Page 16 of A Rogue to Ruin
“I do,” he said tightly, still considering whether he should go to Newgate and thrash Chamberlain.
His resolve faltered. She only wanted what he’d offered, that he would never think less of her. He released her. “Anne, I can’t be your friend. But I will be a staunch supporter, and if you ever need help, you now know where to find me.”
“You called me Anne.” The hint of a smile lifted the corner of her lush, utterly kissable mouth. “That’s what friends do. So I’m afraid you can’t stop what’s already happened. We’re friends.”
Rafe nearly laughed. He wanted to. God, this slip of a woman who had to be ten years younger than him had neatly inserted himself into his mind—into his life—in a way no one else had.
Perhaps notno oneelse. And look how that had ended. That Anne had somehow entered the same realm Eliza had once inhabited was both shocking and horrifying.
“I don’t deserve to be your friend, Miss Pemberton, and the sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.” He turned from her and caught the whisper of her answer on the summer breeze.
“Youmade me happy.”
Rafe stalked from the mews and didn’t look back.
* * *
Anne hadn’t slept well last night. Now that she knew who Lord Bodyguard was, it took a great deal of effort not to pay him a call. Or invite him to Aldersgate Street. Or kiss him.
He was exactly as she recalled—tall, golden-haired, incomparably handsome even with that scar slashing his chin and lip. Perhaps because of it. He exuded a raw masculinity that no other man she’d met in London possessed.
And he wanted nothing to do with her.
Unless she needed help. Then she could call on him. Perhaps she ought to find some trouble. What could she do that would require his help?
Magazine Day was in a week. She still wanted to attend, and surely he wouldn’t want her to go alone… Pfft. That didn’t qualify as needing assistance.
“Why are you scowling?” Jane strolled into the morning room where Anne was drinking a cup of coffee. And fixating on Mr. Bowles. What was his first name? She wanted to know, particularly since he knew hers—and had used it.
“My coffee is cold.”
“And that provokes a scowl?” Jane chuckled. “I thought we might go out later.”
“Where?” Anne asked skeptically. Jane had redoubled her efforts to get Anne out of the house, but what was the point when half of Society treated her like a pariah and the other half shook their heads at her in pity?
“Anywhere. The park? Bond Street? Hatchard’s? I know how much you like it there.”
“Pardon me.” Purcell, Anthony’s butler, stepped into the morning room. He inclined his salt-and-pepper head slightly. “Lord Stone is here.”
Anne wasn’t sure if she felt pleased or bothered. She loved her godfather, but he’d become quite interested in meddling with her life since her parents had left town following Gilbert’s arrest, sending countless letters asking after her welfare and how he might provide assistance.
“We’ll meet him in the drawing room,” Jane said. When Purcell left, Jane narrowed her eyes at Anne. “I thought you liked your godfather.”
“I do. Very much.” In some ways, she liked him more than her actual father. And while hewasbeing meddlesome, he at least did so in a way that was less autocratic and awful than their father.
Jane smoothed the turned-up lace trim on the sleeve of her gown. “At least you have someone who cares for your welfare.”
Anne felt instantly contrite. Because of a false rumor started about Jane five years ago, she’d never been successful on the Marriage Mart. And their parents, particularly their father, hadn’t let her forget it.
She shot Jane an apologetic look. “I’m sorry you no longer have godparents.” They’d died several years ago, and there was no point mentioning their parents. They’d all but disowned Jane when she’d declared her spinsterhood, despite the fact that she’d since wed a viscount. Never mind she was also quite deliriously happy.
“Come, let us meet the earl.” Jane preceded Anne from the morning room, and Anne dutifully followed her upstairs to the drawing room.
As they entered the large chamber that overlooked Grosvenor Street below, Stone turned from the windows, a broad smile lighting his blue eyes. His light brown hair formed a widow’s peak, which perhaps contributed to the length of his face, along with the cleft in his chin. He was rather tall and still boasted a fit form, despite being in his early fifties.
“My dear Anne,” he said, looking to Anne before glancing at Jane. “Lady Colton.”
“It’s a pleasure to welcome you, Lord Stone.” Jane gestured toward the seating arrangement near the windows. “Shall we sit?”
