Читать книгу The Courtesan's Book of Secrets - Georgie Lee - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCornelia watched the swan glide down the canal, the water trailing behind it forming a V spreading out to touch each shore. Despite being nearly noon, all good society was still asleep, leaving the park quiet except for the governesses tending to their small charges. She watched the water flowing through the canal, the steady current reminding her of the river behind Hatton Place and the way the ducks used to swim to the opposite shore as she and Andrew played beside the banks.
She sighed, wondering if he’d outgrown the French shirts she’d sent him for Christmas. She hadn’t seen him since before she and Rafe had set sail for Paris in search of the riches to be gained from the Peace of Amiens. She’d visited him at Mr Higgins’s school where he stayed during the school terms, comforted to know he was somewhere safe while she was across the channel.
She picked at a small knot in the wooden handle of her parasol. If only she had the money to pay the tuition and keep Andrew there over the summer. She lowered the parasol, fluffing the lace along the edge. She’d have the money soon enough and school would begin again in a few weeks. Hopefully, her empty-headed stepmother wouldn’t do anything foolish between now and then. Once Andrew was back at school she could see him. She wasn’t about to travel to Sussex and face the vapid woman or listen in person to the many demands for funds Fanny felt the need to waste paper sending.
Cornelia settled the parasol back on her shoulder, shielding her face from the morning sun as she focused on the rippling water. Closing her eyes, she listened to the gentle slosh of small waves against the bank, letting the rhythmic sound sooth her the way it used to when she was a girl. She’d spent so many hours playing by the river, her ill-fitting dress muddy as she wandered shoeless through the reeds, imagining the stalks to be the sturdy walls of a castle where a handsome prince waited to rescue her, and her mother was still alive.
Foolish dreams.
She opened her eyes and gazed across the grass at a woman holding a small child’s hand as it tottered about on unsteady legs. None of her girlish dreams had come true: not a peaceful life, a happy marriage or a future with Rafe.
What happened between us?
He’d been so different from all the other men, smiling at her from across Lord Perry’s card party as if he understood her humiliation and worry over her father’s mounting losses. He hadn’t laughed like the other men when Lord Edgemont had goaded her weak father into wagering her hand. Nor had he leered at her when old Lord Waltenham won.
Then, in the garden, as she’d fought Lord Waltenham’s clawing hands, cursing him and her father for what was about to happen, Rafe had stepped out from behind the box hedge. He’d thrashed the lecher, sending him fleeing into the house, and everything had changed.
No one had cared or noticed when the daughter of an obscure baronet and a penniless Baron ran off together. It wasn’t love, but curiosity which had led her to accept Rafe’s proposal to join him in London.
A man and woman working together can win more than gambling alone, he’d tempted her and she’d followed him, wanting to see the world as he’d painted it. He’d taught her to play cards, to carry and dress herself like a lady, and to charm men away from their money with nothing more than a promise. Then, in their rented rooms one night, their winnings piled high on the table, he’d taught her the secret pleasures shared between a man and a woman.
She gripped the parasol tighter, her breasts growing as heavy now as during the first night she’d lain next to him, anticipating his touch with curious excitement and trepidation. The memory of his thick voice in her ear as he explained everything each finger did and all the new sensations they awakened inside her, stole through her body once again. Beneath him, his dark brown eyes pinned to hers, she’d experienced a need deeper than the press of their skin and the urgency of their kisses, one which spoke to her soul.
Or so she’d once believed.
She shifted the parasol to her other shoulder. He’d made it clear from the beginning their arrangement wasn’t permanent, but she always thought she’d meant more to him than a partner at the tables and in his bed.
How could I have been such a fool?
A figure in a cherry-red coat appeared on the canal bridge, pulling Cornelia from her memories. She closed the parasol, rested the tip in the soft grass and laid her hands on the upturned handle. Guilt snapped at her, but she kicked it away. She shouldn’t take advantage of the Earl, but she had no choice, not if she wanted to save Andrew.
