Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03] (16 page)

“No, I have something else in mind for him.”

“What precisely?”

“I haven’t worked out all the particulars yet. I’ll let you know when I do.” Rafe had long ago learned that the best revenge didn’t involve physical pain. Hurts healed. The memory of agony diminished over time. Better to arrange something that was a constant reminder of failings or misjudgments.

“Thank you for that, for seeing that Geoffrey will have regrets.”

The gratitude in her eyes almost had him asking her to make him promise her something else. No one had ever looked at him like that. He was accustomed to instilling fear, but for the first time in his life, he thought there might be something stronger than fear. He wasn’t certain what it was, but it scared the bloody hell out of him.

Rising back to her knees, she carefully placed the ice enfolded in the cloth on his darkening bruise, and her nearness distracted him from his irritation. Her breast rested firmly against his upper arm now, and he could feel the taut nipple through her nightdress, through his sleeve. He wanted to circle his tongue around it, once, twice, then over—

“I should like to visit your gambling establishment sometime.” Her voice seemed raspier. Did her thoughts travel in the same direction as his? He doubted she was even aware of the liberties a man would take with a body such as hers.

He scoffed. “Ladies are not allowed inside.”

“But then I’m not a lady, am I?” She held his gaze with a challenge. He wanted to deny her words, but he couldn’t.

“You wouldn’t much like it. It’s mostly black and green. There’s always a smoky haze. It smells of rich tobacco, fine liquor, and finer women.”

“Still, I should like to see where you spend so much of your time.”

Before she’d entered his life, he’d spent all his time there.

She set the cloth aside, and with a featherlike touch moved his hair back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d known a caress that was as light as a cloud. Yet even for its faintness, it was powerful.

“I wish he hadn’t hurt you,” she said.

“I’ve known worse.”

Her eyes shifted over to his. “Yes, I presume you have. You live in a very rough world. Do you ever think of leaving it?”

“It’s where I belong.”

“But you’re the son of a duke.”

“If he were alive, he’d disown me.” Never mind that if he were alive Rafe would have never been in a position to do the things he’d done.

“I suspect my father would do the same, knowing the decision I made to stay here. Although I suppose in truth, he never really owned me.”

“Don’t give too much weight to a trip to a park.”

“But you’re not keeping me hidden away. You’re not ashamed to be seen with me.”

He cupped her face, grateful she hadn’t realized that his knuckles were also lightly bruised and slightly swollen. They bothered him more than his cheek, but when he touched her, the pain eased, as though she were a balm. He wanted her now, this moment. He wanted all the hurts to cease. What a fanciful thought. Some were embedded so deeply they’d never be touched, comforted, eased. He would take them to the grave.

He skimmed his thumb over her cheek. He had promised to give her the skills she needed to survive on her own. He had yet to begin teaching her about investments, but he knew now that she needed something more. “How tired are you?”

Her eyes widened slightly, her skin flushed, and he knew by her reaction where she thought he was going with his question. “I’m fully awake.”

He heard the slight tremble in her voice, but at least she hadn’t lied. She was growing more comfortable with him. He thought about taking her to bed, but he wasn’t at his best tonight. Too many dark thoughts were tumbling through his mind. Faces he’d beaten, bones he’d broken. On Dimmick’s orders. At first he’d been too young and frightened not to obey the ruthless orders. Disappoint Dimmick, and there would be hell to pay. Then for a time he’d begun to enjoy it. Smashing people up, throwing his weight around, being feared. Until he’d been passing by a shop one day and caught sight of a thug in the large mirror that was on display behind the window. It took him a moment to recognize who the brute was—it wasn’t until he’d looked into the icy-blue eyes that he’d known, and his stomach had roiled with the realization of what he’d become.

He shoved himself out of the chair. “Get dressed. Your hideous mourning attire should do nicely. We’re going to the club.”

“Now?”

“You’re less likely to be seen at this hour.” And at the club, he was less likely to tumble her onto the bed and turn his attention to a sport that had little to do with fisticuffs.

