Sleeping Evie by Jessica Cale

Author:Jessica Cale
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Corbeau Media
Published: 2022-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Evie found herself on Spencer’s settee the next morning with a headache for the history books.

The light coming through the crack in the curtains cut through her vision like a knife. She tossed an arm over her eyes and found her shoulder stuck to the couch. With some effort, she pushed herself off of the backrest and landed in a heap of misshapen cotton on the floor. The smudges of textured wax where she had been sleeping confirmed her fears.

Her dress had melted into the cushions.

It must have been all the lamps. Between the lamps, the people, and the lack of air circulation, the whole building had been frightfully warm. Then handshakes, hand kisses, cheek kisses, and—

Ash.

Evie sat back against the couch. He had looked at her like she was a goddess—had painted her like one!—and that hug... He’d held her like a lover in front of Greater London, and she’d held him back. She hadn’t cared who was watching—not his peers, not Perdita, not the reporters—

Oh God, the reporters.

Pushing herself to stand, she staggered through the hall until she found her way into the dining room. On the table beside a woefully empty teapot was the latest issue of the Illustrated London News.

Evie tore through it until she found it. It was impossible to miss.

Ashcombe Triumphs at Royal Academy

Her heart leapt into her throat. The article detailed the highlights of the evening over several columns, noting the most popular pieces. She saw with some satisfaction that Spencer was also mentioned. Boudicca had been hailed as the most promising debut the Academy had seen in some time.

Evie smiled at the mention of Ash’s recent philanthropic work, her gaze drawn to the accompanying illustration. Ash was depicted in fairly simple lines; the artist had not come close to capturing his beauty, so they’d relied on his square jaw and the divot in his chin to get his identity across. Next to him appeared to be—

Wait, was that her?

Beside Ash was a caricature of a woman—she looked like a lady in a smart bustle dress, but both her hair and her bust were comically enormous. Her face had come out fine, though, and she stared lovingly at Ash as he held her with his arm wrapped around her waist. The caption read Lord Ashcombe and model, Miss H—

The implication couldn’t be clearer.

Everyone in London thought she was shagging the Marquess of Ashcombe.

Evie buried her face between her knees and muffled her scream in her skirt.

Spencer arrived at the table moments later, yawning over a pot of coffee. He poured her a cup. “Good reviews?”

She shoved the paper across the table at him. “The Illustrated London News thinks I’m Ash’s mistress.”

Spencer shrugged. “Everyone last night thought so too. It didn’t help that the looks you kept sending each other almost set the drapes on fire.”

Evie laughed in spite of herself. “Maybe that’s what happened to my dress.”

He raised his eyebrows over the rim of his coffee cup. “Come again?”

She gestured helplessly at her dress.

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