In the end, they’d all been forced to leave.
He drew back the thick heavy curtains, inhaled Eve’s rose scent as she walked by, and followed her onto the balcony. She went to the very edge, wrapping her hands around the carved railing. Even there, though, the shadows kept her hidden from those on the floor below. No one would ever know she’d visited. Although he suspected her phantom scent would haunt the hallways through which they’d walked. It was a mistake to bring her here, to risk having a memory of her within his club. When he let her go, he wanted nothing of her to linger. He wanted no recollections outside the bed.
Yet here he was enjoying the vision of her profile, while she studied everything spread out before her like a feast of sin. He could hear the cards being shuffled, the dice being thrown, the wheels being turned. He could hear the exclamations of joy and the groans of despair. He didn’t have to look onto the gaming floor to know what he would see.
“There’s so much activity. It’s very much alive, isn’t it?”
He didn’t have to ask her to explain. He knew too well what she meant. It was a pulsing room of activity. Always something was happening. A card turned, a die tumbling to a stop, a ball dropping into a slot.
“What appealed to you about this place?”
Had he ever known a woman who asked so many questions? Had he ever known another woman who made him want to answer? Inquiries irritated him. They were bothersome, intrusive. Yet when she questioned, a small kernel of something in his soul snapped to attention and wondered, foolishly, ridiculously, if she cared.
“The money I could rake in.”
She peered over at him, gave him what he suspected she thought was a knowing smile. “You could also lose it.”
“The house always wins in the end, Eve. It wouldn’t be unusual for a million pounds to exchange hands tonight, and most of it will go in the Rakehell’s coffers.”
She spun around, her eyes wide. “You’re joshing.”
He gave a small shake of his head.
“That’s obscene.”
“There are worse obscenities.”
She scrutinized him, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “Such as,” she finally asked.
Using children for labor. Sending them down into the mines, in the dark, alone—except for the rats, and the roaches, and other multilegged creatures that bite—expecting them to sit still, open and close a door as needed for the horses and wagons. Sending them deeper into the pits, crawling into tiny spaces where they barely fit, having the dirt cave in on them until they thought they’d suffocate.
But he couldn’t tell her any of that. It wasn’t meant to be brought up to the surface. It needed to remain buried as deeply as the coal.
“Wortham for one,” he said flatly. Perhaps the other lords who had been there that night as well. He was ready to move on. “I think we’re done here.”
She had thought he would escort her out to the carriage. Instead, they trudged up another flight of stairs.
She had to admit that Geoffrey was an obscenity, at least the manner in which he’d treated her. However, she didn’t think for a single moment that Rafe had been considering Geoffrey while she’d waited for his answer. His facial features had not moved at all, but within his icy blue eyes she’d seen something—only a flicker—yet it was deep, powerful, and haunting. Something from his past perhaps, an incident, a person, a place that had been part of the process that had forged him into the man he was.
For a moment she’d thought he was going to share it. She didn’t know if she wanted him to. She had a keen desire to understand him, but she was beginning to think it would come at a high price—that his nightmares might become hers.
At the top of the stairs, in the middle of the hallway, he opened a heavy mahogany door. She stepped through into a large living area, not quite as sparsely furnished as his office but he obviously cared nothing at all for knickknacks. She could see hallways branching off on either side of it and assumed they led to other rooms, bedchambers perhaps.
“My living quarters.”
“Why do you have these when you are in possession of a lovely residence?” she asked as she wandered over to the large bare windows. She looked out on the street below. The fog was rolling in, giving an ominous feel to everything around which it swirled.
“I prefer here. The residence … I acquired it because it was within my power to do so.”
She peered over at him. “This is where you’ll reside once the residence is mine.”
“In all likelihood, yes. Although perhaps I’ll purchase another before that happens.” He leaned against the edge of the window.
“You don’t fancy draperies.”
“Why put glass in a wall and then block the view you’ve obtained?”
She turned her attention back to the street. She could see gentlemen coming and going. “No one leaving has quite as lively a step as those arriving.”
“When they first get here, they think Lady Luck sits on their shoulder.”
“I suppose they soon discover that she doesn’t.”
Reaching out, he tucked a few loose strands behind her ear. A warm shiver flowed through her, but she kept her gaze focused on the street. It might prove very dangerous to look at him just then, with other rooms—bedchambers—nearby.
“She doesn’t exist. She’s merely a figment of some poor fool’s imagination. Do you know the worst thing that can happen to a man the first time he visits a gambling hell?”
“He loses everything?”
“He wins.”
She snapped her gaze over to him. He was watching her intently, but she was coming to realize that he always studied her as though he wished to decipher every aspect, every nuance, of her. She had journeyed through life paying little attention to anything of importance, while he allowed nothing to escape his scrutiny. He survived while she stuttered along, striving to find her way. She could learn from him.
