Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03]

by Lord of Wicked Intentions

  He skewed up his mouth, grabbed the bag and the girl’s hand, and darted for the door. Suddenly the girl was back, her scrawny arms wrapped tightly around his leg. His breath caught as he stiffened, fighting not to kick her off, not to send her flying across the shop, through the large window that looked out on the street. She couldn’t weigh more than a feather and yet he was immobilized as though heavy metal chains had been wrapped about him. The world began to retreat as darkness hovered at the edge of his vision. He ran his tongue over the hard candy in his mouth and concentrated on the sugar. Sweet, sweet sugar.

  “Come on, Lizzie!” the boy yelled.

  Yes, go, Lizzie, for God’s sake, go.

  She released her stranglehold and raced out the door, followed by the lad.

  Rafe forced out a long slow breath, fought to calm his racing heart as mortification threatened to swamp him. How could a mere slip of a girl unman him so?

  “So is that it for you today, then, sir?”

  The voice came from far away, through a tunnel. He couldn’t go out into the streets yet. He’d be staggering on unsteady legs.

  He managed to turn toward the clerk, to hold his face in a mask of boredom. “No, I’ll take a large box of chocolates as well.”

  The clerk gave a nod and reached for a dark brown box. “The large box holds twelve pieces and we offer a variety of twenty-four. Which would you like?”

  Something to concentrate on. Good. He was beginning to feel more like himself. He looked at the display case and the assortment of chocolates. The various shapes, the tiny decorations on each of them. “Doesn’t matter.”

  The clerk reached for a dark square.

  “No, not that one,” Rafe said. “The one in the shape of a leaf.” Eve would like that one. It was intriguing with all the little lines carved in it.

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Then the clover … and the diamond-shaped one. But not the heart.” Wrong message would be sent there. He ended up selecting all the pieces because it seemed the clerk was a poor judge of what would appeal to a lady. He wasn’t certain when he decided the chocolates would be for Eve, or why it was important to him that the box contained the proper pieces for her. She might not even enjoy chocolate.

  With box in hand, he strode from the shop and headed back toward the dressmaker’s. They should be finished by now. The farther he walked, the heavier the package became. It wasn’t something she’d asked for. Why did he even think she might desire it? She might misinterpret its purpose. Think he’d begun to develop feelings for her, or worse, that he cared.

  Whatever had he been thinking to spend fifteen precious moments selecting bits of chocolate?

  He spotted a bedraggled woman curled in a corner, pressed against some steps. He hardly broke his stride as he bent down and set the box beside her.

  “Thank ye, kind sir!” she yelled after him.

  Kind? If he was kind, he’d let Eve go. But then if he was kind, he never would have taken her to begin with.

  When Evelyn heard the bell above the door tinkling, she knew it was him. She didn’t know how she knew. It should sound the same no matter who opened the door, and yet she knew.

  Madame had just finished helping her dress—for which she was grateful. She suspected he wouldn’t care if she was clothed or not. If he wanted to see her, he would barge into the back room and see her.

  Madame arched a brow. “You think it’s him.”

  “How do you know?”

  She smiled. “A little shiver went through you. Is he a good lover?”

  She felt the heat of embarrassment swarm over her face, over her body.

  “How can you be so innocent?” Madame asked.

  “I should probably go.” She didn’t know why she walked with such purpose, why she didn’t linger. Being back in his company meant she might indeed discover if he was a good lover—tonight. How much of a reprieve was he giving her?

  It was him. He was studying the bolts of cloth again. He held his hat in one hand, had removed his glove from the other, and was rubbing red silk between his fingers and thumb. His movements were so incredibly slow, as though he was savoring the sensation of each thread as he touched it. Would theirs be a leisurely mating? Would he relish the feel of her skin as much as he did the cloth?

  Ever so casually he glanced over, his lids half lowered as though he wanted to shutter his thoughts, not that she would have been able to read them anyway. “Are you finished with the measurements?”

  “We are, my lord,” Madame said, and Eve could have sworn that Rafe cringed, although the change to his expression happened so quickly that had she not been focused on him, she’d have not seen it.

