Studying his reflection in the mirror, Rafe tugged on his light gray waistcoat. It took an inordinate amount of time to dress these days. His hand had healed but the mobility in it wasn’t what it had once been. Dr. Graves had set the bones together as best as he could. Rafe was grateful for that, at least. He hadn’t lost his hand completely. And he was learning to write with his right.
In retrospect, he supposed he could have told Dimmick from the outset that he was left-handed, so he would have broken the right, but he was familiar enough with the man’s tortuous ways to know that a time would come when he would have signed anything the man put before him in order to stop the pain. And he’d be damned before he gave the man anything that belonged to Evie—or to Mick for that matter.
So damned he was.
But not as much as Dimmick.
During the three months since his rescue, Rafe found himself spending more time with his brothers, and he wondered why he had resisted being in their company for so long. Late into the night, they would drink Scotch and share stories from the years they were apart. Rafe liked hearing about all the various places Tristan had visited, the different people he’d met, the cultures he’d encountered. Sebastian’s stories were less entertaining and more reluctantly recounted, but they gave Rafe a view of war that made him appreciate his brother’s bravery and sacrifice more than he might have otherwise.
He held out his arms as his valet helped him into his black morning coat. “Did you see that the gift was delivered to Miss Chambers?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Rafe no longer grimaced when his servants here or those who worked for him at the club addressed him as such. He was the son of a duke, the brother of a duke. He was proud to claim his family heritage, his birthright. Besides, he wanted there to be no doubt that Miss Evelyn Chambers, illegitimate daughter of an earl, was marrying a lord.
The very wealthy lord of a very powerful family.
Mary had insisted that Eve continue to live with them until the wedding. It had never occurred to Rafe that Evie had found sanctuary next door. It was the last place he would have looked for her. And she’d known it. At the time, he’d never have gone over there willingly.
Unlike now, when he went every day. He courted Evie as she should have been courted all along. With flowers, books of poetry, and chocolate. He escorted her on rides through the parks, danced with her at balls, dined with her every evening. He had much to make up for, and he was looking forward to spending the remainder of his life ensuring that she never regretted, not for a single second, that she became his wife.
Evelyn stared at her reflection in the cheval glass, hardly able to believe the beautiful handwork on the pearl-beaded ivory gown she wore. No quiet wedding in a country church, no secreting away. In two hours she was to be married at St. George’s, and all of London had been invited.
Except Geoffrey, as he was no longer in London but had returned to the family estate—after signing over all the properties that were not entailed. She suspected Rafe might have been responsible for that, but when she asked him about it, he said only, “He’s keeping the promise he made to your father.”
As she had no use for another residence in London, she was going to convert it into a sanctuary for unfortunate women, a place where they could acquire skills so they wouldn’t be dependent upon the kindness of strangers.
“You look lovely,” Mary said, standing near Anne.
Evelyn turned to face the two women who would soon become her sisters by marriage. “It seems I should be nervous but I’m not.”
“Because you know that you’re marrying a man who loves you,” Anne said.
“Yes, he does rather, I think.”
A slight rap sounded on the door. Mary opened it and retrieved a small package from the servant. She held it out to Evelyn. “For you. From Rafe.”
She took it and walked over to the window for a bit of privacy. Sunlight streamed in through the glass. It was going to be a beautiful day.
She opened the note that had been tucked beneath the ribbon. She read the uneven awkward scrawl, and knew it had been written with a great deal of effort.
Something I hope you dearly will not need today.
After untying the ribbon, she lifted the lid. Inside rested a coin, and while she had seen many like it, and thousands existed, she knew she had held this coin once before in her hand, on a long-ago night when she’d thought she had no options.
Taking it out, she realized another note resided beneath it. She unfolded it.
My father gave me this coin shortly before he died. This morning I flipped it. Heads I would marry you. Tails I would take you as my wife. For me, Eve, there is no choice to be made. I love you more than life. I want to spend whatever years are left to me proving that to you. But if you have doubts, my love, I will let you go. Nothing means more to me than your happiness.
With a deep sigh, Evelyn pressed the note to her chest. Then she flipped the coin.
When the carriage drew to a halt, it was nearly dusk. Evelyn watched as her husband—her husband!—alighted, and when she went to step out, he caught her up in his arms. With a squeal, she wound hers around his neck.
It had been a lovely wedding, a lovely day.
