by Darcy Burke
She hoped not.
Chapter 11
Taking Anne back to Paternoster Row today was a very bad idea.
Rafe knew it the moment he saw her standing in the Grosvenor Mews, her face cloaked with a veil and her body draped in a stunning walking costume trimmed with gold buttons and piping, with a long, dark blue spencer that mostly covered the ivory skirt beneath. After pulling the cabriolet to a stop and helping her inside, he climbed in beside her and caught her vibrant floral and spice scent.
A very bad idea.
Nevertheless, he drove through the mews and went east. All the while, he worked hard not to think of her proximity or what had happened the last time they’d made this trip together.
“What is in the package?” he asked, nodding toward the item she carried.
“It’s a pillow for Annie’s room. I did promise her something. I embroidered some books along the edges.”
Rafe was extremely touched by her thoughtfulness. “You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” In fact, he’d met only one other woman who came close, his sister notwithstanding.
“Thank you.” Their gazes caught and held, and it seemed the electricity he felt also swirled between them, indicating she felt it too. At length she said, “I wondered if you might tell me how you came to inherit the bookshop.”
He knew the more time he spent with her, the more she would want to know about him. He felt the same way about her, except she was rather open about herself, her past, her feelings. Whereas he was purposefully mysterious. For her protection.
Or for yours?
Rafe shrugged the thought away. “When I was young, I liked to spend time there. Mr. Fletcher was the owner, and he allowed me to read as if he operated a library.” A smile crept over his mouth unbidden. “He was a good man.”
“Where did you live?”
“In Cheapside.” He shifted uncomfortably because that wasn’t true. At least not back then. “Perhaps I’ll show you where later, if we have time.”
She turned toward him, and though he couldn’t see her face clearly through the veil, he could sense her enthusiasm. “Really? That would be wonderful. I’d love to see it.”
He returned to what she’d asked originally. “Mr. Fletcher left me his shop when he died, as well as a fund.”
“And that’s how you started to accumulate your wealth?” She briefly touched his thigh. “I apologize for my curiosity. Knowing you had nothing and elevated yourself to where you are today is astonishing.”
He heard the pride in her voice and couldn’t help but feel a bit of the emotion himself. But the sensation quickly evaporated because the truth was far more sinister than she thought. He’d already accumulated some of his wealth—the start of it, anyway—before Fletcher died. In fact, Fletcher had left him the shop and a modest sum of money in the hope that Rafe would turn his back on his criminal enterprises entirely.
Rafe had wanted to. But wanting something and having the means, both externally and internally to do it, were completely different things. It wasn’t until he’d met Eliza that he’d finally wanted to leave his criminal life behind.
“Your curiosity is understandable,” he said evenly. “Mr. Fletcher’s generosity was paramount to my success. I was fortunate.”
“You deserved that, at least.” Her voice was soft but carried a hint of steel. “I spoke to Anthony and to my godfather. When would you like to have the dinner?”
“Soon, I should think.”
“Thursday?” she asked.
“That would be fine, thank you. I appreciate your help.” Rafe had his own curiosity about how her meeting with his uncle had gone. Had he betrayed anything about what he’d done nearly thirty years ago?
Rafe had gone over and over the conversations they’d had, trying to pick out anything his uncle had said that could incriminate him. There was nothing, of course. Except his anger and disappointment—that had been clear. But that reaction proved nothing. It made sense that a man who’d been an earl for twenty-seven years and would now lose the title and everything that went with it would be upset.
Anne settled back against the seat and in so doing brought herself more closely against him. Her heat pressed into his thigh and his arm. He should move away, but he did not.
“Are you trying to make yourself irresistible?” He immediately cursed himself for flirting with her. “Never mind. Whether that is your objective or not, it’s beyond your control.” At least where he was concerned. He hadn’t wanted a woman the way he wanted her since Eliza. And if that didn’t frighten him, nothing could.
“Are you saying I don’t even have to try?” she asked coyly.
