Kissing her had been a colossal error in judgment. Her lips were like silk. Her mouth, smoky with his Scotch, had tasted particularly inviting. Her sighs were as low and throaty as her voice. The sounds had sent desire shooting through him.
As a general rule he didn’t misjudge his actions, but from the moment she had walked into his life, he’d been having a time of it when it came to rational decisions.
He’d claimed her for his mistress.
He’d trotted after her into the rain like a misbegotten fool.
He’d carried her home, knowing the torment that would entail.
He’d promised to give her time instead of sinking into her molten heat tonight as he desperately wanted.
He’d kissed her.
And now he was heading to Wortham’s.
At least this time he’d had the good sense to have the carriage brought round. He tugged on his waistcoat. He hated that he had to display himself fully dressed in order to properly throw around his weight. Clothing always made him feel as though he was suffocating. He could trace his aversion back to his experiences living at the workhouse.
His arrival at Wortham’s stopped him from having to travel that particular path of memory. It was not pleasant, and he’d not thought of it in years. He’d shoved it into the back corner of his mind, just as he shoved everything upon which he did not wish to dwell. No good would come from taking it out and examining it further—other than to stir up the resentment he felt toward his brothers for abandoning him.
He stepped out of the carriage, bolted up the steps, and slammed the knocker, once, twice, thrice. The butler responded with a slowness that would have had him relieved of his post if he were in Rafe’s employ. It didn’t matter that it was half past midnight.
As soon as the door opened a crack, he barged past the butler. Eve should have done the same. She shouldn’t have allowed him to block her way. She’d been too polite by half. She might not carry the title of lady, but by God she was one. Too good for the likes of him, but that didn’t make him want her any less.
“Where’s Wortham?” he snapped.
“He’s not at ho—”
Rafe swung around and pinned the man with a hard-edged glare that he had honed to perfection during the years he had worked as a debt collector for someone on the shady side of the law. He knew it spoke of punishment and retribution. It put the fear of God into large brawny men.
The slender butler did little more than stammer, “The library, sir.”
He’d been there last night, so he had no trouble finding it. He didn’t bother to soften the stamping of his large feet. He wanted Wortham to be well aware that hell was arriving.
Rafe burst through the door. Wortham bolted to his feet. He’d been behind his desk, studying something. Ledgers perhaps, it didn’t matter.
“Changed your mind about her already, have you?” Wortham asked with a sneer. “I knew she wouldn’t measure up.”
“Your father gave her jewelry. I want it.”
Wortham looked as though Rafe had punched him. “That was not part of the bargain.”
“You dropped her off at my residence with nothing more than the clothes upon her back.”
“Because she’s yours to see after now. Everything else my father purchased. That makes it mine.”
“Not the jewelry. Hand it over and you’ll continue to breathe.”
“I’m growing quite weary of that threat. I don’t owe you anymore. So I see no need—”
Rafe rounded the desk with remarkable speed, wrapped his hand around Wortham’s throat, and shoved him against the wall. “You see no need for what? To heed my words?”
Anticipating that he might have to resort to a show of force, he’d not worn gloves. He knew precisely where to press his thumb to cut off air, to cause pain. Wortham’s eyes bulged. He gasped. He dug his fingers into Rafe’s wrist. He’d have marks there tomorrow, dammit. If he wasn’t striving to make a point, he’d simply snap the man’s neck. But Wortham didn’t deserve death, and of all Rafe’s sins through the years, killing a man who didn’t deserve it was not one of them.
Wortham gagged. Nodded.
Rafe loosened his hold. “You had some wisdom to impart?”
“Sold it,” Wortham rasped.
So that was how the weasel had paid off his debt earlier that evening. Releasing him, Rafe stepped away to avoid the possibility of encountering a mess, as it appeared Wortham was on the verge of tasting his dinner for a second time. “To whom?”
Wortham rubbed his neck, shook his head. “Don’t know. Some fence.”
“Describe him.”
“Small, black hair, black teeth. Has a kinship with some rodent I imagine. Met me at a tavern.”
Rafe arched a brow. “The tavern have a name?”
“The Golden Lion.”
“Good.” He considered ending Wortham’s membership at his club, but he’d rather have the man where he could see him. Besides, it made it easier to torment him, and he was a man in need of tormenting. “Should I discover that there is anything else here that your sister longs to have, rest assured that I shall return to claim it.”
“But I’m selling things.”
“Do not sell anything else of hers until you’ve heard from me.”
“That was not part of the arrangement.”
“I’m restructuring the arrangement.”
Wortham’s face turned a mottled red. “You have no right to order me about. I am an earl.”
“Take care with your words, Wortham, or next time, I might not release you until you’re shaking hands with the devil.”