The duke had escorted her down the aisle to the altar, where Rafe had been waiting with Tristan by his side. When the duke gave her into Rafe’s keeping, he had stepped up to position himself beside Tristan. Tears had welled in her eyes at the sight of the three brothers standing there, the lords of Pembrook finally together as they should have been all along.
And following their habit of going against convention, as usually only unmarried men stood at the altar with the groom.
Rafe carried her up the steps. The door opened. Laurence bowed his head slightly as they went past. “Welcome home, my lord, my lady.”
My lady. She almost laughed. As Rafe began climbing the stairs, she said, “Who would have thought the illegitimate daughter of an earl would one day be a lady?”
“You were a lady the moment you were born.”
“You once told me I was ruined the moment I was born.”
“That was before I knew you. I was a foolish man then.”
Not so foolish, she thought. Cautious, rather. Not daring to care for anything that he might lose. He had lost her once. He would never lose her again.
The door to his bedchamber was open, and he swept her inside, kicking the door closed behind him. When he set her on her feet, she knocked aside his hat and ran her fingers up into his hair. “Oh, I have missed this, missed you.”
“Mary and her silly rules about respectability.” Bracketing his hands on either side of her face, he looked at her seriously, his ice-blue eyes intense. “Did you flip the coin?”
“I did. Heads I would marry you. Tails I would become your wife. I didn’t need a coin to tell me what I wanted. I never did.”
He kissed her then as though she were everything, as though she were all that mattered.
Clothes were removed piece by piece, in haste. It had been so long, so very long. She’d often thought of sneaking over here, had sometimes hoped to find him climbing in through the window of the bedchamber where she slept next door. But her scoundrel, her rake, her rogue had remained a gentleman. He had shaken off the mantle of the streets that he had worn for far too many years, and embraced his place within Society.
And Society had embraced not only him but all the brothers, as though together they were more formidable, more respected, more elevated. It had been an interesting phenomenon to watch. As his place had become more secured, so had hers.
She saw the envy on ladies’ faces when he rode with her through the park, saw the admiration when he danced only with her at balls. She received invitations because it became quite clear that if she wasn’t invited, none of the Pembrook lords or their wives would attend, and their disapproval was not something that the others in Society wished to garner.
When all their clothes were gone, they tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs. She was grateful that he didn’t feel a need to lock her wrists together, to restrain her movements. She longed to touch all of him, every firm muscle, every bit of taut flesh. It seemed appropriate that their life together as man and wife should begin here, in this room, where he had once fought his demons. He had conquered them all, and the man who had emerged from the fiery depths of hell was one that she would love until she drew her final breath.
When he joined his body to hers, she’d never felt so complete. When he rose up above her and gazed down on her, she thought his eyes had never looked more beautiful, filled with the love he held for her. She imagined him looking at her in the same manner when they were old and withered, fifty, sixty years from now. They were both so young. They had a long lifetime ahead of them.
She skimmed her hands over his face. She could see his youth now, tempered by the years, but still there. She wished he had not journeyed through life as he had, but it was that journey that had brought them together. To wish for a different path for either of them would be to wish they had not landed here, for how else would they have ever met—had he not been the purveyor of sin, and she sin’s daughter?
“I love you, Evie,” he whispered. “I doubt I’ll say it much, but tonight you should know.”
“I do know. And I love you. With my heart and my soul and my body.”
He began to rock against her, not protesting when she wrapped her legs about him. Not flinching when she wound her arms around him. She held onto him tightly, as the pleasure spiraled beyond the bounds of flesh to encompass her soul, her heart, her very being.
Their gazes remained locked, their breaths matched tempo. He led, she followed, they twirled in rhythm to lilting strains that only they could hear. The sensations built, rolled through her from head to toe, over and over, reaching out, stretching—until they could go no farther, and then they burst through her, carrying her to heights she’d never before ascended.
She was aware of his final hard thrusts, his body jerking, his jaw clenching, and she saw the wonder of it all in his eyes. As magnificent for him as it had been for her.
Gently, he lowered himself, burying his face in the curve of her neck. “Damn, but I have missed you.”
“You saw me every day.”
“Not like this.”
“I love holding you.”
“I love you holding me.” He kissed her chin, her ear, her temple, and then was once again gazing into her eyes. “You’re going to be very glad you married me.”
Smiling, she arched a brow at him. “Oh, you think so, do you?”
He gave her a devilish grin. “Oh, I know so. It would have been a colossal mistake not to.”
Her laughter was abruptly cut off by his kiss. Oh, the arrogant man. How she did love him.