Impeccable, p.22
Impeccable, page 22
Lucien stopped what he was doing and turned toward her. “You sound worried.”
“I am. You saw her. You heard her. She’s never been this awful. And now you’ve cast her out.”
“‘Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.’” Lucien quoted The Mourning Bride.
“She certainly never loved me,” Evie said.
“I don’t think she’s capable of that.” Lucien grunted, clearly still frustrated. “I share your concern.”
“You don’t think she knows about me?” Evie hated that her voice sounded low and vulnerable. She glanced toward the door and noted it was slightly ajar. She didn’t want anyone to overhear this conversation.
“That is highly unlikely. We’ve done an excellent job of keeping your secrets safe for two years.”
Because of the encounter with Arbuthnot, Evie was more nervous now than she’d been in the past two years. Or perhaps it was because in the time she’d spent with Gregory, she realized she’d only been living the life of a shadow, hiding herself and her past. She loved who she was now, the life she led, but Gregory had showed her what she was missing.
What she’d always been missing.
She thought she’d been protecting herself from judgment and disdain, and she had, but she’d also been shielding herself from living her full life, of embracing all she’d been. If not for her past, how could she have found her way here? But to reveal her secrets meant the greatest risk.
She looked at Lucien, fear clogging her throat. “Lucien, I’m afraid I’m going to lose everything.”
He swiftly took her in his arms, holding her close. “I will never let that happen.”
Closing her eyes, Evie let herself sink into his embrace. She’d never loved Lucien romantically, but she loved him as a devoted friend. “Thank you for always protecting me. I love you, Lucien,” she whispered.
“I love you too.”
The sound of a man clearing his throat broke them apart. While they no longer hugged, they still stood side by side as they turned toward the door.
Standing just inside the threshold, his face a shade paler than normal, stood Gregory. Evie didn’t feel a sense of joy upon seeing him. Something was very wrong—she was certain of it.
He avoided looking at her, instead fixing his gaze on Lucien. “I’m afraid I’ve come with some distressing news.” He flicked a look toward Evie. She saw sorrow, concern, and worst of all, pain.
She knew in that moment that she was indeed going to lose everything.
She loved Lucien.
Gregory felt as if the world around him had stopped and he was trapped in a horrible nightmare. He hadn’t wanted to believe Hargrove, but hearing Evie say she feared she was going to lose everything seemed to validate what Gregory had been told. He’d already put together that Mrs. Creighton was, in fact, Evie’s sister. She and Evie had been the popular courtesans to whom Hargrove had referred.
Why had she kept that from him?
It seemed she still loved Lucien, but even worse, he was the man she went to for comfort. Because he was the man who truly knew her—in ways Gregory did not since she’d chosen not to reveal herself completely. He’d watched as Lucien and Evie embraced until he hadn’t been able to suffer another moment, then he’d cleared his throat to signal that he was there.
“What news?” Lucien asked. He looked strained, his features tense, his spine stiff.
Gregory closed the door behind him and took one further step into the room. That was far enough. “I had a meeting with Hargrove today. He tried to extort me in exchange for my appointment to the office of the Lord High Chancellor.”
Lucien swore rather viciously. “Did he again demand for your brother to become a member of the club?”
“That and something else. He wanted his wife to be allowed to choose a patroness and for that patroness to become a member. I tried to tell him I have no influence, but he didn’t believe me. Or he didn’t care.”
“And what did he threaten?” Evie asked, her expression anxious, as if she knew it was something about her.
He swallowed and looked toward the fireplace, unable to look at Evie. “To expose your past as a courtesan. Specifically, that Lucien was your protector.” He shifted his gaze to meet hers. “He also knows about us.”
“You?” Lucien broke in. “The two of you are…ah. Well, that’s lovely.”
Was it? Gregory couldn’t tell if Lucien was being sarcastic. It would make sense if he was still in love with Evie. He suddenly knew the truth about her. He looked at Lucien. “She was your favorite mistress.”