On that note, Rafe spun on his heel and strode from the room. He was quite familiar with the Golden Lion, although in his opinion, it would have been more aptly named the Tarnished Scrawny Cat. Its clientele were not the best that London had to offer. Because of that, Rafe would be quite at home there as he searched for the man who had the jewelry he sought.
Evelyn awoke feeling as though a heavy thunderstorm had taken up residence in her skull. That she had slept at all was a miracle. She tried not to think about the bargain she’d struck. With the pale morning sunlight easing in through the window, she considered dressing, then quietly leaving, seeking sanctuary somewhere else. Surely some shelter existed for women in her circumstance, but even as she had the thought, she knew he wouldn’t let her easily go.
He would find her. He would make her pay for staying in his residence through the night. She had no doubt of that. He was a man of his word. She was beginning to understand why the other lords had avoided him as though he harbored the plague. If he dealt with them as he dealt with her, he would have few friends. No one liked a bully.
Rolling over, she came up short at the sight of a young maid standing there. The girl curtsied.
“Good morning, miss. I’m Lila. I’ve brought your clothes, freshly pressed. The master was hoping you would join him for breakfast.”
As though he’d suddenly walked into the room, all the air left and she could find none to draw into her lungs. “He’s still here?”
“Yes, miss.”
Silly thing to be disconcerted over. He lived here. She would see him. She just hadn’t thought she’d see him until tonight. “All right then.”
She would pretend this was what she wanted. She would make the best of it. Someday, she would make two men regret their taking advantage of her circumstance for their own gain.
She was quite surprised by the maid’s expertise at readying her, and she didn’t want to contemplate that she wasn’t the first mistress in this residence. But then what did it matter how many he’d had? She didn’t want to consider it, to know anything about him. She would simply do what she had to do, until she was in a position that she could do what she wanted.
After she was dressed, her hair pinned up, she followed Lila through the hallways, even more impressed with each room they passed. The residence and all it contained had to be worth a massive fortune.
A tall liveried footman stood before a set of closed double doors. As they neared, he opened one.
Lila smiled. “Enjoy your breakfast, miss.”
As the girl hurried away, Evelyn couldn’t help but think that enjoying anything today was not on her schedule. She would endure because she had no choice. But she would certainly not enjoy.
Taking a long deep breath, she straightened her shoulders before striding into the dining room. Rafe Easton was sitting at one end of a long table, reading a newspaper. He set it aside and stood.
“Good morning, Eve. I trust you slept well.”
How could she have forgotten how incredibly handsome he was? He was properly dressed, with waistcoat, jacket, and cravat. His black hair was tamed. She missed the curls. They softened him a bit. But this morning nothing about him appeared soft.
“It’s Evelyn,” she informed him, trying to regain her bearings, trying to convince herself that she could handle the monstrously unappealing task that lay before her.
“Evelyn doesn’t suit me.”
“It doesn’t suit you?”
“I will be providing you with a home, food, clothing, jewelry, servants . . . everything about you will suit me. You will spend your day planning for my arrival. You will amuse me with discussion, entertain me with pianoforte. You shall read to me.”
What price would she pay if she left this instance, simply turned on her heel and walked out of the room, walked out the front door?
He was studying her intently, and she had a feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Perhaps he was right that a change in name was in order. Evelyn was a far different woman than the one she would become. Evelyn had been loved. She doubted Eve ever would be—certainly not by this man who seemed incapable of harboring any emotion at all.
With a wave of his hand, he indicated the sideboard. “Tell Andrew what you’d like and he’ll prepare your plate.”
She turned toward the footman. Of course he would be tall and handsome as well. The most desired footmen were tall and in good form. It seemed Rafe Easton only went with the best. She wandered over to the sideboard. She selected poached egg, toast, ham. Not an abundance, but then she very much doubted she’d be able to eat. All this wonderful food would go to waste.
Andrew carried her plate over to the foot of the table. Setting it down, he pulled out her chair. She sat, watched as Rafe did the same, picked up his newspaper, and shook it. She reached for her napkin, froze.
Resting on the white linen was the sapphire encrusted necklace and matching bracelet that her father had given her for her nineteenth birthday. Gingerly she touched them, hardly daring to believe they were truly there.
She fought not to weep. Lifting her gaze to Rafe, she caught him watching her before jerking his attention to the paper as though he couldn’t be bothered by her reaction. “How did you get these?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her. Simply narrowed his eyes as though he was having difficulty making out the letters he was reading. “Paid a call on Wortham last night. If there is anything else you wish to have from his residence, let me know and we shall stop by there on the way to your seamstress this morning.” He lowered the paper. “Who is your seamstress, by the way?”
She shook her head. “Her name is Margaret, but she always came to the residence. I don’t know where she worked or how to contact her.”
He sighed. “I shall have to make inquiries then, regarding where I should take you for your clothing. I want to see you in only the best.”