“It’s the winning that causes the obsession,” he said. “That momentary exhilaration as though you’re on top of the world, unbeatable, invincible. You experience it once and you never forget it. No matter how often you lose after that, you keep seeking that elusive thrill that for a time made you forget all the troubles in your life.”
“So which was I, that night at Geoffrey’s? Something to possess because you could? Or something to win for the momentary delight it would bring?”
He moved nearer, took the strands that had again worked themselves free, and sifted them through his fingers as though he’d never seen them before. “Some day some gent will win your heart, and the elation will far exceed anything he will experience with the turn of a card or the roll of the dice. He won’t care that you’re ruined or that your father never married your mother.” His knuckles grazed her cheek before he slid his hand around to cup her chin. With the roughened pad of his thumb, he painted sensations over her lower lip.
She realized that he’d neatly avoided answering her question by filling her with hope that she might still possess all for which she yearned. “Will you ever marry?”
The words came out on a whisper of air. She didn’t know why it mattered if he took a wife, but suddenly it did. Would he bring his lady here, teach her how to defend herself, show her his apartments? Would he allow her to put up draperies?
He shifted his gaze up to her eyes, and she saw the resignation and the truth there before he spoke.
“No.”
A simple word that left no doubt, that allowed no space for the unexpected.
“What if she wins your heart?”
“She would first have to find it.”
His mouth covered hers, with purpose, his tongue impatient to dance with hers. The intensity had her swaying, reaching up to wrap her arms around him for balance, to keep her knees from buckling and carrying her to the floor.
He grabbed her wrists before her hands grazed his shoulders, brought her arms back, shackled them in one firm grip, all the while continuing to p
lunder her mouth, to somehow keep her near even as he sought to put some distance between them.
Why would a man as sensual as he was, with such voracious kisses that threatened to devour her, have such an aversion to her holding him? How could he remain so aware of every small movement she made when she was lost in the frenzy of his coercing her to respond in kind, to deepen, to explore, to savor?
In the farthest recesses of her mind, she remembered that she was standing in front of an uncurtained window and that surely they must be providing entertainment for those arriving and leaving, but she didn’t care. She. Did. Not. Care.
The realization slammed into her with frightening resolve. She wanted this kiss. His kiss. She wanted his mouth on hers. She wanted the taste of him, the rasp of his bristled jaw against her soft skin, the echo of his groans surrounding her.
Or was she the one moaning and sighing?
When had she begun to anticipate his kissing her? When had she begun to anticipate being in his presence? When had she decided that she desperately wanted to unravel the mystery of him?
He had no heart. He was not kind. He would never marry.
He was the absolute worst person for whom she should develop any sort of feelings, and yet there they were. Only seedlings now, but they would grow, and then where would she be? A woman broken in body and spirit.
Only she didn’t think he’d break her. He was taking too much care not to, not rushing her, not forcing her before she was ready.
He tore his mouth from hers and, breathing harshly, he studied her as though she confounded him. Slowly, so very slowly, he released his hold on her, one finger unfurling at a time. His gaze slid over to the hallway, and he looked as though he were measuring how many steps it might take to get her there and beyond—to his bedchamber.
“Not here,” she said quietly. She didn’t know why it mattered, but it did. She didn’t want him to take her in a place of sin and vice and debauchery.
His gaze came back and landed softly on her, the icy blue not quite so frigid. “No, not here.”
They left then, with him escorting her down the stairs and along the corridors until they reached the back door, the one through which they’d entered what seemed an eternity ago.
“Was it all that you imagined?” he asked as he shoved open the door.
“I thought it rather dull and plain, actually. I don’t know why I expected more excitement.”
She walked down the steps to the carriage waiting in the mews for them. A footman opened the door. Rafe handed her up, but didn’t follow her inside.
“The driver will see you home safely,” he said.
“You’re not coming?” She wondered why she was disappointed.
“I have some things to which I must attend.”
“When will you return to the residence?”
“I’m not sure.”
After shutting the door, he walked to the steps and stood there, watching the carriage, watching her. She could see him clearly through the window.
The carriage rocked and was off. It turned and she lost sight of Rafe. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen anyone who looked so alone.
Chapter 12
The clock on the mantel was veering toward eleven when she awoke. She never slept in this late. She supposed that was what happened when one entertained gentlemen at all hours of the night.
She climbed out of bed, rang for her maid, walked to the window, and drew back the draperies, not surprised to discover it was a dreary overcast day. Although it hardly matched her mood. One of these nights he would come to her and they would do more than talk. It was the terms to which she’d agreed. She would honor them. She might not have much left to her but she had her word.
The door opened and she glanced over her shoulder at her maid. The air in the room didn’t take on an energetic charge, seem to shrink in size, or become more alive with her entry.
“I shall want fresh linens on the bed today.”
Lila seemed surprised. “Yes, miss. We put on fresh linens every day.”
Of course they did.
Lila went to the wardrobe and retrieved the mourning dress in which Evelyn had arrived that fateful night. It seemed an eternity had passed. Suddenly Evelyn despised the thing.
