Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03] (21 page)

“The next time then.”

He released what sounded like a weary burst of laughter. “You want a next time.”

She smiled at him. “Yes, I rather think I do.”

He bent his arms, and managed, without his body touching hers, to give her a quick kiss on the lips. Then he was easing off of her.

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

“Not yet. Wait here.”

As though she had a choice, as though she weren’t lethargic and her limbs were naught but jelly. She studied him as he walked over to the basin stand. She liked the shape of his buttocks, the way the muscles flexed with his movements. She was a mistress now. She could probably enjoy the male form without feeling guilty about it. It was her job.

He washed up, then returned to her with washrag in hand. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he began to gently swipe at the inside of her thighs.

“There’s not as much blood as I thought there would be,” he said.

“Am I your first virgin?”

He lifted his gaze to her, and for the span of a heartbeat, he appeared younger than he usually did. He nodded, before returning to his task. “Did it hurt very badly?”

“It wasn’t too awful.”

“It won’t always hurt.”

“The pain was worth it for what came before.”

He gave her a small smile and she wanted to keep it there forever. “You liked that?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, I did rather. You’re more skilled than the hounds.”

He stared at her for moment, his brow furrowed, and then he laughed. A deep rich sound. It didn’t last long, but it lasted long enough for her to fall in love with it.

“I should bloody well hope so.”

She gnawed on her lower lip, trying to decide if she should say the words aloud. She mentally flipped a coin. It didn’t work as well as flipping a solid one, but she wanted him to know. “I’m glad it was you.”

He went totally still, studying her as though she’d spoken gibberish.

“My first.”

She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple slide up and down. Standing, he brought the sheets and covers over her, before skimming his thumb along her chin. “Sleep well.”

Sadness engulfed her. She wasn’t ready for him to leave. It seemed that there should be more. It was the holding, she realized. Afterward they should have held each other. She remembered once being frightened and going into her mother’s room when the earl was there. Her back had been against his chest and his arm had been around her. So close they had reminded her of two spoons in a drawer. But then they loved each other. Rafe didn’t love her. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about him.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, trying not to be hurt, to take offense.

“Yes. I probably should have told you earlier. One of my rules. I’ll never stay in the bed with you.”

“Why?”

He only shook his head, reached out, and lowered the flame in the lamp. “I won’t be here when you wake up in the morning.”

“Where are you going?”

“A mistress is not supposed to question everything. You accept what I say.”

She heard a hint of irritation in his voice. She didn’t want this night to end with them getting out of sorts with each other. “Will I see you tomorrow evening?”

“Yes. Wear the red.” Bending down, he picked up his clothes, riffled through the torn garments until he found the pocket of his waistcoat. He dug out a key, went to the door between their chambers, inserted it, opened the door, and disappeared through the doorway without another word. After the door closed, she heard the bolting of the lock.

She fought not to feel saddened, disappointed, abandoned. From the beginning, he had warned her that there would be rules, that things had to be done to suit him. She’d known he wasn’t the warmest of creatures. But for a short time she’d actually considered that something special existed between them. Rolling to her side, she stared at the window. An entirely different life waited for her beyond it.

The problem was that she suddenly very much wanted this one—or at least a good many parts of it. And she couldn’t help but believe with time, she might want all of it.

R
afe pressed his ear to the door. He couldn’t hear her weeping. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. But then other than the night Wortham had turned her out, she’d not shed a tear. She was made of stern stuff, his Evie.

He’d wanted to give her so much more, had nearly begged her to touch him. A hand on his shoulder, her fingers through his hair. But he couldn’t risk it. In the throes of passion she might forget his aversion to holding, she might wrap her arms, her legs, her entire body around him—

Turning, he flattened his back to the wall and slid down to the floor. A gaslight burned, it always burned, relegating the demons to lurking in the shadows, waiting, waiting to spring forth. Tonight they would be there if he slept. He felt it in the very fabric of his being. He needed to go to the club, to hear the constant noise of life, the activity, the spin of the roulette wheel, the clack of the dice, the whisper of cards being dealt. He couldn’t stay here.

