He was mucking things up. Royally. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had handled a situation so poorly. Perhaps when his brothers first returned. He remembered the hearty hug that Tristan had given Sebastian, and he’d ached because the thought of being wrapped that tightly by such strong arms had forced him to distance himself, to shove whiskey into their hands, to give no indication that he desperately wanted to share in such a joyous reunion. He’d been angry with them then. He still was, but it was the fear of what they might realize, what they might understand of his past that held him back.
He was having a difficult enough time as it was allowing Eve to cling to his arm as they strolled through the rookeries. But he couldn’t risk anyone thinking that she wasn’t with him. He had a reputation down here. He didn’t come often anymore, but legends grew with absence, and enough people would remember him that he knew they wouldn’t be accosted.
He had come to understand at breakfast that she wasn’t fully committed to being with him. He had sensed at the dressmaker’s that she was mortified by her place in his life. In spite of her father’s love for her, he had hidden her away, had made her more of a prisoner than Rafe ever would. Her brother had wanted her out of sight. Rafe had promised to flaunt her. She had to understand the price that entailed.
She also needed to understand the price of leaving. She needed to want to stay because he didn’t want her to go.
He wanted to see her in the red gown that she swore she wouldn’t wear. He wagered she’d change her mind when she saw it. He wanted her at his table during breakfast and dinner. He might even return to the residence for a midday meal.
He wanted to catch wafts of her rose fragrance as he walked through his residence, as he strode up the stairs to find her. He wanted her eyes to widen when she looked up and realized he stood beside her. He wanted her lids lowering when he bent in to kiss her.
He wanted her in his carriage laying out her terms, even knowing that he was the rule maker. He didn’t want to break her, but compromise had never been his strong suit. He had learned early that compromise signaled weakness, that men would take advantage. One’s guard could never be lowered.
Even she, as sweet and innocent as she was, would take advantage, would ruin him, would leave him. She didn’t much like him. He had expected that. He’d never cared one way or the other if anyone fancied him. He was a loner. It suited him.
But she made him feel not quite so lonely. So he wanted her to stay, if only for a while, and then he would let her go.
Evelyn was horrified by what she saw. People in bedraggled clothing hovering near small fires. Children so thin that their eyes were enormous in their fragile faces. Barefoot children in the chilly night. Dirty. Filth everywhere. The rancid stink made her want to gag.
Rafe walked through the narrow alleyway—with poorly constructed buildings squatting on either side—as though he owned it all, as though he weren’t bothered in the least.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“St. Giles.”
“These poor, wretched people.” She wasn’t completely innocent. She knew of the impoverished. Her father had mentioned them once. Had said something needed to be done. Apparently nothing had.
Rafe stopped walking, looked to the side. She followed his gaze toward the dark alcove. She could barely make out the shadow of a woman flattened against the wall, a man rocking against her, grunting. Surely they weren’t—
“Can’t you stop him from treating her like that?” she asked.
“I would if she were struggling against him, but she’s not. It’s her choice.” He turned about and began escorting her back the way they’d come. “He’ll probably give her a coin, or part of his meal, or maybe warmth through the night.”
“Is that what it’s like?” she asked quietly. “Being bedded.”
“For some. Not with me.”
Not against a wall, but in a bed. With him over her, rocking, grunting. Once Geoffrey had shown her his dogs “making puppies.” She’d been too young to truly understand.
Rafe stopped walking again, and she dreaded knowing what he was going to show her this time.
“Do you see that gent standing against the wall over there, watching us?”
Gent? He reminded her of a mouse the cat had once brought her from the stables. He was hunched over as though he didn’t want to be seen, or perhaps he carried invisible burdens. Still, she nodded.
“He’ll give you a hundred quid for your jewelry. But don’t let anyone see him handing it over to you. They’ll try to take it after you walk away. In that building over there—” He nodded toward a place that had a single lantern hanging by the door. “—you can get a bed for the night for a couple of pence. You’ll share it with others, of course. Hopefully none of them will have lice.”
She jerked her gaze up to him. “You’re leaving me here?”
“If you wish to be free of me. Last night you stayed because of fate, because of the flip of a coin. Tonight, if you climb back into the carriage with me, I want you to do it because you truly understand it is the better option. It does not come without a price. I know that. Even if I take you to a less seedy part of London and leave you there, eventually I fear fate will lead you here.”
She looked around, trying to envision herself in this squalor.
“I am not fool enough to believe you will be happy with me,” he said, “but I do have hope that you can be content during the short time you will be with me.”
Hope. She had never considered him to be a man who would hope, who would voice that word. Her mother had been a mistress, and an earl had fallen in love with her. Would this man come to love her? She very much doubted it.