The Earl paused in the centre of the bridge, looking over the park before spying her. He hurried down the near side and over the grass, rushing to where she stood.
‘I received your note,’ he announced, his brass buttons straining to stay fastened over his thick middle as they stretched and relaxed with each wheezing breath.
Cornelia extended her hand. ‘My lord.’
He knocked her hand aside and grabbed her around the waist, his fleshy stomach pressing against hers. He was two inches shorter than her and she could see the beginning of a bald spot in the middle of his head. ‘I’ve thought of nothing but you since last night.’
The smell of port and beef on his breath made her stomach churn as he stood up on his toes to claim her mouth.
She arched backwards, pressing her hands against his soft chest to keep his puckered lips from touching hers. ‘My lord, I think you misunderstood the meaning of my note.’
‘I don’t believe so.’ He tried to kiss her again, his weight in danger of toppling them both. If they fell, he’d crush her.
‘Yes, you have.’ She shoved hard, stumbling free of his grasp before regaining her footing. ‘Do you really believe I’d debase myself in a public park?’
‘There are many places we can go for privacy.’ He lunged for her and she snapped up the parasol, poking the end into his chest to keep him at bay.
‘It’s not privacy I seek, but a moment of your time. We have business to discuss.’
‘Business?’ He knocked the parasol away, then flicked blades of grass off of his coat. ‘What business could we possibly have to discuss?’
‘The motive behind your father’s retreat at the Battle of Saratoga.’
‘You summoned me from my bed at this early hour to discuss that tired old rumour?’ His nose wrinkled as if he smelled something foul.
‘It’s no rumour, my lord.’ She lowered the umbrella point back to the ground and adjusted the strings of her reticule on her forearm. ‘I’m in possession of a document that confirms your father was paid by the French to turn traitor.’
A faint red began to spread up his neck. ‘No one would believe you.’
‘I assure you, my proof is irrefutable.’
‘What proof?’
‘Mrs Ross’s register.’
‘But it doesn’t exist,’ he sputtered. ‘It was destroyed in the same fire that killed the old courtesan.’
‘No, the rumours were true—it was her maid’s body they found. Mrs Ross survived and has been hiding in a small house near Gracechurch Street, scarred by the fire and living off all the money she earned from the French for making men like your father betray their country.’ He paled and for a moment she felt sorry for him. ‘She was killed two weeks ago in a carriage accident. I have since purchased the register from her estate.’
‘A very convenient tale to scare little lords with, but you won’t frighten me.’ His fingers gripped the edge of his coat, undermining his confident words.
‘Then let me tell you a better story, one which is sure to frighten you. It comes straight from Mrs Ross’s book. Your father accepted five thousand pounds from the French to flee at the Battle of Saratoga and help deny General Burgoyne his victory. He received an additional five thousand pounds once news of the defeat was known. It seems your father wasn’t as competent an estate manager as your mother and possessed some heavy gambling debts he needed to repay.’ She stepped closer and the Earl’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. ‘The Bill of Attainder is still in place, my lord, and Lord Twickenham is eager to unearth evidence of treachery and avenge his brother who died in that disaster of a battle. If I show him the register, he’ll relish the chance to invoke the bill and seize your lands and title.’
The Earl’s pudgy cheeks sagged. ‘You can’t.’
Flexing her fingers over the parasol handle, she steadied herself, thinking of Andrew as she pressed on, despite her disgust with herself. ‘I will, unless you deliver to me by Friday the sum of one thousand pounds.’
He clutched his chest. ‘One thousand pounds!’
‘It’s a very small price to pay to keep your lands and standing, and only a tenth of what your father received to betray his country and place you in this difficult position.’
He tugged on the knot of his cravat. ‘And if I make the payment?’
His genuine fear and the hard way she pressed on made her stomach churn. This wasn’t who she was or who she wanted to be and with each step down this path she felt herself becoming more like her stepmother, or worse, Lord Edgemont. ‘I will maintain my silence.’