His words hardly registered. She was still too stunned by the jewelry. “I can’t believe you did this, went to such bother.”
“Did I not explain that you would never lack for anything that was within my power to purchase?”
“You paid Geoffrey for these?”
“No, I paid the little rodent he’d sold them to. I’m relieved to know that he didn’t try to swindle me by giving me the incorrect pieces.”
“I can’t imagine anyone daring to swindle you.”
He bent his head to the side slightly in acknowledgment of her words. “It has been a good long while since anyone has tried to get the better of me. Do you read?”
She started at the abrupt change in topic. “Yes.”
“Good. You may read to me.” He folded the paper, signaled to the footman. The man brought it over, set it beside her fork.
“Why would you want me to read the news aloud?”
“Because I enjoy the sound of your voice.”
She released a tiny laugh. “Geoffrey once told me I had a man’s voice.”
“I believe we’ve already ascertained that he’s an idiot.”
Carefully, she eased the jewelry off her napkin, fluffed the linen in the air, and settled it across her lap. “How did you come to own a gambling establishment?”
“What does it matter?”
She toyed with the egg, darted a glance to the footman. Servants were discreet, she suspected his more so than most, but still this was awkward. “It just seems that I should come to know you, to understand you, before . . . that things will be more comfortable between us, that I will be able to more easily determine what you need.”
“I’ll tell you what I need.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“Oh, I see.” She sliced off a piece of ham. “I enjoy riding.”
He looked at her as though she’d said, “Did you notice I have four arms?”
“I thought it might prove helpful if you knew something about me,” she offered.
“I know all I need to know.”
It was going to be so incredibly sterile, this arrangement between them. She didn’t know if she’d be able to stand it. She picked up the paper. “Where shall I begin?”
She hated that her voice quavered, that it threatened to reveal her doubts and her burgeoning regrets.
“Did you have a horse?” he asked, his voice flat, emotionless, as though he couldn’t be bothered to care, as though he didn’t really desire an answer.
But she provided one anyway. “Yes. A mare. I called her Snowy, because she is so white. She’s at the country estate. I don’t suppose I shall ever see her now.”
“Do you want her?”
She stared at him.
“If you want her, all you have to do is tell me, and I shall obtain her for you.”
“I don’t want to be further in your debt.”
“In our arrangement there is no depth of debt. You give me what I require. Whatever items you want, you may have. Do you wish to have the horse?”
She wished to be free of him. In the light of morning, her decision to stay seemed rash. “Geoffrey would never give her up. She’s a thoroughbred, incredibly valuable.”
“Trust me, Eve, Wortham provides no obstacle to anything you want.”
She tiptoed her fingers over the jewels. Was she really contemplating asking for something? Once she started down this road, he would well and truly own her. “There is a portrait of my father, in the study of the London residence. I would rather have it than the horse.”
“You shall have both.” The chair scraped over the floor as he pushed it back and stood. “We shall delay your reading to me as we’ve spent what little time I had available with conversation and I must go to my club for a bit. This afternoon we’ll see to your wardrobe.”
He began heading for the door, came to a stop beside her chair, tugged on his waistcoat as though it had grown too small while he’d eaten. “Last night I told you that you will never want for anything that is within my power to purchase. Do not hesitate to ask me for items that you want. Because I promise I will not hesitate to take what I require of you.”
As he strode from the room, those words continued to echo through her head, her heart, her soul.
The table was too blasted long, but even with the great distance separating them, he’d seen the joy light her eyes when her gaze fell on the jewelry. He could only imagine how bright they’d been when she’d first been given them. She’d have not expected them. She seemed not to expect anything.
Mistresses were supposed to be demanding, by God. She should be demanding things of him. She shouldn’t make him urge her to accept things; she shouldn’t make him want to stop off at a jeweler’s to find a set of stones that more accurately resembled her eye color. The sapphires were close, but a shade too blue, a little lacking in violet. Amethyst perhaps. No, that would not have enough blue. Pity he didn’t have the power to create stones.
He shook off the thought. What was this mooning about?
His carriage came to a halt in front of Easton House, his oldest brother’s residence. After alighting, he marched up the steps. He’d not been here in some time. Still, he knew Keswick and his lady were already in London for the Season that would soon be upon them. The door opened before he could knock.
“Thomas,” he said succinctly, addressing the butler.
“Lord Rafe, it has been a while. If I may say, you’re looking fit.”
“You may say. Is the duchess about? I need a word with her.”
“I’ll let her know of your arrival.”
While he waited, Rafe wandered over to a portrait of Sebastian and Tristan when they were boys. Uncanny how alike they looked, although Tristan did have a bit of the devil in his eye. Their uncle had destroyed most of the family portraits. There were none of Rafe as a boy, none of him with his brothers. It was for the best. No need for reminders of what had been stolen from them.
