The following morning Evelyn enjoyed a solitary breakfast. It seemed Rafe had left for his club. He didn’t return that evening or the next. Or the one that followed. No word from him. Was this the uncertainty that would be her life?
Curiosity had gotten the better of her one night and she’d attempted to open the door to his bedchamber, only to find it locked. She’d tried both doors, the one that led into her room and the one in the hallway. She wondered what secrets he harbored in there, what she might learn about him. He was so mysterious, and if he wasn’t returning to the residence, how was she to come to know him better?
She knew all he desired was the bedding. Unfortunately she dreamed of more.
On the fourth afternoon, following a midday meal, she sat in a chair beneath the shade of a towering elm, near the brick wall that bordered the massive garden of the property beside this one. From a window at the end of the hallway in the wing where her bedchamber was located, she had been able to gaze out and see the large residence with its immaculate surroundings.
As usual, she had spent her morning wandering through the residence, imagining it as her own. She decided that she would convert it into a shelter for women who found themselves in a circumstance similar to hers. She would provide lessons in order for them to acquire skills that would allow them to secure gainful employment, so they were not dependent on others as she was.
Although it was quite possible that he was already done with her. She’d not heard a word from him. Had she done something to displease him? He seemed the sort to point out flaws. Perhaps she should visit a bookshop to see if she could find that book regarding the laws of mistresses. She felt quite ignorant about the whole affair. She supposed she should try to be seductive, but how did one go about that?
On the other hand, if he never bedded her, she’d never be ruined. She scoffed at that absurd thought. Living in a man’s residence was ruination enough. No one would believe that a man as virile and masculine as Rafe Easton had not taken her to his bed.
She heard the childish gleeful laughter that had made her smile on other afternoons. This had become her favorite time of the day.
“Lord Redley!” a woman called out. “Come here, child.”
More laughter, and she envisioned him running beyond the reach of his nurse. Based on the squealed pitch of his laughter, he couldn’t be more than a couple of years old.
She fought not to regret that she would have no children running about these grounds. As she was only two and twenty, she supposed if Rafe released her while she was still young, with all she would obtain from him, that she could secure a husband and perhaps have children. But she couldn’t stay here.
She was surprised that Rafe would situate his mistress beside a noble family, but then he did not seem to follow convention. She had considered introducing herself to the neighbors, but how would she explain her position here? She suspected they wouldn’t be at all pleased to know a woman of such questionable moral character resided within easy reach.
So she stayed in her own garden, sipping on her tea, alone with not even porcelain dolls to keep her company.
She watched as Laurence strode toward her. He was incredibly kind. Perhaps she could convince him to join her for a bit of tea. If she was going to be an unconventional woman then she could treat the servants unconventionally.
“Hello, Laurence.”
Stopping before her, he bowed slightly. “Afternoon, miss. Several large boxes have arrived from a Madame Charmaine. I’ve placed them in the parlor to await your inspection.”
“Oh.” She popped up out of her chair. “My wardrobe.” Already? She could hardly believe it. Nor could she believe her excitement at the prospect of having something to wear other than her one black dress. If Laurence didn’t have such long legs, she doubted he’d be able to keep up with her. She was fairly skipping over the lawn.
“Is it usual for Mr. Easton to stay away so long?” she asked.
“Yes, miss. Sometimes I wonder why he even bothers to have a residence. I believe he prefers his club.”
She peered at him out of the corner of her eye. “Have you ever been there, to his club?”
“Once or twice.”
His answer seemed a bit evasive, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. It seemed everyone associated with this residence held secrets.
He opened the door to the small sitting room and she skirted past him into the hallway. “Send Lila to me.”
“Yes, miss.”
Laurence veered off, while Evelyn carried on until she reached the entryway. She swept into the parlor and stumbled to a stop.
Rafe lounged in a chair near the window, with sunlight pouring in to bask him in its golden warmth. One leg was outstretched, the other bent at the knee, one elbow resting on the arm of the chair, a tumbler of honeyed liquid near his lips. Lips that had taunted and teased her, warmed her, sent pleasure whirling through her.