Lucien pressed his lips together. “Yes, she was.”
Was. Past tense. But that didn’t mean their feelings had faded—they certainly seemed strong and mutual. Neither had Gregory’s. He couldn’t just watch Evie be humiliated and ruined.
“What are you going to do?” he asked Lucien.
“Now we know what Lady Hargrove was threatening,” Evie murmured. She looked to Gregory. “Lucien just expelled Lady Hargrove from the club.”
“What?” Gregory took another step toward Lucien. “You have to fix it. Give her what she wants.”
Lucien stared at him, his brow furrowing. “Why, so you can have your appointment?”
“I don’t give a damn about that. You can’t let Evie be exposed. Lady Hargrove may be going to the papers this very moment.”
“I appreciate you saying that,” Evie said softly. She’d moved away from Lucien. Away from both of them, as if she were preparing to isolate herself from those around her. “I can’t let her win. She would change the entire character of the Phoenix Club, and I won’t let her. Lucien has built something wonderful, something special.”
“I won’t let her harm the club or Evie.” Lucien turned toward Evie. “Give me a chance to fix this. I’m going to find Hargrove and stop this. I have to go.” He shot a quick but inscrutable glance at Gregory, then left, closing the door hard behind him.
Gregory waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. Neither did she look at him. Her shoulders drooped in defeat, and he ignored the urge to go to her, to hold her.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Honestly, I didn’t think it mattered. That was the past. I am not that person anymore.”
“Who you were is part of who you are. I wanted to know everything about you.” He still did, but he hated that she’d kept something so important from him.
“Did you really want to know I’d been a courtesan?” she asked derisively. “I can see from your expression that it disgusts you. That I disgust you.”
“I don’t know how you can tell that because it isn’t true. I am angry you lied to me. I’m also upset that you and Lucien seem to still share a bond. Perhaps that is why you wish to never wed—the man you truly want isn’t available to you.” Gregory knew that Lucien didn’t want to marry.
“Don’t be jealous, Gregory. Lucien and I share a close friendship, but there is nothing romantic between us.” Her words soothed Gregory’s agitation and filled him with relief. “I choose to remain unwed because I have spent my life fighting for comfort and stability. I have those things through my hard work. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone. I didn’t even want to accept this job from Lucien when he first offered it. But he convinced me that he needed my skill and talent. And now I’m going to doom his dream.” She took a halting breath.
Gregory moved slowly toward her, hating to see her hurting. “It isn’t your fault.”
She laughed suddenly, a broken, hollow sound that carved into Gregory’s heart. “The irony is that my father was a chevalier. During the Terror, he sent us here for safety. He was supposed to follow as soon as he ensured some others were safe. He never came. It was years before we confirmed he had died.”
“Evie, I’m so sorry.”
One of her beautiful, elegant shoulders lifted. “I don’t remember him at all. I was very young when we came from France. Just me, my sister, our mother, and her maid, Nadine.” Her eyes met his. “You met my sister—Heloise. Rather, Mrs. Creighton.”
“I did think you bore a resemblance to one another,” he confessed.
She exhaled. “That has been a problem since I became Evangeline Renshaw. It’s why she doesn’t come to town. That, and she’s a pariah because she married above her station.” She gave him a sad look. “I’m sorry your name will be sullied with mine. You don’t deserve that. I should have been honest with you so you could decide if you wanted to sully yourself with someone like me.”
Gregory couldn’t stand another moment without touching her. Yes, he was angry, but he was also outraged for her. In agony—for her. He went to her and gently clasped her upper arms. “I would never think that, not even knowing the truth. You are a remarkable woman, Evie. To have lifted yourself from an unimaginable devastation is incredible.”
“Do you say that because my father was a chevalier? What if we—Heloise and I—were simply poor girls from the East End? Would you still think me remarkable?”