Hearing the light footsteps, he turned as Mary glided toward him, her red hair piled perfectly on her head, her green eyes dancing, the smile on her face so large that he was amazed her jaw managed to stay hinged. Before he could move away, she’d grabbed his hands, pulled him down, rose up on her toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Were he any other man, he would find her need for closeness charming. As it was he suffered through it because he would not do anything to hurt her.
If not for her, they’d all be dead. She had helped them escape from the tower in which their uncle had imprisoned them. She was two years older than he. He’d never known a braver girl or woman.
Although Eve was certainly showing backbone. He’d not truly expected her to be in his residence that morning. He’d thought she’d try to slip away in the darkness. He’d stayed up all night, sitting in the shadows at the end of the hallway, watching. He still didn’t know if he would have let her go or forced her to remain.
“It’s so good to see you,” Mary said, squeezing his shoulders, his upper arms, his hands as though she were trying to assure herself that he did in fact exist.
It was with a great deal of guilt that he stepped beyond her reach. “I can’t stay. I just have a question—”
“I won’t answer it if you won’t at least sit with me in the parlor for a bit and enjoy some tea.”
“I fear I don’t have time.”
“Suit yourself. It was lovely to see you, Rafe.” She spun on her heel and began walking away. He’d forgotten what a stubborn wench she could be.
“One cup,” he ground out.
She pivoted back around, her eyes filled with teasing and victory. He remembered when he’d first seen her again, after his brothers had returned. She’d been engaged to someone else. She’d not looked this happy. He supposed Keswick was good for her. He knew he was good to her. What man wouldn’t be?
“Splendid.”
She reached for him again, as though she would entwine her arm around his, but he managed to gracefully sidestep by leading the way into the parlor. This had been his home when he was a boy and the family would come to London. He should have been comfortable in these surroundings. Instead he simply wanted to leave.
“Keswick’s not here,” she said softly, studying him as they settled into chairs by the fire.
He shrugged. “His whereabouts are of no concern to me. I didn’t come to see him.”
“I wish you would . . . come to see him, that is.”
“Now that Uncle is dead, we have nothing in common, Mary.”
“You might be surprised.”
“I doubt it.”
“You are a stubborn—”
He suspected she was going to say fool, but the arrival of the tea cart interrupted her. He watched as she prepared the brew, but it was Eve’s fingers that he saw. Small, delicate, arranging things so slowly. He’d wanted to watch her eat. What a silly thing to desire. He considered returning home straightaway, after he was done here, but it would not do to make her think that he was anxious to be with her. Because he wasn’t. But he did want to get the clothes situation taken care of, as he abhorred her in black.
Mary extended the cup toward him and he dutifully took it. “I was wondering who sews your clothing.”
She peered at him over the rim of her teacup as she sipped. She didn’t seem surprised, and he suspected she, too, knew he had taken a mistress. “I frequent Madame Charmaine’s on St. James.”
“Splendid.” That would be easy enough to find. He set aside his untouched tea. “Thank you, Mary.”
She looked up at him. “You’re not leaving.”
“I have much to which I must attend.”
“I wasn’t asking, Rafe. I was stating that you are not leaving.”
“Mary—”
“Tell me about this girl, the one for whom you need a seamstress.”
He scowled. “It’s hardly appropriate conversation. She’s my mistress.”
“Would I like her, do you think? We should have you both over for dinner.”
“You’re mad! This is the home of a duke. You don’t bring a mistress in here.”
“If she’s important to you—”
“She’s not.”
She puckered her brow into tiny pleats that had to be painful. “Then why make her your mistress?”
Why the bloody hell did she think? She was married. She knew a man had needs.
“I’m not discussing this with you. Have a good day.”
Before she could aggravate him further, he charged from the room. Eve was no one’s business save his own. He wanted to keep it that way.
“I think this girl might mean something to him,” Mary said as she walked through the garden with Keswick later that morning.
“Men do not marry their mistresses.”
“I’m not implying he should marry her, but she might be able to reach that part of him that still belongs to Pembrook.”
“You do have fanciful thoughts, sweetheart.”
She tightened her hold on his arm. She walked on his unscarred side only because he wouldn’t be able to see her otherwise. The heavy scars that marred his face did not bother her. They never had—except for revealing that he had suffered greatly. She had loved him as a child. She loved him still. She always would.
“He’s still there, you know. The boy he was. It’s only that he’s lost.”
Keswick stopped walking and took her in his arms. “I hope you’re correct about this woman, then. Because I know what it is to be lost. And I know what it is to finally come home. You are my home.”
He kissed her then, deeply and urgently. She would never tire of the passion that swelled up between them. As he lifted her into his arms and began carrying her toward the house, she laughed. It seemed he would never tire of it either.