He was. Dressed in his loose linen shirt and trousers, one arm raised, pressed to the mantel, while the other held an almost empty tumbler. He was staring into the barren hearth before glancing back at her, heavy lidded.
“Go on to bed, Evie. I won’t be bothering you tonight.”
Her belly clutched painfully, and her chest filled with a sadness that nearly cracked her ribs. Was that how he viewed things between them: that his coming to her was a bother for her? Did her cries of pleasure mean nothing? Did he not understand that she had come to cherish him? Didshemean nothing at all to him?
She wandered over to the table, removed the stopper from a decanter, and lifted it.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m of a mind to have something to drink.” She filled a glass. With decanter in hand, she walked over to him and poured the amber liquid into his glass. She could feel his speculative gaze on her, but didn’t dare bring herself to look into his eyes. They could easily dissuade her from her purpose. She returned the decanter to the table, took her glass, and made herself comfortable in a nearby chair, pulling her legs beneath her. She lifted her glass. “Cheers.”
She downed a good bit, let the warmth swirl through her, igniting her courage. “They didn’t want to leave you, you know.”
He released a strangled laugh. “I know.” He turned his attention back to the empty hearth.
“I understand that it doesn’t make it any easier, though. The knowing,” she said. “When I was a little girl and my mother was still alive, the earl would come to visit us. Every time he left, she sat by the window and gave herself leave to cry for two minutes. Then she would stop, wipe her nose with her silk handkerchief, and say, ‘He doesn’t want to leave us, Evelyn, but he has no choice. Duty and all that rubbish.’ I thought there must be something that would allow him to stay, and then my mother died, and I was able to be with him.”
He snapped his head around, penetrating her soul with his focus. “You didn’t make your mother die.”
“I know, but still it was a silly thing to wish for. Do you think either of them had it easier than you?”
“No.” His attention was back on the hearth. “But I don’t think either of them had to do what I did to survive.”
She swallowed more Scotch before tightening her arms around her legs. “What did you do, Rafe?”
Slowly he shook his head. “You don’t want to know, Evie.”
“Do you do those things now?”
“No.” He glowered at her. “Absolutely not.”
“Then perhaps they don’t matter.” She took another sip. Amazing how relaxed she was becoming. “Would it be so awful do you think to go on the boat with your brother?”
“Ship.”
She giggled, then sobered. “Their wives seem very nice. Did you know ...” She looked at her glass, wrinkled her brow. “Oh, it’s empty.”
In long strides he went to the table, retrieved the decanter, and refilled her glass. He took the chair opposite her. “Did Iknow?”
Lowering her voice so revealing a confidence wouldn’t seem quite so wicked, she said, “Lord Rafe and Lady Anne were intimate before they married.”
“Yes, I knew. All of London knew. Even though he denied it later, I think everyone recognized his denial was a lie, a wish to protect her when it was far too late.”
“Oh.” Pondering, she took a long sip of the Scotch. “Why are mistresses looked down upon then? If others do it without benefit of marriage.”
“I suppose it has to do with love.”
“Have you ever loved anyone?” Looking at him over the rim of her glass, she sipped again. It was a funny thing but the more she drank, the more she wanted to drink.
“My father. Never knew my mother. She died when I was born.” He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, a lip she wanted to kiss. What would he do if she got up, crossed the distance separating them, bent over, and placed her mouth against his? “I suppose she was the first person I killed.”
His words slowly registered through her lethargic haze. “What? No. It’s not your fault she died. It simply happened.”
“She gave birth to twins without dying. So why was I so difficult? I don’t believe my father blamed me, but still I reflect on it sometimes.”
“You shouldn’t. Not like that. She loved you, I’m sure of it. She’d want you to be happy.”
He chuckled low. “After everything that’s happened to you, how can you remain so damned optimistic?”