Pleasure very similar to what was thrumming through her now at the sight of him. He was so large, so very masculine, so incredibly beautiful even though it was obvious that he’d not bothered to shave in some time. But the stubble only served to make him appear more sensual, more enticing.
She clasped her hands together to stop herself from reaching for him. She feared she’d find not being able to hold him torturous in the days and nights to follow. Because if she couldn’t hold him, he in all likelihood wouldn’t hold her. And that seemed almost a sin.
“You’ve returned.” Her voice was raspier, throatier, and sounded quite breathless. From the scurrying to get here, no doubt. Not as a result of any joy emanating from the fact that he was here, because his presence always brought with it the possibility of total ruination.
“It would seem so, yes,” he said, his gaze shuttering whatever he might be feeling upon seeing her again. Probably nothing at all. It saddened her to think that he might never view her as anything more than a tumble. He waved his glass toward the boxes. “Some of your clothing is completed. The remainder should be finished by the end of next week.”
She glanced over at the myriad of boxes before returning her attention to him. They seemed inconsequential now that he was here. She wanted to ask him where he’d been, what he’d been doing, why he had stayed away, if he was well, although she doubted he’d answer. “You went to the trouble to pick them up.”
He shrugged. “I was passing by. Take a peek, see if the items are to your liking.”
She desperately wanted to tell him that he couldn’t just leave her here, languishing, worrying over him—but she didn’t want him to know that she had been worried. Were men likely to become volatile when they lost a good deal of money? She had disquieting visions of him being accosted by someone who had lost at cards at his club. Someone like Geoffrey.
She wanted to inform him that she expected certain considerations, but an image stuttered through her mind—one she’d not thought of in a good long while. Her mother sitting by the window, dressed so beautifully, gazing out.
“What are you doing, Mama?” Evelyn had asked.
“Simply waiting for the earl, darling.”
In retrospect she realized that her mother had spent a good deal of her time simply waiting. Now it seemed living in expectation of Rafe’s arrival would become her lot in life. But waiting on him was preferable to waiting for Geoffrey to come unlock her bedchamber door.
She also remembered how her mother would rush out the door the moment she spotted the earl’s carriage. How she would be in his arms as soon as he alighted. How after he patted Evelyn’s head and gave her a doll, he would go up the stairs with her mother. She wondered if she’d ever experience such delight in Rafe’s arrival. Delight, not relief because she suddenly thought that she should do more than simply stand there like a ninny reveling in his physical perfection when it was obvious that seeing her stirred nothing at all in him.
Self-conscious of her role in his life, she turned to the first box, lifted the lid, and dug through the tissue until she found the dark blue riding skirt with its white shirt and its blue jacket trimmed in silver piping. It was elegant, yet sedate. She’d expected the clothing he purchased her to be risqué, to proclaim loudly and clearly what she was, but this was the sort of outfit that a highborn lady would wear. She peered over at him, certain he hadn’t moved a single muscle.
“Thank you. It’s lovely.”
With the hand holding his tumbler, he indicated a circular box resting on a settee. “The hat that goes with it.”
It was the same shade of blue. White chiffon wound around the brim and was gathered into a bow at the back. “It seems you have superb taste.”
“I have you, don’t I?”
She jerked her head around to find him studying the liquid in his glass as though it had spoken rather than he, and he was castigating it. She couldn’t recall him ever issuing her a compliment, ever admitting that he found her attractive or enticing. He’d wanted her because other men had, and he’d found them unsuitable. Or so she thought.
She reached for another box. Inside was a gown very similar in shade to the purple she’d worn the night that Geoffrey introduced her around, but the cloth was silkier, a finer quality. Slipping it over her body would cause her nerve endings to dance.
Within each box was a surprise: a black mourning dress, plain and yet elegant. She’d not expected him to provide her with something to wear when he wasn’t around, something that would allow her to continue to honor her father.
A deep green gown for dining. It would bare her décolletage. One of soft pink that had a frothy bodice. A silk dressing gown of violet. A gossamer nightdress of white. Even gathered up, when she ran her hand behind it, she could see her skin. It would leave nothing at all to his imagination.
