hands. Eve heard
the clink of coin and the men’s mumbled thanks. She felt hot and dizzy, the sun beating down on
her bonnet and dazzling her eyes. She tried to steady her breathing. There was not the remotest
chance of escaping a confrontation with Rowarth now. He still held her, lightly but with a touch
that made her entire body thrum with awareness.
“Eve.”
She looked up and met his eyes and again felt the shock like a physical blow.
“Rowarth.” She was proud that her voice was so steady. “What an unexpected…surprise.”
His lips curved into a smile that was sinfully wicked but not remotely reassuring. “Is there any
other sort?” he murmured.
“There are nice surprises,” Eve said.
“And then there is meeting me again.” His smile deepened. “Which I imagine falls into a
different category given the alacrity with which you ran away from me.”
Pain twisted in Eve, bitter and sharp, not even slightly blunted with the passing of time. Yes, she
had run from him. She had had no other choice in the world. And now, five years later, the mere
sight of him could still affect her so profoundly that she felt faint and light-headed, her emotions
stretched as taut as a wire.
But Rowarth’s measured tones had nothing but coldness in them for her now. Whatever feelings
she still had for him, so deeply held that she had never quite been able to banish them, were not
shared. Mistresses came and went, after all. He had been everything to her and there had never
been anyone else for her since, but she could hardly expect it to be the same for him.
The crowds had melted away, leaving them alone. People were still staring, though from a
discreet distance. Women were staring. But then, Eve thought, women had always stared at
Alasdair Rowarth. Women had always wanted him. He was handsome, he was rich and he was a
duke. What more could one ask for?
“You must let me escort you home,” Rowarth said. He was steering her across the market square
and down Fortune Alley, one of the twisty little lanes that led away from the main thoroughfare.
Already they had left the bustle of the main streets far behind.
“There is absolutely no need, I thank you,” Eve said. “I am sure that you have more pressing
business.” It was impossible, she thought, that Rowarth had come to Fortune’s Folly to seek her
out. A part of her longed for it to be true; when she had first seen him she had hoped for one
heart-soaring moment that he had come looking for her because he still cared for her. Yet even in
that moment she had known deep down that it was a foolish thought. The cynic in her, little Eve
Nightingale, who had grown up on the streets of London and struggled to survive, knew enough
of life to see that as the fairy tale it was. Besides, if by some miracle Rowarth had sought her out,
that could only bring more lies and more heartbreak. There was no going back.
No, this could be no more than a coincidence. Fate was laughing at her, bringing Rowarth to this
little town, miles from anywhere, where she had thought herself safe. In a moment he would
excuse himself and be gone from her life a second time and she would have to try and forget him
all over again.
“There was a time when you found my company a great deal more attractive.” Rowarth was
making no secret of his amusement at her blatant attempt to dismiss him. “Though of course,”
his tone chilled, “your affections lasted only as long as it took you to find someone you
preferred.” He looked around at the dingy back streets with their rubbish in the gutters and the
smell of rotting vegetables in the air. “What happened, Eve?” he said softly. “I hardly expected
to find you here. Did your new lover leave you without a feather to fly?”
“That is none of your business, Rowarth.” Eve tried to speak lightly, dismissively, but the words
stuck in her throat. In the note she had left him she had told him she had found another
the clink of coin and the men’s mumbled thanks. She felt hot and dizzy, the sun beating down on
her bonnet and dazzling her eyes. She tried to steady her breathing. There was not the remotest
chance of escaping a confrontation with Rowarth now. He still held her, lightly but with a touch
that made her entire body thrum with awareness.
“Eve.”
She looked up and met his eyes and again felt the shock like a physical blow.
“Rowarth.” She was proud that her voice was so steady. “What an unexpected…surprise.”
His lips curved into a smile that was sinfully wicked but not remotely reassuring. “Is there any
other sort?” he murmured.
“There are nice surprises,” Eve said.
“And then there is meeting me again.” His smile deepened. “Which I imagine falls into a
different category given the alacrity with which you ran away from me.”
Pain twisted in Eve, bitter and sharp, not even slightly blunted with the passing of time. Yes, she
had run from him. She had had no other choice in the world. And now, five years later, the mere
sight of him could still affect her so profoundly that she felt faint and light-headed, her emotions
stretched as taut as a wire.
But Rowarth’s measured tones had nothing but coldness in them for her now. Whatever feelings
she still had for him, so deeply held that she had never quite been able to banish them, were not
shared. Mistresses came and went, after all. He had been everything to her and there had never
been anyone else for her since, but she could hardly expect it to be the same for him.
The crowds had melted away, leaving them alone. People were still staring, though from a
discreet distance. Women were staring. But then, Eve thought, women had always stared at
Alasdair Rowarth. Women had always wanted him. He was handsome, he was rich and he was a
duke. What more could one ask for?
“You must let me escort you home,” Rowarth said. He was steering her across the market square
and down Fortune Alley, one of the twisty little lanes that led away from the main thoroughfare.
Already they had left the bustle of the main streets far behind.
“There is absolutely no need, I thank you,” Eve said. “I am sure that you have more pressing
business.” It was impossible, she thought, that Rowarth had come to Fortune’s Folly to seek her
out. A part of her longed for it to be true; when she had first seen him she had hoped for one
heart-soaring moment that he had come looking for her because he still cared for her. Yet even in
that moment she had known deep down that it was a foolish thought. The cynic in her, little Eve
Nightingale, who had grown up on the streets of London and struggled to survive, knew enough
of life to see that as the fairy tale it was. Besides, if by some miracle Rowarth had sought her out,
that could only bring more lies and more heartbreak. There was no going back.
No, this could be no more than a coincidence. Fate was laughing at her, bringing Rowarth to this
little town, miles from anywhere, where she had thought herself safe. In a moment he would
excuse himself and be gone from her life a second time and she would have to try and forget him
all over again.
“There was a time when you found my company a great deal more attractive.” Rowarth was
making no secret of his amusement at her blatant attempt to dismiss him. “Though of course,”
his tone chilled, “your affections lasted only as long as it took you to find someone you
preferred.” He looked around at the dingy back streets with their rubbish in the gutters and the
smell of rotting vegetables in the air. “What happened, Eve?” he said softly. “I hardly expected
to find you here. Did your new lover leave you without a feather to fly?”
“That is none of your business, Rowarth.” Eve tried to speak lightly, dismissively, but the words
stuck in her throat. In the note she had left him she had told him she had found another
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