Page 61 of Her Devil of a Duke
He sighed as he sat down on the bed, nestling his glass between the palms of his hands.
He missed her. It was strange to miss her when she had not been gone that long, but he did.
Shifting on the bed, Rafe leaned back, his hand resting on the covers when he felt something firm beneath the sheets. Tilting his body a little, he pulled back the blankets, reaching for a rectangular object. Before him, a book was revealed. He turned the cover to find it was a diary.
And on the front page was Evelyn’s name.
Rafe couldn’t explain why he did it. Perhaps it was the longing to still have a part of her here that made him flick through the pages.
The first few were filled with writing, ramblings of a lady with too much time on her hands that made his heart warm. But then as he continued through the pages, the words fell away. In their place were sketches, portraits, all of one man.
This seems oddly familiar.
Then, before his mind could process it, his hands froze. “Could this be—?” Rafe murmured as he looked at the drawings. On each page was a version of himself from the masked ball. He wore the same mask – it couldn’t possibly be mistaken.
Unthawing his fingers, he flipped through the pages faster and faster, to find a variation of the same sketch, over and over.
He turned the final page to find there was an image of himself, without the mask this time. She’d recreated his visage perfectly on the page, with exquisite skill in pencil, the shading across his jaw and the long lines of his face flawless.
There was nothing at all about Mr. Windham in these pages. His name wasn’t even mentioned, let alone a sketch of him.
Rafe tucked the book under his arm and stood, trying to remember what he had done with the scrap of paper she had handed him that first night bearing the name of the man she was looking for. He could remember throwing it across this very room, wanting nothing to do with it. Yet he had seen it again since. After the maid had tidied up this chamber, the scrap had been placed in his study.
Hurrying from the room, he held firmly onto the book, discarding his wine glass on a nearby ledge, though he barely registered where he had left it at all. He marched through the castle and found his study, throwing open the door as he hurried inside.
Turning on his heel, he looked back and forth, desperately trying to remember what he had done with the slip of paper. A white flash caught his eye by the hearth. He moved to the mantelpiece and snatched up the crumpled piece of paper, from where he had attempted to toss it into the fire the previous night during a drunken stupor. Unfurling the paper, he read the words Evelyn had written as quickly as he could.
‘Masked man from the masquerade ball. He wore a long blue and orange mask and a rich blue suit. Something like this…’
She had recreated the motif from his blue mask perfectly within the corner of the paper.
“What the hell,” Rafe muttered aloud as everything aligned in his mind. All this time, he had mistakenly thought she wished to seduce Mr. Windham, but he was wrong. She had… been searching forhim?
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
“Stede? Stede!” Rafe roared through the castle as he burst out of his study, pacing down the corridors.
Suddenly, he saw everything clearly. If Evelyn had been searching for him all this time, it meant she did not wish to marry Laurence Windham. That egregious man had the audacity to drag Evelyn from Rafe’s own home against her will. And now he intended to force her into marriage.
Rafe saw red.
She doesn’t want to marry him. She was looking for me and I was too much of an insecure buffoon to realize it!
“Stede!” Rafe called again as he reached the main hallway. Stede appeared from the servants’ staircase, looking flustered as he straightened his uniform.
“What is it, Your Grace? Is something wrong?”
“I…” Rafe shot a quick glance at the grandfather clock in his hallway. He didn’t have long. The ball was already underway and by now, Windham could have announced his betrothal to Evelyn before the ton already. He had to get to that ball, as soon as possible. “I need a carriage prepared at once, good man.”
“A carriage? But we have none to spare.”
“What?” Rafe flicked his head around in panic.
“We sent the last one this morning to London with your belongings, Your Grace,” Stede reminded him. “You asked me to make the arrangements did you not?”
“Christ, I forgot. Yes, yes, I did.” Rafe turned in a mad circle, thrusting his hands into his hair. “How about a horse?”
“A horse?” Stede grimaced. He moved to the window of the hallway and pointed out of the window. “I fear the stablemaster will not be happy about such an idea. Not in this weather.”