He couldn’t help but laugh. Then he steered the conversation to their upcoming visit with Annie and whether Anne had already finished the book about Greek mythology.
“Of course. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Annie.”
He couldn’t imagine she would ever disappoint anyone.
When they arrived at the bookshop, Rafe gave the cabriolet over to the tiger, who went to park in Warwick Lane. Rafe guided Anne into the shop where she pulled the veil from her face, flipping it up over her bonnet.
“Oh, I’m taking this thing off,” she muttered, removing the hat.
John greeted them warmly.
Anne looked about. “Where is Annie?”
“She’ll be here presently,” John said.
Annie dashed from the back of the shop, looking much tidier than she had on their first meeting. She sent a cautious glance toward Rafe before settling her attention on Anne with a smile. “Good afternoon.”
Anne gave her a broad smile. “Good afternoon, Annie. I’m so pleased to see you again. How have you settled in here?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“Wonderful.” Anne held out the wrapped pillow. “I brought you this for your room.”
Her eyes lighting, Annie’s mouth formed a small O as she accepted the package. “Thank you.”
“Go on, open it,” Anne encouraged with a smile.
Annie carefully tore the paper away and exposed the small ivory pillow. Colorful embroidered books of varying sizes marched along the edges. “It’s so beautiful.” She lifted her gaze to Anne’s. “I’ve never owned anything so lovely.”
“Well, you do now,” Anne said matter-of-factly. “Did you read the book so we may discuss it?”
Annie blinked as if she was having a hard time, and Rafe knew she must. To be the recipient of so much kindness and generosity after what she was used to was almost unbelievable. “I did. I thought we might go to the back of the shop.”
Anne looked toward Rafe. “Should Mr. Mallory join us?”
A look of distress creased Annie’s features. “Is that your name?”
Rafe exhaled. The child ought to know him as Mr. Bowles, but it was likely she also knew him as Mr. Blackwell if anyone had told her who he used to be. Several of the folks on Paternoster Row had met him as Rafe Blackwell. Indeed, John sometimes had trouble thinking of him as Bowles.
That was the problem with changing your name and not severing ties with everyone who knew you as the previous name. This bookshop was the one constant from when he’d been Blackwell and then Bowles. He’d divested everything as Blackwell over the past few years and replaced them with Mr. Bowles’ interests. Now he was on the verge of changing his identity yet again, but he didn’t need to hide that he’d been Mr. Bowles. Furthermore, that would be impossible since that was how he’d been introduced to Society.
“I am actually Lord Stone,” Rafe said. “Or I shall be, perhaps by the end of the week.” He’d explained the revelation to John when he’d stopped by the shop Saturday afternoon.
Annie’s eyes rounded. “A lord?” She looked to Anne. “Er, I don’t know how to curtsey.”
“I can teach you, if you’d like,” Anne said. “Come, show me to the back, and we’ll have a lesson.”
Nodding shyly, Annie clutched the pillow to her chest and led her toward t
he rear of the shop. Anne cast a look at Rafe over her shoulder, silently asking if he was coming.
“I’ll be along shortly,” he said before turning to John. “I see she’s wearing the clothes I brought on Saturday.”
“Indeed. She was most grateful. Please thank your sister.”
Selina had gathered the clothing for him and been pleased to do so. Rafe took a step toward the back to join the ladies.
“Ah, you should be aware that there is something…afoot back there,” John said, his brows climbing.
“What’s that?”
John cracked a smiled. “I won’t spoil the specifics. Suffice it to say that all the help you’ve given is now being directed back at you.”
Oh God, what did that mean? And why was John clearly amused by it?
“I see.” Except he did not. But he planned to.
Rafe stalked to the back of the shop. There was a storeroom, an office, and a sitting area near the stairs that led up to the apartments upstairs. It was in the latter where he found Anne, along with three boys, two of whom still lived upstairs and one who had moved out nearly a year before. He’d taken lodgings in Cheapside where he’d become a tailor’s apprentice. The lad was quite skilled with a needle. Rafe had kept in contact with him and had even commissioned his shop to make some of his clothing for the Season.
