“I hadn’t planned to return until after midnight.”
“Yet, here you are.”
“Here I am.”
“You must think me quite the ninny to be dancing in the garden.”
“I think you’re beautiful dancing in the garden, with just enough moonlight to make you mysterious.” His voice was low, sultry. He smelled of tobacco and whiskey. “You’re wearing the red.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
“You like it.”
“I love it. Blast you. You knew I’d wear it.”
He grinned, his teeth pearly in the moonlight. “I had hoped. It suits you as I thought it would.”
The music stopped, and when the next tune began—a quadrille—they continued to waltz. So like him. Determined not to conform, but to do exactly as he wanted, and he obviously preferred waltzing.
“I’ve never danced with a gentleman before.”
“You’re not dancing with one now.”
Only she was. He saw himself as a rogue, a scoundrel, but threads of goodness were woven through the coarse fabric of his character.
“I’ve never been to a ball,” she told him. “Do they have many next door?”
“This is their first in London.”
“They seem to have drawn quite the crowd.”
“Because they’re a curiosity.”
“Who are they?”
He merely shook his head and studied her intently. “Did you wish to go?”
To the bedchamber. It was where they were inclined to spend all their time now, and while it was lovely when he was with her, sometimes she wanted more. “A few more moments before we go indoors.”
“I was referring to the ball. Would you like to make an appearance?”
A shiver of anticipation raced through her, before it crashed into reality. “What do you plan? Climbing over the wall? You can’t simply arrive. You must be invited.”
“I received an invitation.”
She nearly tripped over her feet. His hold on her tightened as he steadied her. Naturally he’d been invited. He was a lord. An available one at that. The mamas would be all over him, striving to match him up with their respectable daughters. She shifted her attention to the wall, thinking of the glamour that rested beyond. It was a world into which she’d hardly been allowed to peer. Stepping away from him, she walked into the deeper shadows. She had so often dreamed of attending a ball, but the price now …
She shook her head. “They’d not welcome me.”
“They would or they’d deal with my wrath.” He glided his finger along the nape of her neck, then across her bared shoulder. “Evie, if you want to go, I’ll take you.”
As she turned around, his finger remained on her skin until it came to rest in the hollow at her throat. “People will know I’m your mistress.”
“When will you learn that they don’t matter? None of them matter. Besides, it’s not as though you’ll be announced as such. You’ll be announced as Miss Evelyn Chambers. That I accompany you might raise a few eyebrows but that will be because of my reputation, not yours. The gents who were at Wortham’s aren’t going to say anything. They’re not likely to admit that they didn’t end up with the prize.”
If she was going to become infamous, make Geoffrey regret his treatment of her, she supposed tonight was as good a night as any to begin. “Yes, all right. Let’s go.”
His finger dipped down to touch the chiffon that began just below the swell of her breast. “The red is for me. I suggest you change into the purple.”
She had planned to do exactly that. The red was gorgeous but incredibly scandalous with its frightfully low neckline. She expected at any moment to pop right out of it. “I shan’t be long.”
“Take all the time you need. I have it on good authority that this particular ball shall go on forever.”
Or at least it would feel as though it was going on forever, Rafe mused while his valet assisted him as much as possible into his formal attire. Rafe buttoned the blue silk brocade waistcoat because the dexterity required was beyond Bateman’s skills. When finished, Rafe slipped his arms into the black swallowtail coat that his man held for him.
“Can’t remember the last time you dressed so formally,” Bateman said, masterfully brushing the lint off the jacket.
He wished he wasn’t wearing it now. He didn’t know what had possessed him to tell Eve he’d take her to the damned ball.
He’d not planned to return to the residence until late, but he’d been at the club no more than an hour before he found himself thinking of her, wondering what she was doing. He’d found her in the garden waltzing. Alone. He didn’t even remember striding across the lawn. He knew only that suddenly she was in his arms and they were moving in rhythm to the music.