As badly as he’d wanted to lie beside her, to watch her drift off to sleep, he’d been unable to risk falling asleep himself. If the nightmares came, he didn’t want her to be near enough to hear his screams.

“I’m glad it was you.”

He doubted she would be as glad if she discovered that she had been taken by a madman.

Chapter 14

E
ven if he hadn’t told her that he’d be gone when she awoke, she would have known. The residence took on a different feel when he wasn’t about. She couldn’t quite explain it, but it seemed emptier, less vital, more plain.

After Lila helped her dress, she stepped into the hallway just as a rather short and podgy servant was opening the door to the bedchamber across the hall. Ironed shirts were draped across his left arm. She tried not to stare at the clawlike gloved hand that seemed to be frozen in a most uncomfortable position. He stopped and gave Evelyn a quick bow. “Good morning, miss. I’m Mr. Easton’s valet. Bateman.”

Evelyn forced herself to smile so he wouldn’t read her mind. She was wondering how a one-handed valet could possibly see to his duties properly. He must have known what she was thinking, however, because he explained, “My hand got smashed when I was younger. It never healed properly. Still aches a bit, especially when the weather is cold and damp.”

“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m certain you’re a marvelous valet.”

He straightened his shoulders. “The master never complains.”

“Those are his shirts I assume?”

“Yes, miss. I was just putting them in his room. His tailor delivered them yesterday. He likes them washed and pressed before he wears them.”

At a quick glance, Evelyn estimated a half-dozen shirts. New shirts. So many. Although after last night’s encounter, he certainly needed to replace at least one.

Evelyn felt rather self-conscious pointing at the room next to hers, but it was part of her responsibilities to see that everything was taken care of properly for him. “But that’s his room.”

Bateman blinked. “No, miss. This is the room where I dress him. That room there, no one is allowed in there.”

“How is it cleaned and tidied?”

“As far as I know, it isn’t.”

“I see.” Only she didn’t.

“Will that be all, miss?”

Evelyn nodded. “Yes, carry on.”

After the valet disappeared into the room, she walked over to the door that she knew was locked. What secrets was he hiding in there?

T
he jewelers on St. James was one of the finest in all of London. When Rafe walked through the door, he wasn’t surprised to see a duke standing at one of the glass cases. He only wished it wasn’t that particular duke.

Due to the positioning of the door, and his limited sight because of the eye patch he wore, his brother had to turn almost completely around to see who was entering. “Rafe.”

“Sebastian.” He jerked his chin up. “Sorry. Keswick.”

Keswick shrugged. “Sebastian works. This is the very last place I expected to run into you.”

The clerk wasn’t about. Rafe considered leaving, but it had been a good many years since he’d felt the need to try to avoid the unpleasant, so he closed the door and walked over to the case. “Where’s the shopkeeper?”

“Retrieving a necklace that I had created especially for Mary. We’re hosting a ball in a couple of nights. Our first in London. She’s a trifle nervous about it. The one we held at Pembrook before Christmas went well, but you know how it is in London. Things are scrutinized a bit more closely.”

“She shouldn’t care what people think.”

“If not for our son, she probably wouldn’t. She married me, after all.” He turned his attention back to the jewelry case, which meant that he could no longer see Rafe. Rafe thought that perhaps he should move to the other side of him, but it was Sebastian’s choice to look where he wanted. “Did you get the invitation?” Sebastian asked quietly.

“To the Christmas affair? Yes, I sent my regrets.”

“To the ball we’re having this week.”

“I did. While I appreciate it, I won’t be able to attend that either.”

“It would mean a great deal to Mary if you would.”

“Yes, well—”

“And to me. To have us all in the residence, as we once were.”

Only Rafe wasn’t as he once had been, and because of that, he said, “I’m sorry, but business will keep me away.”