‘How do I know you won’t come to me at some future date and demand more?’
‘You don’t.’ She wished she could give him some assurance, toss aside this callous mask and walk away from the ugliness of it all, but she couldn’t, not with Andrew’s fate hanging in the balance. ‘Nor are you to discuss the matter with anyone, not your man of affairs or your mother.’
Enough people already knew about the register, the wrong sort like Rafe and Lord Edgemont. She didn’t need the Earl wailing his woes about town and having more people learn of the book.
‘Of course I won’t tell my mother,’ he spat. ‘The shock of it would kill her.’
Given the number of scandals she’d already weathered, she doubted the Dowager Countess would die of shock, but Cornelia was happy to know the threat carried weight with her son. ‘Then we have an agreement. You will pay the specified sum and no one, not even your mother, need ever know the register exists.’
He turned a large sapphire ring on his thick forefinger, his lips lengthening with his frown. ‘I’ll arrange to secure the money at once.’
‘Good.’ She opened her parasol again and laid it over one shoulder. ‘Then I expect to receive it at my town house in Golden Square by Friday morning.’
‘Yes, you’ll get it.’ He whirled on the heel of one highly polished boot and stormed off across the grass.
Cornelia waited until he was nearly over the bridge before she let out a long breath of relief. By Friday, she’d have the money and Andrew would be safe. She’d even pay Mr Higgins a few extra pounds to ensure Fanny didn’t do anything to Andrew without Cornelia knowing about it first. She felt sure the kind vicar would help.
In the meantime, there was one more man to put the screws to.
Lord Edgemont.
She closed the umbrella and swung it once, then a second time, eager to see Lord Edgemont suffer for everything he’d done to her. It was a far more savoury endeavour to look forward to than this morning’s nasty business.
* * *
Rafe entered the theatre lobby, looking over the sea of feather-bedecked turbans for Cornelia. He guessed she might be in attendance tonight, an old habit left over from their first months together in London when they used to sneak into unoccupied boxes and stand in the shadows while Rafe pointed out all of London society. In the beginning, she’d known nothing and no one knew her, accepting their fabricated story of her brief country marriage and subsequent widowhood. While the actresses on stage titillated the audience in their breeches roles, he’d tutored Cornelia on who was lacking in funds or who couldn’t hold their wine at the tables. She’d proved an eager student with a sharp memory. It’d served them well in Paris, where almost all of London society had rushed during the brief peace between France and Britain.
He wound his way through the crowd, grumbling at the new craze for long trains. They lay all over the floor like wrinkled rugs and Rafe toed more than one out of the way to keep from tripping. Avoiding the new fashion distracted him from searching for Cornelia. He peered over the heads of the crowd, recognising many former opponents from Madame Boucher’s, but not seeing Cornelia. Hopefully, she wasn’t already seated. With the Comte’s money, she could hire a box and take advantage of the semi-privacy to look over society and choose her victims.
At last he spied her on the staircase. Her black silk dress shot with red swayed with her hips as she took each step, teasing Rafe with just a hint of the round derrière beneath. While he admired the curve of her long back and the white flesh of her shoulders above the dark silk, she paused on the centre landing to look over the assembled guests.
He ducked behind Lady Treadaway and the tall ostrich feather protruding from the top of her turban.
‘Is there something I may help you with?’ Lady Treadaway turned, scrunching her eyes at Rafe, the wrinkles in her thin face hardening with disapproval.
He offered her a low bow and a rakish smile. ‘No, my lady, your plumage has benefited me enough this evening.’
Her pinched expression softened into an amused smile. ‘Lord Densmore, you are too much.’
He took her hand and clasped it to his chest, warming the thin skin with a small squeeze. ‘And you, Lady Treadaway, are perfect just as you are.’
