Page 34 of A Raven Reborn

“Very well, but who will fill the tub with Finch gone?”

“Not to worry. Mary’s brother, Alfred, is here as well. Although, he prefers to be called by his surname, Grove. He has aspirations of one day becoming a footman. I haven’t the heart to tell him he’ll still likely be addressed by his given name unless he makes it all the way to the rank of valet or butler.” There was that proud smile, once more.

Rosalyn furrowed her brow. “Who are they?” she asked. “To you, I mean.”

“I don’t understand.” He cocked his head to one side.

“Pride radiates from you when you speak of them,” she explained.

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Their parents are the owners of the Crown and Anchor, the tavern that has kept me fed whenever I can no longer stomach Finch’s cooking.” He smiled fondly, clearly already feeling Finch’s absence. But then he continued. “I’ve known them both since they were just babes, and I’ve watched them grow to be wonderfully ambitious and hard working.” He shrugged. “I suppose I am proud of them.”

“I see.” It was all that Rosalyn could say. So much kindness. So much appreciation. She’d never actually seen the like in any other man she’d encountered. The truth was, it terrified her. She could feel herself quickly falling in love with this man. A man she could never actually have. The brother of a marquess.

She shook herself from the thoughts and stood. When she came around the desk, Patrick grasped her shoulders gently with his warm hands and looked into her eyes. “Thank you, Rosie, for being patient with me.”

She felt her heart slip just a little bit further down that dangerous path. Only heartache lay in that direction.

ChapterTwelve

Patrick felt like the slimiest of snakes as he sorted through the cards while Rosie was in the bath. There was simply no other way, though. He’d nearly kissed her before she’d left his study, and God knew where that would have led. He couldn't trust himself around her anymore, and knowing how he’d hurt her, he had to make sure it never happened again.

He was determined to make her his wife and get her safely settled on one of his estates… far away from him, and anyone else who might hurt her. With that in mind, he continued sorting the cards. If he organized them just right, he was guaranteed a win. God how he hated cheaters, and loathed himself even more for stooping to such lows, but it was for the greater good. When he won, he would claim her hand as his prize.

Even in his own mind it sounded ridiculously stupid, but it was the best plan he had come up with. If she had been appalled at the idea of marrying him before, it would be exponentially worse knowing of his parentage. Being connected to a marquessate in any way sounded illustrious, but was, in fact, very daunting. Even for him, and that was all he’d ever known.

When the cards were in the perfect order, he laid half of the stack in front of himself and the other half in front of the empty chair across from him. He let out a long sigh, and continued to tell himself it was for the best.

Patrick reached his arms up to stretch his muscles, and a jolt of pain shot through his shoulder. With all that had happened, he’d completely forgotten about that damned wound. He stood and gingerly removed his coat, draping it over the back of his chair. At least he wasn’t bleeding through his shirt.

Patrick’s muscles ached but his thoughts spun like a top inside his head. How was it possible for a man to be both excessively frenzied and utterly exhausted at the same time? Perhaps a half glass of brandy wouldn’t go amiss. He walked to his decanter. The amber liquid splashed in and then out of the glass as his arm gave a violent twitch. He set everything down, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. The alternative would have been to throw the glass across the room like a frustrated child.

There came a light tap at the door, and he was glad he’d refrained when he turned and saw Rosie standing in the doorway. Her hair was damp and down around her shoulders. She was wrapped in a light blue, silk wrapper, and her fingers fidgeted nervously with the sash. His heartbeat stuttered. She looked so unsure. He just wanted to hold her and promise that everything was going to be alright, but holding would lead to kissing, which would lead to other things. Instead, he smiled.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, much better. Thank you.” She nodded and her shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Sit.” Patrick gestured toward her usual seat in front of his desk. “The cards are dealt and ready for us.”

She nodded again. “I hope you didn’t cheat,” she quipped as she settled herself in the chair.

Patrick’s stomach lurched and he very nearly tripped over his own feet. “Me?” He clutched his hand over his chest in an exaggerated show of being offended. But in truth, he was completely nauseated, a fist wrapped around his stomach, knowing he had done exactly that.

She giggled softly, oblivious of what a cad he was.

Patrick seated himself in the chair opposite and turned over his first card. He’d never felt like more of a blackguard in all his life.

He breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, girding himself for what was to come. “I promised to tell you everything, and since I know you’re not looking for small talk, I’ll just get right to it.” Rosie looked up, apparently waiting with bated breath. Well, he’d not make her wait any longer.

“As you know from the letter, my brother is the Marquess of Epworth.” Rosie nodded but said nothing. In fact, she looked down and turned over her next card. She was trying to make this easier for him. Patrick’s heart filled with gratitude. He didn’t deserve this kind, selfless woman. He turned over his card, and then continued with his explanation.

“I was my father’s second son. The spare, if you will.”

She looked up then, her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, the second son only becomes important on the solemn occasion that the first one drops dead.”

She choked. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not true.”

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