He understood her point, and the truth was he didn’t know, because that wasn’t the situation. “I’d like to think so. Evie, I was—and am—drawn to you, whoever that is.”
“And what if I don’t know?” she asked brokenly.
Gregory tried to pull her to him, but she broke away and put distance between them, positioning herself closer to the door. He couldn’t help feeling wounded that she’d allowed Lucien to comfort her, but not him.
“You don’t need to have all the answers.” Gregory had often told his students that. “Life is an endless query and exploration.” Hell, he’d only recently decided what he wanted to do. And it appeared he was going to have to shift his goal again since that way was now closed to him.
Evie folded her arms over her chest. “How did they find out about us?”
“I don’t know.” Gregory thought about what Hargrove had said, but couldn’t discern any clues as to how he might have learned about their affair. He knew his brother was involved somehow. Had he somehow discovered there was something between them? He suddenly realized what it could be. “At Witney Court, when you came upstairs to see Ash—”
Her eyes rounded. “Someone knows what we did in your bedchamber?”
“There’s no way anyone would have seen what we were doing, but when I left, I saw a maid. If she saw you too and told my brother, or worse, if she told Susan…” Gregory shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Your sister-in-law noticed we were both absent,” Evie said flatly.
“It’s also possible Susan noticed my frequent absences at Witney Court and that you and I spent time together on outings and drew her own—accurate—conclusions. But that is just a supposition.”
“There’s also my neighbors. Mr. Kirby saw Ash on the street with a gentleman—you. If he somehow identified you…and he knew that same dog spent the night with me, he may have reasoned that you and I were at least friends. Then, if he or someone in his household happened to see you coming to or leaving my house…” She put a hand to her cheek. “We were so foolish.”
“We were also rather happy,” he added softly, unable to summon even a small amount of regret. Though it sounded as if she had enough for both of them. “Do you have any idea how they learned of your past?”
She exhaled, sounding frustrated. “It has been a risk since the beginning. I’ve always chosen my invitations carefully, and there were certain people Lucien wouldn’t allow to become members for fear they would recognize me. At first, I changed the color of my hair, and I permanently stopped wearing many cosmetics. I also altered my wardrobe, which was frankly necessary after no longer being a courtesan. Over the past two years, I’ve let my hair gradually go back to its normal color.”
“You made a concerted effort not to be recognized.”
“Of course I did,” she said sharply. “Mirabelle Renault was never going to be accepted anywhere polite. She certainly couldn’t be a patroness of the Phoenix Club.”
“But Mrs. Renshaw could.”
“She was Lucien’s idea—a respectable widow. I left town for several months and came back as someone entirely new.” Her lip curled. “I should have realized this harmony could never last. Someone was bound to put it all together. I suspect it was Philip Arbuthnot. I encountered him at Witney Court. He found me familiar, but couldn’t place our connection. I met him at a courtesan ball.”
Gregory knew Arbuthnot fairly well. The man could be a bit arrogant, but was mostly harmless. “Did you and he…?”
“No, and don’t ask me that ever again. You can’t have unhindered access to my past. I locked it all away for a reason. I don’t wish to summon it again. Ever.” She spoke with a shocking vehemence. Was she ashamed despite being proud of what she’d been able to accomplish on her own?
“That’s fair. My apologies.”
What a bloody mess. He didn’t know what to say to her. She was upset and hurting and rightfully so.
“You should go,” she said. “I don’t know if anyone saw you come in here, but I’m fairly certain everyone in the club knows I came in here with Lucien.”
She didn’t continue, but he knew she was concerned people might deduce they were in here together. And since their affair was soon to become public knowledge, it was probably best if they didn’t feed the gossip. Perhaps there was something he could do to prevent that happening. He would at least try.
Gregory went to the door and paused. “I’d like to help, if I can.”
“There is nothing you can do. The truth will come out, I suppose. I always knew it was possible. I was a fool to think it could remain buried.” She squared her shoulders. “I did try, and I’ll find my way. Alone.”
