Page 52 of A Rogue to Ruin
And what she’dtriedto tell him, but he’d stopped her from saying. He couldn’t even allow himself to finish her sentence in his head. Eliza had loved him, and look where that had gotten her.
Instead, he thought about Anne’s honesty, her unabashed desire, how she made no apologies for being precisely who she was and pursuing what she wanted. He’d been like that once. As a boy, he’d possessed enough ambition for every young thief he’d led. He believed that if he worked hard and sought higher and higher ranks and responsibility, he’d find power and respect.
Years later, he’d found what really mattered and what he was trying so hard to avoid feeling again: love.
In the end, his ambition and his pursuit of happiness had completely destroyed not just his love, but his life. He could never go back to the way he was before, hopeful and…vulnerable. Anne couldn’t possibly understand that. Nor would he ask her to.
As he dropped her back at the Grosvenor Mews, she’d reminded him that she would be patient. She’d been earnest but gleeful, in possession of a boundless optimism he wasn’t sure he’d ever enjoyed. How could he, given the way he’d been raised?
The coach stopped in front of Selina’s house, and the footman ran to the door to let her butler know they’d arrived. A few moments later, Selina walked toward the coach, and the footman held the door as Rafe offered his hand to help her up.
“Thank you.” She took the forward-facing seat, which he’d left vacant for her. “I’m glad the weather will be dry today.”
Redhill was a four-hour drive each way. The journey could have been made faster if they rode. But he did not and neither did Selina. She, however, was learning, under the tutelage of her husband. He, like Rafe, was the son of an earl, and, unlike Rafe, knew how to bloody well ride a horse.
When Rafe let himself think about all the things he’d lost, specifically the things he’d missed doing with his father, he was nearly overcome with rage and sadness. This was yet another reason he would keep Anne at bay. No one deserved to be with a man as consumed by darkness as he was. And Anne had seen it, meaning it wasn’t just how he saw himself.
“You seem pensive,” Selina said from beneath the elegant hat she wore.
Rafe ignored her comment. “You look like such a lady. You also look happy.”
“I am. You look pensive,” she repeated. “But it seems you aren’t going to discuss that with me.”
No, he was not. “I suppose I’m just anxious about today. I hope Mrs. Gill is able to direct us to her sister.”
“Have you thought about what you would say to her?” Selina asked softly, her lip curling. “Not just asking her what happened, but what her actions did to us, to our lives.”
Rafe could hear her anger, could feel it in his chest. “Yes, but mostly I think of what I would say to Edgar. I’m fucking furious I won’t have that chance.”
“All that time, he said they’d rescued us, that we should be grateful.” Selina’s jaw tightened as she looked out the window. “He used us.” She looked at him across the small space, her blue eyes clear, save a tiny glimmer of pain. “Do you think she knew what he meant to do?”
“We’ll hopefully find out. Soon.”
“I hope so. If this doesn’t lead us to her…” She exhaled and pressed a hand briefly to her cheek. “We’ll have to find a way to let it go. It’s not as if we can change the past. And now we have a future.” She shook her head. “I never imagined what I have found, and now to learn that you are an earl. Someday, I suppose it won’t seem like a dream.”
“I keep waiting for that, so do let me know when it happens for you.”
She laughed. “It’s very strange, isn’t it? Where we find ourselves.”
“Certainly no stranger than where we’ve been.” He settled himself against the squab. “On that note, we have a long journey ahead of us. Amuse me with your exploits as Madame Sybila, the fortune-teller.” He arched a brow at her. “You chose a rather obvious name, did you not?” Sybila meant prophetess or seer.
She shrugged, smiling. “It was also relatively close to Selina so that I might hear it and answer more quickly.” Taking a deep breath, she launched into the story of how Madame Sybila came to be—after she and Beatrix had met a fortune-teller early in their travels. The trip to Redhill passed quickly and pleasantly, even if there was a tang of bittersweetness as Rafe thought of their lost years.
At least they’d found each other again. Their parents were lost to them forever.
Redhill was a coaching stop on the way to Brighton, so there were several inns in the town. The Golden Eagle was of medium size with a bustling stable yard.
Rafe and Selina left the coach in the capable hands of Rafe’s coachman and groom and went into the inn. Built within the last fifty years, the Golden Eagle was newer than some of the others they’d passed and in fine condition. The common room was clean and cheerful, with a bank of windows along the front that invited plenty of light.
A lively serving maid greeted them with a wide smile, her dark curls peeking from beneath her cap. “Stopping in for a bit, or do you need a room?”
“Just stopping in,” Rafe said. “We’re looking for Mrs. Gill. Would you let her know Lady Selina Sheffield and Lord Stone are here to see her?” He and Selina had discussed how to introduce themselves and ultimately decided they should use their actual titles in the hope that it would persuade her to be completely honest.
The maid’s blue eyes flashed with surprise. “Right away, my lord. My lady.” She dipped a curtsey to them both before disappearing through a doorway at the back of the common room.
“That sounds so odd,” Selina said.
It was as odd as suddenly owning multiple houses across England and being responsible for the livelihoods of everyone employed at them. Rafe had spent a few hours the night before questioning Thomas, Lord Rockbourne, his pretend brother-in-law. As a viscount, he was able to share many things with Rafe about his properties, his army of employees, and serving in the House of Lords. There was an astonishing amount to learn, and Rafe took his new role very seriously.