She would not be happy in the rookeries, of that she was certain. She would not be content. She would be cold, hungry, and dirty. And very much alone.
She angled her chin haughtily. “I’m not certain why you felt compelled to bring me here. I gave you my answer last night.”
“I must have misunderstood. I thought you were having doubts.”
Tightening her fingers on his arm, she shook her head.
“Good.”
He led her back to the carriage. After he had handed her up, he said something to the footman, then climbed in and took his place opposite her. He tugged on his waistcoat as though it had become askew.
“Why are we not leaving?” she asked.
“My footman is spreading around a few coins.”
She suspected it was a good many more than a few. Eventually, the carriage bolted off, thank goodness. It was awful of her, but she felt the need for a bath.
“I’m surprised we weren’t attacked,” she said.
“They know me there.”
“Because of your kindness?”
He chuckled low. “No. Because it is where I lived for many years during that time when I was lost, as Madame so romantically put it.”
She tried not to look surprised. She wondered if she would ever be as skilled as he was at revealing so little. “Why were you here? Why didn’t you leave, like your brothers?”
“Because they didn’t take me with them.” She heard the bitterness in his voice. “I was only ten. Our uncle wished to possess the dukedom, but three heirs stood in his way. So off we went until we were old enough to reclaim what was ours.”
She wanted to wrap her arms around the boy he’d been. As innocent and trusting as she had been until yesterday evening, he must have been more so. A duke’s legitimate son. He would have been pampered by all. “That’s the reason you know what it is to be me.”
“I don’t know what it is to be you, Eve. I know what it is to be where you are. To be without anyone or anything. To be hungry, to be cold, to be unsheltered. I know what it is to do things that you’d have rather not done, but you do it because you must. You come to accept it. To live with it. In time, perhaps to even admire yourself a bit. That you survived when no one thought you would.” He cleared his throat as though punishing it for speaking such revealing words, and turned his attention back to the window. “I’m glad you didn’t stay there.”
She thought at some point she might look back and be as glad—
“It would have been a colossal mistake,” he added.
She almost laughed. Had she ever known a man as pompous and self-assured? Surely not Geoffrey. Not even her father.
“I still shan’t wear the red.”
He flashed a grin, brief and white in the shadows. She didn’t know why it thrilled her to know that she was responsible, even if the smile didn’t last longer than the blink of an eye.
“Oh, I think you will.”
Arrogant man. She held the words back because she didn’t want to ruin this moment of . . . she wasn’t quite certain what it was. Understanding, acceptance. Perhaps after a time they might even become friends.
The tension within the carriage had abated, until it seemed almost pleasant. She tried to imagine what it might be like to have a gentleman court her, take her about in his conveyance. Of course there would be a chaperone. She supposed she really needed to give up on those childish thoughts. On the other hand if he truly gave her his residence and all it contained, she could become a powerful woman, one with enough independence that a gentleman might be willing to overlook her unfortunate beginnings. It was a heady thought.
The carriage turned down the drive. She didn’t want to acknowledge the sense of relief that washed over her. Although nerves quickly followed. She’d made her commitment to him clear. Perhaps tonight would be the one when he came to her, when he claimed her as his mistress.
They jostled to a stop. A footman opened the door. Rafe stepped out, then handed her down, releasing her as soon as her feet touched the pebbles.
“Are you hungry?” he asked as they walked side by side, not touching, toward the steps.
She realized with a suddenness that she was famished. “Very.”
“I thought we might enjoy a late repast on the terrace.”
“I’d like that, yes.”
“Good.”
They went up the steps. The door opened.
Laurence bowed. “Welcome home, sir. Miss.”
“We’ll be dining on the terrace,” Rafe informed the butler.
“Very good, sir.”
Rafe turned to her. “I shall see you on the terrace in half an hour. No need to dress formally.”
Without waiting for a reply, he jaunted up the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. Not that there was anything for her to say, but she was going in the same direction. They could have gone together.
“He always requires a bit of solitude after returning home,” Laurence said kindly.
She snapped her attention to him. “Have you been with him long?”
Laurence looked up at the ceiling. “Six years now, I believe. Ever since he took the residence from Lord Laudon.”
“Purchased it from him, you mean?”
He pursed his lips. “I don’t think so. Lord Laudon was notorious for his gambling habit. I believe the residence settled his debt.”
“So you were employed by Lord Laudon.”
“No, miss. Until Mr. Easton brought me here and saw that I was properly trained in my duties, I had the misfortune of living in the squalor of St. Giles. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see that dinner is prepared.”
She watched him walk off, then glanced up the stairs where her . . . what was the word for a man who had a mistress? Her lover? Her paramour? Her protector? Whatever he was, he was a mystery. Brute or savior? Or a combination of both?
What would he eventually be to her?