E
velyn fought not to be disappointed. When they’d first arrived, he’d brought her downstairs, and she’d thought they were heading for the dens of depravity. Instead, he’d led her into a room with a roped-off square in the middle and benched seating stacked along the walls. She imagined people sat there to watch what occurred within the boundaries of the rope.

She was hoping to see the gaming room, to view the games that men lost fortunes playing, especially the one that had put Geoffrey into debt to Rafe, the one that had caused him to invite the gaming hell owner to his night of entertainment when he’d sought to foist her off as some man’s mistress. She didn’t like to contemplate where she might be now if Rafe hadn’t been there.

“Remove your cloak,” he ordered, and she glanced over to see he was shrugging out of his jacket. She did wish the man wasn’t in the habit of ordering her about without first explaining where his directives would take her. Still, she unfastened her cloak, slipped it off her shoulders, and draped it over a bench.

When next she looked at Rafe, his waistcoat was gone and he was dragging his shirt over his head. He tossed it aside. She stared in wonder at his rippling muscles, his washboard stomach. He moved as though he were comprised of poetry, smooth and flowing. She had visited a museum with her father once and seen statues of the gods. But even they were not as lean, as firm, as beautifully sculpted as Rafe.

“Am I to remove my clothing?” she asked.

He jerked his gaze over to her. “What? No, of course not. That would be distracting, give you an unfair advantage.” He pulled up one of the ropes, creating a small archway. “Come on. In you go.”

“What are we doing here?”

“Eventually you’ll be on your own. Someone might try to take advantage. You need to know how to defend yourself.”

“You’re going to teach me how to box?”

He shook his head, locks of his dark hair falling forward, making him appear both younger and more dangerous. “I’m going to teach you how to fight.”

“I could punch Geoffrey.”

“If you like. I’ll hold him for you.”

“That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I don’t believe in fighting fair; I believe in fighting to win. Now come on. Into the boxing ring you go.”

She could hardly countenance this, or the exhilaration that fissured through her. She suspected not all the excitement had to do with what he was about to teach her, but with the fact that the sight of him without a shirt was causing something rather giddy to occur in her stomach. As she got nearer, she spied the darkened flesh over his ribs. “Oh my God, you’re bruised.”

Without thought, she reached out and touched it with her gloved hand. Stiffening, he took in a sharp breath, the air hissing between his teeth.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have tended it.”

Wrapping his long fingers around her wrist, he moved her hand away. “I’m on a short tether here, Eve. If my shirt had come off in your bedchamber, your nightdress would’ve as well.”

She looked at him through widened eyes. “Surely not when you’re hurt.”

“When I’m hurt, when I’m ill, when I’m on my deathbed.”

“Is it that way for all men?”

He gave her an expression of pure exasperation. “I have no idea. I don’t discuss this with men. I only know what it’s like for me. Now, into the ring you go.”

As she ducked beneath the hemp, she doubted he discussed anything with anyone, but as he was more worldly than she, she suspected he thought a great deal about what it might be like between them. She was finding her own thoughts turning in that direction more often. She didn’t want to find herself attracted to him, but she couldn’t deny that he was a fine specimen. She didn’t want to stare at him, but it was so very difficult to look away. His arms were firm and muscled. Sinewy. While he didn’t want her arms around him, she realized she would very much enjoy having his arms around her.

“—bring him to his knees.”

“Pardon?” She realized he’d been talking while she’d been lost in thought.

He sighed. “Pay attention, Eve. I was explaining that a man is most vulnerable between his legs. Kick him there and you’ll drop him like a felled tree.”

“I see.”

“With your skirts and petticoats, it’s unlikely that you’ll be able to kick high enough—”

“Well, unless he’s a dwarf. Then I should be able to manage it quite well.”

He stared at her, then released a sharp bark of laughter. It made her smile to hear the sound echoing around her. “If he’s a dwarf, you should be able to outrun him, so let’s assume he’s not a dwarf.” He moved nearer to her and she folded her fingers against her palm so she wouldn’t reach out and touch him again. “You want to allow him to get close.” He curled his hands over her shoulders. “All the while looking innocent—”

She widened her eyes, blinked them.

