She angled her chin. “I took Lila and three strong footmen with me.” She took a sip, touched her tongue to her lips. He wanted that tongue touching his. “The night when everything happened, the butler—Manson—told me he was sorry that he couldn’t let me in, but seeing him today, the way he looked at me as though I should be used as an object upon which to wipe his boots, made me realize that it was only training that had him telling me he was sorry. He wasn’t really. I told my lady’s maid, Hazel, that she was welcome to come with me if she wanted. I rather missed her.”
She sipped again, taking in more. “But she declined my invitation, as though it were beneath her. All my life, I knew what I was, but my father provided a shield for me. I never comprehended the extent of it. With his death, and my visit today, I realize I was not as well liked as I assumed.”
All his life, he’d known what he was as well, but it had not shielded him. At times it had served to make situations worse. “They don’t matter,” he grounded out. “They’re nothing.”
“Is that how you carry on? By pretending no one matters?”
“I don’t pretend, Evie. They don’t matter.” He wouldn’t allow them to matter. “Why did you even bother to go there?”
“There were a few things that I decided I wanted, small things: a pearl comb for my hair, gloves, a brush that had belonged to my mother—he sold everything. Walking into that room, I saw no evidence at all that I’d ever even lived there. He simply wiped me away, as though I’d never been born, which I suppose is what he always wished.”
It angered him beyond measure that she should feel less because of this unplanned visit she’d made today. Wortham was going to pay, and pay dearly—eventually. But for now Rafe needed someplace to vent his fury. “If you want something, then purchase it for God’s sake. Here.” He removed a folded sheaf of paper from beneath the blotter. “Did Laurence not tell you about this? It’s a letter I wrote for you. You take it to any shop in London—in Great Britain for that matter—show it to a shopkeeper, and your purchases will be charged to my accounts.”
Her chin came up with such force that he was surprised he didn’t hear her neck pop. “I’m not going to spend your money.”
Proud stubborn woman. How she infuriated and intrigued him. Seldom did anyone stand up to him, and that this small woman continually did so astounded him. “Have you not eaten since you’ve been here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Have you not had meals since the night you came here in the rain?”
“You know I have.”
“Do you use the gas lights? Do you leave an oil lamp burning by your bed? Have you taken a warm bath? Have you had a fire going in the fireplace in your bedchamber on a chilly night?”
“I don’t—”
“You’re already spending my money, Eve. It’s ridiculous to split hairs as to whether you’re walking into a shop and purchasing something that you want or burning oil late into the night because you wish to read. I pay for the gas, the food, the salaries of the servants who see to your every need. If you want a blasted comb for your hair, purchase a comb.”
Devastation swept over her features. “I hadn’t thought of all that, all the myriad ways to which I’m already indebted to you.”
Turning away, she walked to the window, and he wanted to kick himself for not considering that she might have experienced a sense of control in her life when she’d penned her invitation to him that afternoon. With a few blunt words, he’d effectively managed to plunge her back into reality concerning her place in his life. He didn’t know what to say, how to make things right, how to return the smile to her face or the ease in her posture with which she had walked into the library.
“Evie, I’m—”Sorry.When had he ever apologized? But then he could hardly remember the last time that he’d been wrong.
She took a sip of the wine, held the glass with two hands as though she needed it to balance herself. “Of course, I know and understand that items are purchased, that nothing is free, but I never consideredeverythingthat must be bought.” She faced him. “It was just always there. Father provided it. He never spoke of paying for it. I never thought to ask how it all worked.” She sighed in frustration. “I’m not saying this properly. I understood that items were purchased. I just never contemplated precisely how much it might cost if I burned a log in the fireplace or used coal. The minutia, you see. I never considered the minutia. My God, I must owe you a fortune already.”
He tossed the paper onto the desk and walked over to where she stood. He inhaled her fragrance, glad that he was near enough to smell it. “Hardly a fortune, and I told you before that I’m not keeping tally. So if you need something, purchase it, or send Laurence or one of the servants out to fetch it.”
“So we’re talking an allowance here?”
“If you wish, if you’re more comfortable assigning a name to it.”
“For what amount?”
He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Now you’re talking like a mistress.”
“As you professed to have never had one, I’m not certain how you know that.”
“When men gamble, they do one of two things: they either grumble or they boast. And both are exaggerated. Nothing is as bad as they seem to make on that it is, and none of them excel at whatever they’re talking about to the extent that they would have one believe. But often the topics revolve around their wives or their mistresses.”
Reaching out, she touched a fold in his cravat, her fingers working to right what he wasn’t certain needed be righted. His gut tightened as though she’d gone further and actually removed the blasted neckcloth, in anticipation of removing everything.
“You didn’t answer my question regarding how much,” she said.
“As much as you like.”
She lifted her gaze to his, and he was grateful to see a bit of spark there. “I’ll put you in the poorhouse.”
