Free The Rebel Heir by Elizabeth Michels

one woman who knew he wasn’t who he claimed to be.
    â€œIt’s a woman, isn’t it? Got you in a right tangle.”
    â€œWhat was that?” Ash asked. Had he said something aloud? If so, his problems were worse than he’d imagined. He couldn’t go about mumbling to himself and still sell…anything at all.
    â€œIt’s a lady that has you tossing back that whiskey and doubting your thoughts on life,” Ayton clarified.
    Ash tensed. “What do you know of it?”
    â€œNot a thing. Simply recognized the look of desperation in your eyes.”
    â€œYou too, then, mate?”
    Ayton let out a harsh laugh. “My situation is rather complicated.”
    â€œWe should start a society.”
    Ayton raised his glass and looked around at the relatively empty headquarters. “I believe we’re already in it.”
    Ash didn’t know if it was the effect of the whiskey or the knowledge that he’d been selected to join this club for the very abilities he was doubting, but either way his plans suddenly seemed more attainable than they had earlier in the evening.
    He would go to meet with Rightworth tomorrow. He would have a backup plan prepared if the man’s daughter was at home, but he would not allow her to harm his mission. He’d sold young ladies love potions, old men tonics for youth, and tomorrow he would promise Lord Rightworth financial gain beyond his wildest dreams.
    Seeing Evangeline mattered little. The important bit was his meeting with her father…even if his mind kept lingering on her.
    â€œTo the Spare Heir Society,” he said, tossing back the remainder of his drink.
    * * *
    Evangeline straightened her spine and dipped her chin to the proper angle for but a second. “Lord Winfield, how pleasant it is to see you today. Are you enjoying this fine weather?”
    She worked to ensure her gaze was engaging without being too direct, as it had been on every other attempt thus far. Holding her breath, she waited. Was that enough without being too much? Her palms began to sweat inside her gloves as she clutched her fan at her waist.
    â€œNot perfect, but I suppose it will have to be sufficient,” her mother finally said. “Once he answers, you reply…”
    â€œI do so enjoy the outdoors. When the trees gain their leaves for the summer, it always reminds me of—”
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Her mother’s voice went shrill, threatening to shatter the glass in the parlor windows. “That is not what you’re to say next. It was supposed to be: ‘The trees provide nice shade in the park.’ Repeat after me, ‘nice shade in the park.’”
    â€œI thought—”
    â€œNice shade in the park!” her mother commanded, sweeping around Evangeline, her hawk-like eyes taking in every detail of her daughter’s performance.
    What flaws her mother had not already buffed to a high shine were on display, awaiting reprimand. Evangeline worked to remain still, because fidgeting under such scrutiny wasn’t tolerated. Some lessons one never forgot. Instead she focused her gaze on the corner of the window. She could see a child across the street, sitting on a garden bench and swinging her feet with vigor, while a governess read from a book. Such a simple joy it must be to swing one’s feet and listen to a story.
    â€œThe trees provide nice shade in the park,” Evangeline enunciated every word before adding in a small voice, “I only thought that if I added a bit of myself to what we practiced, it might sound less…rehearsed.”
    â€œOf course it’s rehearsed, darling.” Her mother stepped forward to smooth down a lock of Evangeline’s hair that had escaped its confines, the look of displeasure on her face wrinkling her lips into a small, pursed blotch of color. “Such an important thing as conversation cannot be left to chance.” She uttered a humph of