Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03] (23 page)

The problem was, with her at least, the need seemed to strike with increasing frequency. He wasn’t spending nearly as much time at the club as he needed to. Tomorrow night, he vowed he would not return here until midnight.

He would regain control of himself, of the situation.

Chapter 15

B
ecause if anyone saw her, they might think she was mad, Evelyn slipped out of the residence and into the night without telling a soul—other than her lady’s maid, who’d assisted in dressing her—of her plans. The lights in the garden were not flickering, but remained dark, so it was only the moon that guided her steps to the far wall. When Rafe had left that afternoon, he’d told her he would be late so she was not expecting him until well after midnight.

The nights were usually the loneliest. During the day the air filled with the rattle of carriages and the clop of horses’ hooves. She would hear the din of people passing by, children running about in the distance and laughing. But when darkness fell, everything became quiet and she merely passed the time, like an ornament set on a mantel waiting to be taken down and admired, studied, touched.

But tonight the loneliness was worse because there
were
sounds. So many marvelous noises. Carriages were lined up on the street, and when she’d looked out one of the windows of a bedchamber upstairs, she saw them turning into the long drive of the residence next door. They were hosting a ball.

She could catch only glimpses of the people attending in their finery. They were too far away for her to discern any details. Bereft, she turned away from the window. She would never attend so glorious an occasion. She would never receive invitations. She would never be welcomed into proper homes. She would always be an outcast, for no matter how much she might gain in possessions, she could not change the circumstance of her birth. It would continue to overshadow every other aspect of her life.

Because these maudlin thoughts threatened to take a stranglehold, she marched to her bedchamber and rang for Lila. An hour later, within the shadows of the garden, she listened as the music wafted on the breeze. She imagined the doors that led onto the terrace were open, allowing the air to cool the guests as they waltzed over the polished floor. She was tempted to retrieve a ladder, place it against the wall, and peer over into the neighbor’s domain, but she was no longer a child who didn’t know how rude and intrusive it was to spy through holes in fences. So she merely listened and imagined it.

She could hear people talking, quiet whisperings and murmurs mingled with soft sighs. Lovers meeting for a tryst no doubt. Lovers were acceptable, mistresses were not. It hardly seemed fair, but then allowances were made when the heart was involved. The music drifted into silence. She missed it, missed it terribly. Perhaps she would hire an orchestra to play for her and Rafe one evening. He didn’t seem to care one whit how she spent his money. His concerns revolved around only what occurred in the bedchamber.

The lilting strains of a waltz floated over the wall. Swaying with the gentle music, she raised her arms as her dancing instructor had taught her, resting one hand on an imaginary tall gentleman, envisioning him placing his hand on her waist, squeezing slightly, a secret shared, that something intimate existed between them. He held her other hand and began to lead her in swirls about the garden, his eyes on hers because he was too infatuated with her to look away.

She dipped one way, twirled around, and her imaginary gentleman took form, a solid hand at her waist, a warm one holding hers. Rafe. Without missing a step, he guided her over the lawn in perfect cadence with the music. She didn’t remember dropping her hand to his shoulder. Perhaps because it was already the perfect height for him to slip beneath. Holding his gaze, she smiled softly. “I wasn’t expecting you until midnight.”

“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.”

O
r 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.

E
velyn 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.”