  And why was it that she seemed incapable of taking her eyes from him?

  He was as handsome as ever, but something had changed. She couldn’t quite figure it out. It had to do with his mood. Angry? Frustrated? Disappointed? Would she ever learn to read him, to determine what he thought, what he felt?

  “I have some designs in mind for your lady—”

  And again there was that quick contortion of his features.

  “—that I could share with you now,” Madame said. “If you have the time.”

  “Yes, I’d like to get this matter finished as quickly as possible.”

  Madame brought over sheaves of paper, and while they discussed patterns with their back to her as though her opinion was of no importance, she wandered over to the chair before the window where a true lady had been sitting earlier. She glanced out on the street, on people bustling by, going places, doing as they pleased, making their decisions.

  Her father had told her to never envy anyone anything because she would never know what price they had paid for whatever she was envying. But at that moment it was very difficult not to covet the freedom to go about life as one pleased. She had no control over what she would wear, what it would look like, the shade of the material. She had no choice as to where she would live. She had no say in when she would be bedded—or even how she would be bedded, because he had rules. He governed all.

  Perhaps she would be disagreeable. At the very least she could be unenthusiastic.

  “I’m ready to leave.”

  Startled, she looked out on the darkness and wondered when night had fallen. Glancing up at him, for a brief moment, she could have sworn that he looked as sad as she felt.

  With a nod, she rose. He didn’t offer his arm, but merely led her out of the shop. She wasn’t good enough to touch in public. Perhaps she would be fortunate, and he would decide she wasn’t good enough to touch in private either.

  The footman assisted her into the carriage while Rafe spoke to the driver. The carriage rocked as he climbed inside, sitting across from her. Then the conveyance was rattling along. She stared out the window, much safer than staring at him. She didn’t want him to think that he intrigued her with his quicksilver expressions, his caustic moods, his ability to know exactly what he wanted and to never doubt himself. She doubted so much. Doubted that she could do this.

  “She intends to charge you triple,” she said quietly.

  “I thought she might.”

  She’d expected anger not amusement to accompany his reply. She peered over at him. “You don’t sound at all bothered by it.”

  “I can hardly blame her when I practically forced her into doing my bidding at the expense of some highborn lady who might very well find herself without a new gown to wear to a ball.”

  “She referred to you as a lost lord.”

  He was the one to look out the window now. With the little bit of illumination filtering in from the gaslights, she could see his jaw clench, his eyes narrow. “We shan’t talk about that, Eve.”

  She interlaced her fingers. She wanted to know about his past, to know what had shaped him into the man he was. Why did his servants not refer to him as my lord? Why did he have a gambling establishment? He should be like Geoffrey. A man of leisure.

  Then she thought, Thank God he isn�
�t like Geoffrey.

  “What shall we talk about then?” she asked.

  “We shan’t talk at all. That’s not why you’re with me.”

  “But if we don’t know anything at all about each other, it’s going to be incredibly awkward, don’t you think?” She didn’t want to sound mulish but she didn’t want her body to be the only thing about her with which he was familiar.

  “I shall ensure it’s not awkward.”

  “How can you do that when simply riding in a carriage together is awkward? And I don’t like the red that so fascinated you. I shan’t wear it.”

  His gaze landed on her so swiftly and so heavily that she could have sworn she heard a thud. “You will.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You seem to have forgotten the terms of this arrangement.”

  She clutched her fingers until they ached, until the pain traveled up her arms to her neck. “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can be your mistress.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Did I not tell you that I was a good judge of character?”

  She swallowed hard. Was he not going to force her into this? “I can give you my jewelry to pay you back for the bed you gave me last night.” She started to reach into her pocket—

  “Keep it.”

  What did he mean by that? Keep it because he wasn’t going to let her go, or because he was and she would need it?

  The carriage rolled to a stop.

  “We’re here,” he said succinctly.

  “Where is that?”

  “The life you think you’d prefer.”

  Chapter 7

  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.