Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03] (7 page)

“You will learn to do things as I like them done,” he said softly, in a voice that promised pleasures. His eyes captured and held hers, and she thought that even if he wasn’t holding her, she’d not have been able to break away. “I have particular needs. The first is that you are to never wrap your arms around me.”

“Why not?” she whispered.

“Because it’s what I require.” He lowered his lips to hers, and she realized that if he hadn’t manacled her wrists that her arms would have twined about him of their own accord, simply to ensure that she remained standing when her knees grew so weak.

His tongue toyed with her mouth, painting it, outlining it as though he wanted to be intimately familiar with it. Then he was urging her lips apart and delving into the depths of her mouth with an urgency that astounded her. He might not like
her,
but it was becoming plain enough rather quickly that he was quite fond of her mouth. He explored every inch of it, every nook, every cranny, every hidden corner. When she dared to meet the thrust of his tongue with a thrust of her own, he groaned low and pressed her against his broad chest. Through the thin linen of his shirt and the maid’s well-worn nightly attire, she could feel the thudding of his heart, sense its increase in tempo.

When she tried to break free of his hold, his hand clamped harder on her wrists, just shy of causing pain. She relaxed her shoulders, relaxed her arms. Why couldn’t she hold him? She’d held him in the rain as he’d carried her home. Had she hurt him? Was she stronger than she thought? Had it been unpleasant?

She didn’t know what to make of his rule, his demand, and she wondered if he would have many. She suspected he would. She was agreeing to allow him to do whatever he wanted with her, and yet if his kiss were any indication of the pleasures she might find with him, she thought that perhaps he was right—it would not be such an awful trade.

The kiss deepened, grew hungrier. Her sighs were now mingling with his groans. She felt guilty for enjoying the way he played with her mouth. She should be ashamed, but perhaps she was more like her mother than she realized. Her mother had not required marriage in order to lay down with the earl. And here she was coming to understand that her regrets regarding this arrangement might not outweigh the benefits.

Breaking away, he stared down at her, his icy blue eyes not quite so icy, a heat there that astounded her.

“I think you’ll do rather nicely,” he said. Releasing his hold, he walked from the room before she could gather her wits about her to reply.

She sank back into the chair, brought her legs up, and wrapped her arms tightly around them. His comment left her empty. Suddenly her brother wasn’t the only one she wanted to have regrets regarding his treatment of her.

She wanted Rafe Easton to regret having taken her as a mistress instead of a wife.

Chapter 5

K
issing her had been a colossal error in judgment. Her lips were like silk. Her mouth, smoky with his Scotch, had tasted particularly inviting. Her sighs were as low and throaty as her voice. The sounds had sent desire shooting through him.

As a general rule he didn’t misjudge his actions, but from the moment she had walked into his life, he’d been having a time of it when it came to rational decisions.

He’d claimed her for his mistress.

He’d trotted after her into the rain like a misbegotten fool.

He’d carried her home, knowing the torment that would entail.

He’d promised to give her time instead of sinking into her molten heat tonight as he desperately wanted.

He’d kissed her.

And now he was heading to Wortham’s.

At least this time he’d had the good sense to have the carriage brought round. He tugged on his waistcoat. He hated that he had to display himself fully dressed in order to properly throw around his weight. Clothing always made him feel as though he was suffocating. He could trace his aversion back to his experiences living at the workhouse.

His arrival at Wortham’s stopped him from having to travel that particular path of memory. It was not pleasant, and he’d not thought of it in years. He’d shoved it into the back corner of his mind, just as he shoved everything upon which he did not wish to dwell. No good would come from taking it out and examining it further—other than to stir up the resentment he felt toward his brothers for abandoning him.

He stepped out of the carriage, bolted up the steps, and slammed the knocker, once, twice, thrice. The butler responded with a slowness that would have had him relieved of his post if he were in Rafe’s employ. It didn’t matter that it was half past midnight.

As soon as the door opened a crack, he barged past the butler. Eve should have done the same. She shouldn’t have allowed him to block her way. She’d been too polite by half. She might not carry the title of lady, but by God she was one. Too good for the likes of him, but that didn’t make him want her any less.

“Where’s Wortham?” he snapped.

“He’s not at ho—”

Rafe swung around and pinned the man with a hard-edged glare that he had honed to perfection during the years he had worked as a debt collector for someone on the shady side of the law. He knew it spoke of punishment and retribution. It put the fear of God into large brawny men.

The slender butler did little more than stammer, “The library, sir.”

