An Unlikely Alliance (House of Renwick #2.5)(8)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Knife still in hand, Evelyn raised it above her head, making a sweeping motion to hit his foot. At the last second she put it into the floor and sent him a sweet smile. "Maybe you should wait to insult me until I’m not holding sharp objects?"

Royce swallowed once, looking away. "Noted."

By the time Evelyn had put down all weapons, and Royce had moved all sharp objects away from her reach, they only had minutes before they needed to be at the theatre. They rushed through dinner like lunatics, and then hurried to the waiting coach.

"That was lovely." Evelyn laughed.

"Wasn’t it? I must say I rather enjoyed watching you drink your wine in one gulp. Don’t think I’ve witnessed anything like it. Say, you aren’t feeling tipsy, are you? Oh, and stop giving me that look! It’s not as if I would take advantage."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "If that’s not a lie, I don’t know what is. And no, I’m not feeling tipsy. You need to wipe that look of disappointment from your face. How dare you think you can get me drunk! It’s more likely, in the case of a competition of drinking between us, you would be passed out before I would feel a thing."

"False. I’m calling your bluff." Royce pointed at her. "No way does a woman drink more than a man. It isn’t done. What do they do in Louisiana? Put ale in your milk as a child?"

"Please. As if ale would do anything to a person like me. It’s so watered down, one could drink it when dehydrated and still be standing straight."

Royce shifted in his seat before asking, "What about liquor?"

"Am I to understand that you want to know what your family’s fine whiskey does to my feminine sensibilities?"

He nodded.

"I’ve never had it."

At this Royce’s eyes widened in shock but quickly went back to normal as he laughed. "Well, we will have to remedy the situation. Can’t have you bragging about your drinking, having never had the finest McArthur whiskey New York has to offer."

Evelyn tried to ignore the gentle tug of warmth she felt in the carriage with him. The man had entirely too much charm to do any good.

"Tonight," she said, surprising herself.

"Tonight what?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Tonight," she leaned towards him, "you can give me a sip of your famous whiskey. Will that be enough to satisfy your morbid curiosity?"

Licking his lips, he brought his face within inches of hers, which was quite a feat for bouncing around in a coach as they were. "A taste? A moment? Just one? With you? Will never be enough."

It was silent the rest of the way to the theatre.

As Royce took her arm, she fought every fool-hearted emotion threatening to spill over into her thoughts. By the time he had led her to the box, she was so tightly wound one more touch from him would have surely tipped the scales in his favor. He was winning her over! Curse him!

She jerked her hand free of his arm and plopped into the nearest seat, not realizing her plopping was quite loud. Two men stood and introduced themselves as Royce’s brothers. Heat crept up her neck as Royce introduced her. As if her embarrassment couldn’t get worse, Royce decided to sit right next to her. His thigh was touching hers in the most improper way, making her want to lean against the opposite side. Except that’s where his brothers were seated. She couldn’t escape. And, for the love of God, she needed a fan!

"You look flushed, m’dear; are you okay?"

Royce’s low voice surprised her, causing a little squeak to escape her lips. She looked up to the ceiling, hoping something would drop on him, so at least her heart would stop beating so erratically!

"Maybe some air?" she managed to suggest.

Nodding, he helped her up and escorted her out of the box. As soon as they were outside, she was able to breathe again. The crisp night air was just what she needed. And then she looked at Royce, leaning against the stairs with arms folded, and suddenly felt hot again. None of her discomfort had to do with temperatures.

Closing her eyes and sending up a quick prayer to resist the devil of a man, she marched toward him and pasted a smile across her face. "I’m ready!"

"Liar." Unmoving, he stared at her.

"No, I’m fine."

"Are we going to stand here in the cold and argue all night, or shall I take you home? You don’t look well."

"A gentleman never tells a lady she doesn’t look well."

He smirked. "Good thing I’m nothing of the sort. Now let’s take you home and get some whiskey into that beautiful mouth of yours. Then we’ll send you right to bed."

"I’m surprised you can say bed and whiskey in the same sentence without trying to seduce me." Suddenly Evelyn wasn’t feeling very well at all. Maybe something was wrong with her. She felt herself swaying and just had time to pull on Royce’s jacket before the blackness overtook her.

****

Blast! Royce cursed as Evelyn’s limp body fell into his arms. He called for the coach and lifted her inside, careful not to ruin her pretty dress. He laid her across his lap. "Love, can you hear me?"

Evelyn’s eyes were still closed. God, she was beautiful. He was a fool not to notice just how much until now. Every part of her was lush, feminine. But her face—even sleeping, she was aglow with warmth. Part of him still wanted to seduce her; the other part wanted to stare and pretend he was good enough to be sitting by her side, when he knew in his heart he wasn’t even good enough to breathe the same air.

"Wake up, love," he whispered again.

Her eyes fluttered open. A part of him, the selfish vain part that he wasn’t particularly fond of, died. In its place was a desire to put her health, her ambitions, her needs above his own. He was lost, and he hoped to stay lost forever.

"Can you speak?" His hands roamed over her face as if to memorize the way her lips felt against his fingertips, or the way her cheek fit into the palm of his hand.

"Wh-at happened?" Shaking, she tried to sit up, but he firmly held her down.

"My handsome face was too much for you to take. I can’t say it’s the first time a woman has fainted in my presence," he teased, brushing an escaped tendril out of her face. "But it seems you’re all better now. Aren’t you glad we are on our way home?" After saying the words, he wished to God it were actually their home they shared, not just her home he was taking her to.

Nodding, her eyelids fluttered. "Thanks for catching me."

He answered soberly, "I always will."

Chapter Six

For being such a feisty little thing, she was quite easy to manipulate when she was feeling ill. Somehow Royce convinced her to wait for her father at the McArthur house while he finished his evening at the theatre. She agreed and said it was time for her father to have a little fun.