As she placed it back in the box, she couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the fear and trepidation that raced through her with the reminder that he would bed her, and he wanted her to be enticing when he did.
Among the scattering of box lids and tissue, only one box remained. She knew what it was before she’d fully pushed the paper covering it aside. The vibrant red could not be hidden. When she pulled the gown out of the box, she gasped, her breath caught.
She hated it . . . because it was so beautiful. It was silk and lace, satin bows, and elegant flounces. Clutching it to her bosom, she wished she knew how to knock that smug self-satisfied expression off his face.
“It’s . . . it’s exquisite.” She balled it up, stuffed it back into the box. “But I still shan’t wear it.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’ve a bit of stubbornness in you.”
She didn’t know why she was being so obstinate about the red. She just wanted something in her life that she had some say over. “I should probably take these upstairs and try them on, make sure they fit properly.”
“Start with the riding habit,” he said, tapping his glass with one finger. “We’ll go for a ride through the park.”
Her breath hitched, and while she knew it was quite possible that he had a stable filled with horses, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “You have Snowy?”
He lifted his glass in a salute, downed the remainder of its contents.
“That’s where you’ve been, what you’ve been up to.”
Tilting his head slightly, he studied her. “Where did you think I was?”
“At your club. I thought you were giving me time to become accustomed to you.”
“A bit difficult to become accustomed to me if I’m not here.”
She released a slight self-conscious laugh. “I’m not certain I shall make a good mistress. I didn’t like not knowing where you were or when you might return. I didn’t like waiting about, not knowing what I should be doing. I realize that you don’t have a care for me and that I’m to serve only one purpose, but—”
In a motion as quick as it was powerful, he shoved himself out of the chair and crossed over to her. His gaze wandered over her face, and she felt it almost like a touch. “It did not occur to me that you would worry. Rather I thought you would welcome the reprieve that my absence offered.” With the knuckle of his forefinger, he grazed her cheek. “I can’t always know when I can be here. My business, sometimes it will keep me away.”
“But it didn’t this time.”
He skimmed his thumb over her lower lip. “You are part of my business now.”
Before she could respond or read whatever might be in his eyes, he turned away. “Let’s go for a ride, shall we? I went to a great deal of trouble to bring that horse here.”
He had suggested they go for a ride because from the moment she had walked into the parlor, he wanted nothing more than to lift her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, and ravage her. Like the barbarian London accused him of being.
His desire for her had only worsened as he’d watched the delight play over her features as she’d viewed one item of clothing after another. And the red—she would wear it. He had seen the temptation of it in her eyes before she shuttered it. He could not have been more pleased with her reaction to his gifts.
But when she had seen the horse—
Something inside of Rafe had felt as though it were being torn asunder. He wanted her to look at him with the same joy, the same pleasure, the same . . . he wasn’t quite sure what the emotion was. She liked the horse, deeply. Favored it. She had stroked it and murmured to it and smiled at it.
He wanted her to smile at him.
Not look startled and apprehensive when she walked into the room and saw him sitting there.
As he kept his horse plodding along beside hers, he didn’t want to contemplate that he might be jealous of the creature because it held her affections.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d returned to London, stopped by the dressmaker’s to see what had been completed, and then he’d gone to his residence. Not his club. From the night he’d obtained it, it had always held sway over everything else in his life. In his absence, it could have burned down for all he knew, but he had hardly given it a thought. His entire focus had been on seeing her again.
He had not missed her, because he was not in the habit of missing people. But he had thought of her constantly, continually. He had dreamed of her naked and writhing beneath him. He had dreamed of her wrapping her arms about him—and his not breaking out into a cold sweat, his breathing not becoming erratic, his heart not pounding unmercifully. In his dream, he had merely sunk down into her as she had tightened her hold, until it was impossible to tell where he ended and she began.
But that was fantasy. Reality would be much different. He knew that. Accepted it.
He couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering back over to her. The clothing fit perfectly, hugged her bosom, her ribs, her narrow waist. She sat a horse well. As they entered the park, her eyes widened.
“There are so many people,” she murmured softly.
“This is the time of day when anyone who is anyone promenades about. Have you not been to Hyde Park before?”
