Royce had the strangest expression of elation on his face. Maybe the woman was a relation? Or a dear friend? Though she was dressed rather…
And then with a sickening feeling Evelyn realized the location of the house. It was identical to all the rest, poorly lit, and on the same side of the street that her daddy had warned her about.
It was a whorehouse.
The man she loved, who not even an hour ago had given her all the hope in the world that he was a changed man—better than she could have imagined—was a liar.
Gloves were the last thing on her mind. Her first and foremost priority suddenly changed to escaping down the street without him seeing her. Her heart pounded along with the click clack of her heeled shoes as she hurried around the corner to her waiting carriage and driver. She climbed into the carriage without waiting for assistance, her chest heaving. She waited three full minutes before breaking into gut-wrenching sobs, ruining any chance of having a beautiful face instead of puffiness tonight at the ball.
How could he? Did she mean nothing? Was it all a game? It had seemed so real, so perfect. It didn't make sense. Was it because she was a woman of virtue? Not throwing herself at him like those other cheap women did?
It infuriated her all the more because they made her want to check her own morals and ethics. He brought out such feelings of desire she would willingly throw caution to the wind and give herself to him. Thank God she hadn't.
Her legs were trembling still when the carriage pulled up the drive to her home. A grief-stricken haze seemed to choke the breath out of her until she was certain she would pass out. The driver had to physically lift her out of the carriage and walk her up the stairs. When Evelyn reached the door to her house, she desperately tried to wipe away any evidence of the tears, lest her daddy be home and wonder what had upset his little girl.
Evelyn straightened her shoulders, and she went inside. She was immediately relieved to find nobody was around to question her emotional instability. Legs like lead, she climbed each individual stair until the door to her bedroom faced her. Still shaking, she turned the knob, walked in, slammed the door and slumped against it, allowing herself to slip to the floor, considering ways to mend her broken heart.
****
Royce hadn't realized how much his life had taken a downward spiral until he approached his past. He had always visited such establishments in the dark and slightly foxed. In the daytime, totally sober, the houses where his mistresses lived seemed like the pits of Hell itself. Had he momentarily lost his sanity to have come to a place like this seeking pleasure?
Why hadn't his mother knocked some sense into him? Pulled his own pistol on him? Refused to let him run the family businesses? He hadn't deserved her love, nor did he deserve anyone's love or forgiveness now. But Evelyn gave him strength and the desire to want more for himself. To actually want a future without the sins of the past making black marks on his and Evelyn's life together.
It was the best decision he had ever made in his life, to face the demons of his past, even if it meant facing his many sins. Which is exactly what it was. Upon entering the house, he immediately noticed the smell. Must and sin seemed to literally drip from the walls, repelling him instantly. As he continued his journey down the hall to the rooms he used to frequent most, he couldn't help but notice the women, lounging around, looking as if they had been beaten all night.
During the usual hours, the women were drinking and dressed to entice. Now looking at them, they seemed old and worn. Like they wanted to run but had nowhere to run to. Keeping his eyes downcast, he walked into the last room on the left and cleared his throat.
He repeated the same speech twice. To two different women. He apologized for his behavior. And even offered them jobs at reputable hotels where they could become maids if they so desired. Neither women said much, but Sheila in a fit of sadness ran after him and grabbed him from behind when he was just outside the establishment. He turned to face her and gave her a small embrace before leaving his past behind him.
The air suddenly smelled fresh, clean, new—he walked down the stairs with a purpose. He was going to propose to Evelyn tonight. If she would have him. And he hoped to God she would. For now, she held every piece of his mangled heart and had the capability to destroy it with her refusal.
Chapter Thirteen
When Royce reached the steps to Evelyn's home, he was as nervous as a little boy on his first day of school. By the time the irritated butler opened the door, he was certain he would throw up all the contents of his stomach. And by the time he was escorted into the sitting room, he was ready to down every last bottle of homemade moonshine in the house.
It was calling out to him. Whispering sweet promises of calming his nerves, just as he heard a feminine voice call out his name. "Royce."
He closed his eyes and savored the honeyed sound of her Southern accent. Would it be terribly rude to get married on the morrow? On Valentine's Day?
Turning as he pushed himself out of the chair, all of his nervousness hit him again, full force across the chest. It was suddenly hard to breathe. He swallowed to give himself a moment to think as he stared.
And stared.
And then stared some more.
Good thing she knew him to be one who was sometimes speechless, because at the moment he was gawking.
Her gown was fully white all the way to the floor, but tipped around the edges in black satin. As she turned to grab her gloves he was able to see the scoop of the back. He groaned. It was scandalously low. Her mask covered only half of her face, making her eyes stand out so much it hurt for him to stare directly at her.
He was an idiot to think she would say yes. Beautiful women like her married princes and titled gentlemen. They sailed to Europe and married a duke, much like his relative the Duke of Tempest. They didn't marry merchants. And they didn't marry him. A man who didn't deserve to breathe the same air as someone so pure and innocent.
"You are beautiful," he choked out as he went to take her arm. She flinched at his touch and gave a small curtsy.
"Shall we?" Without waiting for answer, she walked ahead of him until they reached the waiting carriage. The gown she was wearing shimmered in the moonlight, taking his breath away.
He was mad for her.
Getting into the carriage behind her was no easy task as his eyes were transfixed by the fullness of her form. He wanted to worship her. Surely God wouldn't mind if Royce reverently worshipped one of His finest creations?
"Are you well?" Royce bit his lip as he waited for Evelyn's response. Why were her eyes so downcast? Was she unwell again?
"I am."