“To secure me a husband.”
He nearly choked on his Scotch. The very last thing he would ever contemplate was marriage. If she knew him at all, she’d know that. But therein resided part of the problem: she didn’t know him, and he preferred to keep it that way.
“I was most surprised,” she continued, “to find myself arriving at your residence when I was left with the distinct impression that you found me hardly worth a thought.”
Hardly worth a thought? How he wished that was true. He’d been unable to stop thinking about her since he’d first seen her. She invaded his dreams, inhabited his thoughts, occupied his mind.
“To be quite honest,” she carried on, “I suspect I will not be here long before someone offers for me. I doubt it is worth it to either of us for me to be in your employ.”
While he didn’t relish the thought of shattering her naiveté, he didn’t much like this dancing about either. Best to just get it said. “You’re not to be in my employ. You’re to be in my bed.”
She blinked, blinked, blinked. Opened her mouth, closed it. Blinked again. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your brother was seeking to find a man to take you as his mistress, not as his wife.”
She shook her head slightly as though she were almost frozen in disbelief, as though working out what he’d said was taking all her energy. “That can’t be. He promised Father that he would see that I was well taken care of.”
“Mistresses are often treated better than wives. At least I have no wife on the side, which is more than I can say for a few of the gents who were in attendance last night. As my mistress—”
“You can’t possibly want me to be your mistress. You don’t even like me.”
“I don’t have to like you to bed you. Truth be told, it’s better that there be no sentiment between us.”
She came to her feet in such a rush he was surprised she didn’t stumble. However, she did drop her glass. It fell to the carpet, spilling his extremely expensive Scotch.
“You’re wrong about last night,” she announced, her eyes welling with tears. “About Geoffrey’s intentions. He wouldn’t have brought me here if he’d known what you assumed, what you planned. He promised. He promised Father ...”
Then she fairly raced from the parlor. He heard the front door slam, could almost feel the walls trembling with the impact. Swearing harshly, he tossed back his Scotch.
He supposed he could have handled that a bit better.
Chapter 4
Evelyn ran. And ran. And ran.
Her legs churning, her chest aching as she fought for breath, the tears blurring her vision. The rain pelted her, seeped through her clothing. Somewhere along the way she lost her hat, her pins. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, absorbed the wetness, weighted her down.
It was lies. It was all lies. Geoffrey wouldn’t be so cruel. In spite of the fact that he had never given her leave to think that he liked her overly much, he was innocent in this debacle. He’d not known what that horrid Rafe Easton had assumed, had planned. When she explained to Geoffrey what the man said, what he expected of her, Geoffrey would call him out. He would insist upon pistols at dawn. In honor of his father, he would protect her reputation. He would not allow her to be completely ruined.
Although he had never given her cause to believe that he would champion her, he was enough of a gentleman that he would not stand by while some cur took advantage of her.
All she had to do was get home. Thank God it wasn’t that far. She remembered the way. One street, and then another and another, and she would be there. The few people she passed stared at her as though she were a mad woman. But it was Rafe Easton who should be carted off to Bedlam.
Geoffrey would apologize for the misunderstanding, and then he would make everything all right. Years from now they might even laugh about it. When she was married and had children and a husband who loved her. Hewouldlove her. Maybe not at first, but in time.
What Rafe Easton proposed was so hideously horrible. How could he be so cold, so harsh, so uncaring? How could he think she would welcome his touch?
She wouldn’t. She would die first. She would scrub floors, she would ... she would—
She couldn’t think, but it didn’t matter. Geoffrey had made a promise. He would keep it. He would see that she was well cared for.
Drenched to the bone, she turned up the long drive. The gaslights were lit along the path, guiding her. Her entire body was aching now. It was becoming harder and harder to pull air into her lungs. She stumbled, landed hard on her knees and hands, jarring her bones, rattling her teeth. Pushing herself to her feet, she staggered on and trudged up the steps.
She expected the door to open. A footman was always standing there to open it, but then they weren’t expecting her, were they? Grabbing the handle, she pressed it and pushed on the door—
It didn’t open. It was locked!
She banged the knocker. Over and over. Harder and harder, with the crash echoing around her. No one came.