She suddenly took great interest in the reins, running the leather through her gloved fingers. “My father brought me here once, in a carriage, early in the morning. I can’t recall seeing more than a dozen people. Will the people here know what I am to you?”
He wished he’d taken her father’s tact and not brought her during the height of the late afternoon. “I doubt it. The men you met that night—of course, they will know, but it serves them no purpose to tell others about what took place. As they did not leave with you, it makes them appear weak.”
“Yet here I am without a chaperon. That says a good deal about my morals, doesn’t it?”
“A good many ladies come unchaperoned—only because there are so many people about. Besides, it doesn’t matter what they think.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t. Not anymore anyway.” She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. “After Mother died, Father took me to his country estate. I’d not returned to London before this year.”
“You remained at the country estate.”
Nodding, she patted the horse’s neck. “I liked it there.”
He imagined she did. From what he’d been able to determine, it was remote, quiet, green. So very green.
“Why did you return this year?”
“I think Father intended to marry me off, but then he took ill—so swiftly, so unexpectedly. His health declined at an alarming rate. The physician said he’d had cancer of the blood for some time. I thought that I might be attending balls.” She glanced around, guided her horse with an expert hand. “I realize now it was a silly dream. If he’d not have brought me to the park during a time when everyone else was about, he’d not have bothered to garner me an invitation to a party.”
He could see the realization dawning that her father might not have been as proud of her as she’d always imagined. Anger, quick and sharp, surged through him. He fought to keep his tone flat, uncaring. “It wasn’t because your father didn’t value you that he didn’t bring you for the promenade. I suspect it was because he cared for you so much that he wouldn’t wish to see you hurt. The people prancing about now can be cruel when they put their minds to it.”
“You don’t think much of them.”
“No, and neither should you. They’re not important.”
“What of the people who live in the residence next to yours? The ones with the little boy. Do you know them?”
“They’re not important.”
She twisted her lips into an ironic smile. “Is anyone important to you?”
You are. The sentiment made absolutely no sense. His rush to the residence in order to see her again, his prolonging their time together by bringing her here. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come to a park. It had been for a lady, and they had parted ways soon after. “I’ve been on my own for too long, Eve, for anyone else to matter.”
“Will I feel that way, do you think? After a time?” She shook her head. “I hope not. I find it very sad. And I should think it would be very lonely.”
“Not if you like your own company.”
“And do you like yours?”
Not very, but that was beside the point. He ignored her question, allowed the silence to stretch between them.
“Will we see Geoffrey out here, do you suppose?”
“Not if he sees us first.”
She smiled, a bright cheery smile that reached her eyes and made them sparkle. Something in his chest tightened. The damned waistcoat was much too snug. He shouldn’t have indulged in a sweet. It didn’t take many before his clothes needed altering. He’d discovered that quickly enough years ago.
“Did he give you much trouble over the horse?”
“He named a price and I paid it.” He’d considered simply taking it, but he knew the money would end up back in his pocket anyway, and he had decided angering Wortham further would only serve to increase his resentment toward his half sister. He didn’t think Eve would ever see him again, but one never knew.
“Did he take advantage, do you think?”
He laughed darkly. “Eve, no one takes advantage of me.”
“I can’t decide if you’re confident or arrogant.”
He met and held her gaze. The color of her eyes was darker, not quite so violet. It was the blue of the riding habit. He should have gone with a violet, but he couldn’t deny the grace that it added to her form. Nor did he understand what had prompted him to purchase an item of clothing that covered so much of her.
Wasn’t a mistress supposed to be daring and bold in what she revealed? Eve looked absolutely innocent. Young. So very young. “How old are you anyway?”
“What difference does it make?”
The difference was that out here, content on her horse, relaxed, with no worries that he would demand of her what she certainly was not yet ready to give, she looked more girl than woman. “None at all. Simply curious.”
“Four and ten.”
Swearing harshly, he reached out and grabbed her reins, jerked her horse and his to a stop. He dragged his gaze over her. The delicate features, the slope of her neck and shoulders, the curve of her bodice, the narrow waist, the flare of her hips. “You’re not a child,” he ground out, because he didn’t want her to be, he didn’t want to have this utter fascination with someone he would have to wait years to possess.
