Twice the Temptation by Suzanne Enoch Page B

viscountess wearing it, and not Evangeline.
    He wanted to ask her why, but that wouldn’t fit with his plan for the evening. And so he bit his tongue and smiled as he helped both ladies into his coach and then followed Lord Munroe inside. Wearing what he was to a very popular soiree was probably going to be the stupidest thing he’d ever done—except for getting drunk and falling on Gilly—but if his assessment was correct, giving her precisely what she claimed to want could be the very best way to prove that she was in error.
    She was gazing at him again, her expression still wary and suspicious. If she thought he meant to try something tonight, she was too late. They were already well into the game.
    â€œWhat were you reading that so engrossed you, Papa?” she asked after several moments of silence.
    The viscount stirred, sending a swift glance in his wife’s direction. “Ah, just the newspaper. A fascinating article on the reinstatement of the French monarchy once we’ve dealt with Bonaparte again.”
    Connoll lowered his brow, wishing everyone would stop talking about France, then smoothed the expression as the viscountess looked up at him and smiled. “That was kind of you to dress in coordination with Evangeline,” she said.
    â€œOh, I worship your daughter,” he said, repeatingwhat he’d heard Dapney say the other night. “I would do anything for her.”
    â€œWould you, now?”
    â€œAnything. Ask it of me.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s not necessary,” Gilly broke in to the conversation.
    â€œWe might at least know what Lord Rawley’s intentions are toward you,” her mother countered.
    â€œSurely I’m not Miss Munroe’s only suitor. Though I am the most sincere, I assure you.” He clenched his jaw at the silliness spilling from his own lips. Whatever he was getting into, however, he’d already vowed to see it through. “My annual income is in the vicinity of twenty-five thousand pounds,” he said with every ounce of unctuousness he possessed—a means to an end. “I could provide her with anything she wanted. I would be happy to do so.”
    â€œTwenty-five thousand,” the viscountess repeated, her eyes growing larger. “And a marquis.”
    â€œMy main estate in Devonshire is rumored to be the finest in three counties,” he continued. “My great-great-great-grandfather had it built in 1612.”
    â€œYour main estate? How many do you own?”
    â€œWell, four in Scotland,” he returned, ticking them off on his fingers, “one in Devonshire, one in York, and a seventh in Cornwall. And the two houses here in London, though I’ve given one over to my cousin and his family. They also have use of the estate in Cornwall. One can only live in so many places.”
    â€œIndeed.”
    Evangeline gazed at him, her lips pursed. “There are some rumors,” she said slowly, flicking her skirt, “that you recently spent some time in France, and that you have sympathies with Bonaparte and the French.”
    The little minx . “I have sympathy for the French,” he answered, keeping his tone easy. “They will have a great deal of work ahead of them once Bonaparte’s been stopped.”
    From the flash of her hazel eyes, Gilly realized that he hadn’t answered the question of whether he’d been in France or not. To her credit, though, she didn’t pursue it further. He’d already told her that he would explain his whereabouts during their waltz tonight—and not a bloody second before that.
    â€œI don’t envy Wellington that task,” the viscount put in. “Bonaparte’s a popular fellow.”
    â€œThere is nothing more tedious than politics,” Lady Munroe said airily. “I’ve heard that Lady Howlett actually has a tent erected in the stable yard to accommodate all of the additional servants and