He pinched her cheek and she swatted him away, her faded eyes twinkling with the playfulness of a green girl after her first stolen kiss. ‘A tease, just like your father.’
‘I assure you, I’m serious in all my compliments.’ With a wink, he released her and bowed back into the crowd before making for the stairs.
At the top he paused, looking up and down the long hallways before catching the black train of Cornelia’s dress as it disappeared into the third box from the end.
He followed her, the actors’ voices echoing through the hallway as he pushed open the curtain and stepped inside. ‘Good evening, Cornelia.’
She whirled in her chair to face him, her full lips forming a tantalising O before tightening into a scowl. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You know how much I adore the theatre.’ He looked out over the audience, the story on stage not nearly as gripping as the one taking place in the box across the way. He snatched Cornelia’s opera glasses from her gloved hands and held them up. In the dim glow of the footlights he could just make out a couple intertwined in the shadows, engaged in a performance of their own. He struggled to see their faces, but Cornelia grabbed the glasses back from him.
‘I believe your seats are further down, near the orchestra,’ she hissed, then turned to the stage, her back stiff.
‘How very kind of you to ask me to join you.’ He slid into the empty chair behind hers and leaned over her shoulder, the curve of her neck so close to his lips. ‘I’ve been considering your plan. You need my help.’
Her skin pebbled beneath his breath, but still she refused to face him. ‘No, I don’t believe I do.’
Rafe brought his lips next to her ear, aching to slide his teeth over the tender lobe. ‘He won’t pay you.’
She turned her head, her almond-shaped eyes hooded and seductive as she peered over one smooth shoulder at him. Her lips parted, moving in a tantalising rhythm to form each whispered word. ‘He’s already agreed to pay me.’
The shock struck Rafe like cold water.
‘You met with him?’ More than one head in the audience turned and looked in their direction. He dropped his voice. ‘When?’
‘This very morning.’ Her lips, so tempting before, now chafed with the way they curled up in a triumphant smile. ‘By the end of the week, I shall have a tidy sum in my possession.’
He took her arm, the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers rattling him before he regained his focus. ‘You shouldn’t have met with him alone. It’s dangerous.’
‘As you can see, I escaped the meeting unscathed.’ She whacked his knuckles with her fan. He pulled back his hand, more annoyed by her flippant attitude than his stinging knuckles. ‘If all goes well tonight, I shall continue to prosper.’
She nodded across the theatre.
He followed her gaze to Lord Edgemont. The square-jawed man sat in his box watching them, not bothering to conceal his interest. ‘No. It’s one thing to toy with your dolt of an Earl, but not Edgemont.’
‘You needn’t bother trying to protect me. My welfare is no longer your concern.’
‘You have the register. That makes you my concern.’ He leaned in close again, trying to ignore the way the heat of her skin heightened the notes of her verbena perfume. ‘I needn’t remind you what Edgemont is capable of.’
‘Which is exactly why he deserves to suffer,’ she hissed, her calm mask sliding. ‘I want to see him squirm.’
‘I agree, but when you threaten a man like him, you make him desperate. You can’t underestimate a desperate man.’
‘Like I underestimated you?’
Rafe jerked upright, surprised by the venom in her accusation. ‘What did I do in Paris to give you such a low opinion of me?’
‘I’m sure if you think very hard, you’ll discover the source of it. For the moment, I have no need of your assistance, so leave, or I’ll make such a fuss the whole theatre will rally to my defence.’ She shifted around to face the stage, raising her glasses to watch the performance.
Rafe moved to say something, but caught the glint of more than one lorgnette turning to study them from across the theatre, including Edgemont’s. Having no desire to set society’s tongue wagging with gossip, he rose and pulled aside the curtain, leaving the curtain rings to clank against the rail as he stormed into the hallway.
Impudent wench. He hurried along the upper level of the theatre and down the main staircase, banging the banister with his fist as he descended into the nearly deserted foyer. Whatever wrong she thought he’d committed in Paris, it’d taken a stubborn hold in her mind. For the life of him, he couldn’t say what he’d done except try to help her, and this was how she chose to repay him? Dismissing him like some servant and then blaming him for her actions in France.