He grinned. “Well done. He’ll be arrested by your eyes and not notice when you slyly position your leg between his. Then bring your knee up as quickly and as hard as you can.”

She did. Growling, he released her and dropped down to all fours, breathing heavily, head bent. “You . . . weren’t . . . supposed to . . . do it.”

She knelt. “How am I to learn if I’m doing it properly? Are you all right?”

“Just give me a moment.”

She dearly wanted to comfort him, to rub his back and shoulders, to lean in and kiss his forehead. When had she begun to stop wishing that calamity would befall him? Uncomfortable with the thought that perhaps she wanted to be
with
him, she glanced around. “Suppose while I’m waiting for you to recover, I could take a look about, peek in at the gaming rooms.”

“No.”

“After you teach me to fight, will you teach me to gamble?”

He peered up at her. “No.”

“You rather fancy that word, don’t you?”

With a deep breath, he sat back on his heels. “Why would you risk losing on the turn of a card what it is going to cost you so much to gain?”

“It does seem rather senseless, I suppose.”

“Yes, it does.” He shoved himself to his feet and pulled her to hers. “Now make a fist.”

She curled her fingers around her thumb, tucked everything up against her palm. Taking her hand, he unfurled her fingers. “You want your thumb on the outside, covering your first two fingers. And you want to keep your fist level with your wrist, braced so it doesn’t go up or down. Less likely to break your bones that way.” He held up his palms. “Now punch a hand.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Hearing the slap of her fist against his palm, she didn’t much like it.

“Good,” he said. “Again.”

She punched, the awful sound of flesh being hit echoing around her.

“Harder and faster,” he ordered.

She did, again and again. He began backing around the ring and she followed.

“If you really want to hurt someone, punch him in the nose. Stings like the devil. If you can break his nose, all the better. If he turns away from you, strike him in the kidney. It’ll take him down like a kick to the groin.”

“Where’s the kidney?”

With her next punch, he quickly folded his large, powerful hand over hers, capturing it as though it were nothing, and she had a sense now of why he might have given that knowing smile the night she had threatened to scratch out his eyes. She’d have not stood a chance against him.

He moved his other hand around her and drew a small circle on her back. “There. And on the other side. Can momentarily paralyze a man if you do it just right.”

“Do you do it just right?”

He nodded. “Little point in doing it if you’re not going to do it correctly. That’s the thing as well, once you commit to fighting, commit fully. Never back down, never give quarter. I’ve seen many a small man take down a larger one simply because he had the determination to win.”

“You’ve seen a lot of fighting then.” She couldn’t recall ever witnessing any. Certainly neither her father nor Geoffrey had ever come home bruised and bloody. She’d never held a damp cloth to a man’s face, had never begun counting a man’s whiskers because she feared if she continued to gaze into his eyes, she might become lost within their depths.

By his words and actions, Rafe gave the impression of a man who cared about little save himself, but tending to him she knew there was far more to him. She just wasn’t certain if she’d be wise to explore it.

“I’ve seen a lot of people striving to survive,” he said. “It’s generally not pretty.”

“Seeing it probably affects a person as much as experiencing it.”

“Not as much as,” he said quietly, his gaze roaming over her face as though he wished to
experience
the silkiness of her skin, the taste of her lips. He cleared his throat. “Now then, if a man comes up behind you and puts his arms around you—” He spun her around, cupped his hands on her shoulders. “—bow your head forward, then slam it back with as much force as possible, hit him in the nose. Within any luck, you’ll break it.”

“I don’t think you’re close enough for me to reach.”

“I prefer to avoid this demonstration if you don’t mind.”

“I won’t do it hard, but it seems I should have a sense of it.”

With his thumbs, he stroked the corded muscles on either side of her neck. His arms didn’t come around her, but she felt his warm breath wafting over her nape. “I’m near enough.”

His voice was low, seductive. Her breathing went shallow, her stomach tightened. She thought for her own self-preservation she probably should slam her head back. But the thought of hurting him made her nauseous. “Will I know if I’ve broken his nose?” she asked in a dry rasp.