“Daniel,” Rafe said, extending his hand to the sixteen-year-old with thick russet hair and sizing him up. “You’re looking taller. What brings you here today?”
“I, ah, had the afternoon off, sir. Charlie and Bart invited me to come by.”
Rafe looked around the room and noted a table and two chairs had been set in the center. The table was adorned with a nice but simple cloth, and a complement of mismatched dishes.
He looked at Anne, who was seated in one of the chairs. “Where’s Annie?”
“She went to fetch tea,” Anne replied.
The youngest of the boys, Charlie, dashed up the stairs while Bart went to hold the other chair. “Will you sit, sir? We have tea and cakes for you and Mrs. Dazzling.”
“Mrs. Dazzling.” Rafe blinked at Anne, who lifted a shoulder. “Mr. Entwhistle told you her name?” Rafe asked Bart, a lad of thirteen with dark blond hair and an eye that didn’t track normally, always straggling behind the other when his gaze fixed on a subject.
“Yes, sir,” Bart said. “Will you sit?” he repeated.
Rafe went and took the chair. “Thank you.” He leaned toward Anne. “I thought you were going to discuss the book with Annie.”
“I thought so too.” Anne lifted a shoulder, looking as bewildered as he felt. “I showed her how to curtsey, but then she insisted I sit.”
John’s words came back to him—they were trying to help him? How?
Annie came down the stairs bearing a teapot wrapped in a cloth. She set it on the table as Charlie followed her with a plate of biscuits.
“Thank you,” Anne said. “This looks lovely. Won’t you be joining us?” she asked the children.
They all shook their heads, with Daniel answering, “No. This is for you. In fact, we’ll leave you alone now.” He looked to the others, and they began to file up the stairs, starting with Charlie.
Anne turned in her chair, looking at Annie. “I thought we were going to discuss the book.”
“I, er, I didn’t finish it.”
“You said you did,” Anne said with a slight, confused frown.
Annie gave her a sheepish look. “I forgot.” She ran up the stairs, prohibiting further discussion.
Daniel was the last to go, but before he got out of sight, Rafe called out to him. “What are you really doing here? If it’s to see me, going upstairs is not the way to do that.”
Pink swathed Daniel’s cheeks. “I forgot something. I’ll be back down shortly.” He ran upstairs, leaving Rafe and Anne alone.
“Have you any idea what’s going on?” she asked.
“No.” He again thought of what John had said. Rafe took in the nicely set table, the biscuits, the tea. Could they be trying to play the role of matchmaker?
“Would you care for tea?” Anne asked, picking up the pot.
“Yes, please.”
She poured their tea and then added sugar to hers. “Sugar?” At his nod, she finished his cup.
He picked it up and took a tentative sip to gauge the warmth. Nicely hot, but perhaps the weakest tea he’d ever tasted.
Anne sampled hers and, judging from the movement of her eyebrows, had come to the same conclusion regarding the strength of the brew. “Well, it’s certainly not coffee.”
He laughed. “No, it is not.” He took another sip before setting his cup down.
Taking a biscuit from the plate, Anne nibbled a corner of the square. Again, she reacted, this time her eyes widened slightly and her lips puckered.
“Oh dear,” he murmured, plucking a biscuit to try. He took a small bite and recoiled at the amount of salt. “Perhaps not as sweet as one might expect.”
Anne set her biscuit on her saucer and used a napkin to dab her mouth. “Bless them for trying.”
“Now I know not to refer any of them for a baking apprenticeship.”
Giggling softly, Anne set her napkin on the table. “They went to a great deal of effort. I wonder why.”
Rafe had his suspicions but didn’t want to share them. He didn’t need any help when it came to trying to pair him with Anne. It was taking all his control not to couple with her, physically or otherwise.
Anne studied him, a smile curling her lips. “They care for you very much.”
“How do you know?”
She’d only been alone with them for a few minutes.