Sebastian merely nodded, and Rafe began studying the pieces in the case. He wanted to find something that matched the shade of Eve’s eyes, when he had risen over her and was gazing down on her face. Passion deepened the violet. He wanted to be able to show her what he saw when he looked into her eyes. It wasn’t like him to have such fanciful thoughts. As with the chocolate, giving her jewelry would be a mistake, would make her think that he cared for her in a way that he didn’t.

He was providing her with necessities. He didn’t need to provide her with frivolities. He should leave now, before he did something to make a fool of himself.

The curtains to the back room parted, and a man with a shiny pate ringed with white hair stepped out and smiled. “Good day, sir. I shall be with you in a moment. Here you are, Your Grace. I think your duchess is going to be most pleased with this.” He set a velvet box on the counter, and opened it to reveal a necklace with green stones interlaced with diamonds. A jolt went through Rafe at the realization that he and his brother were both seeking to acquire necklaces that matched a lady’s eyes.

“What do you think, Rafe?” Sebastian asked. “Will Mary like it?”

“I suspect she’d be pleased if you chained daisies together to put about her neck.”

The clerk drew himself up. “I daresay, she will not find another piece in all of London as much to her liking as this.”

“My brother’s a cynic, Mr. Cobb, so don’t take offense.”

Rafe grimaced as the clerk jerked around to look at him. “My apologies, my lord. I didn’t realize—”

“No apologies needed.”

“Lord Rafe is correct, though,” Sebastian said. “The duchess would be happy with daisies. But I know she will be happier with this.” Rafe thought if his brother still possessed two eyes he might have winked. “Add this to my account please.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Without delay.”

Sebastian slipped it into his pocket, turned to leave, and halted to hold Rafe’s gaze. “I have it on good authority that a gentleman can never go wrong purchasing a lady pearls.”

“You didn’t purchase pearls.”

“Not this time, no, but I have on other occasions. I’ll let Mary know that you’ve sent your regrets.”

Rafe thought if the clerk weren’t standing there, Sebastian might have said far more. Instead, he walked from the shop without another word spoken.

The clerk bustled over to stand before Rafe. “So, my lord, how might I be of service this afternoon?”

Rafe hesitated but a moment before saying, “Show me what you have in pearls.”

E
vening was approaching. He would be here soon. Or so she thought. Hoped.

She wanted to be waiting on the terrace, but a misty rain had settled in so she sat in a chair near the window in her small sitting room, not certain when she had begun to think of it as hers. She still didn’t truly believe he was going to give her the residence. She could only hope that it would be a long time before she found out. Although a part of her worried that now he’d had her, he’d be done with her. Anyone could lie beneath him as he slaked his lust. What difference did it make if it was her?

He didn’t care for her enough to linger beyond the mating.

“You didn’t wear the red.”

Coming up out of the chair, facing the doorway, she despised the joy that nearly consumed her because he was here. She was surprised by how tired he appeared, as though he hadn’t slept. She wondered if he’d had to deal with trouble at his club. What did he do there all day, all night?

“No, I thought in order to hold your interest that it would be best if I weren’t predictable.” The pale yellow had arrived that afternoon and so she’d decided to go with it.

“The last thing I would consider you to be is predictable.”

“More so than you. I wasn’t certain when to expect you.”

He walked over to the fireplace. Shouldn’t he come to her, kiss her, take her in his arms—

“I wasn’t going to come until midnight, but I couldn’t force myself to stay away that long.”

A small thrill of happiness went through her. “I’m glad.” She wondered how he would react if she confessed to missing him. Would a mistress say such a thing? Had her mother? She’d told Evelyn often enough that she missed the earl, but had she ever told him? She hated that she didn’t know exactly how she was to behave. On the other hand, he’d never had a mistress before so he probably didn’t know how a mistress should behave either. If she made a mistake, he wouldn’t know, would he? She knew only that she wanted to matter, and she suspected that she didn’t.

