Lord of Wicked Intentions
Page 72

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 I know?”
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?”
“I wouldn’t much like being the other way.” She squinted. “You need to stop drinking. You’re becoming blurred.”
He smiled, a real smile, she thought, but it was so difficult to see. The room was growing dark around the edges, and she was having a devil of a time keeping her eyes open.
“I believe you’re the one who’s blurred,” he said, and she could have sworn she heard the amusement in his voice.
“Who was the other person you killed? You said your mother was the first.”
“I don’t know his name.”
“He deserved it, though. You wouldn’t have killed him otherwise.”
He tilted his head to the side as though to see her more clearly. “Are you not appalled?”
She fought to shake her head forcefully, although it seemed to want to loll about on its own. “I wanted to kill Geoffrey, although he didn’t really deserve it. But I should have smacked him I think.”
“I can arrange that if you like.”
She heard laughter. As his mouth was closed, she supposed it was coming from her. “I’ve decided I feel rather sorry for him. He’s weak, not to be admired. Not worth the effort of me slapping. Besides, I don’t think I can get out of the chair.”
“Yes, I assumed that when you dropped the glass.”
She looked at her hand, her fingers. “I was holding it, wasn’t I?”
“I think you’re quite into your cups.”
She lifted her gaze to find him hovering over her. Reaching up, she trailed her fingers over his lips. “Do you like me?”
“Very much. That’s your misfortune. I thought I’d be done with you by now.”
“I thought you would as well. I don’t think you quite appreciate yourself.”
“And you, my sweet, are drunk.”
He lifted her into his arms and she rested a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t hold you, but this is like when we were waltzing. I liked waltzing.”
“I’ll take you to another ball.”