“No, the newer one. I have an errand to run. I’ll want you to accompany me, and we’ll need three strapping footmen to come with us.”
“Yes, miss.”
“I shall want to meet with cook. I need to look over the menu for tonight’s dinner. I want it to be something special.”
The maid blinked, and Evelyn realized that she didn’t need to reveal her entire schedule to the girl, especially as she’d only just determined that she was taking the day and night in hand as much as possible.
It was early afternoon by the time she was in the carriage, heading toward her destination. It struck her that within the space of a sennight her life had changed immeasurably. She had never called for a carriage while at her father’s residence. She only went out when he accompanied her. She never instructed servants regarding her preferences on meals. She had never served as mistress of a household.
She’d learned something valuable about Rafe in the shadows of her room last night. He’d said that he didn’t give a bloody damn, but he did. Far more than he realized and was willing to admit, even to himself. If he didn’t care, he’d not take to task any men who hurt the women in his establishment, he wouldn’t have given her lessons on how to protect herself. While she had suspected from the first that he’d not hurt her physically, she was now certain of it.
What he might do with her heart, however, was another matter entirely. She feared that unlike him, she didn’t have the strength to keep it locked away. It was easily found and bruised. She had even allowed Geoffrey to cause her pain. He had never given her cause to think he cared for her, but she had never realized that he despised her. Her father’s unconditional adoration had allowed her to embrace the fantasy of being special. Geoffrey had most cruelly torn her whimsy into shreds.
The carriage turned down a drive and finally came to a stop in front of a residence that no longer looked as elegant or impressive to her as it once had. The carriage door opened, and a footman handed her down. Once the others were gathered around, she said, “When the door opens, you may have to shove your way in as I’ve been told that entry is barred to me. But I want to enter.”
She marched up the path, up the steps, and tried the door. To her immense surprise, it opened. Obviously they had expected her to never return. She swept inside, with her entourage on her heels. Manson came scurrying out of one of the hallways. His eyes widened, his mouth gaped before he got control of himself. He rushed forward.
“I’m sorry, miss, but—”
One of her footmen blocked him. She turned for the stairs and headed up them. “I won’t be long, Manson. I just need a few things. Feel free to alert his lordship that I’m here.”
At the landing, she turned into the corridor that branched into the east wing and went to the room located at the corner. Her bedchamber. Placing her hand on the knob, she hesitated a moment before shoving open the door. She strode in with purpose and staggered to a stop. The vanity, the bedside tables, the dresser—they were all bare of her things. The few dolls that remained after her smashing spree were nowhere to be seen. She walked quickly to the armoire. It was empty. The lush purple gown that she had purchased in hopes of wearing to a ball, the one Geoffrey had insisted she don on the most humiliating night of her life, was gone.
She heard the tread of footsteps pounded in anger. Surprised by the calm that settled over her, she faced the door. Geoffrey barged through, his face a mottled red.
“Now, see here—”
He’d taken but two steps when two of the footmen grabbed him. He tried to shake them off but they held firm. Finally he stopped struggling and glared at her. “You have no right to be here.”
“You packed up all my things. Where are they?”
“I sold them.”
The words slammed into her like a hard fist to her stomach, but she refused to show any reaction. She could be as stoic, as unrevealing as Rafe. “I see.”
“Everything in this residence belongs to me now. I shall do with it as I please.”
Did she hear guilt, remorse? She couldn’t be sure but she was done with giving him the benefit of the doubt. His gray eyes were shooting daggers at her. His behavior saddened her for so many reasons. “I always admired you so much. My older brother, the future earl. But at this moment I don’t like you very much. Father asked you to see to my care, and you did a rather poor job of it. You led me to believe you were seeking to find me a husband.”
“I never said that. I told you that I was going to introduce you to some gentlemen.”
“But you knew what I thought.”
He sneered. “You were always a little fool.”
“I find you remarkably sad.”
“Don’t you dare pity me.”
“Oh, I don’t pity you. You told Father that I would have had all I deserve. Eventually, Geoffrey, I shall be a very wealthy woman. You, on the other hand, will be insignificant.”
“I’m a lord and you’re a bastard.”
How could he be so hateful? How could he despise her so much? She was wasting her time. He would never listen, never truly understand what a wretched creature he was.
“We’re going to leave now and if you make a fuss, my footmen are going to pummel you. So please don’t make a fuss.”
With her head held high, she strode from the bedchamber that had once been hers, where she had once been happy. She supposed she would soon discover if happiness was to be found in another bedchamber.
In the late afternoon Rafe stood at the window of his office, looking out on the street, watching as people bustled by.
He didn’t know why he’d not returned to his residence with Eve. He’d wanted her, God how he’d wanted her. Standing there in his apartments with the lights from outside, and the dim glow inside casting her in shadows that ebbed and flowed with her movements, she’d been a seductress. Her smoky voice and her throaty laughter had added to the allure.
Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03] Page 16