“Shall I ring for dinner?”

“No.” His voice contained a tightness, and she realized then that his knuckles were turning white where he gripped the mantel. “I want to have you now, before we dine.”

Not exactly poetry, but then he had no need to woo her. Their arrangement didn’t require that he make any effort to lure her into his bed.

“Yes, all right. Shall we go to my bedchamber then?” Because surely he wasn’t thinking of taking her here, beneath her father’s portrait.

“I brought you something to wear.”

Before she could make any sort of inquiry, he reached inside his jacket, removed a nicely crafted leather box, and held it out to her. She stared at it. Her father had given her a similar appearing box once. Inside had been a sapphire necklace.

Rafe gave it a quick wave. “Take it.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she did so. As though something might jump out and bite her, she opened it with extreme care. Inside, resting on velvet, was a pearl necklace. Smiling, she said, “It’s beautiful.”

He looked so terribly self-conscious, as though he were anxious that he might displease her. For all his gruffness and his rules and his distance, she found something incredibly touching about him.

“That’s all I want you to wear,” he said. “Tonight.”

“I shall require fifteen moments to change.”

“Ten.”

“You are quite dictatorial.”

“If you knew the restraint I was exhibiting not to have you on the floor at this precise moment, you’d already be on your way out the door.”

“You want me that badly?”

“I’m dying here, Eve.”

While she knew that it was probably not her specifically that was driving him to madness—but rather only the thought of having a woman—she did take some satisfaction in his suffering. “Twelve minutes.”

Before he could protest, she was hurrying out the door.

R
afe turned, gripped the mantel, and stared at the clock. He was ignoring his own rules for her. He didn’t live his life counting minutes, but he had spent most of the day doing precisely that, striving to determine how soon he could appear without giving the impression that it had been torment to be away from her. It was only because he’d taken her but once last night, out of concern for the soreness she was no doubt feeling. But tonight, hopefully, she would experience no pain, and he could have his fill of her and this awful need to see her smile, to inhale her fragrance, to hear her voice would dissipate.

The necklace had taken her by surprise. It gave him satisfaction that it had, that she’d not been expecting it. She’d been pleased by it. Tomorrow perhaps he’d bring her a matching bracelet. The next night earbobs. Then he would move on to diamonds, rubies, emeralds. She would have a collection to rival the queen’s.

A minute had gone by. Bloody hell. He’d stopped keeping track of time when he was at the workhouse. Minutes ticked by at an infernally slow rate. It was torture. Best to just exist, not to think, “I have a thousand more moments of this hell.” Counting them down was not a relief. Counting them not at all was better. Time had begun to have no meaning—until the night when he was waiting for Sebastian and Tristan to return. It had been the longest night of his life.

The minute hand on the clock jerked. He’d given her enough time. If she wasn’t prepared for him, he’d speed things along by helping her get ready.

He stopped in the bedchamber where he kept his clothes, where the servants were allowed to see to his needs. After removing his jacket, he tossed it onto a nearby chair. His neckcloth, waistcoat, and shirt followed. He sat down and removed his boots. Warm water was waiting in the washbasin. He’d ordered it sent up before he went in search of Eve. He washed quickly, considered shaving when he rubbed his hands over his rough face, but he didn’t have the patience for it. He’d probably nick his jaw or worse, slice his throat. No, better not to risk it.

He headed across the hallway, opened her door without knocking, and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of her lounging against the pillows on the bed, her hair cascading around her. The only thing she wore was the necklace. He’d expected her to be obstinate about it—the way she was with the red gown. He’d thought she’d be in a nightdress, her chin angled high, daring him to find fault.

Even when she did what he commanded, she was unpredictable because he didn’t know if she would heed his words. Oh, she was skilled at this mistress game. If he didn’t know her history, he’d have thought she was a trained courtesan. Although perhaps her mother’s influence had rubbed off on her.