Her touch was light, so very light upon his shoulder that he’d barely felt it, and therefore he’d been able to endure it. With little regard to consequences, he’d almost told her to tighten her hold, to close her fingers around him. Would it be different with her? Could it be different with any woman?
He didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t risk it.
Because there was far too much of himself that he couldn’t share with her, he had decided to give her this ball.
Evelyn had often crouched at the top of the stairs and watched as the countess, dressed in her finery, descended to the foyer where the Earl of Wortham waited for her. She’d always thought that her father was the handsomest then, when he was accompanying his countess to a ball or the theater. Rafe quite literally put her father’s handsomeness to shame. When he was dressed in evening clothes, he was devastatingly gorgeous. She suspected the ladies would be clamoring to dance with him. With the thought, a fissure of jealousy went through her. They would be the sort whom he would marry, and when he did, he would no doubt dispense with her. If not, she would leave, in spite of everything her leaving would cause her to give up. She would not share him with another who warmed his bed. She almost told him that she’d changed her mind: she didn’t wish to attend the ball. Almost. But she had wanted to experience one for far too long to give up on the dream now. Besides she might never have another opportunity.
She was not yet infamous, but once she was, doors that had never been opened to her would be bolted shut forever.
She had always imagined seeing pleasure rippling over her own husband’s face as she descended the stairs to meet him, but Rafe was not her husband, and as he stood in the foyer, his expression gave away nothing. He merely studied her with heavily-lidded eyes.
She wished she could hide her thoughts so well, but she suspected that her eyes were shining at the sight of him. Even in his black tailcoat with every strand of hair perfectly combed, he appeared dark and dangerous, someone no one would want to meet in an alley late at night. His broad shoulders filled his jacket nicely. His black trousers hugged his long legs. He tugged at his white gloves. Hers went up over her elbow, fit so snuggly that her fingers would no doubt be numb by the end of the evening. But she didn’t care. She was going to attend a formal affair.
As her slippered feet took the last step and settled on the marble in the foyer, he took his top hat from Laurence and settled it on his head. When she reached him, he extended his arm. He’d only offered that courtesy to her once, the night they’d walked through St. Giles, and she’d assumed he’d done it then as a means of protecting her. Was he thinking he needed to serve as her protector now? She smiled brightly before placing her hand on his forearm.
“I can’t believe I’m going to attend a ball,” she enthused.
“I’m confident you’ll find it dreadfully dull,” he said drolly.
“Nothing you say will diminish my excitement.”
Laurence opened the door and they swept through into the night. She was surprised to see a carriage waiting for them. “It’s not that far a walk,” she said.
“Far enough.”
A footman opened the door, and Rafe assisted her inside.
As she settled onto the soft cushion, she supposed walking would have given her a dirty hem and slippers, but the carriage meant enduring the long line of arrivals. She was afraid if she had time to give all this too much thought, she would lose her courage.
Rafe took his seat across from her, bringing with him his glorious male fragrance of cigar, sandalwood, and bergamot.
“Have you attended many parties?” she asked.
“Enough to know I don’t much like them.”
“Then why are we going?”
“Because you shouldn’t be dancing in a garden; you should be dancing in a ballroom.”
Nothing he could have said would have pleased her more. “Are you certain they won’t mind that you’ve brought a guest?”
“Sweetheart, they’ll be so flummoxed that I arrived at all that they would not object if I walked into the ballroom naked.”
She laughed lightly. “I daresay they would object to that.”
He tilted his head. “Perhaps I overstate things. You look beautiful, you know.”
She pressed her fingers to the pearls he’d given her. “So do you.”
He laughed, just a quick burst of sound that reverberated around them.
“I mean it,” she said, slightly offended that he didn’t seem to believe her. “You are quite possibly the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. I thought that the first night I met you. I kept stealing glances at you when I was talking with the other gentlemen.” She interlaced her fingers tightly, hoping the pain might stop her from opening her mouth. “I don’t know why I confessed that. Nervous, I suppose.”
