“But like this?”
“We’ve been…innovative on plenty of occasions.”
She laughed again as a joy she’d never imagined surged through her. “If you become the earl soon, you could just get a special license and we could marry right away. That’s what Anthony did when he wed Jane. They didn’t even get married in a church.”
He curled a lock of her hair around his fingers. “Is that what you’d like?”
“I like whatever allows me to be with you. And a special license means we wouldn’t have to be apart at all.”
“Then I shall get a special license as soon as I may.”
What if her godfather contested his claim? Uneasiness settled through her. She shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked, pulling her more tightly against him.
“Yes. I should get dressed.” And cleaned up.
“I suppose we must. You need to get home. We’ve been gone too long.”
She should tell him that her godfather had doubts about him. Except she’d learned so much about him today, seen the goodness and generosity inside him. She’d convince her godfather that Rafe would bring honor and integrity to the earldom.
He kissed her forehead before sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. Anne touched his back. “You’ll be a wonderful earl.”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “You’re biased.”
“Because I know you, and I’m right.”
His lips parted as if he was going to respond, but he didn’t. Turning his head straight, he left the bed and went to a dresser.
A moment later, he returned with a cloth and gave it to her before gathering their clothing.
Yes, she knew him—the man who owned a bookshop and a house in Cheapside. The man who’d adored his wife and lost her and his unborn child. Her heart ached and longed for this man.
Even so, she couldn’t dismiss the persistent feeling that there was more of him that he kept concealed beneath the surface. The part of him that couldn’t love her—or that he wouldn’t allow to. Yet.
She pushed her apprehension away. There would be time to discover all his secrets.
A lifetime.
On the return drive to Mayfair, Rafe wondered if he’d made a mistake. Not about the sex or even about marrying her, but about the reasons for it.
Rather, one reason.
Marrying her would give him access to her godfather, and hopefully to evidence that would prove he’d killed his brother and plotted to kill Rafe. It wouldn’t be enough to simply reclaim his stolen title, Rafe needed to see his murdering uncle strung up for his crimes.
He glanced over at Anne as he drove into the Grosvenor mews. Her face was hidden by the veil, but he didn’t need to see her features to feel the visceral attraction that had only intensified since he taken her to his bed.
At the very least, he should tell her about her godfather, and he would. Soon. He wouldn’t regret asking her to marry him. The matter with Mallory wasn’t the primary reason behind it, not that it mattered. It was done. They would be wed, and Rafe would ensure her godfather was punished appropriately.
He pulled the cabriolet to a stop and got out to help her descend from the vehicle. Squeezing her hand, he leaned his head down next to hers. “Don’t come to my interview with Colton.” He was going to drive around to her brother-in-law’s house to speak with him about the marriage. “I know you’re tempted.”
She exhaled. “You know me too well. Though it will pain me, I will refrain from interrupting. I will send you a note about dinner with my godfather as soon as I confirm Thursday evening.”
He straightened. “I promise I won’t make you wait long until I pay a call. Perhaps tomorrow we can walk in the park?”
“That would be lovely. Every moment until then will seem an eternity.”
He laughed before kissing her hand. “Read some romantic poetry.”
She tugged on him until he bent his head once more. “I will imagine you beneath me tonight. That will be far more titillating.”
“Siren,” he hissed, wishing he could kiss her. Soon.
He released her hand and climbed back into the cabriolet, where he watched her disappear into one of the stables. Exhaling, he adjusted his seat to ease the pull of his breeches on his erection.
“Siren,” he repeated as he left the mews and drove onto Grosvenor Street. In front of Colton’s house, he stopped the vehicle and gave it over to the tiger. “Thank you, Tim. I won’t be long.”
The butler admitted him to the entry hall and kept him waiting only a moment before taking him to Colton’s office. The viscount was just moving toward the center of the room as Rafe entered.
“Thank you, Purcell,” Colton said, his gaze moving past Rafe.
Rafe heard the door close behind him. “You might want a glass of brandy.”
Colton snorted. “That’s a hell of a greeting. I rarely partake anymore, and never at this time of day.” He frowned. “Why would I need a drink?”
“Let’s sit.” Rafe went to the chair he’d occupied on his last visit while Colton perched in his, looking expectant. Or perhaps just outright apprehensive.
“You have the look of the Vicar about you,” Colton said slowly.
Bloody hell. “What does that mean?”
Colton shrugged. “I can’t say exactly, just an aura of foreboding. What villainy are you about?”
“I’m not a villain.” He’d left his hat and gloves in the hall and now ran his hand over his chin, his fingertips sliding along the smooth ripple of his scar. Distractedly, he wondered what Anne had thought of the knife scars on his torso. She had to have noticed. Her attention had been complete and intense.
“Bowles? Rather, Mallory? Or should I just call you Stone?” He shook his head. “You’ve more names than the Bible.”
“Perhaps you should call me Rafe.” He realized that wasn’t how it was done among the peerage. Men such as Colton would call him Stone. “Because we’re to be brothers-in-law. I’ve come to tell you that Anne and I are going to be married.”
Colton shot to his feet, his face turning a mottled shade of red. “The hell you are. Get out.”
“Please sit,” Rafe said calmly. “I know what you must be thinking—”
“Do not presume to know me or my mind. How in God’s name do you even know her well enough to marry her? This is unconscionable.” He paced to the sideboard, where he eyed the brandy before stalking back toward Rafe. “You were right about that bloody drink.”
“Yet you didn’t pour one.”
“No, and I won’t. I buried myself in any bottle I could find after my parents were murdered. Which was your fault.” He held up his hand before Rafe could speak. “Indirectly, but if you hadn’t sent your man to intimidate me into repaying your loan, they would still be here.”
“You know how deeply I regret what happened to your parents.” Now that Rafe knew he’d lost his own parents as the result of someone else’s evil deed, he felt worse. “You’re right,” he whispered. “That was my fault. You have every reason to despise me. I would.”
Colton stared at him. He gripped the back of his chair, his jaw and throat working. “I don’t know what you’re about, but I’m not letting you near Anne. She’s already been hurt enough by that blackguard Chamberlain. God, you have your hands in that too.”