Lord of Wicked Intentions
Page 94

Evelyn stared at her reflection in the cheval glass, hardly able to believe the beautiful handwork on the pearl-beaded ivory gown she wore. No quiet wedding in a country church, no secreting away. In two hours she was to be married at St. George’s, and all of London had been invited.
Except Geoffrey, as he was no longer in London but had returned to the family estate—after signing over all the properties that were not entailed. She suspected Rafe might have been responsible for that, but when she asked him about it, he said only, “He’s keeping the promise he made to your father.”
As she had no use for another residence in London, she was going to convert it into a sanctuary for unfortunate women, a place where they could acquire skills so they wouldn’t be dependent upon the kindness of strangers.
“You look lovely,” Mary said, standing near Anne.
Evelyn turned to face the two women who would soon become her sisters by marriage. “It seems I should be nervous but I’m not.”
“Because you know that you’re marrying a man who loves you,” Anne said.
“Yes, he does rather, I think.”
A slight rap sounded on the door. Mary opened it and retrieved a small package from the servant. She held it out to Evelyn. “For you. From Rafe.”
She took it and walked over to the window for a bit of privacy. Sunlight streamed in through the glass. It was going to be a beautiful day.
She opened the note that had been tucked beneath the ribbon. She read the uneven awkward scrawl, and knew it had been written with a great deal of effort.
Something I hope you dearly will not need today.
After untying the ribbon, she lifted the lid. Inside rested a coin, and while she had seen many like it, and thousands existed, she knew she had held this coin once before in her hand, on a long-ago night when she’d thought she had no options.
Taking it out, she realized another note resided beneath it. She unfolded it.
My father gave me this coin shortly before he died. This morning I flipped it. Heads I would marry you. Tails I would take you as my wife. For me, Eve, there is no choice to be made. I love you more than life. I want to spend whatever years are left to me proving that to you. But if you have doubts, my love, I will let you go. Nothing means more to me than your happiness.
With a deep sigh, Evelyn pressed the note to her chest. Then she flipped the coin.
When the carriage drew to a halt, it was nearly dusk. Evelyn watched as her husband—her husband!—alighted, and when she went to step out, he caught her up in his arms. With a squeal, she wound hers around his neck.
It had been a lovely wedding, a lovely day.
The duke had escorted her down the aisle to the altar, where Rafe had been waiting with Tristan by his side. When the duke gave her into Rafe’s keeping, he had stepped up to position himself beside Tristan. Tears had welled in her eyes at the sight of the three brothers standing there, the lords of Pembrook finally together as they should have been all along.
And following their habit of going against convention, as usually only unmarried men stood at the altar with the groom.
Rafe carried her up the steps. The door opened. Laurence bowed his head slightly as they went past. “Welcome home, my lord, my lady.”
My lady. She almost laughed. As Rafe began climbing the stairs, she said, “Who would have thought the illegitimate daughter of an earl would one day be a lady?”
“You were a lady the moment you were born.”
“You once told me I was ruined the moment I was born.”
“That was before I knew you. I was a foolish man then.”
Not so foolish, she thought. Cautious, rather. Not daring to care for anything that he might lose. He had lost her once. He would never lose her again.
The door to his bedchamber was open, and he swept her inside, kicking the door closed behind him. When he set her on her feet, she knocked aside his hat and ran her fingers up into his hair. “Oh, I have missed this, missed you.”
“Mary and her silly rules about respectability.” Bracketing his hands on either side of her face, he looked at her seriously, his ice-blue eyes intense. “Did you flip the coin?”
“I did. Heads I would marry you. Tails I would become your wife. I didn’t need a coin to tell me what I wanted. I never did.”
He kissed her then as though she were everything, as though she were all that mattered.
Clothes were removed piece by piece, in haste. It had been so long, so very long. She’d often thought of sneaking over here, had sometimes hoped to find him climbing in through the window of the bedchamber where she slept next door. But her scoundrel, her rake, her rogue had remained a gentleman. He had shaken off the mantle of the streets that he had worn for far too many years, and embraced his place within Society.
And Society had embraced not only him but all the brothers, as though together they were more formidable, more respected, more elevated. It had been an interesting phenomenon to watch. As his place had become more secured, so had hers.
She saw the envy on ladies’ faces when he rode with her through the park, saw the admiration when he danced only with her at balls. She received invitations because it became quite clear that if she wasn’t invited, none of the Pembrook lords or their wives would attend, and their disapproval was not something that the others in Society wished to garner.
When all their clothes were gone, they tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs. She was grateful that he didn’t feel a need to lock her wrists together, to restrain her movements. She longed to touch all of him, every firm muscle, every bit of taut flesh. It seemed appropriate that their life together as man and wife should begin here, in this room, where he had once fought his demons. He had conquered them all, and the man who had emerged from the fiery depths of hell was one that she would love until she drew her final breath.