Bryce, but it hadn’t calmed him or improved his mood. Their conversation kept meandering back to Miss Etherton, and he’d struggled mightily not to display too much interest.
Bryce was a gambler and ne’er-do-well, and in light of Aaron’s elevated position, it was odd that they were friends. But they’d attended school together as boys and had never lost their connection.
Bryce was the sort of fellow Aaron might have become if he hadn’t been his father’s heir. Aaron took his responsibilities seriously—to study, to learn the workings of their vast estates, to understand his role. Because of that burden, his life had been a tedious slog.
In many ways, Bryce was Aaron’s exact opposite. He’d been an orphan and charity case at school, his tuition paid by a kindly benefactor. He rarely mentioned his past and claimed not to remember his parents, though Aaron wasn’t sure if that was true.
Yet without the encumbrance of familial obligation, Bryce was free to live how he chose. There were no expectations to meet, no grumbling father to complain about his conduct. Bryce could gamble and carouse without worrying that anyone would notice or chastise.
He occasionally supplemented his income by performing on the stage. His plunge into theatrics was further evidence that Aaron should have cut ties long ago, but Bryce reminded Aaron of Lucas, and in Aaron’s stilted, boring world, he needed more people like Bryce in it, not less.
Bryce had surrounded himself with actors and other performers, so he’d been particularly delighted by Miss Etherton, and the more they’d talked about her, the more determined Aaron had grown.
He absolutely could not allow her to marry his cousin. The match was a grand folly in the making, and Aaron was desperate to quash it. He could imagine nothing more horrid than beautiful, charming Evangeline Etherton wed to Ignatius Bosworth. It seemed a crime against the natural order, and the universe was pushing Aaron to intervene.
He arrived at her door and, without pausing to reconsider, he knocked.
Was she still up? He hoped she was. After Iggy had scolded her in the garden, she’d hurried into the house and hadn’t reappeared. Clearly, Iggy’s behavior had upset her, so she’d be more inclined to listen to Aaron. She had to refuse the match or agree to delay until they could come up with a more viable plan.
“Miss Etherton?” he murmured. “Miss Etherton? Evangeline?”
He pressed his ear to the wood and was debating his next move, when she moaned as if she was in distress.
“No, no…” she was saying.
Without hesitating, he spun the knob and stepped in, terrified over what he might find, but she was asleep in a chair by the fire and in the throes of a nightmare.
“No, no…” she said again. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me with them!”
He walked over and knelt in front of her. He clasped her arm and shook it.
“Evangeline, wake up.”
“No!”
“Evangeline!”
She jumped to consciousness, lashing out with a fist at an unseen foe, so she nearly clocked Aaron on the jaw. He lurched back, and she barely missed him.
Gradually, her senses returned, her gaze focused, and she asked, “Lord…Run? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You were having a bad dream. I was passing by in the hall when I heard you cry out.”
She was distraught, her cheeks pale, her hands trembling. There was a bottle of brandy on a table in the corner, and he went over and poured her a glass.
“Have a sip,” he said. “It will calm you.”
“Thank you.”
He held it out, and she downed several swallows. Ultimately, she mumbled, “I hate that dream.”
“Do you have it often?” “Not often. When I’m stressed or weary, it comes to haunt me. The details are so real, I think it’s probably an event that actually occurred, but I don’t recollect.”
He pulled up a chair and sat,
Similar Books