“You have no reason to be nervous, I assure you, but I should warn you that our host is not such a handsome fellow. He was gravely wounded during the war. His face is rather scarred. It can be disconcerting when you first see the extent of the damage.”
“He’s a soldier then, not a lord.” She felt a sense of relief. She would not be mingling about with the upper crust. But what of the little boy? Was he only visiting.
“He’s a duke.”
Her stomach knotted. “Perhaps we should reconsider.”
“I never took you to be cowardly.”
“I’m not afraid, but I don’t wish to create scandal. You said this was their first ball. I don’t want to ruin it for them.”
“You won’t.”
The carriage rocked to a halt. The door opened. Rafe fairly leapt out before extending his hand to her. Taking a deep steadying breath, she placed hers in his. His fingers closed around hers, strong and purposeful. She alighted, taking in the sight of so many footmen scurrying about to assist the guests as they arrived. She thought everyone would be here by now, that they would be the last, but she supposed people came and went all night. The residence was as large as Rafe’s, perhaps larger.
As he escorted her up the steps, she said, “They have a son. I hear him playing in the garden sometimes.”
“He’s but two. He’ll be abed.”
“You seem to know them very well.”
“Not so well.”
They stepped through the doorway, and he handed his hat to a servant while she took in everything. It was gorgeous. Family portraits adorned the walls. Something about them was familiar. It was the eyes she realized. All the gentlemen had such pale blue eyes.
But before she could give it much more thought, Rafe was escorting her down a hallway where a few couples waited in line. They looked at him but said nothing, and she wondered if they knew who he was.
“Do you suppose Geoffrey will be here?” she whispered.
“I doubt it. He was lost in the cards when I left the club.”
She was glad of that. He’d no doubt make a fuss, although she suspected Rafe would put a stop to it quickly enough. She did wish now that she had purchased some pearl combs for her hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to spend his money, to place herself more in his debt.
Then they were through the doorway, and her breath fairly escaped her body. It was all that she had imagined. Stairs led down into the enormous parlor. Candles flickered in the chandeliers. A mirrored wall reflected the guests milling around the edges of the dance area. The fragrance of the abundance of flowers scattered about permeated the air with a heady aroma. The ceiling was so high up that the room contained a balcony where the orchestra played. On the opposite side from where she and Rafe stood, the doors were open onto the terrace.
Leaning over, Rafe said something to the liveried servant standing there. Then he placed his hand over hers where it still rested on his arm.
“Miss Evelyn Chambers,” the man announced in a booming voice that nearly stopped her heart. “Lord Rafe Easton.”
She had assumed he would come here as a lord, but still it was disconcerting to hear him announced as such. It was so easy to forget that he inhabited this world, while she had only skipped at the edge of it. At the foot of the stairs, a couple jerked up their heads and Eve saw the scarred visage of the duke. Even Rafe’s warning had not prepared her for the massive threads of thick skin that resembled molten wax easing out from around the black eye patch and down to the man’s jaw. In contrast, the woman beside him was perfection, with bright green eyes and flaming red hair. She smiled warmly as Evelyn and Rafe descended.
As they got nearer, Evelyn realized the man’s remaining eye was the same shade as Rafe’s, ice over a clear blue lake. She fought to keep her mouth closed, to not look stunned. She didn’t want him to think it was his face that so startled her, rather than the realization that she was on the verge of meeting Rafe’s other brother. She was sure of it. If she blocked out the scars, he looked very much like the man she’d met in the park. She was half tempted to smack her fist against Rafe’s arm. Why hadn’t he confided in her?
As they came to a stop before the couple, Evelyn took a deep curtsy. “Your Graces.”
The duke merely studied her, probably seeing more with his one eye than most people did with two.
“Miss Chambers, it is a pleasure,” the duchess said. “And you—” She slapped her fan against Rafe’s shoulder. “How wicked of you not to tell us you were coming.”
