The work of a tyro, he had said dismissively, before firing her governess of the moment.
Although Persephone had not seen it then, she could discern quite plainly now that he had been attempting to groom her into being the wife he wished for himself. In his mind, it was simple. He would mold her, marry her, and absorb all her wealth for himself. But he had made one mistake in failing to realize she was not the sort of lady who would allow herself to be molded.
Thank heavens she had escaped him. All she needed to do was remain out of his reach until her birthday. And possibly beyond. But she would confront that matter later, when the necessity arose. For now, she was tired and comfortable and safe.
Or rather, as comfortable and safe as she could possibly feel given her tenuous position. Despite the kindness Rafe Sutton had shown her that day in the carriage, Persephone remained convinced it was only a matter of time before her lies were revealed. Whether unintentionally or out of an abundance of caution given that she was providing care for his nieces, she could not say. All she did know was that each morning, she woke with dread in her belly even as the sun rose high on the promise of a new day.
Undoubtedly, tomorrow would prove no different.
Persephone unleashed a wistful sigh as she reached the door to her room. Holding her taper aloft to illuminate the passage, she reached for the latch and pushed the door open, crossing over the threshold. The moment the portal closed at her back, however, she knew something was amiss.
The scent of the room was different.
Different, yet familiar.
Shaving soap and man and…
Rafe Sutton.
Freezing where she stood, she cast a wild glance about the shadows of her small room.
“Good evening, Miss Wren.”
She wheeled about to find him behind her, his large form occupying the inkiness of the far corner of the room where a small chair dwelled. Often, the piece of furniture in question provided an excellent place to read in the morning before she needed to join Anne and Elizabeth for their first lessons of the day. It was her place, the only space in the entire town house which was solely hers. The only place that had ever seemed hers, in fact.
And now, Rafe Sutton was occupying it as if he belonged there.
“Mr. Sutton,” she snapped, holding her free hand to her madly galloping heart. “What are you doing here?”
He made no move to stand. Instead, he waved his hand in a languid gesture which encompassed his body. “What am I doing here beneath this roof, or here in your room again?”
“Beneath this roof,” she said hastily. “Or rather, in my room. Oh, bother. Both.”
Her foolish gaze seized the opportunity to drink him in. His long legs were encased in trousers, his ankles crossed. His hazel eyes met hers through the murk, sending a spark of awareness straight through her, as burning as if it had been cast directly from a live flame. He wore no jacket this evening, she realized as she moved nearer, chasing the darkness with the soft, warm illumination of her candle. Instead, he was in his shirt sleeves and waistcoat, the knot of his snowy cravat loose at his throat.
Why did he have to be so wickedly alluring? There was something about the man that transcended mere looks. He simply exuded something that drew her to him in a way no man before him had. Or, she suspected, could.
“I am staying here.”
The smooth, self-assured response had her instantly on edge.
“Here in my room?” she blurted, before inwardly chastising herself.
It could not be! Mr. Sutton and Lady Octavia would never allow such a scandalous arrangement. Her mind whirled. She was flustered. Her face hot. The rest of her body…hotter.
What was this flush that overcame her whenever he was near? Why and how? Could she put an end to it?
Rafe chuckled and unfolded his body from the chair, rising to his full height. Curse him, but the sound was velvet and silk to her senses. Soft and smooth and decadent.
Rafe? When had she begun to think of him in such intimate terms?
“Beneath this roof, Miss Wren. My brothers and sisters and I are opening a new venture in the West End, The Sinner’s Palace II. I’ll be running the daily operations, which means I need to be closer than the East End more often than not.”
Beneath.
This.
Roof?