She angled her head slightly. “If I were?”
“I don’t take children, and you’re lying.”
“Teasing more like. I thought you a man without a moral compass at all. I’m quite relieved to discover you’re not completely wicked.”
“How old?”
“Two and twenty. An old lady by most standards, I believe. Quite on the shelf. That’s why I thought . . .” Sighing, she shook her head.
“Thought your father intended to marry you off.”
She nodded, skewed her lips into annoyance. “And Geoffrey. When he said he wished to introduce me to gentlemen—I assumed marriage. What of you? Is there someone you fancy?”
“Marriage is not for me.” He released his hold on her reins. His fingers were beginning to ache from the tight grip. The thought of not having her for years—
“Don’t tease me,” he ordered before urging his horse on.
“I enjoy teasing.”
“Yes, well, that’s a habit you’ll have to break while you’re with me.”
“I don’t think I want to be molded into something I’m not.” She sighed heavily, glanced around. “Although I suppose that’s happening, isn’t it?”
He refused to feel guilty because of her father’s poor planning.
“Are there other mistresses here, do you think?”
“I suspect there are, but they’re cleverly disguised as ladies.”
“Much like me.”
Not like you, he thought. In all of England, he doubted there was a woman to compare.
Evelyn knew she was babbling, talking about nothing of consequence or importance. It irritated her that she worried what people thought, that she felt as though she moved about with a great big M sewn onto her chest. She saw many couples parading about. Surely they weren’t all married.
And surely if her father had not been ashamed of her, he would have brought her when the park was teeming with people. She didn’t doubt that he loved her, but she was beginning to realize that he might not have been as proud of her as he’d always claimed. He’d never taken her into a dressmaker’s. He’d never ridden by her side through a park.
She supposed Rafe Easton did it without any embarrassment because he was notoriously scandalous himself. She couldn’t deny that he epitomized what she imagined fell into line with most ladies’ dreams—tall, handsome, with just enough aloofness to be intriguing. He would make the women come to him. She wondered if he would expect her to initiate their coming together. She very much doubted it.
If he waited on her to be ready, he would find himself waiting a good long while. Although perhaps not as long as she’d originally thought. She didn’t like knowing that he was such a loner. No one stopped to speak with them, no one shouted greetings. Rather people seemed to make a point of avoiding them as though they were in danger of catching the plague from them if they got too close.
Her initial reaction had been that it was because of what she was to become—a woman of low moral character. Yet she was coming to realize that it was more the wall surrounding him that kept people away. He didn’t smile, he didn’t greet, he didn’t acknowledge. He was a lord, and yet he wasn’t treated with the deference of one. She wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter to her that his business dealings rendered him not quite respectable. He’d made something of himself, and yet it was obvious that all his hard work had not returned him to the bosom of the aristocracy, had not returned him to where he should have been.
Swearing harshly, he grimaced. He must have tightened his hold on the reins because his horse sidestepped and had to be brought back in line.
“Whatever’s wrong?” she asked.
He gritted his teeth, shook his head. “We’re about to be put upon.”
“By whom?” Glancing around, she spotted the couple on matching bays trotting toward them. They were near enough that there was no hope for escape, but as they got closer, she had suspicions regarding who the gentleman might be. His eyes gave him away. The pale blue that resembled ice over a lake—but they weren’t cold. Rather they were warm and inviting, twinkling with amusement that matched the smile worn by the lady riding beside him. Her hair was such a pale blond as to be almost white. Her eyes were a molten silver. Evelyn would not have described her as a great beauty, and yet there was a nobility to her bearing that graced her and made her unforgettable.
They brought their horses to a halt as Rafe and Evelyn did the same.
“Brother, I never expected to run across you here,” the man said.
“Is Sebastian about?”
“Somewhere. Mary insists he make appearances.” He shifted his attention to Evelyn. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“Allow me the honor of introducing Miss Evelyn Chambers. Evelyn, Lord Tristan Easton and his wife, Lady Anne.”
Lord Tristan swept his hat from his head. “A pleasure. You’re Wortham’s sister.”