He’d been there last night, so he had no trouble finding it. He didn’t bother to soften the stamping of his large feet. He wanted Wortham to be well aware that hell was arriving.

Rafe burst through the door. Wortham bolted to his feet. He’d been behind his desk, studying something. Ledgers perhaps, it didn’t matter.

“Changed your mind about her already, have you?” Wortham asked with a sneer. “I knew she wouldn’t measure up.”

“Your father gave her jewelry. I want it.”

Wortham looked as though Rafe had punched him. “That was not part of the bargain.”

“You dropped her off at my residence with nothing more than the clothes upon her back.”

“Because she’s yours to see after now. Everything else my father purchased. That makes it mine.”

“Not the jewelry. Hand it over and you’ll continue to breathe.”

“I’m growing quite weary of that threat. I don’t owe you anymore. So I see no need—”

Rafe rounded the desk with remarkable speed, wrapped his hand around Wortham’s throat, and shoved him against the wall. “You see no need for what? To heed my words?”

Anticipating that he might have to resort to a show of force, he’d not worn gloves. He knew precisely where to press his thumb to cut off air, to cause pain. Wortham’s eyes bulged. He gasped. He dug his fingers into Rafe’s wrist. He’d have marks there tomorrow, dammit. If he wasn’t striving to make a point, he’d simply snap the man’s neck. But Wortham didn’t deserve death, and of all Rafe’s sins through the years, killing a man who didn’t deserve it was not one of them.

Wortham gagged. Nodded.

Rafe loosened his hold. “You had some wisdom to impart?”

“Sold it,” Wortham rasped.

So that was how the weasel had paid off his debt earlier that evening. Releasing him, Rafe stepped away to avoid the possibility of encountering a mess, as it appeared Wortham was on the verge of tasting his dinner for a second time. “To whom?”

Wortham rubbed his neck, shook his head. “Don’t know. Some fence.”

“Describe him.”

“Small, black hair, black teeth. Has a kinship with some rodent I imagine. Met me at a tavern.”

Rafe arched a brow. “The tavern have a name?”

“The Golden Lion.”

“Good.” He considered ending Wortham’s membership at his club, but he’d rather have the man where he could see him. Besides, it made it easier to torment him, and he was a man in need of tormenting. “Should I discover that there is anything else here that your sister longs to have, rest assured that I shall return to claim it.”

“But I’m selling things.”

“Do not sell anything else of hers until you’ve heard from me.”

“That was not part of the arrangement.”

“I’m restructuring the arrangement.”

Wortham’s face turned a mottled red. “You have no right to order me about. I am an earl.”

“Take care with your words, Wortham, or next time, I might not release you until you’re shaking hands with the devil.”

On that note, Rafe spun on his heel and strode from the room. He was quite familiar with the Golden Lion, although in his opinion, it would have been more aptly named the Tarnished Scrawny Cat. Its clientele were not the best that London had to offer. Because of that, Rafe would be quite at home there as he searched for the man who had the jewelry he sought.

E
velyn awoke feeling as though a heavy thunderstorm had taken up residence in her skull. That she had slept at all was a miracle. She tried not to think about the bargain she’d struck. With the pale morning sunlight easing in through the window, she considered dressing, then quietly leaving, seeking sanctuary somewhere else. Surely some shelter existed for women in her circumstance, but even as she had the thought, she knew he wouldn’t let her easily go.

He would find her. He would make her pay for staying in his residence through the night. She had no doubt of that. He was a man of his word. She was beginning to understand why the other lords had avoided him as though he harbored the plague. If he dealt with them as he dealt with her, he would have few friends. No one liked a bully.

Rolling over, she came up short at the sight of a young maid standing there. The girl curtsied.

“Good morning, miss. I’m Lila. I’ve brought your clothes, freshly pressed. The master was hoping you would join him for breakfast.”

As though he’d suddenly walked into the room, all the air left and she could find none to draw into her lungs. “He’s still here?”

“Yes, miss.”

Silly thing to be disconcerted over. He lived here. She would see him. She just hadn’t thought she’d see him until tonight. “All right then.”

She would pretend this was what she wanted. She would make the best of it. Someday, she would make two men regret their taking advantage of her circumstance for their own gain.

She was quite surprised by the maid’s expertise at readying her, and she didn’t want to contemplate that she wasn’t the first mistress in this residence. But then what did it matter how many he’d had? She didn’t want to consider it, to know anything about him. She would simply do what she had to do, until she was in a position that she could do what she wanted.

