Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03] by Lord of Wicked Intentions Page A

sea. Lord Rafe was about here somewhere. Not much is known of him. He shuns Society, or perhaps it shuns him.”
    Evelyn thought of the empty feeling of his residence, the way he had sat alone during her coming out, his gruff manner, his rule that she could never hold him. She wondered if his claiming her for a mistress had nothing at all to do with Ekroth, but with his own loneliness.
    L eaving his carriage near the dressmaker’s, Rafe strode with purpose down the street. He needed a sweet, a nice, hard, sugary sweet. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such a craving. He wanted something to make him feel good instead of like a rotten bastard.
    Whatever had overcome him to press the dressmaker as he had? It was Eve, dammit all. The look of mortification and a wish for death that had crossed her face when she realized that an inconsequential shop owner had determined her purpose in Rafe’s life—and disapproved of it. Who was this woman to disapprove of anything he did?
    He was providing Eve with a sanctuary. Yes, she had to pay a price for it, but then nothing in life came free. Not even freedom. It was the highest price of all.
    To make matters worse, he’d fallen back on his heritage to get the respect he wanted for Eve. Lord Rafe Easton. He’d not referred to himself as lord since Sebastian’s place was secure. He couldn’t be more disappointed in himself. He was his own man. He didn’t need to tie himself in with his brothers to gain what he desired.
    But he had been angry, so very angry that Eve was feeling as though she was less than she was, that she appeared to be on the verge of tears. But she had been strong enough not to shed them, and that had made him want to take a lash to himself.
    Finally, to his immense relief, he caught sight of a sweet shop. He opened the door as two ladies were coming out. He tipped his hat and as soon as they were through, he charged inside. Some little imp of a girl was standing beside an older scruffy-looking lad, holding his hand, trying to decide what she wanted. He could see a penny clutched in the boy’s grip. A penny’s worth of candy. How long was this going to take?
    Children. He would never have any. Didn’t want them, wouldn’t know what to do with them. Still, this girl drew his attention, a blue ribbon holding her blond tangled hair from her face while it flowed down her back. He imagined Eve at that age. Had she ever held her brother’s hand, had he ever looked out for her? Why had her father not arranged to see that Eve was properly taken care of after his death? Surely he was not blind to the fact that his son was lacking in character.
    Perhaps he thought leaving her to her brother’s care would force the man to grow up, to assume responsibility, to learn to put someone before himself. Instead, he’d followed his nature and selfishly rid himself of her as soon as possible in a way that profited him, selling off her things. He wished she’d asked for more than a portrait and a horse, because he’d have acquired the whole blasted house if she’d wanted it. Not because he cared for her, but because it would have been the right thing to do. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to do anything simply because it was the right thing to do.
    Last year sometime. When Tristan had needed his help to locate the man everyone thought should marry Anne. And two years before that when he’d attended balls that he didn’t want to attend, in order to ensure Sebastian’s rightful place in Society. And since then he’d cared only about what he wanted. Maybe he wasn’t that different from Wortham. The thought sickened him—that he might have anything in common with that scapegrace.
    The child was sucking on her finger now and dancing on the tips of her toes. The clerk behind the counter gave him an I’ll-be-with-you-in-a-moment look that truly meant I may never be with you.
    “Come on, Lizzie. Pick sumfink,” the lad said.
    Yes, Lizzie, Rafe thought.