He stepped outside, ignoring the hackneys waiting by the kerb and letting his anger carry him towards a less respectable part of London. Cornelia would be nowhere without him. He shuddered at the memory of her and Lord Waltenham in Lord Perry’s garden and what might have happened if he hadn’t followed them. After the old man insulted her, her father probably would have wagered her away again, or sold her to some moll for a few sovereigns. She certainly wouldn’t have become a Comtesse with a generous inheritance.
Rafe halted in the middle of the pavement, ignoring the inviting calls of a doxy lounging in a doorway across the street. Despite his former misgivings about her morals, it still seemed strange a rich widow would want to dabble in blackmail, not with all those diamonds dangling from her tender ears and caressing her pretty breasts. They’d twinkled with her current good fortune, or were they there to hide the lack of one?
No matter what Cornelia might have done to him in France, if the Comte’s riches were as rickety as his legs then it was a revenge not even Rafe could have designed.
He whirled around on one heel and headed back towards the theatre. If Cornelia wore her finest baubles to distract society from any scent of money problems, it might offer his last hope to reel her in and remove his father’s name from the register.
* * *
Cornelia tried to focus on the play, but the actress’s sing-song voice grated on her nerves as much as Rafe’s sudden appearance tonight. When he’d gripped her arm, she’d nearly bolted from the box. The Comte used to curl his gnarled fingers around her and try to drag her to their bedroom, his ragged nails biting into her skin before she’d shake him off. After their first horrid night together, when he’d tried to rally his body enough to violate hers and she’d shoved him away, she’d refused to let him near her again. It’d stopped his amorous advances but not the cruel insults he’d taken sport in constantly hurling at her.
She stamped down the nasty memories and rubbed her arm, trying to feel Rafe’s warmth, but the skin was cool. His warning grasp was nothing like the Comte’s rough handling, but strong and reassuring. Until he’d pressed his flesh to hers, she hadn’t realised how much she missed the comfort of it.
Apparently, Rafe didn’t miss her quite as much. If she didn’t have the register, he wouldn’t even be troubling with her, just as she wouldn’t deign to acknowledge Lord Edgemont.
She peered through the glasses across the theatre.
Lord Edgemont sat deep in the shadows of his box, his staunch nose made more prominent by his high forehead and close-cropped hair. He was the one man in London she hated more than Rafe. She could still hear his mocking voice at Lord Perry’s card party, encouraging her drunk father to wager her hand, laughing at her father’s desperation and hers. Then, in France, he’d tried to play her, believing she was as weak and gullible as her father.
He’d regret thinking so little of her.
The audience broke into wild laughter and Cornelia shifted in her chair again, eager to leave but determined to stay. She’d spent more than she should have to hire the box for the evening. It galled her to think the expense would only result in a stinging rebuke from Rafe. What she needed was society’s notice of her and her new title, and the invitations to card parties it might garner. If the Earl found a way to delay his payment, gambling was her only chance to raise enough money to live on or pay for Andrew’s school.
It wasn’t just society’s attention she needed, but Lord Edgemont’s. Despite the uncomfortable weight of his narrow-eyed stare over the audiences’ heads, she wanted him to come to her. If he approached her tonight, in a box in front of a theatre full of people, it would make blackmailing him a touch easier and safer.
For all her bravado in front of Rafe, she was wary of the thick-necked Baron.
Cornelia jumped as the actress let out a high-pitched laugh on stage.
Hang Lord Edgemont. She stuffed the opera glasses in her reticule and quit the box, determined to find a better, cheaper place to ensnare him.
Hurrying down the quiet hallway, she descended the stairs to the main lobby, passing only one or two other people and a footman carrying a note upstairs.
