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.”
Or 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.
Evelyn 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?”