“They were exceptionally kind when I arrived, saying that any friend of yours was a friend of theirs and they were delighted to meet me.” Her brow creased. “Now that I think of it, they seemed to put extra emphasis on the word friend.”
“Hmmm.” That was all Rafe could think to say.
“That is how I introduced myself to Annie last week. But this tea for just the two of us is clearly a planned endeavor by the lot of them. You’ve no idea why?”
Rafe caught a flash of bright blond hair—belonging to Charlie—peeking around the wall of the staircase. “Charlie? Is there something you need?”
There was no response, but neither was there the telltale sound of feet ascending the stairs. Rafe tried again. “Charlie? Come out, please.”
A moment later, Charlie crept down the stairs and trudged to the table, guilt etched into his features. “Yes, sir?”
“Why are you spying on us?”
The boy was ten, with a sweet nature. Rafe had brought him to John last fall after Charlie’s mother had died.
“They sent me down to see what’s going on. Whether you were kissing yet or not.” Charlie made a face. “I didn’t want to come, but they said I was smallest, so it should be me.”
Anne’s brows shot up as she darted a look at Rafe. He would have laughed if he didn’t, in fact, want to kiss her so badly.
“Is that the point of this endeavor?” Rafe asked. “To get us to kiss?”
“Annie said you’d get married if you kissed.”
Hell. What if they’d already done more than that?
Anne put her hands in her lap. “And you all think we should get married?”
Charlie nodded vigorously. “Mr. Bowles needs someone to look after him the way he looks after all of us.”
Rafe stood. “All right, Charlie. Tell your friends this was very nice, but…Mrs. Dazzling and I are not getting married. Nor are we kissing.”
Exhaling loudly, Charlie started to turn toward the stairs. “They won’t like it when I tell them.”
Rafe went to the boy and touched his shoulder. “I appreciate your efforts very much. Please thank them for me, will you?”
“I will. Annie’s still going to be disappointed.” As he climbed back up the stairs, Rafe’s throat tightened.
“That was very sweet,” Ann
e said softly from just to his left.
He hadn’t realized she’d gotten up from the table. “Yes.”
“You have quite an extended family.”
Rafe blinked in surprise. He’d never thought of them like that. He helped children when he could. Some went on to find their way, and a few, like Daniel, even kept in touch. Others accepted his support for a time, then disappeared. Thankfully, there were fewer of those.
“Selina and I were alone. The man who cared for us, who claimed to be our uncle, wasn’t particularly kind.” Rafe would have given anything for an adult to take a genuine interest in him, beyond what use he could provide. There’d been one woman—a friend’s mother—but she’d struggled at the time, drinking too much gin and with too many children of her own. Still, she’d looked after him and Selina as much as she could. He’d kept in contact with her even after she’d stopped drinking and gotten married, and Selina had rekindled their relationship when she’d returned to London a few months prior.
Anne touched his sleeve, her fingers curling around his arm just below his elbow. “You don’t say much about your childhood. I know your sister went to school. Did you?”
“No. I was privately tutored.” The lie fell from his tongue, but he supposed it was perversely true. He just hadn’t been tutored in the same things he would have been as the son of an earl.
“How did that man come to care for you? What happened to him?”
Rafe brushed his hand through his hair, effectively dislodging her grasp. “I don’t like to discuss it. I don’t like questions.”
“I know. But I can’t seem to stop myself asking them.”
Rafe went back to his chair, turning his back to her. “He was responsible for our kidnapping. He brought us to London from Stonehaven. He died a long time ago.”
“Why would he take you away?” The anguish in her question was answered by the anger trapped inside him.
“I can’t ask him, can I?” Nor did he need to. Edgar had taken two children whom he could use to fatten his own pockets through swindling and thievery.
He exhaled and took a sip of his weak, lukewarm tea, not because he wanted it but because it was something to do. “This was very nice,” he whispered, looking at the table and moved by the children’s thoughtfulness. “We should at least finish one cup of tea and our biscuits.”