Outside, she watched from the top of the portico as the last hackney pulled away from the kerb. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long before another appeared.
A breeze blew through the open row of tall columns. Cornelia wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d thought to bring a shawl, but she’d expected the evening to be warmer. She could go back inside, enjoy the comfort of her box but she decided to wait. She wasn’t in the mood for any more play-acting tonight.
‘Good evening, Comtesse.’
Cornelia whirled around at the sound of Lord Edgemont’s voice. Anger filled her as he approached, his movements slow and easy like a snake, but with enough hint of danger to make her shiver. She flicked a glance over his shoulder at the empty foyer, the chance someone might happen on them offering her slim protection.
She dropped her arms, ready to face him. He looked as sure of himself tonight as he had on the wharf in Calais when he’d approached her with his bargain and started this ridiculous game. If she hadn’t been so desperate to escape France, and seen the opportunity to harm him in the offer, she wouldn’t have accepted his proposal.
‘Lord Edgemont, what a pleasure it is to see you again.’
His eyes glinted at the thought of his power over her. Little did he know, she now held the upper hand. ‘And how are you coming on our little matter?’
‘I’ve succeeded.’ She touched her necklace, noting with triumph the way it drew his attention to her chest. ‘You have no idea how easy it was for me to purchase the book.’
He arched one surprised eyebrow. ‘You’ve always been resourceful. It’s what I admire most about you.’
‘Is admiration what you feel? I always thought it was something more base.’
‘And to think, you could have chosen me over Lord Densmore, with a comfortable little town house in Mayfair and all your needs provided for.’
‘Thankfully, your losing hand of cards spared me from such an illustrious fate.’
He crossed his arms in front of his thick chest. ‘Enough pleasantries. If you have the register, why haven’t you delivered it to me?’
‘All in good time.’ She wasn’t about to give him what he wanted, only what he deserved. ‘You see, I’ve decided to make a small alteration to our agreement.’
His slick smile dropped. ‘There’ll be no alterations.’
Rafe’s warning rang in her ears as the shadows around them seemed to darken before she steadied herself. This was like any gamble and now was no time to lose her nerve. ‘Your father’s name is in the register, more than once. If I show it to Lord Twickenham, it will be the end of the illustrious Barony of Edgemont.’
His expression sharpened into an edge which cut through her. ‘Are you threatening me?’
She met his hard stance, despite the cold fear creeping up her spine. ‘It was kind of you to pay my passage back to England.’
‘In exchange for the register.’ He jerked his thumb to his chest. ‘My register.’
‘The one you weren’t man enough to acquire on your own.’
His hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist, and he pulled her away from the entrance and into the shadow of one tall column. ‘You will give it to me.’
‘Never. You thought you could manipulate me like you used to manipulate my father but you were wrong.’ She twisted her arm, but he held fast, crushing the edge of her bracelet into her wrist. ‘You have nothing over me while I have the ability to destroy you.’
‘Do you really think I’ll let you get away with this?’
‘You don’t have a choice.’
‘Oh, I do.’ His lips pulled back in a sneer. ‘You see, everyone has their weakness. Don’t think I won’t find yours.’
‘I’ll destroy you before you can.’
‘You ungrateful little whore.’ He shoved her back against the stone column, pressing his body hard against hers. The two of them were nearly matched in height, but his shoulders were wide and his neck thick, the veins bulging out with his anger. ‘You will give me the register.’
‘Let go of me.’ She pushed hard against him, but he didn’t budge. Her wrist and chest stung and the rough stone of the column scratched at her exposed shoulders.
A shadow rose up behind him and the flash of a blade appeared at Edgemont’s throat.
‘Do as the lady says,’ Rafe demanded.
Edgemont stiffened before his hand on her wrist eased. Cornelia wrenched free and slid out from between him and the pillar.
‘That’s no way to treat a Comtesse. Now, apologise,’ Rafe growled.