After she was dressed, her hair pinned up, she followed Lila through the hallways, even more impressed with each room they passed. The residence and all it contained had to be worth a massive fortune.

A tall liveried footman stood before a set of closed double doors. As they neared, he opened one.

Lila smiled. “Enjoy your breakfast, miss.”

As the girl hurried away, Evelyn couldn’t help but think that enjoying anything today was not on her schedule. She would endure because she had no choice. But she would certainly not enjoy.

Taking a long deep breath, she straightened her shoulders before striding into the dining room. Rafe Easton was sitting at one end of a long table, reading a newspaper. He set it aside and stood.

“Good morning, Eve. I trust you slept well.”

How could she have forgotten how incredibly handsome he was? He was properly dressed, with waistcoat, jacket, and cravat. His black hair was tamed. She missed the curls. They softened him a bit. But this morning nothing about him appeared soft.

“It’s Evelyn,” she informed him, trying to regain her bearings, trying to convince herself that she could handle the monstrously unappealing task that lay before her.

“Evelyn doesn’t suit me.”

“It doesn’t suit you?”

“I will be providing you with a home, food, clothing, jewelry, servants . . . everything about you will suit me. You will spend your day planning for my arrival. You will amuse me with discussion, entertain me with pianoforte. You shall read to me.”

What price would she pay if she left this instance, simply turned on her heel and walked out of the room, walked out the front door?

He was studying her intently, and she had a feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Perhaps he was right that a change in name was in order. Evelyn was a far different woman than the one she would become. Evelyn had been loved. She doubted Eve ever would be—certainly not by this man who seemed incapable of harboring any emotion at all.

With a wave of his hand, he indicated the sideboard. “Tell Andrew what you’d like and he’ll prepare your plate.”

She turned toward the footman. Of course he would be tall and handsome as well. The most desired footmen were tall and in good form. It seemed Rafe Easton only went with the best. She wandered over to the sideboard. She selected poached egg, toast, ham. Not an abundance, but then she very much doubted she’d be able to eat. All this wonderful food would go to waste.

Andrew carried her plate over to the foot of the table. Setting it down, he pulled out her chair. She sat, watched as Rafe did the same, picked up his newspaper, and shook it. She reached for her napkin, froze.

Resting on the white linen was the sapphire encrusted necklace and matching bracelet that her father had given her for her nineteenth birthday. Gingerly she touched them, hardly daring to believe they were truly there.

She fought not to weep. Lifting her gaze to Rafe, she caught him watching her before jerking his attention to the paper as though he couldn’t be bothered by her reaction. “How did you get these?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her. Simply narrowed his eyes as though he was having difficulty making out the letters he was reading. “Paid a call on Wortham last night. If there is anything else you wish to have from his residence, let me know and we shall stop by there on the way to your seamstress this morning.” He lowered the paper. “Who is your seamstress, by the way?”

She shook her head. “Her name is Margaret, but she always came to the residence. I don’t know where she worked or how to contact her.”

He sighed. “I shall have to make inquiries then, regarding where I should take you for your clothing. I want to see you in only the best.”

His words hardly registered. She was still too stunned by the jewelry. “I can’t believe you did this, went to such bother.”

“Did I not explain that you would never lack for anything that was within my power to purchase?”

“You paid Geoffrey for these?”

“No, I paid the little rodent he’d sold them to. I’m relieved to know that he didn’t try to swindle me by giving me the incorrect pieces.”

“I can’t imagine anyone daring to swindle you.”

He bent his head to the side slightly in acknowledgment of her words. “It has been a good long while since anyone has tried to get the better of me. Do you read?”

She started at the abrupt change in topic. “Yes.”

“Good. You may read to me.” He folded the paper, signaled to the footman. The man brought it over, set it beside her fork.

“Why would you want me to read the news aloud?”

“Because I enjoy the sound of your voice.”

She released a tiny laugh. “Geoffrey once told me I had a man’s voice.”

“I believe we’ve already ascertained that he’s an idiot.”

Carefully, she eased the jewelry off her napkin, fluffed the linen in the air, and settled it across her lap. “How did you come to own a gambling establishment?”

“What does it matter?”

She toyed with the egg, darted a glance to the footman. Servants were discreet, she suspected his more so than most, but still this was awkward. “It just seems that I should come to know you, to understand you, before . . . that things will be more comfortable between us, that I will be able to more easily determine what you need.”

“I’ll tell you what I need.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Oh, I see.” She sliced off a piece of ham. “I enjoy riding.”