“Oh?” he snorted. “And you think I shall touch your life in some magical way?”
She paused and then shook her head. “Perhaps I am the one who is meant to help you.”
* * *
It wasone of the few times that Drake was speechless—on purpose. Generally, he didn’t have much to say and preferred the silence to mindless chatter.
But with one statement, Miss Davies had struck a chord in him that he’d thought dead and buried long ago—hope, faith in humanity. Both were qualities that he had never witnessed often. Then again, the places and people he’d normally frequented had no reason to cling to either. They considered it a success if they reached the morning without being six feet underground. There were many days when Drake was grateful for the same until he remembered death would probably be a blessing to such a miserable existence.
As he looked at the woman across from him, he wondered if she was right. There had been something that had drawn Drake to her from the first moment they met, and it wasn’t about the coin her wastrel brother owed him. He’d seen a fire in her green eyes that he hadn’t observed in a long time. Most of the people he met had a glazed look due to excessive drink or large amounts of opium. If not, then it was the look of destitution, the truth that there was nothing left in the world to live for any longer.
Every time Drake was faced with the identical empty glances, he knew he was starting to fall into the same sort of numb acceptance, that although he had finally obtained his wealth over the years, it was just coin. He had believed it would make him content, to feel his vindication against those who had wronged him but he’d been wrong. He might have all he’d ever wanted at long last, but it was a vapid victory. There was no outpouring of joy. Instead, there was the outpouring of drink as he consumed bottle after bottle of spirits, hoping to quiet the voices in his head that were always present, reminding him of his failings.
Miss Davies had changed all that. Finally, the voices had become silent and in their place was an enchanting feminine lilt and eyes that still held the true wealth he had been missing.
As he looked at her, he knew he would have spent everything he’d had just to have her sit across from him, if only for one night. It was fascinating just feeling…somethingagain, other than the dreadful void of emptiness that promised nothing.
He noticed her glance out the window at the passing scenery, the gas lamps of the West End starting to come into view. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I thought you might like to spend the night somewhere a bit more pleasant.”
She frowned at him. “Are you taking me back to Harriette?”
“She wouldn’t have you should you decide to request it,” he returned matter-of-fact. “It’s my other residence.”
“You have more than one?”
He reached into his vest and pulled out a cheroot, taking a moment to light it before answering. As he blew out a slight puff of smoke, he said, “I have several in London, as well as a few others in the countryside.”
She looked him up and down curiously. “I see.”
He smiled slowly. “I’m sure you do. And no doubt you are right about whatever conclusion you have arrived at in that pretty head of yours.”
She shifted her gaze away and he realized that he hated confirming her fears and casting himself in such a poor light but it was best that she learn what sort of man she had unwittingly tied herself to for however long their association might last. If it was up to Drake, he wasn’t willing to let her go anytime soon, not until this infatuation had waned.
As the carriage stopped in front of his townhouse in Chelsea, he waited for recognition to strike and he could see the moment it did. Some of the blood receded from her face, “Isn’t this the same street that?—”
“Indeed.” It was all he would offer by way of confirmation before he opened the door and led her inside. He shut the door behind them and lit a lantern near the entrance on the solitary table in the foyer.
She glanced around the cavernous expanse. “You aren’t much of a decorator.”
“No.” Again, he didn’t choose to elaborate as he led the way to the stairs and up to the second floor. “But I can promise you will sleep in comfort.”
He walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing all around them. Drake had never thought of the sound being eerie before but he wondered if it bothered his guest. He looked at her but she seemed to be taking note of her surroundings with an innocent curiosity.
He reached the master chamber and opened the door. Inside was a bed, wardrobe and washstand. A copper tub set in one corner near the fireplace. It was the most furniture he had in one place.
As he walked over to start a fire, she remained standing. Then again, other than the imposing four poster dominating the middle of the room there wasn’t anywhere else to sit. No doubt she did find that rather disconcerting.
“Have you never slept in here before?”
He hesitated in his task. He turned his head to the side but didn’t fully turn to face her. “What makes you say that?”
“The bed is made rather… perfectly.” There was a pause and he imagined that she was running her hand slowly along the counterpane. It was not an unwelcome image. “I don’t see you as the sort who makes their bed every morning, especially when, as you say, you have so many other places to stay.”
He returned his attention to the coal and wood in the grate. “I employ a housekeeper to come and check on things once a week. She is responsible for the upkeep. But you are correct. In truth, I have never slept in that bed. When you are used to a crude cot in a workhouse you find such luxuries are unnecessary.”
“Then why have it at all?”
