Page 34 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
He pressed his lips to her knuckles. His kiss was hard and cold, nothing like Mr Travers’ easy, warm ministrations. She smiled at the memory of Raphael.
When she looked up, Lord Radcliff was smiling back.
Raphael contemplated the book from the lending library, a hand cupped over his mouth. He had been brooding in his room for what felt like hours, unable to dedicate himself to work while Cecilia was still out with Lord Radcliff.
The basement thrummed with activity around him. Maids travelled the corridors with fresh laundry. The cook enlisted the scullery girls to help prepare the family’s luncheon. The footmen had been tasked with carrying newly commissioned seats up the stairs, into the ballroom for the Valentine’s Day ball.
Raphael missed his cottage almost as much as he missed his lover.
He checked his pocket watch. “Quarter to twelve,” he muttered.
Someone rapped on the door, and he pushed himself away from the dresser. To his surprise, Edward was standing on the other side, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Travers,” he greeted awkwardly, with a curious arching of his brow. “Mind if I come in?”
Raphael’s mind flashed with visions of the kiss he had shared with Cecilia.This is it, the moment of reckoning, fool!“Come in, my lord.”
He hesitated at the door before closing it behind them.
Edward turned in a circle, inspecting Raphael’s small sleeping space. “My brother really is a daemon, lodging you somewhere like this.” He guffawed and pointed over the bed. “At least you have a window.” He lifted up the mattress. “I expected some sort of primeval pallet.”
“What do you need me for, my lord?”
“Hm?” Edward settled on Raphael’s bed, testing the softness of the mattress. “Right, straight to business. I apologise if I seem out of sorts. I have just returned from Hyde.” He groaned and threw himself down on the bed. “Cecilia was gone riding with Lord Radcliff, and I was their appointed chaperone.”
“I see. Was it…” Raphael poured himself a glass of water and downed it. “Never mind.”
“I need a favour from you, Travers, and I need you to be discreet about it. By now, you should know I have no taste forTongatherings. In truth, the idea of attending the dratted Norbert ball in two days’ time makes me want to ride to Portsmouth, hop on a ferry, and never look back.” He paused. “Believe you me, those Valentine’s Day balls will die with my romantic father.”
“You need me to hire a coach for you.”
“What?” Edward shook his head. “Egad, nothing so dramatic. Although, it is true that I have no intention of attending the ball.”
“Then, what?”
“You arrived in late February of last year, did you not? Then you will be yet unaware that the affair on the 13th is a masquerade. As with the cards exchanged between admirers, it is expected that the guests refrain from sharing their names with one another unless both parties wish to reveal themselves, in which case they have free rein to do so. Do you understand where I am going with this, Travers?”
Traversdid not.
“My mask and attire were tailored months ago.” He sat up and grinned. “You and I are not so different in height and build…”
Raphael turned slowly to look at Edward. “Surely, you cannot think—”
“What? That a man as maudlin and mysterious as you would not be caught dead flouncing around a ballroom with the libertines, dressed like a buffoon? I do think that, but I think I can make you take my place regardless.”
Raphael had brushed shoulders with peers for years. He knew how gentlemen socialised and could stomach an evening ofvingt-unand brandy, could stomach a night in a lady’s boudoir. He could not,wouldnot, attend anything as farcical as a masquerade ball.
“With what will you achieve this? The King’s coffers?”
“Nothing so grand.” Edward cocked his head. “Have you ever dreamed of visiting the continent, Travers?”
His ears rang. “What man has not?”
“Thiscazain Tuscany… I will need an estate manager to oversee it. I had thought of hiring somesignoreto undertake the task, but I do not plan to stop with Italy. Côte d’Azur is next on my list, but I intend to map all of Europe before I am sated.”
Raphael took a moment to imagine himself on the French Riviera: the sun on his back, the brasseries, the sea... Given free rein of the continent, he could travel to the Spanish village where his mother was born, he could learn a language, he could uncover the truth of his name.
He could start again, away from London, away from women like Lady Kinsmere.
