She hadn’t realized how much of an effort it had taken to remain so aloof and unaffected in front of Roarke. This wasn’t the first time she’d clapped eyes on him since his return to London nearly three weeks ago. However, it wasthe first time she’d been face to face with him in over seven, long years.
Time had changed him only slightly, for he still had narrow hips, a slim stomach, and broad shoulders, but maturity had given him a raw edge that hadn’t been there before. He’d always taken pride in his appearance and his attire today had reflected that. Dressed as he’d been in a pair of buff breeches, gleaming Hessians, with the perfectly white cambric shirt and gold threaded waistcoat, all topped with a starched cravat and brown jacket, everything fit him to perfection, although no one would dare call him a dandy. He exuded too much power and masculinity for that.
He was as handsome as ever—and just as untouchable.
And now that Roarke had recognized her?
Mara felt her chest tighten. She could hope that he might let the matter go, but unfortunately it would be in vain, for she knew him all too well. Roarke had always had a sharp mind to match his handsome looks. Hewouldreturn, and she would become the villain without even gaining the benefit of a trial, for he would never believe the sordid truth that had led Mara to tear herself from his life so completely.
Shaken, Mara gathered up her few personal belongings and what meager allowance she kept in the cash register. Throwing on her cloak, she blinked away the moisture in her eyes, pulled her hood low, and rushed off down the street.
* * *
The carriage ride back to Rockford’s townhouse passed in strained silence as Roarke stared broodingly at the passing scenery, drawn back to the past.
It had been the Christmas season of 1811—the first time he’d mether.Mara Miller had taken residence at Eversleigh Hall with her father, Jack, only two months prior when he had been hired on as the head gardener. Normally, a young man on holiday from Eton with the world laid out before him wouldn’t concern himself with the newly-hired help at his ancestral estate, but one particular day had always remained vivid in his mind because it had changed everything.
He’d just come back from an early morning ride on his favorite mount. He was feeling windblown and carefree, so in an attempt to avoid his mother and her constant needling, he decided to bypass the front parlor where he knew she would be cloistered with her embroidery. With long, purposeful strides, he nearly scared the wits out of the kitchen staff as he headed for the back servant’s stairs.
Some people believed one’s life could change in the blink of an eye. For Roarke, that moment occurred when he first saw that golden-haired, green-eyed girl.
As the carriage ground to a halt, Roarke roused himself from the past with a shake of his head. There was no point in dredging up old memories. He had to focus on the present and figure out exactly what the bloody hell had happened today.
Rion whispered a few words to his new bride, to which Athena nodded, and with the assistance of a footman to climb out of the carriage, she went inside the townhouse.
Once she was gone, Roarke gave a bark of derision. “You don’t have to say anything, Rion. I know that look. You’re going to tell me that I need to give it a few days to calm down, but what you don’t seem to understand is that I’ve been in my own personal hell for the past seven years, trying to escape the pain of the past. I went to India, thinking that I could get away from it, when all this time,shewas here in London.” He chuckled. “How the hell is that for irony?”
Rion blew out a heavy breath as if words escaped him. “What are you planning to do?”
Eversleigh clenched his jaw. “I’m going to get her to tell me the truth. Every. Single. Bloody. Word.”
The earl sighed. “Then I suppose there isn’t anything left to say.”
“Indeed.” Roarke didn’t wish to appear ungrateful, for he realized Rion had acted on a rational point of view, whereas if Roarke had allowed his tumultuous emotions to continue to lead him, he might have thrashed that lying wench to within an inch of her life.
“If you need anything, all you have to do is ask,” Rion offered, to which Roarke extended a hand.
After a brief shake that said far more about their friendship than words ever could, the viscount felt his features relax slightly. “I appreciate that, Rockford. I’ll be in touch.”
After Roarke collected his prize mount, Aristides the Just, from Rockford’s stables, he returned to Cheshire Street. To think that he had believed Mara to be dead and buried all these years, only to come face to face with her in the flesh… She had given him the shock of his life.
So yes, she would give him answers, as many as he demanded until he was satisfied with what she had to say.
By the time he reigned in before the haberdashery, the sign on the door had been turned to Closed, and there was no sign of life inside.
Roarke felt his jaw tighten. Obviously, the chit wasn’t as keen on a reunion.
No matter. With a little assistance from Mr. Andrews and his investigators, Roarke would catch up with her. And he would have the truth.
* * *
For most men of the aristocracy and gentry, 13 Old Bond Street, the home of Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon, was a place to expend a bit of energy and perhaps place a few innocent bets. But then there was the other side of London. In the Whitechapel district, men of common birth fought for much more than simple exercise. Daniel Mendoza, another revered pugilist who had fought and lost against Jackson and decided that a bit of rivalry was in order, had been overseeing another London fighting “club” for the past several months. While true boxing matches were frowned upon in the heart of London, there was a section roped off on the grassy fields in the East End where the bare-knuckle sport was fought with no holds barred.
Today, as on many such occasions, a crowd had gathered, eyes glued to the two men in the middle of the eight-foot ring. Many were waving their fists in the air and screaming for the contestant they had placed money on.
Mara hated coming to these bloodbaths, but since it was Big B’s winnings that were keeping them afloat—certainly selling ribbons and buttons wasn’t going to accomplish much—she supposed she should be grateful that he’d been discovered by Mendoza atThe Admiral Nelsonpub when he had.
Otherwise, things would be much different for them now.