‘She can dress herself in all the diamonds and titles she wants, but she’s still not worth the blunt her father used to gamble with,’ Edgemont spat.
Rafe jerked the knife up higher under Edgemont’s jaw and the man winced. A small drop of blood formed above the blade, then slid down the smooth surface to stain his cravat. ‘Your apology. Now.’
Edgemont hesitated and Cornelia doubted he’d speak.
‘My apologies, Comtesse,’ he muttered, to her surprise.
‘Now, that’s more like it.’ He shoved Edgemont aside and came to stand beside her, sheathing the knife in his boot.
She reached up to take his arm, her fingertips grazing the wool jacket before she pulled back. She wasn’t about to cling to him like some Gothic heroine. Instead she stepped closer, drawing from his steady presence to replace the courage rattled out of her by Edgemont’s outburst.
‘I should have known where there is one of you, there is the other.’ Edgemont touched his throat and grimaced at the blood on his fingers. ‘You always possessed an unusual soft spot for this little whore. She must possess quite a tongue to keep you so enamoured.’
Rafe rushed at Edgemont, grabbing him by the lapels and shoving him hard against the wall. Surprise and height gave Rafe the advantage over Edgemont’s sturdiness and he tugged the Baron up by his coat to face him. ‘Say one more word to the lady and I’ll call you out.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Edgemont spat, his wide hands puling at Rafe’s.
‘Would you like to bet on it?’
Edgemont’s lips curled to reveal his crooked front teeth, but he stayed silent. A long moment passed, the quiet broken by the jangle of equipage as a hackney pulled up to the kerb.
Finally, Edgemont’s hands relaxed and dropped to his sides, signalling his surrender.
Rafe released Edgemont. The Baron straightened his coat, then fixed them both with a look of venom before skulking back into the theatre.
Cornelia rubbed her aching wrist, the darkness not deep enough to hide her trembling hands.
‘Are you all right?’
She faced Rafe, ashamed of her fear and weakness. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Good. Then let’s get you home.’ He took her by the arm and drew her towards the hack, but she pulled back.
‘I don’t need your assistance.’
His hand tightened on her arm, not threatening, but steadying. ‘Then simply enjoy the pleasure of my company.’
He started forward again. Pride told her to pull away, to make an exit worthy of a Comtesse, but instead she followed his lead, his gentle coaxing a relief after Edgemont’s bullying.
He opened the hackney door and helped her in, the firmness of his fingers missed as she settled against the worn squabs.
‘Where do you live?’
She hesitated, not wanting to reveal her address. He’d know it wasn’t a fashionable enough area for a rich Comtesse. However, with him standing in the open doorway, she couldn’t sit there like a stone and say nothing. ‘Number Eighteen, Golden Square.’
Whatever his thoughts on her residence, his face didn’t reveal them as he stepped back to call instructions up to the driver.
She waited for him to bid her goodbye, to close the door and leave her to the privacy of the carriage. The tight darkness might weigh on her as it had during the many lonely nights as a child, and again at Château de Vane, but it was preferable to the embarrassment of appearing so vulnerable in front of Rafe.
To her dismay, he climbed in and settled across from her, his knee tapping hers as the vehicle rocked into motion. She jerked away from him, tucking herself as far as she could into the corner. Rafe said nothing, but the rhythm of his breathing punctuated the steady clop of hooves on the cobblestones.
He sat with his long body curved to keep from hitting his head on the low ceiling and she smiled to herself. The world was not accommodating for a man of his height.
‘Do you still have your duelling pistols?’ she asked, more afraid of her own thoughts than Rafe’s overwhelming presence.
He picked at a spot on his breeches. ‘Alas, no.’
‘Pawned?’
‘But Edgemont needn’t know that.’ He flashed a wide smile, as if all the cares of the world never troubled him. It warmed some of the cold creeping through her. If only she could be so optimistic in the face of adversity. It was his gift, the light which had first drawn her to him, the thing she’d missed the most after she’d married the Comte.
