“Suit yourself. It was lovely to see you, Rafe.” She spun on her heel and began walking away. He’d forgotten what a stubborn wench she could be.
“One cup,” he ground out.
She pivoted back around, her eyes filled with teasing and victory. He remembered when he’d first seen her again, after his brothers had returned. She’d been engaged to someone else. She’d not looked this happy. He supposed Keswick was good for her. He knew he was goodtoher. What man wouldn’t be?
“Splendid.”
She reached for him again, as though she would entwine her arm around his, but he managed to gracefully sidestep by leading the way into the parlor. This had been his home when he was a boy and the family would come to London. He should have been comfortable in these surroundings. Instead he simply wanted to leave.
“Keswick’s not here,” she said softly, studying him as they settled into chairs by the fire.
He shrugged. “His whereabouts are of no concern to me. I didn’t come to see him.”
“I wish you would ... come to see him, that is.”
“Now that Uncle is dead, we have nothing in common, Mary.”
“You might be surprised.”
“I doubt it.”
“You are a stubborn—”
He suspected she was going to sayfool,but the arrival of the tea cart interrupted her. He watched as she prepared the brew, but it was Eve’s fingers that he saw. Small, delicate, arranging things so slowly. He’d wanted to watch her eat. What a silly thing to desire. He considered returning home straightaway, after he was done here, but it would not do to make her think that he was anxious to be with her. Because he wasn’t. But he did want to get the clothes situation taken care of, as he abhorred her in black.
Mary extended the cup toward him and he dutifully took it. “I was wondering who sews your clothing.”
She peered at him over the rim of her teacup as she sipped. She didn’t seem surprised, and he suspected she, too, knew he had taken a mistress. “I frequent Madame Charmaine’s on St. James.”
“Splendid.” That would be easy enough to find. He set aside his untouched tea. “Thank you, Mary.”
She looked up at him. “You’re not leaving.”
“I have much to which I must attend.”
“I wasn’t asking, Rafe. I was stating that you are not leaving.”
“Mary—”
“Tell me about this girl, the one for whom you need a seamstress.”
He scowled. “It’s hardly appropriate conversation. She’s my mistress.”
“Would I like her, do you think? We should have you both over for dinner.”
“You’re mad! This is the home of a duke. You don’t bring a mistress in here.”
“If she’s important to you—”
“She’s not.”
She puckered her brow into tiny pleats that had to be painful. “Then why make her your mistress?”
Why the bloody hell did she think? She was married. She knew a man had needs.
“I’m not discussing this with you. Have a good day.”
Before she could aggravate him further, he charged from the room. Eve was no one’s business save his own. He wanted to keep it that way.