He didn’t doubt that she would. “Like a phoenix,” he said, smiling faintly. He realized this was the end, that she wouldn’t invite him to meet her here tomorrow or any other day. “I’ll be cheering you on.”
Opening the door, he left the office and made his way from the club. He didn’t look back.
Chapter 17
Evie wasn’t sure how long she stood in Lucien’s office. A numbness had settled over her, and she didn’t particularly want to move, not even to sit down. But she must. And she wasn’t going to walk out the door.
Going to the bookcase in the corner, she reached up and pulled a book that worked as a lever for the secret door. The bookcase swung open, and Evie went to light a candle before she stepped into the dark passageway.
It was a short walk to the other end, but she couldn’t do it without illumination. Candle in hand, she closed the bookcase and moved forward along the passage, which included a brief flight of stairs down, until she met the other door, which opened into the mezzanine. From there, she made her way to the ladies’ side.
A narrow door tucked into a corner led to another flight of stairs up to a doorway just outside her office. Lucien had installed this passageway so they could easily access each other’s offices, particularly on busy club nights.
A wave of nostalgia and sadness washed over her. She and Lucien had worked so closely on the success of the club. It was mostly him, but she’d been an intrinsic part. She was going to miss it more than she could say.
She particularly loved her office, from the flower-shaped pulls on her desk drawers to the daffodil-colored chairs to the small landscape painting hanging behind her desk between the windows that looked down to the garden. The painting had belonged to her mother and was one of the few things that had survived their journey from France.
Evie went to the painting and gently touched the frame, which she’d had redone before hanging it here. When she was younger and they lived in their two-room lodging in Soho, the frame had been broken. Evie didn’t remember much about her mother, but she recalled her staring at that painting and crying. Later, Nadine had explained that her mother-in-law—Evie’s grandmother—had painted the landscape, and it depicted the estate her father’s family had owned. This and a simple cross necklace made of coral were the only items they had of any importance. Heloise had the necklace, and Evie had kept the painting. To think that their once-grand family had been reduced to those things and just the two of them made her sad. Which was probably why Evie rarely contemplated it.
She supposed they might have family, particularly in France if they’d survived the Terror. Or perhaps they’d escaped—either to England or America. Evie wouldn’t know how or where to begin searching for people whose names she didn’t even know. Her past was of no use or worth, so she typically left it where it belonged: behind her.
Turning from the painting, Evie looked around at what she might take with her from the office. Most of these things belonged to the Phoenix Club, not to her. There were books she would take, and she decided the small statue of Venus near the fireplace belonged to her. Lucien had gifted it to her when the club had opened. Again, a part of her life was being reduced to things.
Knowing Lucien, he wouldn’t mind if she took every last item in the room. Indeed, he might even insist on it. But, he would say, she wouldn’t have to because he was going to make sure she was able to stay. Evie didn’t believe for a single moment that he would be able to stop what was happening, not without giving Millie what she demanded.
Evie pounded her fist on the desktop. She braced her hands on the wood and hung her head in defeat. She’d vastly underestimated Millie. A woman with her measure of entitlement was never going to simply allow Evie or the Phoenix Club to deny her what she thought she deserved.
And Evie had been a fool for thinking she deserved any of this. She pushed up from the desk and fell into her chair, which was positioned so that she could easily look out the window at the garden, lit with dozens of torches, below. She stared at the reflecting pool for some time.
She thought of Nadine, who’d been the only parent she’d really known. As she lay sick and dying, she’d apologized repeatedly for how things had turned out after they’d come to England. Their father had wanted them to find someone who would help them, but that hadn’t happened, perhaps because their mother had been too despondent and couldn’t recall everything he’d told her. She’d been absolutely brokenhearted after leaving her husband in France. Then, about two years later, when she’d seen his name on a list of people who’d died, she’d become a shell of a person until she’d followed him into death.