“Half sister, yes.”
“So sorry for the loss of your father,” Lady Anne said.
“Thank you.” She was acutely aware that she was not dressed in mourning and she should be.
“She’d be in black, if I didn’t insist otherwise,” Rafe said. “It’s a horrendous shade on her. Does nothing to flatter her complexion.”
“I think we go to extremes on the mourning attire,” Lady Anne said kindly. “I say that as someone who wore black for two years.”
“You lost your father as well?” Evelyn asked.
She smiled softly. “No, he is quite well. Like so many, I lost my betrothed during the Crimean War. Tristan and I met when I hired him to take me to Scutari to visit Walter’s grave.”
“Tristan was a boat captain for a bit,” Rafe said.
Lord Tristan growled in a manner very similar to Rafe’s when he wasn’t happy. “Ship captain. There is a difference between a ship and a boat.”
“They both float on the water.”
“And there, the similarities end. If you would go sailing with us, I could demonstrate the difference.”
“You still have your ship?” Evelyn asked. She could imagine how wonderful it would be to be able to go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
Lord Tristan gave her a kind smile. “No, I sold the Revenge to a gent who I knew would appreciate it and care for it. But I’m designing and building yachts. I suspect yachting will become quite the thing in a few years. We’ll be taking the first one out for a testing next week. If Rafe joins us, you’re more than welcome to come along.”
“I’ve never been on the sea.”
“I found it quite exhilarating,” Lady Anne said.
“If you’re testing it, then there’s a good chance it might sink,” Rafe said.
Lord Tristan laughed. “Do you think I would dare risk my wife on something I wasn’t sure of? Besides, I know you swim.”
“That’s not the point. Although it hardly matters. We won’t have time for the boat.”
“Probably for the best because if you called it a boat while you were on board, I’d heave you over the side.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Evelyn had never seen two men glare at each other in such anger. Were they going to come to fisticuffs? She’d never witnessed a fight before. She suspected what was hovering between them had nothing at all to do with the ship or the boat. It went much deeper. Lord Tristan was one of the brothers who had left him, gone on without him.
Lady Anne revealed her mettle by reaching across and squeezing her husband’s arm. “I fear we must be off.”
Lord Tristan closed his eyes, released a long slow breath. When he opened them, they were once again filled with the teasing glint. “Whether you like it or not, you’re part of the family. I hope you’ll change your mind and join us on the boat.” He settled his hat on his dark head. “Pleasure, Miss Chambers.”
Then he and his lady were trotting away as though no dark clouds had been in danger of forming.
“Don’t say anything,” Rafe muttered before turning his horse about and sending it into a lope, back in the direction from which they’d come.
She almost didn’t follow. Only she knew what it was to feel as though she wasn’t wanted. As much as her father had spoiled her, Geoffrey had never embraced her presence. So she urged her mare into a trot, grateful when he slowed his horse to a walk and allowed her to catch up. He was breathing heavier than his gelding. Her father had never spoken harshly to her, had never shown her anger. She didn’t know how to respond to it, how to diffuse it.
“I didn’t much like him,” she finally said.
He jerked his gaze over to her, his brow furrowed deeply. She wondered what he would do if she reached across and smoothed it out. Although considering the distance between them, she’d probably topple from the saddle before she reached him.
“Lord Tristan,” she clarified in case he had doubts.
A corner of his mouth eased up. “You’re loyal, I’ll give you that. But I don’t dislike him.”
“Then why not go on his boat?”
“Ship.” His lips hitched up higher. For a moment she thought he might laugh, but the hint of a smile disappeared. “I’m not like them. Tristan and Sebastian. Sebastian, the duke, he fought in the Crimea. Was gravely wounded trying to save someone. Tristan sailed the seas. I’ve heard he rescued a boy from sharks. They’re good men and I’m not. We have little in common. They’ve moved back into Society, while I inhabit the darkest corners farthest from it.” He kicked his horse into a quick trot that made it impossible to carry on a conversation.
Still she followed, curious about these dark corners of his, silently questioning why he would prefer them, and wondering if a time would come when they would swallow her up as well.