“I wasn’t certain I’d be able to find the time.”
“But then he caught me dancing in the garden—”
“Our garden?” the duke interrupted.
Taken aback by his brusque tone, Evelyn shook her head. “No, his garden. On the other side of the wall.”
The duke glared. “You live in that monstrosity on the other side of the wall?”
“No. Miss Chambers resides there. I live in the rooms at my club. And now if you’ll excuse us, I hear a waltz starting. I promised the lady a dance.”
Before anyone could respond, he wrapped his long fingers around her arm and was propelling her toward the dance floor.
“That was remarkably rude,” she muttered.
“We didn’t come here to talk. We came here to dance.”
“Why didn’t you tell me whose affair we were attending?”
“What does it matter? You wanted to attend a ball, and you have. One dance and we leave. Enjoy it, sweetheart.”
Within the mad crush of dancing couples, he took her into his arms and glided her over the polished wood. She wanted to remain irritated with him, but decided to lock it away until later. She didn’t understand his relationship with his brothers—except to think that he didn’t truly have one. But for now, she was at a ball dancing with a handsome gentleman. She wouldn’t have it ruined.
“Why didn’t you let him know that you lived beside him?” All right. Perhaps it would be ruined.
“It never came up in conversation.”
“You can be the most infuriating man—”
“Who brought you to something he despises so you might find some enjoyment.”
That knocked all the fight out of her. “Do you really despise it?”
“Only because it reminds me of my roots, and they were dug up long ago.”
“But roots always return to where they were, d
on’t they? They return to the soil.”
“Oh, my little philosopher, can you not see that they are as uncomfortable with me being here as I am with being here? Many of these gents frequent my club. They owe me a good deal of coin. A few even spend time with my girls. I know their darkest indiscretions.”
“Which gents?”
He gave her a sardonic smile. “Would you have me lose my value as a keeper of secrets?”
The music drifted into silence and the disappointment hit her. They would leave now. She supposed she should be grateful for the time she had. Only he didn’t escort her from the dance floor, and when the strains of another waltz began, he led her into it. She smiled up at him. For all his gruffness and complaining, she doubted he was going to whisk her away, back to his residence, as quickly as he’d said. He was going to give her this night until she was tired of it. She was sure of it.
“Madame Charmaine told me that you and your brothers have only been known in London for three years. Surely you’ve had your club longer than that.”
“I acquired it when I was seventeen, but I used the name Rafe Weston.”
“Clever. East. West. But no one recognized you?”
“I was ten when we … disappeared, as it was so gently put. No one looked for us. No one tried to find us. The most popular tale was that we were eaten by wolves. Wolves, Evie. One of us perhaps, but all three of us? The other two wouldn’t have stood around, twiddling their thumbs waiting to be devoured. Yet people believed it.”
He sounded so incredibly offended. She supposed that she could hardly blame him. “But surely once you returned, they were glad to see you.”
“Not as glad as you might think. Uncle had made friends. We weren’t very polished, but mostly, this isn’t the world in which I grew up. I’m far more comfortable walking through St. Giles.”
Which she found so very sad. He should have been comfortable here. She wouldn’t ask him to stay any longer than this dance. So she decided to make the most of these few precious moments. A month ago, a week ago, she would have looked around, taking in all the beautiful gowns, the well-dressed gentlemen. She would have noticed hairstyles and jewelry. She would have watched the orchestra playing, the flames flickering in the chandeliers. Now she merely focused on him. The way his ice-blue eyes remained on her, the set of his mouth and how she longed for it to curl up into a smile. The weight of his touch at her waist. The gentleness with which he held her hand. The feel of her palm curved around his strong shoulder. The heat in his gaze. The promise she saw there that the night would end with pleasure in her bed. She had never wanted to be a mistress, but she did acknowledge that she wanted to be with him.
Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03] Page 21
